The Tuesday morning after Thanksgiving, Sarah was home alone working when someone knocked on the front door. She’d only heard it because the day was so beautiful, a rare, comfortably cool Florida fall morning, that she’d left the French doors of her office open, as well as the living room sliders to the lanai, allowing the air to circulate.
She walked through the house to answer it, her heart sinking when she saw it was their mailman.
Opening the door, he held up a pen and an envelope. Certified letter, return receipt requested.
She signed for it and waited until she had the door closed behind him and he was back in his car and headed down the drive to flip the envelope over.
Yep, she let out the enraged scream upon reading it. Isabella’s return address, written in her stuffy, elongated script.
Bitch.
Ripping it open, she headed for the living room, her feet slowing as the laughter rolled out of her.
There was no salutation, and the handwritten missive started with the crux of her demand.
I will be arriving in Tampa on Saturday, November 27th, to pick Jason up and take him to New York for a week, at my expense. I will be at your house by 3 p.m. I will bring him back Sunday, December 5th, by 6 p.m.
Isabella d’Antonio.
The twenty-seventh was that Saturday. Sarah started laughing so hard she had to sit down. Seriously? Did the crazy bitch honestly believe she would just let her son go with her to New York? Pull him out of school for a week?
Seriously?
She was still laughing when she grabbed her phone and called Pete. “Oh, you are not going to believe this shit.” She read him the letter.
But he didn’t laugh. Instead he asked, “What’d your dad say?”
“He’s not here. He went to run errands.”
“Call him.” His serious tone sobered her up.
“What?”
“You need to call him, right now, and have him talk to your attorney.”
“I mean, she can’t seriously believe I’d let her do that, can she?”
“I don’t know, but talk to the attorney. Call him right now. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She hung up and called her dad.
He didn’t laugh, either. “I’ll get Lucy on the phone. Hang tight.”
He called her back twenty minutes later. “Lucy said to send Isabella a certified, return-receipt-requested reply. Today.”
“I’m not sure I should tell her to go fuck herself in print, Dad.”
He ignored her jibe. “You just put one sentence, that Jason isn’t going. That’s it. Then we mail it. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, you can’t honestly believe she’d do this, can you?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, but we’re going to do what Lucy says. Get it typed up, she said to make sure it’s dated.”
By the time he returned, she had it ready to go. “You have no idea how many times I had to delete, ‘And the horse you rode in on,’ from it.”
She’d finally settled on writing Jason is not going to New York with you.
She had to delete bitch from the end of that sentence several times. The word just kept practically typing itself onto the end of the line.
He tensely smiled. “This is all we need.” He handed the printout to her. “Sign it, get the envelope ready, and let’s go. I want to get back before Jason gets home.”
Ten minutes later, they were at the post office. Her dad insisted on overnight delivery, return receipt. As they rode back to the house, she asked, “You don’t really think she’ll show up, do you?”
The grim look on his face didn’t really need any additional reply, but he said, “We’re not taking any chances.” He looked at her. “I’ll make sure Dana and all three kids have something to do all day Saturday that will keep them away from the house. My treat.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He reached across the seat and patted her leg. “I don’t want you to stress out over this. But anytime she does something like this, we have to take it seriously.”
She stared out her window. “Approximately eleven more years of this crap, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Until Jase turns eighteen.”
“No, not that long. Lucy told me when kids are in their teens, the court takes their feelings into consideration. But until then, we need to deal with everything she throws at us head-on. No sloughing it off. Okay?”
“Okay,” she quietly said.
* * * *
The men came over for dinner. She’d let Jason talk her into postponing his homework until after dinner so Pete and Sam could help him.
That the men eagerly huddled up on either side of him at the table to supervise him warmed her heart and helped shove out the remnants of her rage from earlier in the day.
No, she wouldn’t let Isabella d’Antonio dictate her or Jason’s lives. Sarah knew her dad was right, that they had to fight each challenge head-on, or risk her getting pushier.
Why can’t she just be a decent human being?
If it hadn’t been for the whole flaunting her dead son’s mistress at his funeral incident, Sarah would have been willing to keep an open line of communication between Jason and her.
But a woman willing to stoop to something so low wasn’t the kind of person Sarah wanted in her son’s life, grandmother or not. Conniving, lying, no telling what she might try.
And the whole really, really rich thing meant Sarah feared Jason disappearing out of the country.
She wasn’t naive enough to think it couldn’t happen. If Michael had lied about so much, how did she know what else he had up his sleeve? Maybe there was a second passport floating around that she didn’t know about.
She wouldn’t risk it.
Once Jason’s homework was done and he’d had a bath and was in bed, her dad shooed her out the door.
“You’ve had a stressful day, sweetheart. Go let them…whatever.” He waved his hands at them. “Spend the night.”
She wouldn’t argue with him. What she felt like she needed was a good, long cry while cuddled up between them. And as she climbed into bed between the two men, with their arms securely wrapped around her, that’s exactly what she did.
“Why the hell can’t she just leave us alone? I feel like every time we deal with this, she pops up again.”
“Just like a cockroach,” Sam joked.
Even though Pete shot him a dark glare, it did make her laugh.
“At least with a cockroach you can spray them,” she said.
* * * *
Her dad got Jason, Dell, and Sage all wound up about the current special event featuring dinosaurs at MOSI, the Museum of Science and Industry over in Tampa. They didn’t have a swim meet that Saturday, but they did have a morning practice.
Dana would take them to practice, then over to MOSI for the day, where they’d tour the exhibits and watch an IMAX movie.
Not to mention a long lunch, and possibly dinner after, depending on the time and if Dana had an all-clear from Sarah.
Not that Sarah seriously expected Isabella to show. In fact, once they received confirmation back on Thursday that Isabella had received the reply, Sarah felt relief fill her.
She can keep her crazy in New York.
What Sarah did need was an uninterrupted work day. She had a brochure project due to a client on Monday and needed to finish it. So she shooed her Dad out of the house. Sam and Pete were working on chores next door, and had even taken Big Mac, Gilbert, and the killer goat posse over to their pasture to graze for the weekend.
Even the rooster wasn’t crowing that much today.
As the morning bled into afternoon, Sarah was so engrossed in her work she barely remembered to make herself a sandwich for lunch. She was back in her office and almost finished with her project when she faintly heard the doorbell ring from the house.
Her head popped up. No one used the doorbell, not even the mailman. It hung off the wall by a wire, mo
ved for a repainting project and then never reattached when her dad lost the mounting screws, a project he had always meant to take care of but never got around to.
Sarah’s gaze zoomed in on the clock on her MacBook Air.
2:48
No. It can’t be.
She waited, holding her breath.
It rang again.
“Son of a bitch, are you shitting me?” she whispered. Before she realized it, she was up and moving, through her office door, yanking the slider to the living room open and breezing through there without shutting it behind her, until she threw the front door open.
On her doorstep stood Isabella d’Antonio.
The older woman gave Sarah a smile she suspected caused the old bat pain. “Is Jason ready to go?”
“You batcrap crazy bitch! We sent you a reply and told you no. And we know you got it because we received the return receipt.”
“And I did not reply because I am not changing my plans.”
Sarah stepped forward, forcing the woman back a step. “Well, sucks to be you, because Jason’s not going with you. He’s not even here.”
“How dare you keep my grandson from me!”
She noticed Sam out in the distance, using a line trimmer on the pasture’s fence line. He straightened as he turned and looked her way.
Sarah took another step toward Isabella. “Listen here, lady. You gave up all rights to your grandson when you acted like Queen of the Douchecanoes and invited Michael’s mistress to the funeral. And, oh yeah, let’s not forget all the lying for him, and covering up bullshit for him. So don’t go all high and mighty on me, because you’re not worth the filth on the bottom of my shoe.”
Isabella glanced down at Sarah’s bare feet before she glared at her. “You’d better rethink your position, you stupid little piece of white trash. Because I’ve been nice up until now. I will drag you through the mud the way you so deserve and take Jason away from you. Don’t think I won’t.”
Sarah glanced again and saw that Sam had dropped the line trimmer and was now running her way, with what looked like a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Sarah took another step forward, careful not to touch Isabella in case the crazy bitch wanted to claim Sarah hit her. “You think you have a case? Bring it, you cunt-faced crone. But for now you take your arrogance and get the fuck off my property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
Sam rushed up and got between Sarah and Isabella. “Is this her, Sar? Is this the crazy old bat?”
“How dare y—”
“Listen, lady. You have until the count of three to get back in your car and get the hell out of here. One—”
“This won’t be the last you’ll hear from me, Sarah.”
Pete raced up. “What the hell? What’s going on?”
“Two—”
“Get out of here, Isabella,” Sarah warned. “I swear I’ll call the damn cops!”
“Three!” Sam started toward Isabella. Pete didn’t need a recap to understand the plan. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his cousin and together they herded the woman toward her rental car.
Isabella yanked the door open and looked around them to Sarah. “We’re not done here. Not by a long shot.”
“Bring it, bitch,” she screamed back. “I’m not scared of you anymore.”
Isabella got into her car and roared down the driveway, bouncing in the ruts and leaving a cloud of dust behind her.
“Is it too much for me to hope she wrecks and wipes out the fence so we can have her nailed for reckless driving and property damage?” Pete asked.
Sarah’s body vibrated with rage. She wanted to punch something. Anything.
Preferably Isabella, but she knew that would land her in jail.
The men gathered around her. “Are you all right?” Pete asked.
“No, I’m not fucking all right. Seriously? Seriously? She still showed up? What the fuck is wrong with that woman? Do they have a name for it?”
Sam grabbed her hands. “Calm down, babe. Getting upset like this isn’t good for you.”
Above them, she heard a goat bleat.
Whirling around, she spotted Braveheart standing on the roof, staring down at them.
“Are you shitting me?” she screamed at the goat. “Fuck you!”
Braveheart fell over.
Her jaw dropped as she stared at the goat. “Fuck!”
Pete and Sam started laughing. Sam handed her off to Pete. “I’ll go get the ladder from the garage. You get her inside and call Walt.”
Chapter Twenty
Sarah’s rage didn’t want to go away as the afternoon went on. If anything, it grew even hotter inside her. The only consolation was that Jason had been off with Dana and her kids when the woman showed up.
Her dad’s awesome planning hit a home run once again.
Although Sarah had an idea what to do, she needed more information. After rooting around in the box in the bottom of her closet, she found Michael’s old phone and the charger and plugged them in.
Once it was charged up, she turned it on and quickly swiped through the contacts to find the number she wanted. She’d deleted any d’Antonio numbers from her contacts so they wouldn’t show up on her new phone.
She didn’t even want them there for her to accidentally stumble over.
With her pulse quickening, she dialed Roger’s number with the house phone and waited as it rang in her ear.
Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, a man’s voice came on the line.
Sarah swallowed. “Roger?”
He sounded cautious. “Yes?”
“It’s Sarah. Can I talk with you for a minute?”
He hesitated. “Sure. Hold on.” She heard the background noise on his end suddenly disappear, like he’d closed a door to a room. “How are you and Jason?”
She didn’t want to have a pleasant conversation. All she wanted to do was get to the meat of her call. “We’re fine, but I need to ask you a couple of things.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“First thing. Jason told me when you were watching him one night, after the accident, he heard you talking to your wife on the phone. About what your mom did at the funeral.”
For a moment, she thought the call dropped. Then, “Yeah?”
“Well?”
He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I thought he was asleep.”
“Did you know she was going to do that?” Sarah knew Roger was smart enough not to need the extra clarification.
“No, I didn’t. If I had I would have said something to her before.” She heard another sigh on his end. “Believe me, I don’t agree with my mother on a lot of things.”
“You never loaned him any money, did you?”
“No. Another sore point with my mother. I refused to enable him. I suspected there was more to his story than he was telling everyone.”
She felt a little of her tension ease. “There was.” She let it spill out, everything she’d discovered, the lies Michael had told her, what she knew of the lies he’d told Isabella and the other brothers.
The other mistress.
When she finished, she felt purged, if not vindicated.
“Jesus,” he softly said. “I’m really sorry. You deserved better than that. Both you and Jason.”
“Damn right we did.”
“But, and please don’t take this the wrong way, what does that have to do with why you’ve called? It’s not just to rehash all of that, is it?”
“Have you talked to your mother lately?”
“No. Not in a couple of weeks.”
“She sent me a certified letter last week, demanding I let Jason come to New York with her. I refused her demand and sent a reply to that effect, which we have proof of her getting. She showed up on our front doorstep a couple of hours ago.”
“Christ.”
“Yes. Fortunately, Jason wasn’t here. So I wanted to find out if there’s anything else I need to know. When she left here,
she was pretty hot. Said she would make me regret it. I told her she could kiss my ass.”
That earned her a laugh from her former brother-in-law. “I would have paid good money to have seen that.”
“That brings me to the main reason I’m calling. I need to know if she’s got any bullshit plans up her sleeve that I need to be aware of.”
He went quiet again for a moment. “Sarah, I doubt she’d say anything to me. I’m sort of in her doghouse. Have been, for a while.”
“Because you dare to use your brain and your spine?”
“Basically. But I promise if I do hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
She gave him the house number. It was listed and had been her parents’ phone number since before she was born. “You can call me on that number.”
“I will.” Another pause. “I sincerely hope you and Jason make a new life down there. I want you both to be happy. You deserve it.”
“Thank you. I also wanted to let you know you were always my favorite brother-in-law. You always treated me kindly, which is more than I can say for your mother.”
“Barb and I always did like you. To be honest, I thought you were way too good for Michael. I’m sorry about how right I was.”
She ended the conversation and sat on the bed, deep in thought. There was no way in hell Isabella would let this be the last word on the subject. Sarah had no doubts the woman would try something else.
Her most fervent hope, ironically, was that Isabella did it through the courts and not some desperate kidnapping.
I’m going to have to talk with Jason.
There was a conversation she desperately didn’t want to have. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she didn’t want to run Isabella down to Jason. She’d also have to notify his school that if Isabella showed up there, under no circumstances were they to allow him to go with her.
But how do I explain to him his grandmother’s batcrap crazy?
* * * *
When Dana and the kids finally returned a little before dark, Jason was eager to tell her all about the exhibits they’d seen at MOSI, the things he’d learned, and the activities they all did.
Hope Heals (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 18
