Shelby
“We still have each other,” Madelyn whispers, squeezing my hand tightly within her grasp.
I can’t respond. It’s impossibly given how my heart is wedged inside my throat. I return her squeeze and together we watch Mama’s coffin being lowered into the red-clay earth.
I’m powerless. An insignificant ball of nothingness bouncing about on a playground of ache, growing larger by the second and preparing to burst into a dismal display of tears. Grief overwhelms me. Let go, my mind prompts. Let go. But the tears just won’t come.
The money, the doctors, the experimental treatments, my absence from Mama’s life when every waking hour I should have been by her side.
I can’t break apart.
There’s Madelyn to worry about.
Franco.
And last but not least, Hayden.
I been so busy arranging my mother’s funeral, meeting with her lawyer, fighting through the anguish that I didn’t call in. Even a bastard like Hayden can’t expect someone beaten down and overwhelmed by grief to adhere to a business agreement. He can’t be that apathetic, that much of a bastard. Whether he likes it or not, an agreement is an agreement, and my modified contract—which he signed—holds true. My priority is my family. Period.
Still, I moved the funeral from Shelby to Dayton anyway. Not wanting to draw my employer or anyone else’s attention on my personal business. I worry Hayden knows about Madelyn—there’s not much that man misses. And Shelby’s far too small a town to keep secrets for long. But I can’t dwell on it. It’s bad enough Franco’s aware of my sister.
She’s all I have left. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep her out of my shenanigans. Always have, always will.
The sooner she transfers colleges, the better.
The priest nods and my sister and I move forward. I release her hand before crouching and scooping up a handful of earth. I patiently wait for Madelyn to sprinkle dirt over Mama’s casket before doing the same.
While the priest finishes the eulogy, I study my palm. How the earthen clay’s tinted my palm a light reddish color, leaving deeper lines in the grooves of my hand. Accentuating my life line—a long one, or so the palm reader at the Shelby Fair had told me years ago. The only line that rivals it is my love line, which starts at my pointer finger, extends diagonally across my palm, and ends at the heel of my hand. When I’d asked, she’d said it represented romantic love. I’d laughed. Not understanding that romantic love exists.
I miss you, Jaxson. Need you. Love you. Yet I haven’t seen or spoken to him in six weeks.
I feel Madelyn weave her fingers back through mine and I wonder if the psychic had gotten it wrong. If romantic love is romantic because it’s fleeting.
“Ouch,” she admonishes as I squeeze her fingers a bit too hard. Yeah, I’ll take comfort in sisterly love.
“We still have each other,” I repeat her words. “Even if you relocate to San Diego earlier than planned.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not in the program yet. No sense in moving until I’m sure.”
“You will be, mark my words.”
“Yes, oh-sage-sister-who-can-predict-the-future,” she responds, then grows somber.
A future. Without Mama.
No words needed. Neither of us imagined the unthinkable would happen. Guess that’s what hope does . . . clouds the inevitable and forces you to believe otherwise.
But Mama knew. A matter of fact, she’d been preparing for it. I never anticipated the bombshell she left behind. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. I was speechless when Mr. Johnson went over Mama’s will and the assets she’d been building for years in our names. Money we could have cashed in for her cancer treatments—which is exactly why she kept quiet about it.
When Mama mentioned having business sense, I figured she tucked away a few government bonds, not to be cashed out until retirement.
Not an inheritance that’d allow Madelyn and I to live comfortably for several years. Such a selfless act. She set us up for a brighter future instead of spending the small fortune on medical bills. Though truth be told, I’d pass on the money any day if we could have her back.
Now she’ll never discover what I’ve been up to and the measures I’ve taken to pay for a cure. At least I can rest easy knowing that we tried.
I’ve done what I can in a short period of time. Funeral arrangements, money arrangements, and relocating my sister and me to a quick, temporary residence, a trailer on the other side of town. It’s not the Ritz. Or a Motel 6. But it’s clean, affordable, and I can lease it on a month-to-month basis until Madelyn moves to California. Getting a hands-on experience as a marine biologist living in landlocked Oklahoma is just about as challenging as ridding Shelby of all its vermin.
California, here she comes. I’m counting on it.
Then I can figure out my own career plans. As if I have a choice—I signed a damn contract. Made a deal with Hayden. No backing out now while I have an assignment to complete. Actions have freaking consequences, right?
Two weeks after the party and Franco continues to confide in me. He’s mentioned Geneva and Paris several more times—mostly because of Veronica’s prompting. Yet the telltale signs are there; she’s getting bored. And it’s becoming increasingly hard to nudge her toward making Franco happy. Lord knows I don’t want to take on that role myself.
“Can’t get a willy,” Veronica complained the last time I spoke with her.
“Yet he pays you silly,” I replied, jokingly.
Good thing our boss brought Psycho in to train me in dealing with problems such as this. Yeah, right.
“Do you know that man?” Madelyn nudges me and points to a tall, thin figure standing over in the shadows of the lone cemetery oak tree.
Francis.
Shit. He’s tracked me here?
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Cautiously, I look around, fully expecting to see Hayden standing nearby, wagging a threatening finger at me and reminding me what happens when you disobey his orders. No mercy. Not even if my life’s turned from bullshit to holy freakin’ crapola.
“It was awful nice of you to come,” I say loudly, then grab Madelyn’s hand and shake it. She looks stunned, like an alien’s shaking her hand. I raise my eyebrows, pleading that she play along.
She rolls her eyes, pulls me in close, kisses me on the cheek, then walks over to the priest and leads him away. Her actions rip me apart. Don’t go. Don’t you leave too. I fight my panic, and, plastering a furious look on my face, stalk across the field toward Francis. “What the fuck? Are you following me?”
He’s swaying back and forth on his feet. Jumpy. On edge. “Up close, you can see the differences.”
I don’t reply. Don’t need to. My sister is almost the younger version of me. Except sweeter. Gentler. More forgiving in nature. Instead I change the topic. “What is new at the DiCapitano mansion? Did you learn anything interesting?” I’m curious if Francis knows about those trips. Or if he is aware that Hayden’s main target is arriving in town this week, the beginning of the month, right? Yeah, I’ve been keeping secrets. Hard to trust him after our rather intense exchange that night at Franco’s.
He shakes his head and I breathe a mental sigh of relief.
“Two days. That’s all I need. For you to cover in my absence. For you to be the eyes and ears of this assignment. You think you can handle that?”
“Okay, so I screwed up that day with the coke. Shoot me. This isn’t just your assignment, Kylie. Why don’t you believe me when I tell you we’re partners?” He stops and gives me such a hurt look that I almost feel bad about what happened between us.
“Here, I’ll prove it to you.” He pulls out his cell phone and presses a button. After a brief pause, he says, “She’s here with me.”
Holy shit. He’s called Hayden.
“We’re reporting in together.” My eyebrows raise as I catch him wincing. “No. Nothing yet.” Another pause. “Understood. I’ll tell her once she is done in the bathroom.” He disconnects and returns his phone to his pocket.
“There. Happy, partner?”
“What did he say?”
“Next time you don’t call in on time, you’ll end up like them.” He gestures to the graves, and I suck in a breath.
“Who died?”
No one, I want to reply. But can’t bring the words to my lips. Hell, Hayden is already privy to Mama’s condition . . . and he can’t hurt her or use her against me. Tears threaten to spill. I’m careful to blink them away before I look back up at him. “My mother.”
“That sucks. Did your sister live with you too?”
Damn him and his curiosity. “Why are you here?”
“Franco is talking about hosting another party.”
“Terrific. I’ll be there. The sooner we’re done with the scumbag, the better.”
“He’s not that bad.”
Jesus. I should have predicted this would happen. Francis, with his insecurities, his sneaky ways, his desire to fit in.
“If you’re idealizing Franco as your daddy figure, think again. He’s a criminal, for Christ’s sake. Bed buddies with a murderer who is sending money abroad. Wake up, Francis. The reasons can’t be good, not if TORC is after them. And that mobster is partially responsible for ruining Shelby. He’s not some friendly godfather figure. Don’t lose sight of our assignment. He’s our only connection to the real mark.”
“Calm down.”
“I’ll calm down once you wake up. That man will slit your throat quicker than you can snort a line.”
His eyes narrow and for a second, I’m stunned by the rage within them. Jesus, is this how mothers across the globe feel when reprimanding their kid?
I touch his arm. “Please be careful.”
“I can say the same about you.”
“News flash. I’ve never touched the stuff.”
“No. I mean about being careful.”
I stare at him. What is he saying? But I catch the priest’s nod, and immediately, my focus shifts back to more important matters.
“I have to go. Call me with the date of Franco’s party. I’ll be there.”
“Okay, Kylie.”
“My eyes and ears. Just for two days. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, then walk away from him and toward Mama’s grave.
Halfway there, I stop to pick a few wild dandelions from a patch of grass. Looking between my legs to track Francis as he heads toward a waiting limo and climbs into the driver’s seat. Nothing unusual with that. But it’s the movement behind the window in the backseat that has me straightening and turning for a better look.
Too late. The car pulls out and whoever is in the back has moved away from the window.
Damn him. But there’s a time and place for everything. And this assignment has kept me away from what’s important. I’ll deal with Francis another time.
I walk over and stand alone by Mama’s grave.
Slowly, I pluck the petals and watch them fall onto her casket. One by one until none remain and all that’s left is the red-tainted palm of my hand.
I bow my head, then recite my own private eulogy. My oath to her, a promise I should have confided in her. Similar to the one I’d whispered to my pop.
I will take care of Madelyn.
I will live a long life.
I will love deeply.
Come rain or shine. Life over death, or visa versa.
I’m going to finish what’s been started.