Authors: Claire Adams
BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE VOLUME II
CHAPTER
TWELVE
"
Gram
is off the charts today,"
Riley said as I walked through the door.
After my mishap
with Jack, I'd spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with the daily demands
of the warehouse. By the time I climbed onto the bus that would take me home, I
was whipped. I'd briefly considered taking a taxi, but when I'd checked my bank
account, I realized that that luxury was one I couldn't afford.
"What's wrong
with Gram?" I asked as I set the grocery bags down on the table and
dropped my lunch bag into the sink.
"She's in her
room playing Sinatra records again," Riley said as she rolled her eyes.
"She's singing along with the sad songs and then crying when the record
ends. It's crazy town in there, Leah."
"I'll go
check," I said, eyeing the bags. "Can you get dinner started? It's
taco night."
"Oooh,
yeah!" Riley cheered as she dug into the bags and pulled out the ground
beef I'd picked up. "I'll brown the beef!"
"Wear an
apron, and don't forget to dump the grease in the can under the sink, not down the
drain!" I called as I headed down the hallway to my mother's room. I could
hear Sinatra crooning that it had been a very good year as I stood outside her
door.
"Mama?"
I said as I tapped on the door. "Mama, can I come in?"
"Get the hell
away from me!" she yelled through the closed door. "I've got
company!"
"Mama, it's
the record player," I said as I turned the handle and found that the door
was locked. "Mama, let me in, please?"
"Get the hell
away from my door!" she shouted. I could hear movement on the other side
of the door, and suddenly I felt a cold chill run through my veins as I
imagined what she might be doing on the other side.
"Mama, please
don't do this," I whispered as I listened to the sound of furniture being
dragged across the bedroom floor. I imagined she was pushing it in front of the
door in case someone tried to force their way in. "Mama, I'm making tacos
for dinner. Why don't you come out and eat with Riley and me?"
"I don't want
any of your dirty food!" she shouted at me. "Molly would never make
such awful food! I want Molly!"
"I know,
Mama," I said resting my head on the door. "I know. We all do."
Back in the
kitchen, Riley was singing along with her iPod as she browned the meat and cut
up the lettuce. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that she hadn't
heard anything my mother had yelled. She was a smart kid that way. She knew how
to avoid conflict and not hear what she knew wasn't for her ears. It bothered
me that she was so effective at tuning things out, and it made me a little
worried about the effect that would have on her life later on, but for now, I
decided to count my blessings and be thankful for the fact that she wouldn't
ask me to explain.
Over dinner, Riley
filled me in on all of the middle school drama and carefully recounted the way
in which two girls in her class had countered the attempted slut-shaming of
another girl.
"Slut-shaming?
In seventh grade?" I asked, knowing full well that this was a time-honored
method of keeping girls in line. The kids in the neighborhood, hell— the adults
too, had used this on Molly, but she'd resisted the attempts and had marched to
the beat of her own drum. I'd loved her for it and hated the kids who'd tried
to shame her, but I'd kept quiet, fearing the wrath of the kids in my own class
who were the younger siblings of the ones who taunted Molly.
"Leah,
please," Riley said rolling her eyes yet again. "This is not
something new, and you know it. I was hoping that at this point we'd be in a
post-feminist world where everyone would be equal and these petty fights would
be replaced by efforts to save the planet."
"Where do you
come up with this stuff?" I laughed as I marveled at her brilliant
assessment of the world around her and her desire for something better.
"Leah, I
watch television," she said matter-of-factly. "It's all there, ready
to be consumed. Did you know that fifty-two percent of the population on earth
is female, and yet they make up more than seventy percent of those in poverty?"
"I had no
idea," I said shaking my head.
"It's because
over 1.3 billion women don't have access to bank accounts or credit,
Leah," Riley said solemnly. "The petty acts of slut-shaming are
covering up a far bigger travesty and taking attention away from what we could
be doing to solve the problem."
"Where do you
learn these things?" I asked with a combination of concern and awe.
"Leah, we are
living in the twenty-first century, in a first world country," she said
looking at me seriously. "I have access to the internet."
I burst out
laughing as I realized that she was right. Riley grinned and shook her head
with mock sadness as she piled more cheese and lettuce on top of the ground
beef in her taco shell.
"Sometimes I
worry that you know too much, kiddo," I said reaching out and ruffling her
already messy hair. She ducked away with a lopsided grin and bit into her taco.
"Knowledge is
power, Leah," she said with a mouth full of food. I shook my head as I bit
into my own taco and chewed.
The image of Jack
Yates staring at me as we toured the warehouse was on my mind as I cleaned up
the dinner dishes. I'd excused Riley from dish duty so that she could finish
her homework before bedtime, and she'd been grateful for the pass. I thought
about Jack's broad shoulders and the brief contact I'd had with his bare skin
while I'd worked to remove the blood from his shirt. It had been a very long
time since I'd been that close to a man and felt that kind of animal
attraction.
"Stop it, you
fool," I muttered to myself as I scrubbed the frying pan. "He's the
head of the company you work for, not a guy in a neighborhood bar."
I finished up the
dishes and swept the kitchen before I stuck my head into Riley's room and told
her I was going out for a bit.
"Oooh, hot
date?" she teased as she looked up from her homework.
"Something
like that," I smiled. "I'll be back in a few hours. I've got my phone
if you need me. Just leave Gram alone for now, okay?"
"Gotcha,"
she said, pointing her finger at me and winking. I laughed and shook my head as
I grabbed my purse and keys and headed out the door.
*
It
wasn't a long walk to
the parish where Patrick lived now that he’d returned to town, so I used it to
clear my head and organize my thoughts. It had been two years since Patrick and
I had been in the same room together, so this conversation felt heavy before it
even began.
I stopped at the
foot of the stairs leading up to the church and looked up at the building. The
spire reached up into the sky as if it were stretching out to touch God, or at
least that's what we'd been told since we’d started attending mass there. Every
Sunday, we'd get up and get dressed in time to walk to mass with my parents,
who would drop us off in Sunday school despite our protests that we'd be good,
just this once.
Patrick, Molly,
and I would sit together in the back row as the Sunday school teacher quizzed
us on the Bible verses we were supposed to have memorized. Patrick was the only
one who actually knew his verses, and he'd always be rewarded with a toy or a
cookie or a piece of candy for his effort. Molly and I would often commandeer
his treats before he got a chance to enjoy them, but he never really seemed to
mind. For Patrick, the reward was in the knowledge.
Molly and I had
teased him about being so well versed that he'd have no choice but to become a
priest. I don't think it ever occurred to us that he'd actually do it. It
wasn't until he graduated from high school and sat my parents down to tell them
that he'd decided to join the seminary that the reality of our brother, the
priest, hit us, and we'd all responded in very different ways.
My mother had
spent the following week attending Mass every day so she could personally thank
God for choosing her son to become his apostle. My father had cursed God and
then dropped dead of a heart attack a few weeks later. My mother said it was
God's vengeance for having left his family and cursed his son’s decision. None
of us believed her because they’d been split up for years and my father had
been sick for a long time at that point. But she insisted that it was deserved
punishment, and she dealt with it by drinking more heavily.
Molly and I had
spent many nights lying in twin beds in our shared room debating the reasons
why Patrick had chosen to enter the seminary, but neither one of us wanted to
be the one to ask him why he'd done it. We were happy for him because he'd
found his calling, but we were worried about what it would mean in terms of
losing our older brother.
Two years older
than Molly and four older than me, Patrick was our protector. He'd watched over
us and kept us out of harm’s way the best he could, which often meant taking a
beating from my father rather than letting one of us girls suffer the physical
consequences of our actions. As a result, Patrick had a complex relationship
with my father that ended with his sudden death.
I took one last
look at the church and then walked a little further down the street to the
parish house that Patrick had recently returned to after having lived abroad
for several years. I rang the doorbell and waited.
"Good
evening. Is the Father expecting you?" the plump nun asked. She was
wearing a modern habit, which only covered part of her head. She was wearing a
grey dress that was more of a shift than a fitted garment, but she radiated
warmth and brightness when she smiled.
"He is,"
I nodded. I wasn't sure how much Patrick had told her, so I didn't say anything
about being his sister.
"My, you look
like the spitting image of Father Patrick!" she declared as she motioned
me into the parsonage. "Are you related to him, or is it just a lucky
coincidence?"
"I'm his
youngest sister," I said, looking down at the floor before looking back up
to meet her friendly eyes. "Leah."
"Well, Leah,
I'm Sister Josephine, and I've got pot of tea brewing and a fresh pound cake
cooling on the windowsill. Can I get you some?" she asked. "I know
Father Patrick will want some!"
"Yes, please,
Sister," I smiled as I sat down on the sofa and looked around. The living
room was small and slightly shabby, and I smiled as I thought about how Patrick
probably felt right at home here—for many reasons.
"Leah?"
"Patrick!"
I cried as he walked into the room. I stood up and, like a small child, ran
across the room to throw my arms around him.
"Well, well,
well, isn't this an interesting turn of events," he said as he hugged me
briefly and then stepped back. "It's good to see you, Leah."
"I'm so glad
to see you, too," I said as the tears welled up in my eyes. Patrick patted
my shoulder and offered me a seat as Sister Josephine carried a tray of tea and
cake into the living room and set it down on the coffee table.
"Here is
something to sweeten the conversation!" she said brightly as she poured us
each a cup of tea and cut two thick slices of cake and set them on the delicate
china plates. She nodded at us and then backed out of the room saying,
"Have a lovely catch up!"
"She's really
nice," I said as I sipped my tea and carefully watched Patrick.
"She's
definitely a good person to have here," he agreed. We sat in silence as we
drank tea and ate a little cake. I wanted to blurt everything out and pepper
him with questions about where he'd been and why he'd left me all alone when
Molly disappeared. But I knew that wouldn't work with Patrick, so I waited
until he asked. "What's going on with Mama?"
"Patrick,
she's sick," I began. "She's drinking way too much. She’s forgetting
things, and she's become dangerous."
"So what do
you want me to do about it?" he asked a little defensively, sounding more
like the brother I grew up with than the priest he'd become. That gave me the
in I needed.
"We have to
get her into rehab before she does something irreversible," I said.
"She won't listen to me. She wants Molly."
"What makes
you think she'll listen to me?" he asked as he looked at me over the edge
of his teacup.
"You're a
priest!" I cried. "And she's always listened to you!"
"Right,"
Patrick said shaking his head as he set his cup down. "She's never
listened to me, Leah. It's always been Molly."
"But can't
you try?" I begged feeling like the pesky little sister again. "She's
putting Riley and me in danger with her drinking and her smoking and the way
she locks herself in her room for days at a time. I'm worried that she's going
to hurt herself or burn the house down!"