Hope Heals (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  The little desk she’d used all throughout school would have to do. It wasn’t nearly large enough to be comfortable, but she could put her laptop on the dresser, and then move it when she needed it, and still have her desktop set up on the desk.

  She’d make it work. She wouldn’t whine that her large IKEA desk in New York had been perfect. Michael had been with her when she bought it, and had helped her put it together.

  It now had a new home and she’d made a hundred bucks from selling it.

  Although she had kept the office chair. She’d bought it in college and didn’t associate it with Michael at all.

  “I know it’s not the kind of space you’re used to,” her dad said from the doorway, “but you can spread out. You don’t need to stay cooped up in here all the time.”

  “I’m not going to evict you from your office, Dad. That’s your space. And I need to be able to have my own space for my work. This will be fine. Believe me, I’ll make do. I’m just happy to have it.”

  “Come with me.” He disappeared without elaborating.

  She stood from where she’d been emptying a box and followed him down the hall, through the living room, through the sliders to the lanai.

  When she realized where he was leading her, her feet slowed. “Dad, I—”

  “Don’t you dare argue with me.” He took a key from his pocket. “I haven’t been in here in over a year, so it’s probably pretty musty.” He unlocked the French doors on what used to be her mom’s studio and opened them.

  He really had left it just the way it had been the day she died. When Sarah had come home for the funeral, she’d offered to help him go through it, if he wanted her to. At the time he’d gently refused the offer. She’d never asked him since then if he’d ever done anything else with it.

  Question answered.

  He walked over to the windows and opened the horizontal blinds. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight slanting across the floor. On an easel in one corner sat a stretched canvas, with an incomplete scene of the lake painted on it in acrylic.

  He cleared his throat. “I guess,” he said, his voice hoarse, “it’s about time we tidy up in here.”

  She slipped her arm around his waist, knowing how hard this was for him. “Dad,” she softly said, “it’s okay if you don’t want me to use it.”

  Unlike her experience with Michael, her dad had discovered no sordid secrets when Rebecca Heckman died of a brain aneurism in their backyard.

  He draped his arm around her shoulders. “No, she was always the practical one. She would want you to use this as your office. You take after her. An artist like her.”

  “I’m not as good as Mom was.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “No, I’m not. Besides, I don’t paint.”

  “I’ve seen the stuff you do. You’re good.” He cleared his throat again. “I watch your website.”

  She looked up at him, surprised at that revelation. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. I’m proud of you. Digital artist, painter, whatever. I can’t do that kind of stuff.”

  “You can wire a house.”

  “Any idiot smart enough to read a book can figure out how to do that. It takes talent to do what you and your momma do. Did.” He fell silent.

  The desk in here was large. If she moved the small desk from her room out here and put it next to this one and arranged them in an L-shape, it would be perfect to work on.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He kissed the top of her head before releasing her and walking over to the window-shaker AC unit. “I haven’t run this in a couple of years.” He opened the front cover and pulled the reusable filter out. “We might need to get you a new one.” He tapped it against his leg and replaced it and the cover before plugging it into the outlet on the wall next to it and turning it on.

  It immediately rumbled to life. She stepped back and pulled the French doors shut.

  He walked over to one of the cabinets and opened it. “I’m sure this paint and stuff probably isn’t any good. I’ll get you some contractor bags from the barn to throw everything away that you think needs to go.”

  She saw some canvases leaning against the wall. “What were these?”

  He joined her, a sad smile on his face. “She was going to finish two of those up, get them framed, and bring them up to you as a present for Jase’s first Christmas.” He slid two of them out of the pile, both of them of the lake from different angles.

  She saw her mother’s touch in the brushstrokes. Her mom had loved painting landscapes. Years as a high school art teacher had allowed her to practice what she loved, as well as share it with others.

  For her personal paintings, it was almost always landscapes. Many of which she either gave away, or sold by putting them in local businesses. It was a passion as well as a hobby, one that allowed her to make enough money doing it to support her “art addiction,” as she’d jokingly called it.

  “I wish Jase could have known her. He was so little when she died.”

  He nodded. “She loved that little guy.” He let out a snort. “I guarandamntee you if your momma had still been alive, Isabella d’Antonio would be sharing a permanent resting spot with her asshole son after what she did at the funeral.” He let out a sad sigh. “Your momma didn’t pull any punches.”

  “Do I even want to look at my phone?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I should just tell her off and get it over with.”

  “That’s up to you. She’s in New York. You can ignore her.”

  There would be a lot to go through. Several cabinets full of art supplies. Some of them she might be able to salvage for Jason, at least, to use. He already showed a love of and skill for drawing that his teachers had called gifted.

  Another niggling task nagged at her. “I never went through Michael’s email contacts to let them know he died.”

  “That’s not your problem.”

  “Not everyone associated with him was a sleazeball.”

  “Didn’t say they were, but it’s still not your problem. And it might open up a can of worms that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She finally turned to meet her dad’s gaze. “Like more mistresses?”

  He shrugged. “Just saying if he had a few secrets, big secrets the way he did, he’s liable to have a few more.”

  The only things she’d kept of Michael’s, besides pictures of him for Jason, were Michael’s laptop, and his phone, which had miraculously survived the accident and was returned to her along with the rest of his personal effects by the state troopers.

  She’d sold his wedding ring and Rolex watch and a few other necklaces and bracelets he’d had when she sold her wedding rings. A watch, bracelet, and necklace that had belonged to Michael’s father, she gave back to Isabella at the funeral.

  The last time she’d laid eyes on the woman.

  “I need to find a doctor down here,” she quietly said. “I’m not going to be able to afford insurance for me, but I need to find something for Jason. I need to get tested. Make sure I don’t have any lasting ‘gifts’ from Michael d’Antonio,” she bitterly added.

  She sat in her mom’s desk chair despite the fine patina of dust covering it. “My friend Elizabeth, up in New York, she’s the one who brought it up.”

  He slowly nodded but now didn’t meet her gaze. “Not a bad idea.”

  “I forgot, I need to call Elizabeth and tell her we made it here safely,” she said as she looked around the studio again. About fourteen feet by fourteen feet, her dad had added the studio to the house when Sarah was young. “I don’t want her worrying.”

  “Just use the house phone, sweetie.”

  “I need her number from my phone.”

  He nodded after considering it for a moment. “Your phone’s on my bookcase in the den.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I know I keep saying that a lot, but I mean it.”

  He stared down at the pile of paintings stacked along the wall. “How’s
Jason’s swimming coming along?”

  “I won’t say he’s drown-proof, but I’m not worried if he falls in. He’s a strong swimmer.” She stared through the French doors at the pool. “Hopefully the Y isn’t too expensive down here. I’d like to get him on a swim team again when his arm’s healed. He was really doing well.”

  “Then I don’t need to get one of those kid fences put in? For the pool?”

  She smiled. “No, no baby-proofing necessary, Dad. He’s seven.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make him wear a life jacket on the lake.”

  She felt they were dancing around Michael’s ghost in the middle of the room. “It’s okay if you want to bad-mouth Michael when Jason’s not around, Dad. I don’t want or need you to hold back. I hate him, too. For Jason’s sake, we need to try not to do it around him.”

  He looked down at his feet for a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry he did this to you, sweetheart. I thought you were happy, even though I wasn’t happy about him. I just hoped when he finally screwed up for good that you wouldn’t be hurt too badly by it.”

  He eventually looked at her again. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that he died like this. For Jason’s sake, I mean. It’s bad he’s lost his father, especially the way he did, but maybe it’s better he never got to see the bad side of his father, either.”

  “Or have time to teach Jason how to act like him,” she quietly added.

  He nodded.

  “I swore I wouldn’t badmouth him around Jason,” she softly said. “I’m going to do my best. But when he gets older, if he asks questions, I’m not going to lie about what Michael did, either. That’s the only reason I saved all that stuff out of his file cabinet. So I can show him the proof if he ever asks.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie to him, either, Dad.”

  He managed a smile at that. “Good. Because I won’t.” He stretched, his back audibly popping. “Dana and her Dastardly Duo will be here for dinner at six,” he said. “And Betty. I really think you’ll like her.”

  She leaned back in her chair with a smile. “Did you take her eggs to her?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Thanks for reminding me. Let me go do that right now. I’ll bring you back the contractor bags. All the other cleaning stuff is in the utility room.”

  He started to leave but turned when he reached the door. “I mean it, sweetheart. I want you to make this into your space. I’m ready to move on. I think we all are. Your momma would want that.” He smiled. “We even have an IKEA store in Tampa now. Down in Ybor. We’re big time.”

  “Shut. Your. Mouth.” Anyone who knew her knew it was her favorite store.

  He grinned. “Hey, how about an early birthday present for you? I’ll take you and Jason shopping there. I think it’s time we update your bedroom furniture. See if Jason wants anything new for his room. And you can get whatever you need for in here, too.”

  “It’s a date.”

  He left, quietly shutting the doors behind him.

  She laced her hands behind her head and swiveled her chair around. She’d need to start from the top down, literally, dusting and cleaning before she could bring her computers in here and start working.

  But she knew her dad was right.

  I am ready to move on.

  Chapter Six

  Her dad returned about thirty minutes later with the large, extra-thick garbage bags. “Just sit them outside the back porch when they’re full. I’ll dump them in the trailer and haul them up to the road with the other trash and boxes and stuff in the morning.

  “Okay.” She’d already started dusting, and had cleaned the window blinds and pulled the curtains off the French doors so she could wash them and then clean the windows. After another hour, she’d gotten the top molding cleaned off, the thick layer of dust removed from on top of the cabinets, and one of the cabinets sorted and winnowed down to things that hadn’t expired or were still usable.

  It was a start, and for the first time in a little over two weeks she felt the good kind of tired. She definitely needed a shower before dinner and would leave the rest of the cleaning for the next day.

  After dragging another bag full of garbage out the back lanai door, she went inside to check on Jason.

  She found him and her dad playing Wii bowling in the living room.

  “I would have hooked that up for you, Dad,” she said.

  He grinned. “Does it look like I needed your help?”

  “I showed Grandpa how,” Jason proudly crowed. “And I’m kicking his butt.”

  Her dad laughed. “Well, I might need your help playing the game.”

  “That I can’t help you with. He’s a bowling wizard.” She used the bathroom and splashed water on her face to rinse the dust off before heading to her dad’s office and shutting the door behind her.

  Her iPhone sat where he said it was.

  She stared at it before walking across the office.

  Why the hell should I be scared of Isabella d’Antonio?

  She picked it up and unplugged it from the charger. She was about to open the contacts list so she could call Elizabeth when the phone vibrated in her hand from an incoming call.

  The caller ID read Isabella.

  She was going to hit the decline option when her thumb, with a mind of its own, hit answer. “Yes?”

  Isabella’s outrage traveled undiluted from Long Island to Odessa over the invisible connection. “Sarah? Why have you not answered any of my texts or returned my calls?”

  “We’re fine, thanks for asking.”

  Her ex-mother-in-law went silent for a moment, apparently undecided how to proceed after hearing a little backbone in Sarah’s voice. “I want to know when you intend to return to New York. Jason belongs here.”

  She let out a laugh. “Seriously? You ask me that? Let’s see, how about you hold your breath and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like—”

  “Oh, listen here, woman. I’ll damn well talk to you however I like. How dare you lie and cover up for your son all these years. I knew you weren’t fond of me, but dammit, I’ve always tried to treat you well and then you turn around and pull all that bullshit? Screw you.”

  Sarah thought maybe Isabella had hung up, because at first the woman didn’t reply. “Listen to me, you little piece of white trash,” the older woman spat. “You were never good enough for my son. Why the hell he married you when I told him you’d bring him nothing but grief—”

  “I’d bring him nothing but grief?” She actually laughed. “Listen, lady. Your son lied to you the same way he lied to me. He used you and his brothers the way he used me. He gave you a line of shit. I was working my ass off taking care of Jason and running my business—”

  “Yes, playing on a computer—”

  “I made over twenty thousand last year doing it, you damn bitch. Would have made more if Michael had gotten off his ass and helped me around the house some. He lied when he told you I’m the one who drove us into debt whether you want to believe it or not. Had he really been working instead of spending time screwing around on me and taking out credit cards in my name that I didn’t know anything about, we wouldn’t be in debt. And let me tell you another thing. I will never forgive you for bringing his mistress to the funeral. So you are in serious need of psychiatric help if you think I’ll ever let you anywhere near my son again unsupervised.”

  Apparently Isabella needed a moment to regroup from all of that because she didn’t reply at first.

  Sarah fired another volley over her bow. “And FYI, your darling son used to bitch and whine about you to me all the time behind your back. Whatever you think concerning the lies he told you about me, just keep in mind he wasn’t painting you in the best possible light, either. It’s what liars do. He did it to make sure neither of us were very friendly with the other so he could control both of us and our interactions with each other.”

  Isabella tri
ed to speak but Sarah wouldn’t let her. “So before you fall off that damn high horse you’re riding on, you might want to sit back and wonder what the hell kind of woman you must be to have given birth to such a fucking creep. Do not call me again, Isabella. I’m through with you and your entire dysfunctional fucking family.”

  She punched end with little satisfaction. She would have loved to smash the phone on the floor, except she needed her contacts out of it.

  When the phone rang again just seconds later from Isabella, Sarah hit decline and sent it to voice mail. And again a moment later.

  Apparently the third attempt was the charm, because Isabella didn’t try a fourth time.

  Shaking, Sarah dropped into her father’s chair and stared at her phone. Tears of rage wanted to fall, but she held them back through sheer force of will. She was done crying over the d’Antonio family.

  And she would be changing both her and Jason’s last names to Heckman as soon as possible. She might not badmouth her son’s father to him—yet—but she didn’t have to let him keep the bastard’s last name, either.

  Once the shakes finally stopped, she looked up Elizabeth’s number and called her. She’d been friends with her since college.

  “Greetings from sunny Florida,” she said when her friend answered.

  Sarah heard an audible sigh of relief. “I was going to try calling tonight if you didn’t call me.”

  “Sorry. We got in late last night and we were unloading the truck this morning and unpacking.”

  “Have you broken the news to Isabella yet?”

  “Oh, yeah. I just had it out with her a couple of minutes ago.”

  “So how is the little guy doing?”

  “Kicking my dad’s butt at Wii bowling.”

  “Sounds like he’s adjusting. So…how are you doing?”

  “I’m…” She thought about it. Fortunately, she’d been so busy all day she hadn’t had much time to think. “I’m going to be okay.”