THE MISSING WINE VESSEL STAYED a hot topic on the news for a few more weeks, but eventually, the excitement died down when all the tips, speculation, and rumors couldn’t turn up the missing item. It wasn’t long before the latest political scandal rocked the nation and became the top story everyone discussed online or gossiped about over coffee. I thought it was too bad because the longer the wine vessel went without being found, the unlikelier it became the museum would recover it. The person with the skill to bypass complex security systems and jumble the video feed surely had the resources to get the item to its destination which I figured was a private collector with too much money and too little morals.
The day before Thanksgiving, I stopped by Claire’s to pick up my usual order on my way to Ryan’s Place. Esther had plans to teach me the proper way to make yeast rolls for our big dinner, and I was going to teach her the secrets to the best pumpkin pie they’d ever eat. I checked my phone while I waited for Claire to fill my order then looked over to the corner of the room when I felt someone watching me. I hardly recognized Ryder Jameson as the same man I met months before. He looked gaunt, exhausted, and barely hanging on.
I walked to his table, unable to resist the sadness I saw in his blue eyes. “Ryder, are you okay? You look…” I let my voice trail off while I searched for the right thing to say.
“Like hell?” he suggested, his mouth tipping up at the corner. “It’s because I feel like hell. I’ve felt this way ever since the night of the gala.” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes all over the place. I noticed he was dressed too casually to have come from work.
I pulled out a chair and sat down without waiting to be invited. “Did they fire you?” I asked hesitantly.
“Put on paid leave until they can be sure I wasn’t the one who helped Lucien Clarke steal the wine vessel.” He looked at me with earnest, pleading eyes. “It wasn’t me, Ollie. I don’t know why I care what you think, but I’m telling the truth.”
“I believe you, Ryder.” And I did, even though I didn’t have a reason to believe him. “Do you have a past with Lucien?”
“You could say that again,” he sneered. “Of course, I never knew him as Lucien Clarke back then. He was Sebastian Deveraux. We met at a bar in Paris and had a torrid affair for weeks. He was so urbane, worldly, and sexy. He was so knowledgeable about art, and we spent many nights sharing wine and discussing my favorite subject. I didn’t realize he was using me until a valuable piece of art was stolen from the museum at the same time the man I’d started to fall in love with disappeared. It was a gala similar to the one here, and he’d told me he wouldn’t be able to make it because he had to travel for work. I was crushed when I saw footage of him at the event. He was careful to stay where I couldn’t see him while keeping me in his sight. God, I was such a fool, Ollie. I went to the museum director with my tail between my legs and told him about the man who introduced himself to me as a British businessman working in Paris who loved art, opera, and wine.”
“I’m really sorry, Ryder. Did you get in trouble at work?”
“They were extremely suspicious but couldn’t prove I’d given Lucien information to help him. He hadn’t used my employee ID to access any of our databases or mess with security alarms and cameras. They determined I was a stupid sap he used to get information. I barely held onto my job.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Art is my life. What will I do if I lose my job?”
“Fight for your job, Ryder. Don’t roll over and play dead.” I recalled the black, luxury sedan with the tinted windows. “Was he the one you got into the car with after you left the police station?”
Ryder’s eyes widened in alarm, and he looked like he was going to deny it, but instead, he said, “It was him.”
“What did he want?”
“To convince me he was innocent,” Ryder said, sounding conflicted. Surely he didn’t believe him.
“Which time?” I asked. “Priceless artifacts were stolen both times he appeared in your life.” Ryder groaned. “Wait. Did this happen more than twice?”
He nodded. “Lucien showed up one day at the museum I was working at in Egypt. He was so convincing, and I was so….”
“Horny?” Many a man suffered after listening to his dick.
“Lonely, Ollie. I was so damn lonely. I was desperate to believe him because I wanted to, and it backfired. The second time around, I kept my mouth shut about recognizing him when photos were presented to us. They had no idea we’d been fucking for weeks, and I wasn’t about to tell them. Lucien and I hadn’t discussed a single thing about the museum in Cairo, so there had to be someone else giving him information. Same as Paris and Cincinnati.”
“I assume you came clean to everyone about the theft in Cairo too?” I asked.
“It didn’t take them long to find the connection. My time working for the museums was in my bio, and directors tend to remember the dates when priceless items turn up missing.”
“I don’t mean to sound cruel, but if the museum knew you were working at both the museums at the time these items were stolen, why did they risk hiring you? Wouldn’t you be too big of a risk? I’m sure a paintings conservator is an important job, but aren’t there ones with less…baggage?”
Ryder sat up straighter and looked at me with bright, alert eyes when moments before they were dull and sad. “Ollie! I think you’re onto something. Why the hell would they hire me? Two thefts from the museums I worked at and neither of the items were recovered. Unless…”
“They wanted a scapegoat.”
Ryder shook his head in disgust. “There’s no other explanation. Regardless of what Lucien says, he must be involved with someone on the museum board. How else could he have gained access to the event?”
“You need to talk to Agents Kiphart and Marshall.”
“I already have,” Ryder said patiently. “I’m not convinced they care.”
“They care about the truth, Ryder. You just have to make them see you’re not guilty. Offer to take a polygraph. Wait,” I said, thinking back to the movie I watched over the summer. “Surely, there’s an insurance adjuster assigned to investigate the theft.” Ryder nodded to confirm my thought. “There’s the person you need to get on your side and make them hear you.”
Ryder got to his feet so fast he nearly knocked the chair over. “Thanks, Ollie. You’ve helped me sort things in my brain and stop moping. Congratulations, by the way.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I heard your Roebling Bridge painting sold for five thousand dollars. It’s the largest amount any piece of art has sold for since the museum started the event. It really is a stunning piece.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you donate the money to Ryan’s Place?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Of course, you did.”
“Of course, I did.”
“See you around, Ollie.”
When I repeated the conversation to Archie after hanging with Esther in the kitchen, he wasn’t too impressed with Ryder’s excuses or the idea he was being used as a scapegoat. It wasn’t that he believed Ryder or didn’t believe Ryder, he just didn’t care. “Not our business, Golden Boy.” It was the last time we discussed Ryder and his capers—intentional or otherwise.
One of the coolest things about building a life with someone was combining individual traditions and creating new ones as a couple. Millie and I had a tradition of serving Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless, where Archie, Maria, and Esther shared a big dinner with the residents of Ryan’s Place. Our new tradition was volunteering to serve food early in the day followed by a family feast in the evening. I didn’t expect all the guys from Ryan’s Place to go with us too, but they piled into vehicles, and we headed over.
A few of the guys served drinks, a few others handed out the mittens and hats donated to the shelter, and the rest of us served food. I remember being on their side of the table, grateful for the food, warmth, and drink. Some would say their pride would prevent them from taking a handout, but they’d never been homeless. They’d never sold pieces of their soul one drink or hit at a time. They’d never lived beneath a bridge or sat outside a stadium with a sign asking for change only to get hit, kicked, or spit on. It’s so easy for people to say what they will or won’t do until they were actually faced with the challenge they claim to know so well.
Serving the Thanksgiving meal was bittersweet. I was happy I overcame the odds thanks to Randall’s fortitude while I was in jail, and his and Millie’s unconditional love when I was released. A person had to be numb not to feel the sadness for the souls overlooked and forgotten. Every day, I tried to show my gratitude by paying it forward.
I heard the sound of a pending scuffle, so Archie and I hurried down the line to break it up. “Come on, guys,” I said firmly, gripping each of them by the bicep. “This is Thanksgiving. Can we please put aside our differences and break bread together?”
The man on my left jerked his head in my direction, and I looked into the startled eyes of Kaleb Jacoby. He was covered in dirt and grime with matted hair and a scruffy beard. The clothes he wore were two sizes too big and just hung on his frame. “Ollie?”
“Kaleb, what are you doing here? I thought you’d moved into the boarding house Archie told you about.”
“What happened, Kaleb?” Archie asked firmly. “Did she turn you away?”
Kaleb shook his head. “I moved in for a few days, but I couldn’t stay there. A few of the other boarders made me uncomfortable.”
“You’ve lived on the street since then?”
“Why do you sound horrified, Ollie? You did it, and you were only a kid.”
“Kaleb, are you taking your meds? Do you even have access to them?” Archie asked. Kaleb shook his head. “We have to fix this right away.” Archie and I looked at one another and silently agreed about what needed to be done.
“You’re coming home with us, Kaleb,” I told him. “Archie still has an available room.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t. Not after hearing what happened to you.”
“Kaleb, I forgive you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t forgive myself, Ollie.”
“Kaleb, if you ever really cared about me, then you’ll come home with us. I cannot and will not live with your death on my conscience, especially if I could prevent it. Right now, we need to get you off the street, and we can sort everything else out later.”
“Ollie—”
“Listen here,” Millie said, muscling in. “He’s not taking no for an answer, so you might as well give up. We have hundreds of people who need to be fed and no time to be arguing over something when the answer is so obvious. Now, are you going to hang around and come home with us, or are you going to make an old woman walk the streets at night hollering your name until she finds you?” God, how I loved my mother.
“I’ll come peacefully,” Kaleb said, fighting off a smile.
“Smart boy. Get back to work, fellas.”
“Yes, ma’am,” we both said.
I looked over my shoulder on the way back to our stations and saw Millie had switched from her tough love to a tender talk. I knew the expression and body language better than I knew my own. She was laying down the groundwork for Kaleb to find a better life, just as she had for me.
“Mama’s found a new lamb,” I said.
“I’m totally singing that in my head to the tune of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’” Archie said.
When we got back to Ryan’s Place, the first thing Kaleb wanted was a shower. Henry let him borrow some of his clothes since they were about the same size, and the rest of the guys worked hard to make him feel comfortable. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Esther and Maria while the guys and Mama watched football.
“I’m proud of you, Ollie,” Maria whispered, pulling me into a hug. “My son is so lucky to have you in his life.”
“I’m lucky to have him too.” He was my greatest gift, and I loved him with everything I had.
“Before we can eat,” Maria said once we were seated around the tables in the dining room, “we’re each going to say something we’re thankful for.”
A few of the guys groaned but were silenced when Esther raised a brow. Most of the sentiments were heartfelt, and we expressed gratitude for having each other in our lives, and some were humorous and silly to lighten the mood. Henry nearly brought me to tears when he said he was thankful for his chosen family, and Kaleb, who’d only lived there a few hours, expressed his gratitude for second chances. Archie and I kept our declarations PG, but we both sappily included one another in the list of things we were most grateful for.
Once we were alone, things were different. I straddled Archie’s lap so I could stare into his eyes and whisper how much he meant to me against his lips and tell him how excited I was to celebrate the Christmas holidays and ring in the new year together. “It’s going to be the best year of our lives,” I told him.
“It’ll be pretty hard to top this year,” Archie challenged. “I can’t imagine our lives being any more perfect than they are now.”
I could, and I knew just how to make it happen.