Kitabı oku: «Blue Skies»
Praise for the novels of
ROBYN CARR
“Robyn Carr provides readers [with] a powerful, thought-provoking work of contemporary fiction.”
—Midwest Book Review on Deep in the Valley
“Carr offers a well-written, warm-hearted story and a genuinely fun read.”
—Publishers Weekly on The House on Olive Street
“You’re in for a fun surprise—just wait and see who walks down the aisle. Don’t miss this zany wedding.”
—Catherine Coulter on The Wedding Party
“A remarkable storyteller…”
—Library Journal
“A warm, wonderful book about women’s friendships, love and family. I adored it!”
—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on The House on Olive Street
“Readers who enjoy books about small-town life…will also enjoy reading about the good folks of Grace Valley.”
—Booklist on Down by the River
“A delightfully funny novel.”
—Midwest Book Review on The Wedding Party
Blue Skies
Robyn Carr
For Jim, the strongest and kindest man I know.
And for the good people of National Airlines.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The commercial airline industry is close to my heart. My husband has spent over twenty years as a pilot and executive in the business. He is now with his fourth airline—and two of them were start-ups. It is a business so competitive and unpredictable that it takes very special, very courageous people to get an airline off the ground and keep it flying.
The people in this edgy, exciting industry are nothing short of awesome. They can vie for each other’s passengers with cutthroat enthusiasm, but when there’s an emergency or disaster, this is an industry that becomes a small town in which everyone helps everyone else. You can count on airline people.
Needless to say, I have had the privilege to know the brightest and the best in the industry—my friends for life—so everything I needed to know to set a story against the backdrop of this fabulous industry was at my fingertips. I’ve taken a few liberties with minor details for the sake of storytelling, and the characters are all entirely fictional, but hopefully this world of a start-up airline rings true enough.
There is one gentleman I’d like to tell you about. Michael J. Conway, president and CEO of the former National Airlines, and before that America West Airlines, is one of the most remarkable leaders I have known. I watched him take money out of his own wallet to give to a ramp worker who was waiting for a paycheck before buying his required steel-toed boots. “Buy them now,” Conway said. He encouraged a vice president to send his secretary home to take care of her desperately handicapped baby and paid her salary for whatever work she could manage at home. Mike Conway pulled strings to send a flight attendant to spend twenty-four hours with her soldier husband in Kuwait during Desert Storm, arranged free passage for veterans to Washington, D.C., for Memorial Day remembrances and was the creator of the policy of sick leave that went like this: You’re sick? We’ll pay you till you’re well, no matter how long it takes.
But the events of 9/11, unsurprisingly, brought out his best. National Airlines, once profitable and successful, had been feeling the strain of a troubled economy and rising fuel prices. Dealing with a country terrified to fly, Mike Conway put the seats on sale for $1.00 one day a week for a month. Getting the country back in the air was the most important thing, because it was the right thing to do. He was not discouraged, nor did he change his plans when the chairmen of other commercial airlines refused to participate. And on every single one of those flights—full flights—Mike Conway and all of his corporate officers flew along, one on every flight, and thanked the people for being there, for supporting the commercial aviation industry and the United States.
Contents
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
One
Nikki stood at the grave of her ex-husband and thought, This is the last way I expected to get custody.
Beside her was her fourteen-year-old daughter, April, quietly weeping. On Nikki’s other side, eleven-year-old Jared stared straight ahead, stoic. Nikki could sense her father, Buck, towering behind them. He would be scowling, she knew. Buck had hated Drake Cameron and probably considered his death just one more thing Drake had screwed up. Next to April stood Nikki’s mother, and Buck’s ex-wife, Opal, seriously soaking a hanky. Tucked into the crook of her arm was her fluffy white poodle, Precious, who was not. Opal had liked Drake very much; she probably thought marrying him had been one of the few things Nikki had done right. Opal was one to appreciate money and pedigree, both of which she believed Drake had.
Only forty-seven, Drake had appeared to be at the peak of health. Nikki couldn’t remember when he’d last had a head cold. Yet April had come home from school and found him facedown on the floor in his bathrobe, apparently dead since morning. The medical examiner’s preliminary finding was massive coronary.
About fifty mourners gathered at the cemetery in the quickly rising heat of a late May morning in Phoenix. Most were lawyers and secretaries from the firm that had employed Drake, a tax law specialist. The only one of them Nikki knew was his secretary, Mona, who had been with him for at least ten years, long before the divorce. Nikki had had to tangle with her every time she tried to make arrangements with Drake regarding the kids. A most unpleasant woman.
A couple of teachers from April’s school had also come, as well as Jared’s principal and one of the soccer coaches. A small knot of teenagers—April’s friends—stood slightly off to one side, trying not to get too close to the adults.
It was not a big crowd. Like Nikki, Drake was an only child. His parents were deceased, and his rigid, domineering nature meant he didn’t have a lot of friends. It was hard to cozy up to someone who insisted on control at any price. And then there was that business about grudges. Drake’s anger had great stamina; he could stay mad forever.
Somewhere in the gathering were Nikki’s two closest friends, Dixie McPherson and Carlisle Bartlett. Both were flight attendants at Aries Airlines, where Nikki was a pilot. They had worked together for the past ten years, starting when the company was still fairly new and small, and over the years there had been many times they’d have been lost without one another. Like now. Although Dixie and Carlisle were both involved in serious relationships, Nikki had been on her own since the divorce. Oddly, as she looked down at the black earth that would cover her dead ex-husband, an arm around each of her children, she felt less alone now.
The mourners filed past Nikki and the kids. “So sorry,” they murmured. “He’ll be missed.” Or, “Hang in there, kids. Try to remember the good times you had with your dad.” April excused herself and went to join her friends, who immediately embraced her. Jared’s friends were probably considered too young by their parents to attend.
Nikki shook hands and thanked each person, but Opal accepted condolences as though Drake were her son, inviting everyone back to Drake’s house for refreshments. Dixie and Carlisle waited till the last person had left, and April bid her friends goodbye and returned to Nikki’s side.
“How’re you holding up?” Dixie asked, while Carlisle simply filled his arms with April and Jared.
“She’s doing very well, aren’t you, Nicole?” Opal replied for her. Precious snarled.
“I’m doing okay. Are you coming over to the house?”
Before Dixie could answer, April pulled herself free of Carlisle’s arms and, tears in her voice, asked, “Do we have to just keep doing this? Over and over and over?”
Nikki couldn’t imagine her pain. The kids had had a hard time with their dad, but they had loved him. The hell of it was, she thought as she looked at Opal, you loved your parents even when you hated them. As for Jared, he just stared out at nothing, his detachment as troubling as April’s tears.
“Oh, April,” Opal said. “People are going to be there, sweet. It’s the proper thing to do. Say a few kind words about the departed…offer sympathy…And your friends will be there.”
“No, they won’t, Grandma. I told them not to come.”
“But we invited—”
“So? Do we have to?”
“It’s your house, April,” Nikki interjected. “I think Grandma’s just trying to do the right thing….”
“What a pain,” Jared muttered, giving the ground a kick.
“We don’t want to seem rude,” Opal said.
Buck grunted and turned away, heading for his car.
This whole reception thing her mother had planned was not for Opal, Nikki realized, and certainly not for herself. It was for April and Jared. And if they didn’t want to do this…
“Um, guys,” she said to Dixie and Carlisle, “can you take my mother to the house? We’re going to beg off. I’ll see you later.”
“Thatta girl,” Carlisle cheered.
“Nicole! You can’t do that!”
“Of course I can, Mother. We’ll be along later. Come on, kids. I have an idea.”
With an arm around each, she walked them right past the funeral parlor’s limo to her car.
Nikki had been born thirty-nine years before and named Nicole Evelyn Burgess. At that time, Buck Burgess was a twenty-seven-year-old aviator who worked a lot of part-time jobs. He dusted crops, flew cargo, gave lessons, took charters, sometimes buzzed the Grand Canyon. He also pumped gas, washed planes, swept out hangars, turned a wrench here and there—anything to be around the small municipal airport just outside Phoenix, Arizona. On the day of her birth he bought a twenty-year-old Stearman biplane and christened her the Jazzie One. It was the first plane Nikki learned to fly.
A few years later, rather than buying his wife jewelry or a larger house or new car, he bought into the fixed-base operation at the airport and became a partner. Still later, after Opal left him for a man without engine grease under his nails, Buck bought the rest of the operation. It then became Burgess Aviation and the place where Nikki grew up, because when Opal left Buck, she also left Nikki. “I’m not an idiot,” she had said. “I know Nikki will be happier with you.”
Although that was true, Nikki had been only nine at the time, and she felt as if her whole life had fallen apart. If not for the flying, she’d have been lost.
So that was where Nikki took her kids after the funeral—to Papa’s airport. Buck was already there and helped her unleash the Jazzie One from her anchors.
“Me first, Mom,” April said. “Please?”
Through the whole miserable ordeal of Drake’s death, this one thing lifted Nikki’s heart, that April would reach for the sky in an effort to come to terms with her grief. April was okay with flying and knew how. She could hardly escape it with her grandfather the owner of a large and successful fixed-base operation and her mother a Boeing 767 captain. But she didn’t love it the way Nikki did, or Buck and Jared, so her eagerness was all the more precious to Nikki.
She’d take the kids out for a few loops over the desert, a little wild-horse chasing up where it was cool blue and clean and quiet. In all the tough times of her life—whether she’d been stood up for the Homecoming dance or going through a divorce—nothing could breathe new life into Nikki like the sun and wind on her face and the music of the biplane wires as she soared through the sky.
The instant she had traded her dark blue funeral suit and pumps for the mechanic’s overalls and boots that she kept in a locker at the airport, Nikki had felt instantly more like herself. She’d found some sweats and tennis shoes in the same locker for April to use. Her daughter had sniffed them suspiciously and made a face, but she donned them quickly enough.
Nikki then fastened the leather flying helmet on April’s head, pulling back her daughter’s pretty blond hair to adjust the helmet over the earplugs attached to April’s portable CD player. God, but the girl was beautiful, all pale flawless skin, large, luminous blue eyes and thick dusty-black lashes that fell softly against her cheeks as she glanced down. She had inherited her father’s Nordic good looks and lean, sturdy body. Jared, freckled and already broad-shouldered, took after Nikki and Buck.
April climbed into the front of the Stearman, and Nikki into the back, while Buck stood ready on the tarmac with Jared. Nikki could have taken up the Bonanza or Cessna and had both kids in the air together, but flying outside with the wind on your face was so much more therapeutic.
She flipped a couple of switches, pulled the throttle back and yelled, “Contact!” Buck turned the prop, the plane sputtered, the engine caught, and they rumbled out to the runway. In just moments Nikki could feel that familiar lurch as the Jazzie One lifted off the ground and began to soar. Up. Up. Up.
How ironic, she thought. This was where she’d met Drake. She’d fallen in love with him in the Stearman, or at least thought she had. She’d worked at getting over him in the Stearman, and now she was burying his memory in the same plane, flying over the same old ground.
Fifteen years ago, Nikki was a petite and sexy twenty-four year old with boundless energy, working for her dad at Burgess Aviation. She was a graduate of Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University with a degree in aerospace engineering, sigma cum laude. Plus, she could fly the hell out of just about any plane she climbed into. And she was in love with Paul, whom she had dated for a couple of years and expected to marry. They were both pilots looking for work in commercial aviation.
Paul got hired by Delta, left Phoenix to fly out of Dallas, met a flashy young flight attendant and broke up with Nikki over the phone. And that was when her life began to fall apart for the second time.
Her heart empty and aching, she took notice of a good-looking young lawyer who had signed up for flying lessons at Burgess. Drake was thirty-two and almost unbearably handsome. Nikki used to watch him when he went out with his instructor, but she didn’t speak to him until the day she found him waiting for her, leaning against the hangar doors and looking devilishly sexy. “What would it cost me to have a ride in that thing?” he asked, pointing to the Stearman she’d just landed.
She shrugged. He looked like an even bigger risk than Paul, and she wasn’t about to take that kind of chance again. Casually, she answered, “A cup of coffee?”
He grinned at her. “Say when!”
There were warning bells going off all over the place, but Nikki didn’t pay much attention because after Paul, she wasn’t about to take any chances on a guy, even if she was miserably lonely. She just loved an excuse to fly. “How about right now?”
It happened without her realizing it. Disinterested and detached as she was, she must have appeared a real challenge, because Drake wooed her vigorously. He flattered, showered her with attention, brought her gifts and flowers. Slowly she began to forget that Paul had ripped her heart out and handed it to her. With every ride she gave him in the biplane, she let go a little more and thought, what the hell? You only live once. The first time he kissed her, she felt hot and wild, and when he touched her breast she nearly died. In less than six months, she was pregnant and had married him. Not some of her best planning.
Drake never did get the knack of flying and gave up the notion in no time. It didn’t take long before Nikki realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. He was impossible to please. He needled her about everything from her feeble housekeeping skills to her figure, which he found lacking, and he was furious at her refusal to take the name Cameron. But she was Nikki Burgess and planned to always be Nikki Burgess.
Had it not been for her father, things might have been worse. Buck, sweet old thing that he was, could look very threatening. In size alone he was intimidating. And he had not liked Drake from the first. Had Drake dared to so much as lay a hand on Nikki or the kids, Buck might have killed him.
She should have run for her life the moment she heard scorn in Drake’s voice…but she was so stubborn. Plus, there was April. And as every abused and unhappy wife knew, once you stayed past the time you should’ve gone, you ended up staying far too long.
“Get out and don’t look back,” Buck kept saying.
“I’m sure you’re being far too particular,” said Opal. “After all, he makes a nice living.”
It took her eleven years of unhappiness to leave him and she had no idea how high a price she’d have to pay.
Determined not to go quietly, Drake fought her every step of the way, right down to custody. Ultimately the issue came down to work. Nikki’s job as a pilot for Aries Airlines took her out of town for three to four days a week; Drake’s hours were nine to five, more or less, no nights away from the kids. It was very easy for his lawyer to convince a judge that Drake should have custodial guardianship and Nikki unlimited visitation. That meant she could spend as much time with the kids as she could manage to negotiate with Drake, which she quickly learned would be very challenging. And she paid child support.
She had moved in with Buck to save money. For four years she had done everything possible to be involved with the kids’ education and activities, though Drake put tremendous energy into screwing up their plans. Being divorced from him was nearly as emotionally draining as being married to him.
Nikki had only vague memories of that twenty-four-year-old hotshot, sexy pilot she’d once been—one hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, cheeks aglow and eyes sparkling with excitement and hope. She used to like what she saw in the mirror, but now she found that the woman staring back was plain of looks, her reddish brown hair dull, her figure shot and her eyes tired. She wondered if she would ever feel good about herself again. And as for having a loving relationship with a man who adored her…
Nikki pulled back on the stick, causing the biplane to soar upward, invert and execute a big loop. She might feel ordinary on the ground, but up here she was a goddess. Drake had done everything to make her feel dumpy and unattractive, but up here she felt sleek and quick and sexy. They had stopped having sex a long time before she left him; he said she just didn’t do anything for him. But up here she was fast and hot and wild…
Thirty minutes or so later, Nikki landed the Stearman and taxied over to where Buck and Jared stood waiting. As April threw a leg over the side of the plane, she pulled off her leather helmet and shook out her hair. Nikki could see the dried streaks of tears on her chapped cheeks. April leaned toward her mom. “He wasn’t real warm and fuzzy, but he wasn’t a bad guy,” she said. “Daddy worked really hard, sometimes all through the night. He meant well, you know. He just had his…you know…issues.”
The kids had loved their father, even though they had struggled with his sometimes arbitrary discipline and negative nature. And he had loved them. She was going to have to remind herself of that, make an effort not to malign the poor, dead, selfish bastard. “I know, honey,” she said. “I know.”
Fifteen crappy years of Drake, and because he’d given her two of the most awesome gifts a woman could ever want…April and Jared…she didn’t dare indulge in regret.
Buck watched as his daughter took the Stearman up again, this time with Jared aboard. He couldn’t shake the sensation that he had failed her, although he also couldn’t imagine what he’d have done differently. He couldn’t make Opal stay with them, couldn’t change what had happened with Paul, couldn’t keep Nikki from marrying Drake.
But she shouldn’t have grown up at an airport with a bunch of guys who could teach her how to change points and plugs but didn’t have a clue when it came to fixing her hair or putting on lipstick. So what if she could fly like a bird—she should have had someone other than a crusty old father to be her soft place to fall when she was weary.
Maybe if he hadn’t raised her to fly she wouldn’t have to struggle so much—a female pilot working and living in a world that still belonged to men. And wasn’t that really why Drake had been such a dick? Because he’d envied Nikki’s skill and intelligence and capability? Buck had always thought as much.
Her life had been too hard. But then, Nikki never did take the easy way.
Lucille Paxton approached him from behind, gazing up at the sky. She owned the café that was attached to the fixed-base hangar offices. In her sixties like Buck, Lucille had often been the stand-in mother and grandmother around Burgess Aviation. Heavy, gray-haired and rosy cheeked, she wore jeans and a T-shirt with an American flag on it and Support Our Troops printed underneath. “I fixed April up with a soda.”
Trotting along behind her was Pistol, Buck’s latest mutt. He was an odd-looking creature with the head of a Labrador, long curly ears like a cocker spaniel or poodle, the short legs of a dachshund, and the genitalia of a small buffalo. But by far his most endearing quality was that he adored Jared and despised Precious.
Buck squatted to pat the Labra-doodle-cocka-dachsie while watching the sky.
When Nikki came around and lined up to land, Lucille said, “She’s due a break.”
“Damn straight,” Buck replied.
There were only two cars at Drake’s house when Nikki, Buck and the kids returned—the housekeeper’s old Camry and Dixie’s Acura. Nikki breathed a huge sigh of relief. The open house was over and she didn’t have to face anyone from Drake’s firm. The mere thought of never having to deal with his secretary, Mona, again almost filled her with glee.
She found her friends in the living room, seated on the sofa, grim-faced. Dixie tilted her head toward the dining room and Nikki looked for the source of the problem. Ah, yes. Her mother. Who else? Opal sat in a straight-backed dining room chair, her expression dour, her poodle curled up on her lap. “Well, finally,” she said by way of greeting. Precious stirred at her words.
The kids headed straight for the kitchen. Nikki dropped her leather shoulder bag on a living room chair and draped her funeral clothes over it. She hadn’t bothered to change out of the greasy mechanic’s jumpsuit and boots. “Sorry, Mother, but the kids just weren’t up to any more. They’d had it.”
Buck and Pistol sauntered in. Precious wriggled upright, and with his back legs on Opal’s lap and front legs on the chair arm, snarled meaningfully. Pistol trotted toward him and snarled back, message received.
“You could have at least attempted to get here in time to say hello to a few of Drake’s mourners,” she scolded.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Mother, he was my ex. If it weren’t for the kids, I wouldn’t even be here.”
But Opal wasn’t listening. She was transfixed by the ensemble Nikki wore, complete with unlaced steel-toed boots. “Good Lord, Nicole, what is that you have on? Merciful heavens.” She stood slowly from her chair, holding Precious and clucking in disgust. “I believe I’ll just go lie down. My head pounds.”
Opal toddled down the hall with her poodle, past the master bedroom to the guest room. She went in and closed the door. Nikki, who had watched her departure, turned a stunned expression back to her friends.
“That’s where I’ve been sleeping,” she said. “I just couldn’t make myself use Drake’s room.”
“I believe your mother knows that,” Carlisle said. “She mentioned something about it being…what was it? Disheveled.”
“Well, Christ.”
“Cheer up. Maybe she’ll tidy up while she’s in there.”
“I guess I probably owe you two for sticking it out with her all afternoon,” Nikki said.
“Sometimes your friendship comes at a mighty fine price,” Dixie drawled. “But Opal wasn’t near as bad as that secretary of Drake’s. Mona? She was all pissed that you and the kids weren’t here.” Dixie shook her head. “She’s one black-hearted bitch.” For Dixie to give a review that bleak was saying something. This sweet Texas beauty queen’s greatest failing was not seeing the worst in people soon enough. Mostly men.
“A very unpleasant woman,” Carlisle agreed, shaking his head. He stood up and stretched. “She completely ruined a perfectly nice funeral.”
Buck’s shoulders shook. He draped an arm around Carlisle. “Come on, cupcake. Let’s see if old Drake left any decent whiskey in the liquor cabinet.”
While the men went to the wet bar in the family room, Dixie followed Nikki to the kitchen to find the kids and Drake’s housekeeper, Lydia. April and Jared sat at the kitchen table while Lydia fluttered around them, serving them sandwiches, drinks of soda, chips and cookies, all the while patting their heads affectionately and cooing to them in Spanish.
“Have you figured out what I owe you, Lydia?” Nikki asked.
Immediately a troubled expression clouded the woman’s tanned and crinkled face, and she seemed to be wringing her hands on the dish towel she held. “Miss Nikki, Mr. Drake got a little behind for me.”
“That’s okay, Lydia. Just tell me how much.”
The housekeeper moved closer to Nikki but didn’t make eye contact. She simply gazed down at the floor and whispered, “Twenty-five hundred.”
“Twenty-five hundred?” Nikki replied in a near shout. Hoping it was pesos, she asked, “Dollars?”
The kids looked up from their food. Dixie clapped a hand over her heart. Buck and Carlisle entered the kitchen with a bottle of Scotch just in time to hear. Lydia actually flushed in embarrassment and began to fan her face.
“Sí. It was in dollars.”
“How long has he been behind?”
“He say when the tax return come, but then—” That was all she could seem to get out.
“Oh, brother. I’m surprised you kept coming back.”
“Sometimes he pay me,” she said. She went to the laundry room on the other side of the kitchen where her purse and sweater hung on a hook. She got them both, then took a notebook from her purse and passed it to Nikki. “I keep track,” she said.
Nikki ruffled the pages briefly. It was clear the woman had documented her earnings carefully. She was telling the truth. It looked as though Lydia worked for several families, and if she hadn’t, she might have starved to death. Nikki handed back the small spiral notebook. “I’ll get my checkbook,” she said with resignation.
A little while later, Lydia left with her check and a promise from Nikki that she would be called to help with cleaning again once they got their bearings.
Drake had let himself get twenty-five hundred dollars behind in paying a Mexican woman of simple means whose entire family struggled to get by? What was he thinking? Did he have no consideration?
“You can repay yourself when the will is settled,” Dixie suggested.
But something in the pit of Nikki’s stomach tensed. Could there be a reason other than greed that Drake had not paid her? Could he have had, as April would say, financial issues? But why borrow trouble? She was seeing the lawyer the next day.
“Ice,” she said, indicating the bottle Buck held. “We need some glasses and some ice. Right away.”
The lawyer who handled Drake’s will had also handled his divorce, and Nikki found it hard to be in the same room with him.
“You’re not technically family,” Richard Studbeck said in lieu of hello.
What a cold bastard. “I’m technically the parent of the minor children who will be represented in the will. Besides an estranged sister, they’re his only family, as far as I know.”
“Have a seat.” He indicated the chair that faced his desk.
“Thanks…Dick.”
He froze. “I prefer Richard.”
“Of course. Now I remember.” She smiled as prettily as she could. He was not fooled.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much good news,” he began.
She felt that tension in her stomach again and held her breath.
“Your ex-husband left only his personal effects. Clothing, furniture, linens, pots and pans, et cetera.”
Nikki stared into his unblinking gray eyes, vaguely aware that her mouth hung open as she tried to understand. “Only?” she finally said.
“Unfortunately.” He folded his hands primly. His deadpan expression did not convey any sympathy.
“But…The house, the car, the insurance…?”
“The house, of which you are co-owner, was mortgaged to more than one hundred percent of its value, the car is leased, the insurance canceled.”
“That’s impossible,” she said, a little laugh escaping her as though this were all just a big, nasty joke.
“I wish it were, Nicole.”
“When the house is sold, he owes me half the equity—it’s part of our divorce agreement! And the firm he worked for required the insurance policy!”
“The firm is the beneficiary of one policy, for which it paid the premium. Drake let his personal policy lapse. And papers on file indicate you signed refinancing agreements.”
“Not for more than one hundred per cent of the value of—” When she realized she was coming out of her chair, she slowly lowered herself again. Yes, she had signed refinancing papers, and there was something about an equity line of credit while the interest rates were so low and the stock market down. But the refinancing was only for the balance of the mortgage. Had he…? Of course, you dolt! Drake had either altered the amount on the papers or forged her signature. “He must have changed the numbers…or forged my signature.”
