by Lola StVil
I knew of her, but never encountered her one-on-ne. But from what I gather, she’s managed to do something most of us fail at—she has a lot of wealth, but even more humanity. She won’t just write a check; she goes to the program she’s sponsoring and gets her hands dirty. I saw a picture of her taking part in a tug-of-war with some kids at a fair for charity. She landed right in the mud! The best part was that she had an even bigger smile than the kids she was sponsoring.
I enjoyed reading about her and seeing her style develop over the years, but I didn’t need to do any reading to know that she’s a strong badass woman with a good soul. That’s the only kind of woman who could raise a guy like Gage.
Okay, Shelby, even if you can’t cheer her up, try not to make things worse.
I gently knock on the door. She doesn’t answer. I hold my breath and try again. I can’t really hear anything on the other side. I slowly open the door and peek in.
“Hi, Mrs. Hunter, I’m Shelby. Sorry to disturb you but can I come in? I really need to talk to you.”
I part the door far enough to take in the scene. Her bedroom could be the centerfold in any home décor magazine. In the center of the grand bedroom lies Mrs. Hunter. She’s rolled up in a ball, with her face resting on top of a photo album. She’s crying softly. My heart aches for her. I swallow hard and pray to God I don’t fail at this.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I came here for something, and I’m not gonna leave until you give it to me.”
She stops sobbing but not because she’s no longer sad but because she wasn’t expecting my announcement. She sits up, and her face grows dark. “Excuse me?”
Here goes…
“Well, I have a very big issue with you.”
She folds her arms across her chest and demands, “Oh really, and what would that be?”
“I know you are grieving, but that’s no reason to torment me and two hundred other guests and kids.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Caroline ‘Muffin’ Vanderwaal.”
She bursts out laughing and only then do I start to breathe again. Caroline is a hideous woman in our circle with big hair and a gift for making people feel small. She gives to charity but only when it’s being documented. She’s petty, vindictive, and has never met a pool boy she didn’t bang, hence the reason why she’s on her fourth marriage. I swear to God her ego has its own orbit. The worst thing about Caroline is that she’s totally out of touch with anyone outside of her circle.
Mrs. Hunter normally takes charge of the annual fundraising for a program called Feed NYC. It’s a program where we raise money so that underprivileged families are able to provide hot meals to their kids whether school is in session or not. The fundraising season culminates in a small gala called “Night of the Rising Stars.” This year, Mrs. Hunter stepped down, and Caroline stepped up.
“Caroline couldn’t have been that bad,” she says.
“Don’t try to make yourself feel better by minimizing the horror of that night. You left those poor kids and us to the mercy of ‘Muffin.’ Do you have any idea the kind of trauma that entails? I’m still seeing someone once a week to deal with the things I saw that night,” I tease.
She starts to smile and shakes her head. “I heard it was pretty bad,” she says.
“Bad? No! It was the worst event in the history of events. The guests would have been better off having tea on the upper deck of the Titanic.”
“Oh no, it couldn’t have been that bad,” she says.
“Caroline insisted that she be in charge of planning the kids’ menu. We warned her that she might want to stay with simple, kid-friendly foods. She didn’t listen,” I reply.
“Please, that woman never does,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But you can stop right there; I don’t need to know what was on the menu. Muffin has her own way of doing things, and I’m sure the menu was fine,” she says with a resolve that lasts about a second.
“Alright, alright, what was on the kids’ menu?” she asks, unable to hide her growing interest.
“Raw egg yolk, on a bed of caviar. A wedge of the smelliest cheese I’ve ever encountered and kale salad with truffle oil. The kids started to google what they were eating. One girl threw up, and well, that started a chain reaction of projectile vomit. It was gross, but a small part of me admired their aim.”
“Did any of it get on Caroline?”
“Yes! By the time those kids were done, her Valentino dress looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.” We share a laugh.
“Okay, we can’t laugh at that woman’s misfortune,” she says, trying to hide her amusement.
“Yes, we can. You know she killed her last husband. And got his money. So she’s fair game,” I tease.
“She didn’t kill poor Henry. She just chose a ‘less than smart’ way to wish him a happy birthday,” she says carefully.
“Mrs. Hunter, the woman jumped out of the closet, naked, and yelled ‘SURPRISE!’ at a ninety-two-year-old man with a bad heart.”
“Yes, but according to her, he went smiling,” she jokes.
“She’s a hideous woman! She had her maid deported because she thought the woman was stealing from her. It turns out Caroline misplaced the money and found it weeks later.”
“That sounds like something she would do. I hear she thinks her house is haunted because she keeps hearing a ‘thump.’”
“No, that’s not a ghost. That’s just her new husband trying to tunnel his way out.”
She bursts out laughing, and I join her. Soon, we can’t catch our breath. She swipes her eyes and signals for me to sit down on the bed next to her.
She lowers her tone and comes close. “You know what, I heard there’s an online pool going. Someone is taking bets on when this new husband will ‘accidentally’ die and in what fashion. Don’t tell anyone this, but I’d kind of like to place a bet,” she says as her eyes light up.
I pull out my cell and say, “Place your bets.” She laughs, and I look back at her, my expression serious as ever.
“Shelby, you started the pool?” I nod, and we both end up falling over onto our side, rolling around on the bed. We are laughing like damn fools. Eventually, the laughter finally dies down, and we are able to catch our breath again, she exhales deeply and says, “I miss that.”
“What do you miss?” I ask gently.
“Having someone to gossip and carry on with. Rosy and I weren’t perfect. She had her moments, and I had mine. But we were best friends,” she says as she sits up. I sit up with her and ask if I can see the photos she was looking over. She allows me a glimpse of her family.
“She was beautiful,” I mumble mostly to myself.
“Yes, she was.”
I point to a picture of all the guys standing in front of a cabin and Rosy in the middle. They all have big fish in front of them except one brother—the one they named Logan. Logan has a box in front of him.
“This was a fishing trip? What’s Logan carrying?” I ask.
“Yes, they went upstate to fish. Logan kept bragging about how he’d catch more fish than Rose, and so she put her mind to distracting him. She had caught him kissing some girl in his class, and so she thought it wise to make kissing sounds every time he was trying to focus. Soon the boys all piled on, and well, he caught nothing.
“Her dad scolded her about being mean. He told her she needed to apologize to Logan. So on the last day, she begged her father to take her to the store so she could get Logan a gift to say sorry—she came back with a box of fish sticks.” She laughs.
“How did Logan take it?”
“He took off running after her like a bat out of hell. He tried to throw her in the damn lake. My husband was so pissed off. He said, ‘Logan, what would happen if she ended up in that damn river?’ and Logan said, ‘Dad, you can’t drown a demon!’”
I laugh. “They all sound like a handful.”
“Yeah, they were. That’s the thing about them growing up. You think you will be ha
ppy when they leave the house—and you are. But sometimes that silence is just the worst thing ever. And when I think that I will never hear her voice again…it doesn’t seem fair, you know?” she says as tears fill her eyes. “There should be a way to see them again, or just hear them again. I just want to talk to her one more time. That’s it, just one more time.”
I reach over and hold her. I fail at holding back my own tears. But I think it’s okay. I don’t try and stop her from crying, that never works. Sometimes it just has to come out. I know that better than anyone. When she pulls away, she takes the nearby box of tissue and tries to fix herself up.
“I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”
“That’s okay. Smart choice with the waterproof mascara,” I point out.
“Well, one can grieve, but one should do it—”
“In style?” I tease. She nods.
“Mrs. Hunter, I’m sorry that I never got to meet Rose. But it’s easy to see just how special she was to all of you. And more importantly, I can see how much she loved all of you. Gage told me she left gifts for the entire family to say goodbye?”
“Yeah. She made her dad and me a video of her singing this ridiculous jingle from a TV commercial years before. It’s such a silly little ditty. The first time she sang it, she was five or so. In her mind, she was Céline Dion singing a heartfelt ballad. It just so happened that it was a song about the fateful day peanut butter met jelly.”
“Wait! I know that jingle. It’s for pre-made PB&J snacks. Oh my god, I know that one!” I shout. And before I know it, we start singing the stupid jingle together.
“She was such a goofball. Even as she got weaker, she’d still try and make us laugh. She wanted us to find a way to stop hurting, but there isn’t any. There’s no way. And sometimes I think I won’t make it. I miss her so much, and it hurts so badly, I just want it all to stop. I want to be strong for my family, but how? How can I ever be happy again? My baby is underground. My sweet girl…”
I rock her back and forth in my arms. And when the time feels right, I pull away and take her hands in mine. “Okay, Mrs. Hunter, I know how tough you are because you have to be to be the head of this family. You have raised all those boys to be strong, selfless men. And no one does that while being weak. Just because Rose is gone doesn’t mean that you’re done giving her what she needs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rose needs one more thing from you—she needs you to give her some peace.”
“How? How do I do that?” she pleads.
“By finding your own peace. She’s gone. But she was here. She lived. She loved. And she made your life and your family’s life better. Give her the peace of mind that comes from knowing that her mom will be okay. Give her peace by showing her you’re still the resilient powerhouse she grew up with. You were her hero when she was here. It would break her heart to know that part of you is gone. Don’t let it be gone. Fight for it, fight to join the living again. Give her peace.”
“Rose would be upset to see me in this damn room with the curtains drawn and not a worthwhile pair of heels in sight,” she jokes.
“That’s okay. She knows I won’t let anyone in this family fall into depression or worse, off-the-rack shopping.”
She laughs and then says, “I see now why he asked you to marry him.”
My jaw drops. “Wait, he told you?” I ask.
“Oh please, the moment his brother Wyatt said he’d brought up a woman when they were hanging out, I knew it. The fact is, Gage isn’t one for small talk or extra words. He says what he means. So him bringing you up meant you are special. Gage isn’t like the others. He’s very black and white about things. If he loves you, he loves you. Period.”
“And I love him, I really do. I’d do anything for him. I hope you believe me.”
“I do, honey. I can see it in you too. Good lord, you two were screwed from the moment you met, I suspect.”
“Are you mad that he didn’t talk to you?”
“As I said, Gage knows his mind. I raised all my boys to respect my opinion, but in the end, they rule their own lives. Much like us women.”
“I agree,” I add.
“I had you looked into. Sorry, but it’s what I need to do to protect my family.”
“I get that.”
“At first, I was unhappy with the fact that you were married, and I’m still not happy with it. But I trust that you are working to change that?”
“Yes, but my ex is being difficult.”
“Yes, Roger Price loves being difficult. I looked into him too. You’re not the first woman he’s hurt. But don’t you worry; he won’t ever get to you again.”
“Yeah, Gage will make sure of that I think.”
“Not just Gage, sweetheart. You’re a Hunter now. We protect each other. I know your parents were heartless and awful. They didn’t look out for you.”
“You know about that too? Wow, your investigation team is top notch,” I reply, not sure how to respond.
“Yes, they are. But they can’t tell me the most important thing I really need to know when it comes to you.”
I inhale deeply and try to manage the butterflies in my stomach. “What is it you need to know?” I ask.
She gets up off the bed. She opens her massive walk-in and turns back to face me. “Well, there’s an upcoming gala I was supposed to host for Doctors Without Borders. Caroline has been practically pushing me to cancel so she can do it. But I’m feeling a little more like myself. Therefore, I think I will host. I can’t have Rosy up there worried about me. So Shelby, how do you feel about co-hosting?”
“On one condition—if we spot anyone at the event with a sour stomach who looks like they might hurl, we seat them next to Caroline.”
She laughs and says, “Deal.”
A few hours later, Wonder and I are in the car headed home. We’re a few blocks away when she turns and says, “Okay, so what are you smiling about? You’ve had this look on your face since we left your parents’ house.”
“I don’t know, babe, I wish I could explain to you what you’ve done. My dad and I sat there, dreading the outcome and fearing Mom would never start on the road to being herself again. And then we hear this loud, booming laughter coming from you two and it just…babe, I can’t begin to thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome, but she’s not a hundred percent. It’s a process.”
“I know, babe. But you gave her a good place to start. When we left, she was in a frenzy to start planning her next event.”
“That reminds me, your mom and I are planning it together, so try and get as much sex in as you can because ‘event planner’ Shelby is too focused to fuck.” I laugh, and she smirks. When we pull up to the house, her smile dies, and she braces herself.
Crap.
“You’re going to say something about Price, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Well, it’s been over a week since we discussed it. Lawson texted me and—”
“Wait, why is he texting you about this? He was supposed to back off,” I remind her as I go around to her side of the door.
“I know, but he’s right—we need to make up our minds.”
We enter the house, and she starts to take off her jacket. It’s now nearing Thanksgiving, and New York City is growing colder by the day.
“We have some other avenues that we are looking into. There are other people in Roger’s circle we could try to flip,” I tell her.
“Yes, but Lawson said it would take time to find a source that you guys trust. Gage, he lost his best friend,” she says as she strips down in front of me, preparing to go shower. I hate when she undresses in front of me, or rather I love it too much. It always leaves me distracted.
“That could take time, right? And we’re running out of time,” she says.
“What?” I reply as I study the delicious slope of her breasts.
“Hey, focus, Agent Hunter!” she scolds.
“What? Yeah, I’m…yeah. I got it,�
� I lie. She rolls her eyes and covers herself up with a towel. She’s a cruel woman, but it works. I can think again now that her body is covered.
“Shelby, I don’t like to think of you and Price in the same city, let alone the same house. You said I couldn’t kill him. I get it. And I’m staying away, but don’t think for one second that means you can go and place yourself in his crosshairs.”
“It’s not my idea of fun either, but it’s the only way. Did you know that Lawson and Kurt had a big argument the last time they hung out?”
“No, who told you that?” I ask.
“He did. Gage, this is eating him alive. And we can help. There’s also the matter of national security. I thought you cared about that.”
“Argh, you know I do.”
“Then you agree? We should do this, right?”
“Wrong.”
“Okay, I’ll think about some of the points you made and consider not going through with it. But I’d rather think about something else in the shower…” she says.
“You are so bad for me…” I growl.
“Don’t just stand there, come with me,” she says as she heads for the master bath.
“I’d love to, babe, believe me, but I have to go—work.”
“It’s late.”
“Yeah, some stuff can only get done at night,” I reply as I pick up my car keys.
She comes back over and kisses me. Christ, she tastes so good. Why am I not quitting the CIA right now so I can lie here with her all day?
I make myself pull away from her warm body and head out the door. I need to find something—anything else—to take Price down. And for the next few nights, that’s exactly what I try to do…
***
It’s nearly a week later, and Lawson and I are once again in the agency arguing. It’s become a thing with us now. And I hate it. In the meantime, Bot can be seen taking cover in case we come to blows again.