She looks to both sides, as if she’s afraid we’re being watched, then says behind one hand, “I am so not mad at you for sealing the deal by whatever means necessary. He is insanely—I mean, blazing hot. And look how he turned out! Those folks back in Louisiana can say whatever they want about you being ruined by a bad boy. But I’m like, good for you, investing early in a future real estate mogul.”
Panic bells sound in my head. Wait, people in Louisiana talked poorly about us when we lived there?
I know Galen didn’t go to college, but he’s been investing in bayou properties since before the market rebranded bayou swamp houses as “homes on the waterfront.” He was a self-made millionaire at such a young age, and he gave away tons of money, even before we formally started the Amy Fairgood Foundation. I can’t see why people would think he ruined me or that he was bad.
Also, this woman knows a lot more about me personally than I know about her professionally. I saw that she went to Tulane for grad school, but it never occurred to me we might know each other. All my lost time once again rears its ugly head.
But I circumnavigate the situation by getting down to business. “Yes, Galen is thriving right now and into the future. And that’s why it’s a great time to partner with the Amy Fairgood Foundation.”
Melinka’s face drops. “Oh, you were serious about that? I thought the request to meet up while I’m in Columbus was code for let’s get together and gossip on company time.”
I blink. “Yes, I’m serious about programs that could change thousands of lives for the working homeless—Wait, where are you going?”
Melinka is already scooting back in her seat before I can finish my pitch. “I’m so sorry. This was a terrible idea on my part. I just wanted to see what you were up to. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
“Then don’t.” I stand up too. “Sit down. We’ll talk about all the good work we could do together.”
She shakes her head and narrows her eyes at me. “In what world do you think Lukas would let me sign off on co-funding anything you’d touched?”
Now it’s my turn to squint as I try to connect the dots.
“Do you mean Lukas Brandt, the acting CEO of Weiss Fox?” I ask carefully. “What could he possibly have against forward-thinking housing initiatives?”
Melinka makes a scoffing sound, like I’ve somehow offended both her and her boss. “Lukas and I go all the way back to grad school. He was wrecked when you left him. He had told everybody he was going to ask you to marry him over the break, but you dropped out instead.”
My heart painfully jolts at the thought of hurting someone so badly.
But then I do the math and hold up a hand. “Wait. Why would he do that? I was with Galen all the way until I dropped out.”
Her eyes widen. “Well, Lukas didn’t know that until you two showed up at the Tessier Ball. To be honest, I was hoping I could report back to him that you were still trash, no matter how much Galen Fairgood had come up in the world. But you just seem…”
She gives me a pitying look. “Confused. Were you on drugs back then? Because honestly, that would explain a lot.”
My stomach roils. And I finally admit, “I wasn’t on drugs—I don’t think. But I was in a bad car accident, and I lost time—a lot of time. Basically, my college years and all of my twenties.”
Melinka’s expression goes from pitying to horrified—just like everyone does when they hear about my accident, which is why I try not to bring it up. Especially at work.
But I press on anyway. I’m too confused by everything she’s told me not to keep asking questions. “Maybe if you explain what happened with this Lukas Brandt, I could piece some more things together.”
“Look, I can’t help you,” Melinka says, snatching up her Hermès purse. “But I will pray for you.”
Another memory flashes through my head. This one from what I’ve been referring to as the Ohio years. Tess joking before a volunteer meeting that “I’ll pray for you” is code for “I’m not going to give you a dime or volunteer a second of my time, but I don’t want to look like a total douche. I prefer to remain a secret douche.”
Apparently, Melinka is a secret douche. I sigh as I watch her scurry away.
And apparently, I had a boyfriend before Galen. Or during Galen, from the way Melinka made it sound. But why would I ever cheat on my husband?
But obviously, I can’t ask Galen, “Hey, did I cheat on you at some point with, like, an heir to a beer fortune?”
So, the weird meeting just kind of sits like a Louisiana sewer ghost with me all day, giving off a smell I can’t figure out how to rid from my nose.
“Hey, Steppie! You okay?” my sister asks when I pick her up from the expensive all-girls’ school where her birth father insisted on enrolling her.
“Weird day,” I answer without elaborating. I could ask her about Lukas, but I doubt I would share with the child she was back then that I was cheating on Galen. Plus, Daphne already has enough stress as a sophomore at one of the most competitive high schools in the state.
“Maybe this will help,” she says, handing me a metal tin.
“What’s that?”
