Bumped - Completed Novel

Bumped - Chapter Eighteen

In the middle of the night, I awoke with a start. I thought I heard a noise. My shoulder throbbed. Stupid Tylenol. It took away the physical pain for the most part but did nothing for the loud voices in my head. I got up and did a check of all the locks and windows. My heart slowed down once I made sure everything was secure. I hated feeling this way but until the shooter was caught, I didn't want to find out that I was the real target after the fact.

I passed Evie's room, now the office my parents shared. I paused at the doorway. Instead of the desks and chairs, I saw how it used to look, as a mirror image of my own room, posters wall papering the wall and shoes, clothes and purses competing for floor space. I went from being the baby sister to an only child in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I don't think I'd ever loved as fiercely or fought as fiercely with anyone else other than Evie. A part of me still ached from her absence.

Trying to fall back asleep was futile. I opened my laptop and continued my quest for Estella. I searched property records in Los Angeles and found none. Then I searched in Miami and found seven. None of them matched the two addresses I had for Diego. I copied them down and booked a flight to Miami departing in three weeks. Gone was the expense account when I could leave at the drop of a hat and cost didn't factor into the equation.

It was crazy and irrational to spend money looking for my boyfriend's wife but so far the ring was a dead-end and trying to find the lock that fit the key was next to impossible. It sounded even crazier when I said it aloud in my childhood bedroom. I had no clue what I would do if I found her. Big if. Or even why I felt like I had to find her. I had no idea what she looked like or if she would even admit being married to Diego. All things considered. I just knew that with so many gaping holes in this puzzle, which oddly resembled my life, I needed to plug in answers whenever and wherever I could. I hadn't had any luck finding anything on Eugene Daly as to be expected since I didn't know where he was born, or his real birthday. So I researched Diego Rivera. He had died in a car accident while away at college. I found his older sister's name in article about his death, Constance Rivera of Trenton, NJ about an hour and a half south from Mariner's Pike. I sent her an email asking if she would meet with me. Long shot, I knew.

I was on the phone with the registrar's office at Harvard as soon as they opened to find out if my Diego really graduated from there as he claimed. He had the whole Harvard get up. He had proudly displayed his MBA on the wall and often wore a Harvard hoodie or cap. My heart ballooned in my chest and threatened to deflate, leaving me breathless when she said no such student graduated from Harvard during the year I had specified. I couldn't help but wonder, how far did his scam go?

The house was still quiet when I left for my usual walk along the beach. A few tourists had already staked their claim in the sand and were preparing for their daily bake. For the most part though, I still had the beach to myself. I let the ocean play hide and seek with my feet as I walked along the water's edge. What did I do to deserve this? Everyone in the northern hemisphere knew I was pregnant, Diego must know as well. Why hadn't he called?

Yesterday was the annual sand castle building contest. There were sand castles, mermaids and all sorts of creations dotting the shoreline. Before I could think, I took my foot and swung it, demolishing a turret on impact. And it felt so good. I kicked the other half and stomped on it for good measure.

"Ha! Hope you had insurance for the unexpected pitfalls in life," I said to the non-existent royal inhabitants of the castle.

I needed him. I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy and worry about stretch marks and heartburn, not whether or not I was going to be indicted for conspiracy after the fact or something crazy. I didn't want to ache for Diego while simultaneously hating him for not being here. For running away. For making me be much stronger than I ever wanted to be. I just wanted things to go back ... maybe. Ignorance wasn't bliss. It was the seventh level of hell once the wake-up call arrived.