by Nicola Marsh
“That’s not good. Maybe she popped a few before the launch and it interacted with something she drank?”
It sounds farfetched as I say it because Shamira has been blending concoctions for years and would know what herbal remedies interact with medicinal stuff. She’s fastidious that way, always recommending her clients consult with their doctor before consuming her mixtures if they’re on any medications.
May shakes her head, concern pinching her mouth. “No, that’s not it. Traces of the painkiller were found in her drink bottle, the one she uses all the time for her energy blend.”
Christine straightens and comes to sit next to me, facing May. “What are you saying?”
I know before May opens her mouth to respond and I clamp my lips shut before I blurt can’t they see someone is targeting this family?
“It looks like someone tried to harm Shamira deliberately.” May’s voice sounds squeaky and she clears her throat. “I can’t believe it.”
Christine shoots me an incredulous look, as if she doubts her mother’s sanity. “Are you sure?”
May nods, worry lines bracketing her mouth. “The main thing is she’s going to be fine. Trent said they’re keeping her overnight for observation and she’ll be home tomorrow.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.” I sound trite but what can I say? That I think there’s something sinister going on? That I’m increasingly worried Shamira’s the third woman in this family to be targeted and I’m terrified I could be next? Or worse, my daughter?
This is the perfect time to find out what everyone knows but I need to lead into it gently.
“You don’t think…” I trail off, knowing I may sound crazy articulating my suspicions out loud but wanting to alert these women to be on guard. “I mean, this is the third Parker in this family to end up in hospital over the last week. Don’t you find it odd? Have either of you received any threatening emails or messages, anything like that?”
Christine shakes her head and May stares at me like I’m mad. “I’ve received nothing like that. Besides, I tripped after an irresponsible cyclist bumped me and the woman who witnessed it overreacted, and Ashlin ran off the road. How can those two accidents be linked to what happened to Shamira?”
So that means I’m still the only Parker woman who received those emails. It doesn’t make sense and I’m annoyed that May’s dismissive of my suspicion so quickly. She also disregarded what that woman saw when the cyclist ran her down. I know she’s practical and logical in everything she does, but considering an alternative isn’t out of the realms of possibility. “Ashlin said she thought someone deliberately ran her off the road.”
May makes a scoffing sound but Christine stares at me with open curiosity, like she’s considering my theory and can’t dismiss it.
“Until we know more about how Shamira ingested that chemical mix, I don’t think we should speculate,” May says, frowning at me, disapproval for my supposed fanciful notion heightening the color in her cheeks. “For all we know this incident with her is an accident too and there’s no point looking for conspiracy theories that aren’t there.”
I want to blurt the truth: about the revealing photos in those emails, about the secrets hidden by this family, about everything. But I have no proof yet and until I do I can’t go making wild accusations that will ostracize me from this family when I need them most.
Feigning submissiveness I nod, but Christine is still staring at me, like she knows I’m hiding something.
Shelley runs into the room and skids to a stop when she sees our somber expressions. “What’s wrong?”
We haven’t told the girls about Shamira, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily. But I don’t lie to my daughter and I’m not about to start now.
“Aunt Shamira fainted at her launch and she went to hospital for a check-up, but she’s fine.” I stand and slip an arm around my daughter’s shoulders. “We’re going home now, sweetie.”
I mentally will her not to protest because I need to get home and see if Grayson has contacted me. With May in denial that the family is under attack, it’s imperative I discover who’s behind those threatening emails and I need Grayson’s expertise. It irks that I’ve had to reach out to the man who’d hidden a whole other life from me before absconding and who’s been an absentee father who doesn’t give a crap about his daughter, but he’s a wizard online and right now I need him. Besides, a small part of me is curious to get his take on all this: he’s the only one of us who’s been out of the Parker bubble for years, yet understands what it’s like to be part of it. As much as I hate to admit it, his opinion may be invaluable.
May could be right and these three incidents are unrelated, but after those emails I don’t think so. I’m worried about my family.
The moment I heard May say that Shamira had been poisoned an idea flickered to life. What if someone had tried to harm Ashlin and failed? What if that person is targeting others in the family because he’s angered by his failure? Is he trying to scare us? Or playing some other twisted game? Maybe he’s toying with us, trying to distract us from his real motive? Something company related perhaps?
Whatever the rationale I need to do something. And if I have to chase Grayson to the ends of the earth to get his help, I will. I’m scared.
I need to protect my daughter at all costs and if that means using any methods possible to find Grayson, I’ll do it.
30
Ashlin
I hate hospitals, and lying around playing up my injuries in the hope the nurses will contact Justin and he’ll feel sorry for me isn’t working. He hasn’t been back to see me since he effectively ended our marriage and I’m tired of being a passive victim. It’s not me. I’m gutsier than this and damned if I’ll take this divorce lightly. I need to see if he’s serious first and then instigate steps to protect my kids and my assets.
I check myself out. None of the medical staff protest. They’re sick to death of me if their hostile glares are any indication. Not that I blame them. I’ve been awful to the nurses and treated the docs like they’re incompetent fools who’ve recently graduated. It’s not their fault my marriage failed yet I took it out on them. I’m not proud of the way I acted, both in the hospital and before, when I ruined the best thing to ever happen to me.
I take a taxi home, somewhat relieved when the driver turns into our drive and Justin’s car isn’t there. Not that I expect him to be home at eleven thirty in the morning but he’s full of surprises these days. Especially his overt display of loathing when he’d threatened to get rid of me the last time we spoke.
I’ve never seen him like that and I can’t get it out of my head, how the man I molded for so many years has morphed into a ruthless bastard. I’d almost applaud and say “about time” if his newfound backbone didn’t affect me so badly.
I pay the driver, grab my bag and hobble up the drive. My hips ache from where the seat belt dug in during the accident and my neck is stiff and sore but otherwise I’m fine. I inhale the familiar fragrance of jasmine, eyeing the neatly trimmed bushes lining the drive. I usually find the smell comforting, one of the many things that signify home. Today, it’s cloying and overpowering, making me want to take pruning shears to the lot and hack them to pieces.
I let myself in, disarm the alarm and head straight for the bedroom. If he’s truly left me, he would’ve emptied the wardrobes like he said. I slowly climb the elaborate wrought-iron stairs that split on a landing halfway, and take the left turn toward our parents’ retreat. The first thing I notice is the empty coat stand. It’s an ugly thing, dark mahogany that clashes with our white and grey color scheme, but it belonged to his father and Justin wouldn’t hear of me throwing out Percival’s hideous stand.
He’s never used it for coats but sticks caps on the wooden arms. Another thing I despise: grown men shouldn’t wear caps, designer or not. Now, the caps are gone and the coat stand is uglier than ever, mocking me in its barrenness.
The first sliver of fear that this divo
rce malarkey is real pierces my confidence and I practically run into the bedroom despite my throbbing hips. It’s pristine as always, the ten cushions in perfect precision on the bed in an arrangement the housekeeper knows I like. But it’s her day off, which means Justin hasn’t slept in our bed.
I turn to the left, slipping off my shoes and allowing my toes to curl into the thick pile. I love the luxurious feel of expensive carpet beneath my feet, even if I rarely go barefoot at home.
I pad toward the expansive walk-in robes, matching his and hers, large enough to house an entire apartment. As I enter Justin’s side all the breath whooshes out of my lungs.
It’s empty.
He’s taken everything. There’s nothing left, not even a tie or a stray sock. My legs give way and I slide down the wall, landing on my butt with a bump that shoots pain straight up my spine. I stare at the empty shelves, the hangers, the shoe racks, finally absorbing the impact that my marriage is over.
Helplessness swamps me. I did this. I pushed and pushed until I left him no option but to leave. I want to cry but I don’t. Tears never help anything. Besides, I learned a long time ago to never show weakness and old habits die hard.
I pick myself up off the floor and shuffle back into the bedroom. I need to find my phone and call the best damn divorce lawyer in town. But as I grab my bag I hear keys in the door and my heart gives a betraying leap. I’m pathetic that even now I still harbor hope he won’t leave me.
I take my time descending the stairs, not wanting to appear too eager and because sliding down that wall has really jarred my sore back. Just as well, as I hear the raucous voices of my children and my mother-in-law’s reserved tones. Not Justin after all.
I’m eager to see my girls but hide my disappointment as best I can that Justin isn’t with them as I come down the last few stairs and they catch sight of me.
“Mom!” Ellen flies toward me, her ecstatic expression alleviating some of the darkness in my heart, as she barrels into me and I stagger a tad.
Jessie follows at a more sedate pace, but she hugs me too. “Glad you’re okay, Mom.”
“I’ve missed you two.” I envelop them in a hug, my throat clogging. I’m never over-emotional and rarely in front of my girls but they are the one good thing in my life and I squeeze them tight.
I lock gazes with May over the girls’ heads. Hers is icy and her mouth is twisted in disapproval.
“You should’ve told us you were coming home today,” she says, curt and judgmental.
“Last minute decision.” I release the girls, who hover around me rather than run off as I expect. They must’ve really missed me. “I was tired of being stuck in the hospital and can recover just as well at home.”
May glances around, as if expecting Justin to pop up.
“I took a taxi home.” Your precious bloody son isn’t as chivalrous as you think. “What are you doing here?”
“The girls wanted to pick up a few things to bring back with them to my place.”
She’s waiting for me to say not to bother, now I’m home they’ll stay with me. But I need to source an attorney and have another conversation with Justin, hopefully more civil than the last, and I don’t want the girls privy to it.
“Thanks for looking after them.” I muster my best subservient voice. “If you could have them for another night or two, it’ll give me time to sort things out.”
She nods, not surprised in the least by my request, which can only mean one thing.
She knows.
Of course she knows. Justin has always been a mommy’s boy and I bet he ran it past her first before telling me about the divorce. Bastard. I imagine May would’ve done a jig when she heard he’d been contemplating such a drastic step and given him a healthy shove in the direction of the best family specialist lawyer in Chicago.
I hate that a divorce plays right into her hands. She’ll be gloating over this, triumphant that once again she’ll be the number one woman in her son’s life. But I won’t let them strong-arm me and I need to let May know that. I’m not some meek idiot they can push around.
I squeeze the girls’ shoulders and release them. “Girls, why don’t you go grab the stuff you want while I chat with Gran?”
Jessie bounds past me, but Ellen lingers.
She gnaws on her bottom lip, staring up at me with wide, worried eyes. “Why can’t we stay at home with you, Mom?”
My heart swells. At least my daughters care about me if nobody else in this family does. I stroke her hair. “Because I’m still sore after the accident and I need more time to recover. But I love you girls and I promise as soon as I’m feeling better you’ll be back home where you belong, okay?”
She nods, her eyes solemn and still clouded with concern. “Okay.” She wraps her arms around my waist and snuggles, the feel of her familiar hug going a long way to soothe my battered soul. “I’m glad you’re out of the hospital. Gran and Aunt Shamira went to hospital too and I don’t want anyone else to have to go.”
That’s news to me and it’s only then that I notice a splint-like brace around May’s right wrist.
“You’re a good girl, El, but I’ll be fine.” I ease her arms away and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Off you go and pack some more stuff.”
She runs up the stairs, skipping every second one as usual, and my throat tightens further. I’m more fragile than I think if the sight of my girls doing everyday things is making me want to bawl.
I hate how short-tempered I’ve been with them lately, caught up in my deception with Aaron and harboring guilt over deliberately hurting Justin. My marriage has been in a bad place for so long I somehow ended up blaming it all on him when I know that’s not true.
My inherent insecurities have caused this. I’ve been pushing Justin away for a long time, before he had the chance to do it to me. A stupid, stupid, mistake I’ll now pay dearly for.
“We can talk in the dining room,” May says, sounding annoyingly imperious in my home.
Yeah, she definitely knows and is taking full advantage of the situation.
“What’s this about you and Shamira being in hospital?”
She waves away my question with her good hand, like anything I say is of little consequence already. “I had a fall and sprained my wrist.”
“And Shamira?”
Her gaze darts away, like she’s hiding something. “She ingested something toxic and was unwell at her launch. Probably made up a batch of something without the proper balance of ingredients.”
I hate being spoken down to but I’m not really interested in either of them, am only asking out of curiosity, so I shrug in response. I’ve never been one to offer false platitudes or appear solicitous when I don’t give a crap. I have more important things to worry about.
“But you’re not interested in the state of our health, are you?” She pins me with a hostile glower I’ve never seen in all the years I’ve been a part of this family. “Justin has left you and I want to make one thing clear.”
She takes a step forward, invading my personal space, and I resist the urge to shove her out of my face. “You will not drag this family through the mud. You will not taint us in any way or ruin our reputation—”
“And if I do?” I fling back, not willing to be lectured to by her. I’ve put up with her from necessity all these years and if my marriage is truly over, May High-and-Mighty Parker is one thing I definitely won’t miss. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Don’t push me, Ashlin.” She jabs a bony finger into my chest and I gape in surprise. “You have no idea what this family is capable of when we need to protect our own.”
She’s full of it and I’m not tolerating her BS a second longer. “Listen up, Mother-in-law dearest. You can’t threaten me because I know too much and I’m not afraid to get down and dirty. I know people. People who would find what I have to say about your precious business very interesting.”
It’s an idle threat because my girls are Parkers and I woul
d never do anything to jeopardize their stake in the family fortune. But I’m sick of this woman bullying me. “So back the hell off.”
To her credit she doesn’t retreat. I’m the one who’s forced to take a step back when I hear the girls clamoring down the stairs again.
I glimpse pure, unadulterated hatred in her narrowed eyes before I spin on my heel and walk away. I need to say goodbye to my girls, then instigate proceedings with a lawyer.
No one intimidates me, least of all my lousy husband and his interfering mother.
31
Shamira
Trent is driving me nuts.
I should be grateful he’s back to being caring and solicitous since I got discharged from the hospital: tucking extra pillows behind my back, bringing me frequent cups of chamomile tea, stacking new magazines within easy reach. But his constant attention grates; he hasn’t mentioned anything about what I told him, and I have no idea if he’s playing the doting husband because I’m unwell or because he’s forgiven me.
I’m pretty sure if he revealed some dark secret from his past I’d be just as angry. It’s like he’s forgotten about it though and that’s what makes me wary. Is this an act or has he truly moved on and accepted my past?
“Can I get you anything else?” He perches on the end of the sofa by my feet and rests his hand on my lower leg. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine.”
I don’t sound it. I’m snappish and he recoils slightly.
“Sorry, I’m still feeling a tad queasy.”
A lie, but I can’t tell him the truth; that ever since I discovered I’d been poisoned I’ve been wondering if he did it.
He had the motivation. He’d been so disgusted with me when I told him about the prostitution… had he wanted to teach me a lesson? To punish me for not telling him sooner?
