by Gun Brooke
“God. Has she finally lost it?” I shouldn’t have been shocked, but part of me still was.
“I know it sounds insane—and in a way, that’s what it is. It’s been escalating these last years, ever since Hayden moved out when she was fourteen.”
“And now, what’s her agenda now?” I hurried to my car. “And where do I need to go? Is Hayden still with Isabella?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’ve tried calling, but her cell phone goes directly to voice mail.”
“I’m on my way there.”
“Me too,” Oliver said somberly. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
So did I.
Chapter Twenty-two
India. With me.” I waved at her.
She’d probably heard some of the conversation because she brought her tablet and was ready to go.
“See you at the clinic,” I said to Oliver. “And drive safely.” I hung up and unlocked my SUV. Entering the car, I gripped the wheel hard, my anger crashing inside me like waves against tall cliffs.
“Yes, drive safely,” India said softly. “Take a few deep breaths and don’t get us killed in traffic. Then you can fill me in so I can help.”
As we hurried to the clinic, I gave India enough information for her to be up to speed. My heart thundered as I imagined Leyla tearing into Hayden, and perhaps even Isabella. Hayden would be a hundred times as upset about the latter, and I swore I’d persuade them both to take out a restraining order.
“I double-checked that the storage-facility contracts are all in Hayden’s name, so she can’t challenge that. I have a feeling she’d try to get her hands on Hayden’s paintings if she could.”
We got stuck in lunch-hour traffic, but I consoled myself that it was bound to affect Leyla too. And it gave me time to pull one extra rabbit out of the hat. I was very grateful to have a suspicious mind and a virtual private detective for an assistant.
When we reached the clinic I spotted Oliver’s car parked close to the entrance. I lucked out and found a spot right next to him. We hurried inside. My stomach was in knots no matter how I tried to follow India’s advice about deep breaths.
When we entered the corridor leading to Isabella’s suite, I heard the sound of raised voices.
“Fuck,” I muttered and ran the last of the way. Entering Isabella’s living room, I stopped so fast, I almost fell over the fold I created in the Persian rug.
The tableau before me was like something from a Greek drama. To the right stood Leyla, dressed in lilac shoes, skirt suit, and purse. Next to her a tall, skinny man in his late sixties stood holding a set of legal papers.
To the left, Isabella sat, straighter than I’d seen her sit so far, in her leather armchair, flanked by Hayden and Oliver. Behind me a new set of footsteps announced the presence of yet another person, a handsome middle-aged man who seemed to belong to the left.
“Greer!” Hayden held out her hand. I circled Isabella’s chair and pressed a quick kiss to the old woman’s cheek before I took my place by Hayden’s side. India seemed to find a kindred spirit in the handsome man and stood next to him, murmuring something in his ear. He smiled and nodded, only to redirect his laser-like blue eyes on Leyla’s representative.
“So, the leeches have gathered around my daughter,” Leyla said. “Greer, how you disappoint me. I didn’t think you’d show your colors this fast. My daughter, despite her problems, is an heiress, and from a lack of insight into her state of mind, my frail mother-in-law has seen fit to allow her to access her trust fund. Isn’t it interesting that you would show such interest in her ‘art’ just as she gained access to all that money?”
“You’re misinformed, Mother.” Hayden spoke coldly. “I gained access to my trust fund when I was twenty-one. Five years ago. If Greer wanted to have access to the money, she wasted five years.”
Leyla shook her head, managing a pitying glance at her daughter. “You’re too blissfully ignorant of how devious people can be, sweetheart.”
“No. You’ve taught me very well, Mother.” Hayden placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “You haven’t been to see Nana in months, yet you still barge in here, ruining our time together when I was telling her about Chicago—”
“Chicago! There’s another example of Greer Landon’s method of intimidating and tormenting my child.” Leyla now turned to the man next to her. “Make a note of the fact that my daughter is deathly frightened of crowds and unfamiliar people. Still, she’s putty in this woman’s hands, and Greer Landon drags her halfway across the U.S., traumatizing her for her own gain. Futile gain, at that.”
I was standing close to Hayden, my hand at the small of her back. I hadn’t planned to speak for her, but since this damn woman was attacking me personally, I couldn’t be quiet. “Traumatizing her? Now, let me see, like you did when you locked her up in the gym hall of your school? If you ever found it curious how that key just seemed to disappear, I can tell you I suggested Hayden keep it so you couldn’t do it again.”
“What? I never—”
“On more than one occasion, Mother. Many times when I was a little girl.”
“Don’t bring your childhood up,” Leyla said. “You were too young to understand.”
“I disagree,” Isabella said, her voice unsteady but completely audible. “You mistreated this child from the beginning. At first, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, since having a child with special needs, who’s a bit different, can be daunting for any parent. But as you and my son didn’t grow and learn, and he danced to your tune at every turn, I had to step in.”
“You horrible old…bat!” Leyla curled her hands into fists. “The matter at hand today is the petition I intend to file to have Hayden declared incompetent. I should’ve done it long ago, to save her from people like Greer Landon.”
“The same Greer Landon you went out of your way to invite to your school?” the man next to Isabella said, reading from India’s tablet. “Oh, my apologies, Ms. Rowe. You may remember me from the custody hearings when Hayden was fourteen? I’m Dominic D’Sartre, head of Sartre, Fartherington & Bloom. Our firm has handled the Calthorpe family’s business since 1812. Long history there.” He smiled broadly, reminding me of a polite shark. “When Ms. Calthorpe Rowe placed a call to me via her granddaughter, who I’m also delighted to represent, I only had to pull out the documents Mrs. Calthorpe Rowe, her late husband, and I put together when Hayden and her brother were little. As I’m a firm believer in transparency, here’s a copy for your attorney. Nice to meet you again, Dennison.”
“D’Sartre,” the man called Dennison muttered, and nodded briefly.
“This is my administrative assistant, India Duane,” I said. “I’m sure India can email you any electronic copies you may require from my company.”
“It doesn’t matter how many people think they can fool my daughter into thinking they’re in her life because they care.” Leyla was actually stomping her foot again. This didn’t look very good. “I know they’re trying to fool her. They tell her she’s a gifted painter, and voilà, she’s spitting out paintings like toothpicks. Greer Landon drags her across the country to show her off like a one-trick pony, an idiot-savant—”
“Enough!” The deep male voice from the door made us all jump. I stared at Hayden’s father, who stood there, shaking, but more from fury than from fear of his wife, I surmised. He looked from Hayden to his mother, his face softening. “I apologize for the commotion, Mother,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been in a better mood, but otherwise, I’m doing quite well.” Isabella nodded slowly.
Michael Rowe turned to his wife. “Leyla. It’s gone far enough. It’s time.”
“What do you mean?” Leyla’s face was pale, but pink roses burned on the apples of her cheeks. “You know better than anyone what we went through—what I went through—”
“I do. And I know what Hayden had to go through. And Oliver. You were so busy trying to fix Hayden, you forgot your firstborn child. I tried to mak
e up for it, but he needed his mother too. It’s a miracle he comes to see us at all.”
Leyla gasped for air now, drawing breath after breath, her body shaking. It dawned on me now that this woman, who I truly thought I hated, might be unwell. Mentally unwell. Had her ambitions, combined with the past of this whole dysfunctional family, finally pushed her over the edge?
“Mother.” Hayden stepped closer to Leyla but kept her distance. She had one hand in her jacket pocket, no doubt squeezing a few good paintbrushes. “There isn’t anything wrong with me. You know how I know?”
Leyla, now sitting down on one of the visitor’s chairs, merely shook her head.
“Because I like my life. I like to paint. I don’t like flying or airports, but when Greer was with me, it was okay. I’m sad about Edward dying, but my new friend Penelope needs my support. And Greer’s. And Greer needs me. Not my money. She’s already rich. She needs me.”
I was grateful Hayden didn’t bring up all the ways I needed her. I didn’t think I could be more proud of the woman I wanted to spend my life with, but now I was. Here I’d driven over, nearly killing India and myself, to get to Hayden and save the day. As it turned out, Hayden was doing a fine job of saving herself. I also knew it was because the people around Hayden empowered her.
Michael Rowe walked up to his daughter. “I’m sorry, Hayden. I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I hope you can forgive me one day.” He half raised his hand but then let it fall immediately when Hayden took one step back. “Your mother and I are leaving now. There’ll be no petitions or lawsuits. You have my word.”
“Michael!” Leyla gasped and stood. “You know very well what our duty is—”
“Our duty is to let our grown children get on with their lives. If you’re lucky, Hayden may still come to your school to give master classes. If she doesn’t, well, I for one will understand.”
Leyla was still arguing when he put his arm around her shoulders and led her out into the corridor. Mr. Dennison nodded awkwardly at the rest of us and hurried after the Rowes.
“That was unexpected,” Oliver said. “The old man put his foot down in the eleventh hour.”
I wrapped my arms around Hayden from behind and hugged her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think. Yes.” She was shuddering. “She’s not well. I hadn’t really understood that before. Today, it was clearly visible around her eyes. She looked…wild.”
I agreed. Leyla had looked feral as she spat her opinions and fought to reel Hayden back into the fold. Perhaps she had really thought she was protecting her? Nah. I didn’t buy that. Leyla was a social climber and ambitious enough to shame our most ruthless politicians. She might have started out trying to help her daughter at one point, but when she thought Hayden had become a social liability, someone her peers talked about as “that poor Rowe child,” she had conveniently hid behind “I just want what’s best for you, Hayden.”
Isabella rang for coffee. I sure as hell needed a whole thermos for myself after witnessing Hayden take on her mother.
“Now, despite my son’s miraculous turnaround, I still want you to keep your ear to the ground, Dominic,” Isabella said. “I don’t trust her.”
“Don’t worry. I’m on it, and Hayden has nothing to worry about.” Dominic D’Sartre smiled at Hayden. “In fact, from the Chicago newspaper clippings my assistant showed me, you have a lot to look forward to career-wise, Hayden. The showing created quite a buzz about you in the art world.”
“A buzz?” Hayden’s eyebrows rose. “My paintings cannot induce a different frequency in sound.” She looked over at me. “Greer?”
“To create a buzz means that people are talking about your paintings a lot.”
“Ah. Another saying.” Hayden did exaggerated quotation marks with her bent fingers. Her face made it clear what she thought of cryptic sayings. Not much.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel totally drained,” Oliver said. “And I hardly opened my mouth. I guess that was a long time coming.”
“How did it feel to have your father bring out in the open how Leyla let you down when you were a young boy?” India patted his arm.
Oliver blinked hard a few times. “I never knew he noticed. He did make a point of coming to my Little League games and spending time with me, but I never knew he realized how…lost I was when Mother wasn’t there. I’m four years older than Hayden, and I saw such a difference in her before I started school, and after. That’s when she truly changed.”
“Was it my fault?” Hayden whispered, shattering my heart. “I tried to be good, to be as she wanted. I never understood—and still don’t—what I did wrong.”
“Darling sis,” Oliver said, and flung his arms around her. “Don’t you think that for a minute. You were a little, tiny girl. I was a young boy. She was the adult. Our father too. Nothing was our fault. Thank God Nana got you out of there. By then I was off to college and you needed rescuing.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “And you know what? You don’t need that anymore. You’re fine just the way you are.”
Hayden smiled and hugged him back. This situation was now reaching emotional overload. I stood and took my coffee cup with me to the window. Since I’d met Hayden and been swept off my feet and really hadn’t landed yet, if I ever would, my heart had been tossed between so many emotions. I wiped errant tears at the corners of my eyes. For me, Hayden’s happiness mattered most. I was honest enough to add myself to that equation, as I couldn’t imagine being without her. What if my presence kept Leyla from calming down? What if I turned out to be the factor that made her continue to launch new attacks at Hayden?
Lanky arms wrapped around me from behind, and the room was suddenly quiet. Hayden’s scent of soap and fruit filled my senses and I sighed, knowing full well I was too weak to give her up. Or perhaps strong enough not to let a cow like Leyla Rowe dictate Hayden’s and my happiness?
“Are you all right?” Hayden kissed my neck.
“Yes. Thank you. I will be.”
“Nana’s off to the dining room to have her lunch there. Oliver went with her. Dominic and India are going back to their offices. India took your car.”
“She did? Ah, I see. So, just us, huh?”
“Yes.”
I pivoted within her arms, placing the coffee cup on the side table. “Why don’t we go home? You can paint some. We can check on Penelope.”
“And watch some daytime TV.” Hayden smiled brightly.
“Of course.” I could think of nothing better. “Let’s go.”
Hand in hand we walked out into the parking lot, where she automatically chose the driver’s seat as usual. I certainly didn’t mind, as I had concluded Hayden was the better driver.
Chapter Twenty-three
I stood in the doorway to the staircase leading up to the old gym hall where Hayden used to live. It was hard to imagine that was just weeks ago. I saw the key was still in the lock—on the inside of the door—and this made me think of when she called me after being locked up. I shuddered and walked up the staircase, not quite sure why I needed to see this place again.
It was darker than I remembered. Even if the sun shone outside, the much-dirtier windows kept the light from getting through. Imagining Hayden trying to paint here, in less than stellar conditions, to put it mildly, broke my heart. Especially as she now had the studio on our rooftop, a place I knew she adored.
I sat down on one of the foldable chairs by the wall and gazed around the dreary gym hall. So large, desolate, and yet Hayden had created such miraculous art here. Perhaps it worked for her, as she always looked inward while painting. Even when she painted portraits, like the one of Penelope, she was somewhere in her head, or her heart, or wherever her brilliance lived.
Would I ever truly be invited there? I so longed to share everything with Hayden, and by that, I meant professing to love, something I had never done. I’ve lived my life with such armor on. Practicing hit-and-run dating, I’ve never allowed anyone to remain close
. If India and later Erica hadn’t been so persistent in being my friends, I would probably still hold them at arm’s length. With India especially that hadn’t worked. She merely decided she liked me, as a friend, and that I needed someone in my corner. Of course she was right. When she and Erica kept setting me up with different women, and none of them ever worked, mainly because I didn’t give them a chance, I focused on business. On success.
And then Hayden came into my life. Now I was the one hopelessly enamored by this young woman who might never be able to fully reciprocate my love for her. I knew Hayden felt every emotion just like any other person would, but she was nonplussed when it came to expressing them and distinguishing what they were.
I knew she loved her grandmother and Oliver, her brother. That was obvious. She said herself she liked Isabella and our friends. It was clear she was attracted to me, romantically and sexually. She trusted me totally, which made me want to hold her and never let anyone hurt her ever again. Of course, Hayden wouldn’t respond well to such protectiveness, but be completely dumbfounded and question such weird behavior, no doubt.
Sitting in the gym hall, alone, I admitted to myself I yearned for her to express her love for me. Would I be able to live with her, spend the rest of my life with her as I ached to do, if she could never truly say she loved me? I wanted her to say it because she truly recognized this emotion in herself. That might never happen. Most likely, I would never hear those words from her.
Did that mean I shouldn’t tell her I loved her? I knew Hayden would take it in stride, possibly even say “thank you,” as she might perceive it as one of those occasions when she should remember to be polite. That would be horrible. And rather ridiculous.
I hid my face in my hands and felt incredibly silly as tears burned behind my eyelids. I forced them back as best I could. If Hayden saw me red-eyed later, she would worry. For misinterpreting and finding it hard to read others many times, she was far too observant when it came to me. I often found her studying me, her head tilted or resting in her hand, and her eyes never left me as I cooked or worked on my laptop. She would take one look at me and ask me, sometimes in front of whoever happened to be there, why my eyes were red and had I been crying.