Guilt—his mother; Baker; Floyd. If they knew how Cash was living, what would they think? “Sure,” Cash says. He accepts a glass of green juice, takes a sip, and immediately wants to spit it out. It’s liquefied kale, he suspects, with maybe a thin slice of apple or one green grape thrown in.
“Lauren and I are very protective where Tilda is concerned,” Granger says. “She tends to show all her cards. She doesn’t have much of a poker face, I’m afraid.” Granger gulps down the entire glass of juice and Cash shivers just watching; he’s unsure he can manage even one more sip. “It’s clear how much she likes you. She says you have other places you can go, so it’s not like you’re using her to avoid being homeless.”
“Right,” Cash says quickly. “That’s right, sir.”
“Please, call me Granger.”
“Granger, sir,” Cash says. He can’t help it; the sir comes automatically. Granger Payne is a sir as surely as Johnny Cash or Muhammad Ali would be a sir. “I could move in with my mother or my brother. And I’ll do that if it makes you more comfortable.” Here, Cash holds Granger’s gaze, willing the older man not to call his bluff. Irene is presently living in Maia’s bedroom at Huck’s house, and Baker is still at the Westin hemorrhaging five hundred dollars a night while he looks for an affordable year-round rental. Cash told Baker that if he found something big enough, Cash would happily move in, share the rent, provide child care for Floyd.
“Okay,” Baker said. “But you’d better have a backup plan.”
Cash had initially considered asking Ayers if he could take over her lease, since she had gotten engaged to Mick and would likely move in with him. He wasn’t sure how much she paid but if she could afford it, then he could, right? They worked at the same place. But Ayers had a second, very lucrative job waiting tables at La Tapa. Cash would likely need to get a second job as well. He should be looking now instead of goofing off every day with Tilda.
The plan of taking over Ayers’s place vanished when Tilda came home from La Tapa with the news that Ayers was no longer engaged. She had given the ring back to Mick.
“Stay here for the time being, please,” Granger says. “I have to admit, I like the idea of having another man around. Tilda and her mother tend to gang up on me. I could use some support.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cash says. He needs to excuse himself so Tilda can drive him to work. He’s dependent on her for everything, and she has been a total rock star, accommodating him and never making him feel bad. I have more than enough privilege for both of us.
“Tilda tells me you used to be in the outdoor-supply business in Colorado,” Granger says. “What happened?”
“Ah,” Cash says. He has any number of responses ready: I got tired of the cold, the lack of oxygen, the stoner teenagers who worked for me stealing from the register. But he suspects that Granger Payne has run a background check on him and maybe also investigated his credit. “I blew it. My father bought me the stores and expected me to know how to run them. But I didn’t learn how to manage them properly until it was too late. I got behind with the bank and they went under. It was quite a learning experience.”
“I’m happy to hear you learned something,” Granger says. “Because I have an exciting business proposition on the horizon, and Tilda is dead set on having you be a part of it. Sweat equity, boots-on-the-ground type of stuff. You’re good with people, I can see that, and you seem to have personal integrity. Another man might have lied to me about the stores or tried to blame the failure on someone else.”
Cash nods. Integrity he has. It’s everything else he’s lacking.
“How well do you handle unexpected setbacks?” Granger asks.
“Um…” Cash says. “Pretty well. I mean, yeah, my life has been one unexpected setback after another recently, but I’m still standing. So I’d say I can deal with just about whatever life throws at me.”
“Good,” Granger says. “Because although Lauren and I are happy to welcome you with open arms, your dog has to go.”
Cash feels like Granger has just taken him into a headlock and is squeezing his windpipe. “Winnie?” he squeaks.
“Winnie,” Granger says. “Lauren and I are far too peripatetic to have pets, and the way she decorated the house—”
“In white,” Cash says. “Right, I get it.” He swallows. “We’ve kept Winnie mostly outside…”
“‘Mostly outside’ won’t cut it with my wife,” Granger says. “And it’s not fair to the dog. So best to find another place for her to wait out this time of transition you’re in.”
“Yes, sir,” Cash says. He’s saved from breaking down in tears in front of Granger when Tilda honks the horn of the Range Rover. “Steele, let’s go!” she calls out.
“Exactly like her mother,” Granger says. He claps Cash on the arm. “All right, Cashman, glad we understand each other.”
On the steep, twisting drive from Peter Bay to town, Tilda says, “How was the inquisition?”
“Most of it was okay. But—”
“But it was a complete ambush,” Tilda says. “I know. I’m sorry. They normally text or call to let me know they’re coming so I can go to Starfish and get their soy milk or whatever. This is highly unusual. I think after I told them you were staying here, they wanted to catch us unawares.”
They succeeded, Cash thinks. The night before, Tilda got home from La Tapa bearing goodies from the kitchen in to-go boxes—a gorgonzola Caesar, pork belly, and wood-grilled sirloin. They lit the candles on the patio table; Tilda opened a good bottle of cabernet from Granger’s wine collection—the Lail 2016 Blueprint—and after she tasted it, she winked at Cash and said, “Notes of fire coral, DEET, and the Tide Pod challenge.”
“Good one!” Cash said. Nonsensical wine descriptions had become a verbal tic of Tilda’s ex, Skip, the bartender at La Tapa, and Tilda and Cash couldn’t stop themselves from riffing on it.
They had just picked up their forks to dig in when they heard voices, and Cash, for one panicked moment, feared another FBI raid—were they coming for him?—but then Tilda scooted back her chair and said, “Well, hello, parents!”
“Don’t you two look cozy,” Lauren Payne said. She was tall with a slender yoga physique like Tilda, but while Tilda sported a pixie cut, Lauren had long golden-brown hair that she’d pulled up in a ponytail. She wore a white linen dress and a pair of leopard-print wedge sandals. She was…pretty. And looked way younger than Cash had expected.
Granger followed close on Lauren’s heels. He wore a tan suit, white shirt, and no tie; he had his hair slicked back, and reading glasses were perched on top of his head. His handshake was brutal, but somehow Cash had anticipated this and gave his firmest effort, complete with eye contact and smile. On the inside, however, Cash felt his confidence evaporate. Her parents were here. What would they think about Cash moving in? Did they know what had happened to his father? His mother? The optics weren’t great; Cash realized this. His father, now dead, had been revealed to have a second family hidden down here, and his sketchy—indeed illegal—business practices had been uncovered. His mother was newly destitute and worked on a fishing boat.