Kitabı oku: «The Man She Knew»
Don’t they both deserve a second chance?
Fourteen years ago, one reckless act cost Ian Sylvestry everything, including the girl he planned to marry. Since then, he has fought hard to turn his life around. Returning to his Baltimore town after serving a prison term was the first step. Winning back Maleah Turner’s trust is a far more daunting challenge. From their first sparks-flying reunion, it’s obvious they still have powerful feelings for each other. In fact, they might be even stronger together now. But if their second chance is going to work, Maleah has to believe that Ian is a changed man. She really wants to believe...but she simply isn’t convinced.
“So...you were...you were dreaming? About me?”
A remark like that from the old Maleah might indicate that she felt flattered. But the new Maleah had changed a lot, and Ian couldn’t get a read on what she meant now.
“I guess you could say that.”
A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Don’t know if I’ve ever been the star of a guy’s dream before.”
She’d stood center stage in hundreds of dreams during his years at Lincoln. What would she say if he admitted that now?
Only one way to find out...
“It probably won’t surprise you to hear that I thought of you a lot while I was...away.”
Her smile disappeared. Maleah began to fidget, another telltale sign she felt uncomfortable. He searched his mind for a topic to divert the conversation.
A two-note chime interrupted them.
Saved by the bell.
Dear Reader,
Once upon a time, my Psych 101 professor taught a lesson I’ve never forgotten.
“The class clown cracked a joke, and his fellow students laughed like crazy. When he repeated it, fewer laughed. He told the joke again, and no one laughed.” He paused, then said, “If the same joke stops being funny when we hear it more than once, what makes us think anything good will come of dredging up past hurts over and over?”
We all have a past. But what if our mistakes still shame us to the core?
As a teen, Ian Sylvestry found himself incarcerated after his reaction to his mother’s abandonment sent the dominoes toppling. Upon his release, it took time to convince others that he’d turned his life around, but Ian succeeded—or thought he had—until a chance meeting with the girl he’d left behind.
Confronted with the man he has become, can Maleah Turner forgive the irresponsible behavior that took him from her?
Why is it so hard, I wonder, to cope with the sins of our past? Perhaps we need to make this our life motto: “The future is stardust, because you can dream it; the present is clay, because you can mold it; but the past is stone, because you can never change it.”
Be sure to look for the next book in my By Way of the Lighthouse miniseries. And if you enjoyed The Man She Knew, write me c/o Facebook, Twitter or www.loreelough.com!
Wishing you nothing but happy memories,
Loree
The Man She Knew
Loree Lough
LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper. Her favorite memories of days on the road are the hours spent singing to soldiers recovering in VA hospitals. Now and then she polishes up her Yamaha guitar to croon a tune or two, but mostly she writes. With more than one hundred books in print (eighteen bearing the Harlequin logo), Loree’s work has earned industry accolades, movie options and four- and five-star reviews, but what she treasures most are her Readers’ Choice awards.
Loree and her real-life hero split their time between Baltimore’s suburbs and the Allegheny Mountains, where she continues to perfect her “identify the critter tracks” skills. A writer who believes in giving back, see the Giving Back page of loreelough.com for details. She loves hearing from her readers and answers every letter. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.
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This novel is dedicated to my family, whose love and support make writing—even on the tough days—so much easier. I love and appreciate all of you!
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to those who so willingly shared hours of time, expertise and experiences to assure accuracy and authenticity in this story: Attorney Dee Lawrence (former writing student turned successful author in her own right!) for her savvy legal advice; Linda O’Dell (Letters for the Lord prison ministry) for providing details about incoming and outgoing mail in federal penitentiaries; Marty* and George*, reformed convicts who explained prison life and the hardships and prejudice so often faced upon release; Lance*, prison guard who shed light on ex-cons’ struggles to avoid recidivism; Suzanne*, whose long-standing relationship with a convict helped me better understand the dynamics of supporting a man convicted of a felony.
(NOTE: * denotes names have been changed at the request of these helpful individuals.)
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Extract
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
“MALEAH, YOU WANT to explain this?”
She placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the dining room table. “Explain wh—”
When she saw what her brother held in his big hands, the words froze in her throat.
“Tell me you’re not still mooning over this low-life criminal!”
“Mooning.” She forced a laugh. “You’re picking up old-people talk from Grampa.”
“You can’t distract me.”
She’d made two mistakes: thinking the buffet’s silverware drawer was a good place to hide the photograph, and saying yes when Eliot offered to set the table.
“It’s no big deal.” Maleah shrugged. And there it was... Eliot’s I’m a decorated cop and I can tell when someone is lying look.
Maleah shoved a serving spoon into the potatoes. She and Eliot had gone round and round on this subject too many times to count, and she’d lost every round.
“Only one explanation makes sense. You’ve stayed in touch with him, even though the whole family asked you not to, haven’t you?”
“First of all, no one asked anything.” Their relentless demands had been the primary reason she’d traded the comfort of her childhood room for a noisy, crowded dorm room at the University of Maryland. “How any times do I have to tell you I haven’t had any contact with him in...” Years had passed since she’d scrawled Leave me alone! Please! across Ian’s final letter. “Why won’t you believe me?”
He dropped the picture into the drawer and closed it, hard. “Maybe because that creep turned you into an OCD control freak. You can’t sleep with dishes in the sink. And name me one other person who alphabetizes the contents of her pantry and spice rack? Or color-codes and hangs stuff in her closet in order by length.”
Maleah didn’t bother to explain it was because she’d learned how much one mistake could alter a person’s life—and the lives of everyone close to them.
“So I like things neat and tidy. Last I checked, it isn’t against the law.”
He aimed his pointer finger at the ceiling, preparing to add to his big brother tirade, but she cut him off.
“Eliot, let’s not spoil Grampa’s birthday dinner, all right?”
“What. Ever.”
An hour later, her mom suggested getting the dinner dishes cleaned up while the rest of the Turners relaxed in front of the evening news.
“And then we’ll have coffee and cake while Grampa opens his presents!”
Maleah’s tension heightened; if she left the room, Eliot would invite a repeat of the for-your-own-good lectures they’d been delivering since that horrible day.
“Let’s leave them.” Facing her younger brother, she said, “Joe, will you get the TV trays out of the front hall closet while I—”
“Maleah, honey,” her mother interrupted, “those mashed potatoes will harden like cement if you don’t rinse the plates soon.”
“I’ll soak them overnight and load the dishwasher in the morning.”
She’d tackle the job just as soon as her family left, but her mom didn’t need to know that.
Joe returned with two TV trays under each arm. “Where do you want these, sis?”
“You can put them right back where you found them,” her mother said. “We’ll have cake and ice cream at the table, like civilized people.”
He began setting up the trays. “Mom, this is Maleah’s house.”
Their mother’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine. Do whatever you please.”
“Happy birthday to me,” Grampa sang off key.
“Sorry, Grampa,” Maleah said, grinning. “I’ll get the cake.”
She’d barely had time to turn toward the kitchen when her father said, “Eliot says you have something to tell us?”
Traitor.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Maleah sat on the sofa arm beside Joe. “Got a promotion and a pay raise day before yesterday.” The perfect cover-up.
Her dad beamed. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. New title, too?”
“Assistant Vice President for the School of Autism Services at Washburne-Albert Institute.”
“Whew. That’s a mouthful!” Joe elbowed her ribs. “Raised-print business cards and the whole nine yards?”
“And a private office—with a window—and my name in gold letters on the door.”
“That’s my girl,” Grampa said. “A chip off the ol’ block.”
“Don’t be silly, Frank. You’re a retired policeman. Our granddaughter is a psychologist.”
“Hey. I used plenty of psychology on the job, Teresa. At home, too, every time you tried to talk me into getting a safer job.”
His wife rolled her eyes. Her dad took a sip of his iced tea. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Real proud.”
“Ditto that,” Frank said. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s light the candles on my cake and celebrate two great occasions with one big puff.”
While Eliot poked candles into the cake, Maleah placed napkins, dessert plates, forks and a book of matches on a big wooden serving tray.
“Grab the ice cream, will you?”
“Nice try out there,” he said, opening the freezer door, “but you can’t keep me quiet forever.”
She’d had about enough of his superior attitude. Maleah faced him head-on.
“Look. I know you mean well. And I appreciate that you think you’re protecting me from my once-fickle self. But trust me. I don’t need your protection. Besides, there’s a time and place for everything, and this is Grampa’s night.”
His mouth formed a thin, grim line as he lit the candles. Then he picked up the tray, and marched into the living room singing “Happy Birthday.” The others joined in, and although her heart wasn’t in it, so did Maleah.
Eliot didn’t say much—and neither did Maleah—as they devoured cake and ice cream. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the tension between them. Or, if they did, had decided to keep the observation to themselves.
“You guys are great,” Grampa said after unwrapping his last present. “But y’all went to way too much trouble and spent way too much. Especially you, Maleah.”
He’d been dropping hints since last Christmas about wanting an e-reader, so Maleah had ordered one and downloaded half a dozen books onto it.
She patted his bony knee. Would he ever gain back all the weight he’d lost during his chemo treatments?
“It was no trouble at all.”
“Speaking of trouble,” Eliot said, “there’s something important we need to discuss as a family.”
Maleah’s mouth went dry. “Eliot. Please. Don’t...”
He held up a hand. “They have a right to know. It affects them, too.”
Mom’s eyes widened and her husband’s brow furrowed.
“What affects us?” they asked together.
“Quit beating around the bush, boy.” Grampa scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion.
Eliot used his chin as a pointer. “Li’l miss party maker over there is still sweet on that felon.”
Maleah’s cheeks went hot and her heart beat double-time. Which of them would be the first to take her to task for holding on to that photograph? Her father, if she had to guess.
Her mom said, “Maleah, what on earth is he talking about?”
She glared at Eliot.
“It’s nothing, really. He found an old picture hidden away in a drawer, and as usual, jumped to conclusions and decided it means I’m still involved with Ian.” Maleah threw back her shoulders. “I’m not, and that’s the truth. But you know Eliot...”
“True or not,” her grandfather said, “you have to admit that boy is trouble. Even after all these years, the mere mention of his name is enough to get everybody’s bloomers in a knot. Told you he was no good.”
“But would you listen?” Eliot put in. “No-o-o. You hung in there like a suckerfish, right up until the sheriff’s deputies dragged him away.”
Those final moments in the courthouse were as vivid now as it had been that dreary morning: Ian, looking like a terrified boy as one guard slammed the prison van’s side door and another put the vehicle into gear. He’d raised a hand to wave goodbye, but the chain connecting handcuffs to leg irons stopped him. Tears had filled his eyes, and unable to watch, she’d closed her own. By the time she opened them again, the driver had already made the first turn onto Lombard Street and started the hour-long trip to Lincoln Correctional of Central Maryland.
Joe squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, sis. I believe you.” He faced the family to add, “So she saved one lousy photograph. Big deal. It doesn’t mean she’ll do anything stupid. We’re supposed to be her support system, for cryin’ out loud. If an institution like Washburne-Albert can put their faith in her, why can’t we?”
She might have hugged him if her grandmother hadn’t said, “Joe’s right. Maleah is a smart girl. She knows what life would be like with...” She wrinkled her nose. “...with a man like that.”
“Then why is she still single?”
“Same reason as you, maybe?”
Grampa laughed and Eliot said, “Shut up, Joe.”
“Person can’t earn college degrees and work her way up the corporate ladder if her mind is on guys and dating and whatnot...”
“Joe’s right again,” their grandfather said. “There’s no denying our girl has worked hard to get where she is.” He turned toward Maleah. “Tell your newly-confirmed bachelor brother that there isn’t anything going on between you and that ex-con.”
She raised her right hand. “There isn’t anything going on between me and that ex-con.” Neither Eliot nor her father seemed satisfied.
“Okay, but just to clarify...when was the last time you were in contact with him?”
Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. “Aw, Dad. Really?”
“I know you feel like we’re picking on her, son, but Eliot is right. We need to get to the bottom of this, for her own good.”
Her younger brother had earned more department commendations than Eliot and their father combined, yet had somehow managed not to turn hard-hearted and suspicious, especially of those closest to him.
“It’s okay, Joe,” she said. “I brought this on myself by not getting rid of that picture years ago. I don’t want you putting your neck on the chopping block to defend me.” She looked her father square in the eye. “There’s nothing to get to the bottom of, Dad. I was still living at home after Ian’s sentencing, so you know as well as I do that I returned his letters, unopened. All of them. And after I wrote ‘leave me alone’ across the back of that last envelope, you mailed it. And the letters stopped coming.”
Her grandmother was stuffing her husband’s gifts into a plastic bag. “It’s late. We should all be getting home.”
Her actions and tone reminded the family that she’d always detested family discord, and one by one, they stood and made their way into the foyer. Amid a flurry of uncomfortable hugs, they complimented Maleah’s dinner and thanked her for having them over.
Her mom hesitated. “You sure you don’t want help with the dishes, honey?”
“Thanks, Mom, but I’ll be fine.”
Arm in arm, her grandparents led the way to the semicircular drive.
“Looks like snow,” Frank said, pulling up his collar.
Maleah wished for summer temperatures, so Gramps could enjoy balmy breezes without needing to bundle up. The cancer that had nearly killed him refused to loosen its grip. But at least the family had remission to be thankful for.
Maleah stood on her bungalow’s covered porch, shoulders hunched into the wind as the family started up their cars, waving as they drove away. She loved them dearly, even at their annoying worst. Sometimes, though, it was difficult trying to protect them from bad news—like Ian’s return from prison years ago—to ensure nothing would upset them.
After bolting the door, she leaned against it and exhaled a relieved breath.
Reminding herself that self-pity never got anyone anywhere, she walked purposefully into the living room. There, Maleah collected cake plates and flatware, and after loading them into the dishwasher, started clearing the dining room table. Halfway through the job, she noticed the corner of the photograph protruding from the buffet’s silverware drawer.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had mentioned Ian or her involvement with him. Now thanks to Eliot’s mistrustful nature, the entire family would start watching her every move...again.
“Thanks a bunch, big brother, for opening Pandora’s box.”
A rush of memories rained down on her as she removed the picture...
When he’d called that night, Ian’s trembling voice described how his mother and new husband were expecting a baby. Hurt, confused and angry, he’d pleaded with Maleah to meet him. “I just need to talk it out. I promise not to keep you out late.” She’d wanted to comfort him, but homework, chores and three generations of disapproving Turner cops prevented it. Her refusal fueled his fury, and he’d hung up without saying goodbye. Months passed before she saw him again, slump-shouldered and chained to the defense table like a rabid dog.
Now, staring at his likeness, Maleah wondered for the thousandth time: If she had met him that night, would Ian have made a different choice?
“Enough!” She slammed the frame onto the table. “You destroyed your life, Ian Sylvestry, not me!”
Glittering shards of glass crisscrossed his once-carefree face, and that was fine with her.
CHAPTER TWO
“HEY, BOSS, WHAT should I do with this?”
Ian inspected the document in his assistant manager’s hands. “I suppose we oughta frame it, hang it near the registration counter.”
“Si.” Sergio shifted his weight to his good leg. “Good place for patrons to see they are dining in A-plus restaurante.”
Terri, Sur les Quais’s hostess, peered over Sergio’s shoulder.
“Oh wow, Ian. That’s so fantastic! I’ll bet I can find a frame downstairs in the storeroom...”
“Think you can find a good place to hang it once it’s behind glass, too?”
“Probably...” She started for the stairs, turning to add, “But I’ll check with you before I drive a nail into the wall.”
Such a timid little thing. “No need for that. I’m sure any spot you choose will be fine.”
She gave that a moment’s thought. “Okay then, if you’re sure.”
As she hurried down the stairs, he pictured the abusive husband who’d made her afraid of her own shadow. He’d tangled with plenty of bullies at Lincoln, and quickly figured out that defending himself would only tack extra years onto his sentence. It had taken time and careful planning, but he’d found ways to end the harassment...and earn the grudging respect of fellow inmates.
And the Turners called me a thug. Unlike his parents, Ian believed in marriage, in sticking it out when times got tough. But in his opinion, Terri and her boy would have been better off if Steve had fulfilled his numerous threats of leaving. He’d done nothing to hide his disappointment at having a special needs son, not even from Avery. Despite it all, Avery seemed as determined to overcome the limitations of his disorder as his mother was to keep him enrolled at the Washburne-Avery Institute. A lot to admire in those two—the mother in particular, who was partially deaf. If only Terri believed in herself as much as Ian did.
Alone in his office, Ian took a knee and rotated the dial on the safe, and as he slid the big checkbook from the bottom shelf, an envelope fluttered to the floor. He recognized it instantly as the last letter he’d sent Maleah from Lincoln. Oh, he’d written others after that one came back. Dozens. A hundred, maybe.
But he hadn’t mailed them.
He picked the letter up and, without reading the message scrawled across the envelope’s back, buried it under last year’s tax return, the titles to his pickup and Harley and his release papers.
“You in there, Ian?”
“C’mon in, Aunt Gladys.”
He sat behind his desk and folded both hands on the checkbook.
“I can’t believe you’re still doing things the old-fashioned way. Surely you know how much time you’d save, banking online.”
“I served time with guys who could hack an account like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I don’t trust the internet. Last thing we need now that we’re in the black is identity theft.”
“That’s what firewalls are for, silly man. Why, I’ve been doing my banking online for years, and I haven’t had a smidge of trouble.”
He owed Gladys a lot. Everything, in fact. Gratitude inspired him to devise ways to divert her when she got into one of her “I know best” moods.
Striking a Zen pose, he said, “I enjoy doing things the old-fashioned way. It calms me.”
Gladys sat back and tilted her head.
“What.”
“You look...weird.”
She’d earned the right to nag him about his beard and earring, or his insistence on writing checks instead of banking online, and he’d endure it. She’d earned that much, and more.
“I’ll shave soon. Promise.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean. You look...sadder than usual.”
“Than usual?” He laughed. “You make it sound like I walk around wearing a big mopey frown on all day, every day.”
“You have a charming, handsome smile, but your mouth rarely sends the ‘happy’ message to those big brown eyes. It’s that bratty girl’s fault. If she hadn’t been so afraid to buck her family...” Gladys pursed her lips. “She knew you better than anyone. Should have known you didn’t deserve ten years for driving a car. Should have known you weren’t in on the planning of that robbery, too.”
She was right about one thing: Maleah had known him better than anyone. But she was wrong about the rest of it.
“I love you for defending me, and I realize hearing the truth is tough, but I knew what the guys were planning, and went along with it, anyway. What happened afterward is on me, one hundred percent.”
Gladys cringed. “Boy. When you tell it like it is, you don’t fool around, do you?”
Ian answered with a one-shouldered shrug.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I love you, too, nephew. And I’m proud of you. It couldn’t have been easy, overcoming the stigma of having served time. But you did it without complaint, without shirking your responsibility in it. If I’d been blessed with a son, I’d want him to be exactly like you.”
She’d said it before, and Ian believed every word.
His aunt pointed at the wall behind him. “Is that new?”
He swiveled the chair. “Sort of. I finished it about a month ago.”
“It’s gorgeous, but then, so are all of your paintings. I love the colors of the sky. And you really captured the grandeur of the Constellation.” She sighed. “It’s so unfair...”
“What is?”
“That you sucked up all the artistic talent in this family.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I can’t even sew on a button, but you’ve designed your own clothes for years. And need I remind you that big-deal cooking show asked permission to use your recipes?”
“Two. Two recipes. And sewing is just a matter of manipulating the machine’s needle.”
Gladys glanced around his office. “Just look at this place. I’m sure people are impressed when they sit here to discuss booking the banquet room. No wonder there’s a waiting list.”
“Dan and Lee earned the credit for that. Their menus are what draw people in, and keep them coming back.”
“Now who isn’t giving himself enough credit! I ran this place for twenty years before you, so I know what it takes. It’s because of your leadership that the bistro runs like a well-tuned machine.”
“Keep it up and I’ll start blushing like a schoolgirl. How will that look when I check on tonight’s holiday party?”
“All right. I know you’re uncomfortable with compliments. But I just have to say...you saved my wrinkly old butt and my pride, too.”
He’d agreed to accept her gift of ownership, provided she accepted a cut of the profits. “Why, just yesterday,” she continued, “one of my sorority sisters said she and her family celebrated her anniversary here. You wouldn’t believe how she went on and on about the ambiance, the food, the service. And she isn’t the only one! Putting you in charge was the smartest business decision I ever made.” Laughing, she added, “I’m making more money now than I did when I ran the place!”
He was about to thank her for sharing that with him when Terri stepped into the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt, but a gentleman asked to see you. He’s with the holiday party.”
Ian shoved back from his desk as Gladys got to her feet.
“How’s that boy of yours?” she asked, falling into step beside Terri.
“He’s fine. Made a rocket—and launched it—yesterday.”
“Amazing.” Terri handed him a pink While You Were Out slip.
“Brady called a little while ago. Said there’s no hurry.”
His father lived in the apartment beside his, right upstairs. So why the phone call? He scanned the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket, hoping it wasn’t one of those days.
“You think he’s in one of his moods?” Gladys asked.
“Nah. Probably just didn’t feel like putting on shoes and coming downstairs.”
Gladys wasn’t buying it. In truth, Ian didn’t believe it, either. When tempted to drink—which happened every six months or so—his dad turned to Ian for some straight talk. So now Ian had a decision to make: meet with the would-be customer, or head upstairs to check on his dad...and risk losing a future booking.
He slid a business card from his pocket and scribbled his cell number on the back.
“See if the guy can give me a few minutes,” he said, handing it to Terri. “And if he can’t, ask him to call me in the morning.”
She faced Gladys. “Good to see you, Mrs. Turner.”
“You, too. Give that kid of yours a big hug for me.”
Once the hostess was out of earshot, Gladys said, “You’re going upstairs, aren’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
After the life he’d lived, didn’t he know it!
“Why don’t I go up, see if there’s anything I can do for him?”
Ian started to protest when she tacked on, “No sense losing a booking just because your dad needs another pep talk.”
“Can I trust you to go easy on him?”
She did her best to look offended.
“Seriously, Gladys...”
“All right. I’ll put on my kid gloves. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be so sick of TLC he’ll wish he hadn’t left that message.”
With that, she began climbing the stairs, stopping halfway to the top.
“Answer a question for me, nephew.”
“If I can.”
“Who has a holiday party before Thanksgiving?”
Ian shrugged. “A busy rich guy who’s going to surprise his wife with a world cruise planned for Christmas?”
“Oh, to have a husband like that,” she said, and continued up the stairs.
Grinning, Ian made his way to the banquet room. He had to give it to his staff. The place looked great. Linen tablecloths glowed bright white under hundreds of tiny lights covering the ceiling, and the napkins matched each poinsettia centerpiece. The DJ leaned over his equipment to take a request, and soon, Toni Braxton’s version of “The Christmas Song” drew guests to the parquet dance floor.
Ian scanned the crowd. Should’ve asked Terri which guy wanted to see me.
“Mr. Sylvestry?”
He shook the man’s extended hand. “Ian. Please.”
“Luther. Luther Sanders,” he said, pumping Ian’s arm. “Real nice room you’ve got here. Perfect for my son’s bar mitzvah next March...if you have an opening.”
“I’ll need to look at the book, but if memory serves, that won’t be a problem.”
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