Enemies & Lovers
Page 15
I almost jump out of my skin when I hear the mail carrier deliver my mail. I peek out of my window to make sure it’s only her, and watch as she walks carefully over the slippery sidewalk.
Should I really go through my mail? It’ll only be full of bills I can’t pay. I’m pretty sure my car insurance is due soon. Sighing, I end up stealthily unlocking the door and quickly slipping my arm out into the mailbox to grab the mail.
I slam the door closed and lock it back up immediately.
My stalker could be right outside, sharpening his skin-fileting knives.
The first piece of mail is a cream-colored envelope. Dropping the rest of the mail to the floor, I slowly turn the elegant-looking package over. My name and address are written in a beautiful fancy handwriting, the stamp in the corner says it was mailed out almost a week ago.
Carefully, I tear the flap open.
Inside is a letter.
It’s from my mother.
Claire,
I’m really sorry to do this to you. I know you will not understand, but I am certain I cannot face my life without him. I have left everything I had to follow him in life and I now choose to do so in death.
Enclosed you will find something to make your life easier. Please, Claire, believe that we are now both happy, free to love one another the way we believe is right and true.
Goodbye,
Mom
Inside, a day too late, is everything I went to that godawful cabin in search for—fifteen billion dollars in offshore accounts.
I fall to the floor and cry.
Chapter 21
Vaughn
I’m lying on my mother’s couch, unshaven, unshowered, and still wearing the same filthy clothes from the day of my father’s reading of the will. Cradled in my arms is an empty bottle of whiskey and there’s a foul taste stuck in my mouth, it’s sour like lime-flavored dirt.
The shades are drawn, and all the unturned, mostly destroyed furniture in the room glows with a sickly yellow hue from the flat-screen that keeps playing the same breaking story of the parochial school teacher accused of sending her students, and their parents, pornographic images of herself.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this horrible in my entire life.
Claire’s career is over, and I can’t do anything to help her. I didn’t do anything to stop it. She warned me, she told me it was going to be bad, but this…the way they’re ripping apart her reputation, is not what I was expecting. And now, I’m just another person in her life who let her down.
I tried making calls yesterday when the news first broke. But no matter my name or how much money I was offering to donate, no one wanted to give Claire Radcliffe another chance at teaching for their private academies. Whoever did this to her really wanted her to pay for not finding that money. I still don’t truly believe there were any accounts, but it doesn’t matter in the end. Claire will never be able to come back from this, will she? She’s going to be brought up on charges, fuck, she might even be looking at jail time. Long jail time. I wonder if she’s going to fight it or just give up and plead guilty. I know she’s innocent, but she’s always going to remember me thanking her for being nothing more than an easy wet hole. My prejudices against her family have cost me my own happiness. I was blind to how much anger I felt for my father and Libby, and all the suspicion, all the accusations I foolishly threw on Claire.
She’ll never forgive me for it either, and I probably will never get the chance to see her again to apologize. Not that my apology would mean anything to her—I just wish I could do something that would let her know what she’s always meant to me, and how she deserves so much more than the crap she’s been living through.
Far off in the breakfast room I hear Chloe and my mother as they too listen to the news report while Ms. Lowell serves them coffee and whatever breakfast is on the menu for the day. They make snide remarks back and forth as they eat. They always expected something like this to happen to a Radcliffe. It was only a matter of time. Nothing but white trash, deserving of everything bad that comes their way.
Ms. Lowell sneaks in here and quietly leaves a tray of breakfast for me on the only table left standing upright. I tried to kick the damn thing over last night, but the bitch is nailed to the floor. My foot still throbs from pain.
I wave Ms. Lowell out of the room, away from me, I want to be alone. I need to think of how I’m going to prove to everyone Claire is innocent. Do I call the police and explain about the birthmark? Do they have technology that determines whether an image was doctored or changed with Photoshop? How can I find her mother’s phone? Whoever has it needs to be caught. They can’t get away with this—with what they’ve done. Claire isn’t a goddamn pedophile—how could anyone believe that?
Shit, it’s going to be really tough…even I thought it was really her in those pictures. I had to look hard—I mean really look closely at them to figure it out. Someone really talented in photomanipulation did a banging job.
The front doorbell chimes and I hear Willard’s footsteps tap along the marble tiled floor to answer the door. Why anyone would want to visit my family is beyond me, we pretty much suck.
There’s a rush of voices. Chairs scrape quick against the floor. Why would my mother and sister be jumping out of their chairs?
I roll over, grumbling. I don’t really care. I need to just lie here until I can figure out a way to help Claire out of her situation, even if she never wants to speak to me again. She doesn’t need to know I helped in any way, but I have to find some sort of solution. I need to get her back on her feet. Then I can work on proving to her we deserve another chance at being happy, together. Fuck, I can’t believe how much I messed it all up, how much worse I’ve made it all for her.
Willard’s heavy footfalls become louder and louder. Fuck me, is he coming in here? I should have stayed at my place, why am I still even here?
Oh, right, too much whiskey last night. Someone hiding my keys and phone.
Willard stands by the door and clears his throat. “Mister Montgomery, sir, you have a visitor.”
I despise hearing my last name. And what I hate even more is how tragic I’m feeling about all this, but the thought that I’ve let Claire down—that I’ve never see her again—it’s painful. I’m not used to this.
I flop around again, this time with a heavier snarl. I don’t want any visitors.
Claire Radcliffe stands over me, blue eyes rolling. “Let me guess, is the rich boy having a bad morning?” She jams her fists to her waist and explodes in a dry sarcastic laugh. “I bet my entire life was way worse than your one bad morning,” she mutters.
I sit up fast and a splatter of chips and crumbs fly off my clothes spraying her pants and shoes. She doesn’t even jump back. The whiskey bottle still clings to my chest. I nonchalantly peel it from the fabric of my shirt. She watches, repulsed. Damn, this is going to be hard to come back from.
“Who is that? Is that Claire Radcliffe?” my mother’s condescending voice assaults my ears. Oh, no, please don’t let her come in here. Not with Claire in here.
As soon as she hears my mother, Claire tilts her head up high. Her back goes ramrod straight and she’s poised like she finally realizes we’re all beneath her—she can’t look me in the eyes, though, and that hurts. That tiny shred of vulnerability is all my fault. I made her feel like she can’t look me in the eyes or she’ll feel less than who she really is, and I don’t want that sort of negative hold over her. I want to be the man that helps raise her up, not one that tears her down.
Chloe tiptoes into the room behind my mother, her eyes wide, trailing over Claire’s clothes. I see what she sees, a thin threadbare winter coat and jeans that are frayed, not purposefully, but because they’ve been well-worn for far too many years. Her boots are scuffed, and instead of the fancy designer purses my family is used to seeing, she wears an old crumpled messenger bag slung across her body.
She’s stunning. And just like the first time I ever laid eyes on her
, everything about her bewitches me. It’s not only beauty, but her strength and resilience, her tenacity and her courage; it’s everything about her, it’s everything she is.
“Claire?” my sister whispers, trying to stop the smile that’s threatening to spread across her face. It’s as if for a small brief moment all the hate and years between them disappear and my sister is happy to see her old friend.
“Why is she here?” My mother storms inside the room, about to start spitting fire. Chloe’s smile vanishes instantly.
“Claire is my guest and she’s welcome here anytime,” I growl as I stand. I try to pat down my hair and look presentable, but more crumbs just flutter off my clothes like I’m some sort of savage.
“I didn’t know whores made house calls now.” My mother whips her head in my direction and stares at me with beady, narrow eyes. “You are just like your father,” she snaps, with a huff. “It’s disgusting.”
“She is not a whore and I am nothing like him,” I bite back, stepping in front of her. “I’m not married and in love with another woman and too much of a coward to tell my wife.”
My mother gasps and her hands rise to her chest like my words are giving her a heart attack. If only.
Claire sighs loudly and pushes her hands up in the air. Everyone in the room snaps to attention. “I’m sorry to intrude,” Claire says, “I would have never come here unless it was necessary.” Claire’s gaze darts from my mother’s to Chloe’s and I catch a glimpse of longing in her eyes when they land on my sister. I can tell they both miss each other so much.
“I am so, so sorry, Mrs. Montgomery,” she says slowly, as a deep blush stains her cheeks. “For your loss and what my horrible mother and your horrible husband did to you and your family. You didn’t deserve that, no one does. No one deserves to be hurt by the people they love and trust.”
My mother raises her chin and sucks in her cheeks. Willard takes this moment to excuse himself. I almost envy him as I watch him make his quick escape. I didn’t think he could run so fast. When he reaches the door, I notice Ms. Lowell and Matteo are in the room too, watching this debacle from the sidelines. The Montgomerys vs the Radcliffes, it’s like a horrible made-for-TV drama. I wish I could change the freaking channel.
Claire doesn’t acknowledge the new members of her audience; she just continues talking in a soft, steady voice. “When I got home from gathering my mother’s belongings, my apartment was burglarized and ransacked. Someone has been trying to blackmail me with photoshopped images demanding I go to where my mother was living and search for a secret offshore account your husband set up for my mother.”
Her apartment was broken into? The psycho was in her home? I reach out a hand to her, and everyone stares down at it as if it were a rattlesnake. I ignore them all. “Are you okay?” I ask. I want to grab her in my arms and make sure she’s not hurt. “Are you hurt?”
Claire moves away and takes a ragged breath. “I didn’t find the accounts at her place of residence and, as I’m sure you’ve seen, since it’s all over the news, the images were sent out to all of my students and their parents, and well…the entire diocese.”
“Yes, well, what else should a tramp expect when a tramp allows pornographic pictures to be taken of her?” my mother asks snidely. “Let’s not fool ourselves, shall we?”
Claire drops her gaze to the floor and takes a deep long breath in, then slowly lets it go. “Yes, it was very foolish to think it would end any other way than it did.” She smiles tightly and opens the flap of her messenger bag. “Nonetheless, this morning I found this in my mailbox. And I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“What is it?” I ask, taking it from her. Whatever it is, I don’t want my mother’s hands on it.
“It’s the offshore accounts we were looking for—fifteen billion dollars,” she says without emotion.
My hands start to tremble.
I read the letter. It was her mother’s suicide note—the last words for her daughter. “Claire, your mother left this money to you,” I say gently.
She blinks up at me, looking at me for the first time since she arrived. “That money is from something I don’t believe in. I told you, Montgomery, it’s filthy money to me and I don’t want any part of it. Your family deserves it, not mine.”
My breath catches in my throat. She found the money and she’s giving it back. She came here to prove to me she really isn’t like her mother and that only means one thing, she still feels something for me. I need to say it out loud. I need everyone here to realize what this woman just did. “You could have left with this…and started a whole new life…and…and no one would have ever known.” I stammer over my words.
She steps closer to me, jutting her chin up. “I would have known, Vaughn. And that’s all that matters. I’m not my mother and I want nothing to do with her and the choices she and your father made. If I did, it would haunt me for the rest of my life.”
“I know what it’s like to be haunted by something,” I whisper.
“I’m not sure why you think I should care,” she mumbles.
Her stare lingers on mine.
“I fucked up with you, and it’s killing me,” I breathe. “I’m so fucking sorry, Claire.”
“Again,” she says, backing away, “I’m not sure why you think I should care.”
“Give me one more chance, Claire, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how much you mean to me,” I say, stepping forward.
“Funny,” she whispers with a soft laugh, “I’ve heard that before. This time, though, I think I’ll take your mother’s advice and not be a fool.”
“Claire—” I start.
My mother rushes forward, shoving Chloe and Claire out of the way, and rips the papers out of my hand. “Give those to me,” she shrieks.
Chloe yelps and holds her side, “Ouch, Mother! That hurt!”
My mother purses her lips together and rolls her eyes. “Believe me, princess, you’d be a lot more hurt without these accounts.” She waves the papers at me and points to Claire. “Get her out of my house and off my estate at once. And I never want to hear anyone speak the Radcliffe name in my house again!”
“Oh, just shut up,” I bark, yanking the papers back. “These aren’t yours.” I grab Claire gently by the elbow and pull her to the side. “Are you okay? Did the police find anything? Do they know who did this to you?”
Claire’s eyebrows furrow, and she looks confused. “Don’t ever lay your hands on me again, Montgomery.” She pulls away, putting too much space between us.
“You just gave up everything for me,” I say, holding the papers in front of her. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time with my hands on you, without ever doubting you again.”
“I don’t care what you have to say to me!” she screams.
“That money is mine!” my mother yells.
Everyone’s voices rose in unison.
And that’s when the shit hit the fan.
Chapter 22
Claire
Everyone is yelling. Because of course they are, when people with privilege don’t get their feelings validated, they just get louder and louder, until they’re screaming and bursting people’s eardrums to get their way. These people are inhuman, something is so immoral and wrong with them, it makes me sick. I shift back from the shouting. I need to put distance between me and them, me and this room, hell, me and this life. Even with all that money, they will never be happy.
Ms. Montgomery is an animal. She’s practically foaming at the mouth, pushing her way between Chloe and Vaughn. Her long manicured fingers grasp wildly at the accounts in Vaughn’s hand. My mother’s suicide letter tears. The sound is unnaturally loud in my head, and it rips at a piece of my heart. The two halves of her note flutter to the floor, landing face up. My eyes focus in on the words Goodbye, Mom and I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the tears from coming. None of the Montgomerys notice the letter on the floor as they step on it in their fight to be billionaires.
But then the shape of Vaughn’s eyes change as he stares at me. They become wider, rounder. His skin changes as well, blanching to a ghostly white. Fire erupts low, in the pit of my stomach, something doesn’t feel right. I don’t like the way Vaughn is looking at me. Something’s wrong.
My stomach sinks. Lower and lower, it drops, twisting and churning. I need to get out of here before I get sick in front of everyone. A sudden chill crawls through my bones and I grasp at the collar of my coat, pulling it tight to my chest.
Is it because I just gave away a shit-ton of money? Fifteen billion dollars is no joke. It would have made things easier, a whole lot easier, but there was not even one small moment where I thought about keeping it, it was their dirty affair money. Yes, it would have paid all my bills and more, but at what cost to my soul? It would have been like a cancer for me. In the end it would have ravaged my life, my soul.