Cook the Books

could make this work, you know? I thought that by now I’d have a bunch of regular restaurants that would give me all of their business and that I’d be making fat commissions off all of them.” He shrugged and looked solemn and disturbingly un-Owen-like.
    “I’m sure you’ll find something soon. Who wouldn’t want to hire you? You’ve got tons of experience in so many areas,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on Owen’s erratic work history.
    “We’ll see. Adrianna and Patrick are going to be gone for a while tonight, so I’ll really be able to concentrate on this job search. It’s hard to pay attention when my beautiful wife and entertaining son are around.”
    “Where is Ade going? I could watch Patrick for you guys if you need me,” I offered.
    “Thanks, but she’s going to a clothing swap set up by her online mothers’ group. I guess they’re meeting at one of the mom’s houses for a potluck. Ade has a big bag of clothes that Patrick has already outgrown, but mostly I think she’s getting out of the house to make me stick to my job hunt. She knows me too well.” He laughed and then turned serious again. “I feel like I’m letting her down.”
    I leaned over and gave Owen a hug. “She adores you, Owen, and you could never let her down. Never.”
    “Thanks, Chloe. I love her, too.”
    “I know you do.” I kissed Owen on the cheek and stepped out of the truck. “You better get off to that job search, mister.”
    “Hey,” he started, “please think about talking to Josh. I think you’re blowing things here. He is still in love with you, Chloe.”
    “Tough!” I shut the door.
    “And you’re in love with him!” Owen called out the window as I walked away. “You know you are!”
    “Shut up, Owen!” I laughed over my shoulder. He meant well, but he wasn’t doing much to bolster the supposedly independent-woman theme I had going.
    I was wiped out. When I reached my condo, I immediately yanked off my mental-health-professional clothes and pulled on cozy sweatpants and thick socks. I was going to hunker down in front of Thursday-night television and work my way through a carton of ice cream. I rooted through my dresser for a top and pulled out the first one I got my hands on, a worn red T-shirt. Seeing what I’d yanked out at random, I pressed the tattered shirt to my face as my eyes welled up. The T-shirt was Josh’s. I’d forgotten that I still had it. I inhaled deeply, hoping that a trace of him still lingered on the shirt, but it just smelled like laundry detergent. I knew I should have shoved it back into the dresser or, better yet, thrown it in the trash, but I pulled it over my head, wrapped my arms around my chest, and hugged the fabric against me.
    I flipped on the computer, sat on the bed, and checked Face-book. I’d been out of the Facebook loop for a long time; I’d barely checked in since Josh had left. Despite having blocked all of his attempts to contact me, I hadn’t had the heart to remove him from my list of friends. I clicked on his name and saw my chef’s profile picture, a gorgeous shot of him with a ridiculously perfect ocean behind him, a photo obviously taken in Hawaii. His tanned face smiled at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. When I browsed through a bunch of photos from Hawaii, it seemed to me that he had been having a jolly good time there frolicking on the beach with new friends, slinging back drinks on a lanai, and snorkeling off a boat in stupendous waters. Ugh, and there were lots of stupid, bikini-clad bronze goddesses in the pictures. I scoffed at the photos but felt pasty and bloated at the sight of those girls.
    When my cell rang, I haphazardly picked it up. “Hello?” I said, still staring at a glistening Josh emerging from the water after his first attempt at surfing.
    “Chloe, it’s Kyle.”
    I decided right away that I’d make no mention of the nastiness with his father. If Kyle wanted to bring it up, I’d certainly be there for him, but I was in no mood to exercise my social-work skills. “Hey, Kyle.”
    “Hey yourself. Do you want to try another restaurant tonight? I found this great-looking Cajun place tucked between an all-night laundromat and a goth bar.”
    “That sounds great,” I lied, “but could we do it another night? I’ve got so much schoolwork to catch up on.” Truthfully, I didn’t feel like spending another night out at a bad restaurant. Kyle just didn’t seem to know how to pick good ones. But