Here Comes Trouble (14 page)

“I’ve had five years to come to terms with the biggest mistake of my life,” Malcolm admitted. “I believed at the time leaving was the only choice I had. But after—” Malcolm swallowed. Now wasn’t the time to tell them it was during his convalescing through chemotherapy that he’d uncovered the truth of what his father had done. “I’m tired of the lies, Ty. We can’t let him get away with this. If the only way you’ll believe me is by seeing that contract for yourself, then I suggest you start looking, because you know what? I’m done.” He held up his hands and looked around the paper-strewn vault. “I’ve told you the truth about everything. You want to clean up this mess, pretend as if nothing happened here today, if you want to continue your foray into ignorance and let Dad ruin everything you’ve worked for, that’s on you. Fallout is coming, Ty, for all of us. And I know from experience, Dad doesn’t give a damn about collateral damage—even if it is his own son.”

“Malcolm.” Alcina caught his arm as he headed out. “If I could change—”

“I know.” Malcolm covered her hand. “And I love you for it. We’ll be sending out a press release sometime in the near future, but you will not have to worry about anything, I promise. I’ve made sure you’ll be well provided for. What you tell Dad and when is up to you,” he said to Ty. “I’m ready for him, but there’s nothing he can do to hurt me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find Sheila and see if I can make her smile again.”

“So you’re staying, then?” Ty asked before Malcolm was out of earshot.

“No.” Malcolm refused to face them. Couldn’t face them for fear they’d see the truth. “I’ll do what I can with the company from a distance, but it’s best if I leave. She knows. She understands. Besides, you’ve made it clear I don’t belong here.”

But as he walked out of his grandmother’s house, he wished he did.

Sheila shielded her eyes as white lights within the center flickered on.

“There you are.” The glass door thumped closed behind Morgan as she ducked inside, the jagged lettering of her Aerosmith T-shirt a familiar sight. “I saw you pull in a couple of hours ago. Why didn’t you come find me?”

“You were busy.” She should have parked on the street instead of the construction lot. Then again, if she wanted to be alone, she shouldn’t have come to the center in the first place, but she’d needed a reminder of what was important.

“I’m never too busy for you.” Morgan lowered herself next to Sheila on the beige tile floor and stretched her legs out in front of her as if basking in the sun instead of under the fluorescent lights. “In fact, I’m glad you’re here. See that?” Morgan pointed at the solitary blank wall adjacent to the front doors. The rest of the building had been polished as it were—artwork and swipes of color erasing the coldness of the base white walls, pushing anyone who entered into a facility of warmth and welcome rather than sterile and cold. “I’m saving that for you.”

“A wall?” Sheila shifted to ease her numb butt. “You shouldn’t have.”

“A Sheila Tremayne original will hang in that space. Just like you promised Colin.” Morgan swung her gaze in Sheila’s direction. “Bet you thought I forgot about that.”

She let out a puff of breath that felt like a valve releasing. “I did.” That last conversation she’d had with Colin, what had it been? Fifteen years now? Their little brother had loved her paintings—so much so that every picture she’d ever made for him had been tacked up around his hospital room, partially obscured by machines and tubes and plastic bags of toxins that caused as much damage to his tiny body as the cancer itself. “God,” she whispered, shock and horror draping her body as she stared at her sister. “How could I have forgotten what I promised him?”

“You’re always so hard on yourself.” Morgan hugged Sheila’s arm against her chest as she laid her head on Sheila’s shoulder. “You’ve never forgotten Colin or the promise you made. You just weren’t ready to remember. I think now, with the center about ready to open, you can. Besides, reminding you of things like this? That’s what I’m here for.” Morgan smacked her sneaker-covered toes together. “So when you are ready, put those emotions to use. Paint them.”

“I don’t think that’s something you want to display to the masses.” Sheila’s attempt at humor—a defense she never wielded as efficiently as her sister—fell flat.

“On the contrary,” Morgan said. “It will be perfect. Just as that mural was for Brandon.” Sheila squeezed her eyes shut, but Morgan was watching her. “Nathan told me you haven’t painted since that day.”

Damn interfering big brother. “I’ve been busy.”

“Okay.”

“How can you make that one word so irritating?”

“Sisterly prerogative. I don’t mean to push—”

“Of course you do.” Sheila rolled her head to look at Morgan. “And I love you for it, but I don’t know that this is something you can force.” Wallowing time, pity time, stalling time had to end. If for no other reason than to prevent her sister from barreling further in and bulldozing her emotions into compliance. “But you win. I’ll do what I can for the space.”

“Any chance it might happen by the night of the gala?” Morgan challenged with rapid-fire blinking. “That gives you a couple of weeks . . .”

“I’m well aware of the time frame.” Boy, was she. “Tell me how Malcolm’s team is doing in the entertainment center?”

“You mean my superheroes?” Morgan patted her palm against her chest. “They’ve got more than half the wiring done and they’re setting up the network this afternoon. Liza’s been overseeing. Malcolm came through for us.”

“Yes, he did.” He’d surpassed Sheila’s expectations . . . and despite her disappointment that he hadn’t been there this morning when he’d promised, she knew she wasn’t a priority. She’d pushed him away enough the last few days that he didn’t owe her anything.

“Come on, tell me all about it,” Morgan pleaded.

“Haven’t we delved deep enough into my psyche for one day?”

“I have some free time.” Morgan shoved herself to her feet and dragged Sheila with her. “Besides, when was the last time I got to tease you about your love life? And Malcolm in particular. I wasn’t around much during that whirlwind of a relationship. But I’d like to thank you for putting on the reruns for me.”

“Don’t you have a wedding to plan so you can leave me alone?” As if Morgan was ever going to hear the full story—exploding storage units, late-night stops at take-out windows, confessions of criminal activities. Jeez. When had her life turned into an HBO miniseries?

“Gage and I decided to save the announcement of our wedding date until the barbecue on Monday.”

“You mean you’re waiting until Theresa’s distracted.”

“It’s called strategy,” Morgan muttered. “The second she has that date, she’ll be off like a greyhound chasing a rabbit. And to be honest, I don’t have the energy to keep up with her.”

“So don’t. I’ll work with her on it.” Once the gala was over, once she had Levia’s painting, once Malcolm had left . . . once, once, once. Her entire life was being pushed back. Sheila swallowed. “My calendar will be clear after this month.”

“Proving yet again you are the best big sister ever.” Morgan hugged her hard. “I promise you never have to buy me another birthday or Christmas present ever again.”

“I’ll remind you of that.”

The glass doors shoved open and a blond-haired power ball of energy came barreling toward her. “Sheila.” Sheila’s hovering sadness evaporated as tiny arms locked around her waist and saucer big blue eyes blinked up at her. “Where have you been?” Eight-year-old Kelley Black beamed from beneath a cap of blond curls. “I haven’t seen you for ages and ages.”

How many times had she driven by the Fiorelli house, parked outside, stared out at the door only to drive off again because the idea of stepping inside, hearing the ghostly echo of Brandon’s laughter as if his joy had been trapped in the walls . . . She didn’t think she’d survive the whirlwind of emotions she knew she couldn’t control.

Sheila bent down and wrapped her arms around Kelley to hoist her in the air, stumbling a step as her high heels nearly sent them toppling. “I’ve missed you, too, kiddo.” For a moment, Sheila buried her nose in Kelley’s neck, inhaled the young life that smelled like baby powder and sweet roses. Her head spun and she held on, her throat tightening as she felt Kelley’s heartbeat against her chest. Life. So precious. So fragile. Sheila set Kelley down, crouched in front of her, and tweaked her nose. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m going to be in second grade. And I’m going to get to read chapter books. Morgan said we can start reading Harry Potter soon. Can you believe it?” Her squeal shot up an octave.

“Of course I believe it. You’re a very smart little girl. And what’s going on here?” Sheila plucked at the red and blue T-shirt Kelley was wearing. “What happened to your princess dress?” Ever since Kelley had come to live with her foster parents, the Fiorellis, nearly three years before, she’d insisted on dressing a la Disney. Her closet was overflowing with various costumes, including tiaras, ruby slippers, and, thanks to Morgan’s fiancé, a magic sparkly wand.

“She’s graduated in more ways than one,” a booming voice broke the echoing silence of the still empty center.

Kelley giggled and glanced over her shoulder as Gage Juliano joined them, and to Morgan’s surprise, followed by Malcolm.

Morgan beelined for her soon-to-be husband, who enveloped her in such a way that set Sheila’s heart stammering. She caught Malcolm’s gaze and felt her cheeks flush, as if his thoughts had tag teamed with hers.

“Graduated to what?” Sheila asked, standing up but keeping Kelley firmly in front of her, but Kelley leapt away from her, jumped, and planted her feet apart and crossed her arms in front of her in an X. “Wonder Woman.” She sang, imitating the classic cult TV show from the seventies. “She’s awesome.”

“She’s Lynda Carter, of course she’s awesome,” Malcolm agreed, and earned an enthusiastic nod of agreement from Gage as Morgan rolled her eyes. “You, young lady”—Malcolm stooped down and held out his hand—“must be Kelley. I have heard a lot about you.”

Kelley lowered her arms, planted her hands on her hips and angled her head in that accessing way she had that put a lie detector to shame. Interaction like this came with the territory for children who battled and survived serious illnesses. They had a special magic about them, a magic that was as rare as pixie dust and just as precious. How stupid she’d been. Kelley wouldn’t have made her hurt more.

The little girl would have helped her heal faster.

“What have you heard about me?” Kelley asked.

“That you are indeed an Amazon warrior,” Malcolm said with exaggerated seriousness and he glanced at Sheila. “And that your latest round of tests came back free and clear and that you’re all better.”

“Uh-huh.” Kelley nodded. “No more Leukemia. I kicked”—she kicked out her leg and did a little dance—“it to the curb.”

“That’s true?” Sheila looked to Morgan who nodded against Gage’s chest.

“Doctor Mark says I don’t have to come back in for a whole six months. Can you believe it?” Kelley squealed and launched herself at Sheila again, tilting her chin up and arching her entire body. “And you said when I was all better we could have a girlie day.” She blinked in a way that put a pound puppy to shame. “Remember?”

“I remember.” Sheila stroked her fine blonde hair. “Spa, swimming, shopping, whatever you want to do. Just name the day, okay?”

“Ummm . . .” Kelley scrunched up her face.

“We’ll look at your social calendar when you get home,” Morgan interrupted. Relief swelled within Sheila as she swallowed around the lump in her throat. She was getting pulled into the gravity well that was the Fiorelli household and the spinning planet that was Kelley. “Right now we need to pick up lunch for Lydia and Drew and . . .”

“And Cedric and Aiden. Did you hear we got new brothers?” Kelley jostled Sheila. “Brandon would have had so much fun with them.”

The balloon of happiness that had been expanding inside Sheila deflated. “I heard.”

She tried to smile, but couldn’t bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes. “I, um, have some errands to run. But I’ll see you on Monday, okay, kiddo?” She bent down and kissed the top of Kelley’s head. She’d hit her progress limit for the day.

“But—” Kelley tried to hang on as Sheila pried her arms from around her waist.

“Morgan?” Sheila whispered, hating the tremor in her voice, knowing she couldn’t maintain the façade of control much longer.

“Come on, Kelley.” Morgan moved in, squeezed Sheila’s hand, and scooped Kelley off the ground. “You’ll see Sheila in a couple of days.”

“We’re having a huge party,” Kelley announced to Malcolm as Morgan headed to the door. “You should come, too.”

“We’ll see,” Malcolm said.

“I hate when adults say that.” Kelley pouted. “Always means no.”

“Not always,” Gage called, then turned to Sheila once Morgan carried her out. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Sheila took a deep breath, but felt as if razors lined her lungs. “Just sneaks up on me sometimes, you know? The thought of other little boys in the house.” She let out a quick laugh. “Silly, I know.”

“No,” Gage said and squeezed her hand. “It’s not.”

It was then Sheila recognized the grief she’d been fighting in Gage’s voice. He’d formed a very strong bond with Brandon in the weeks before the little boy’s death, but Sheila hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize the similarity to their pain. “You miss him, too.”

“Every day,” Gage said, but he smiled around it. “It gets better, then it’s not. But there are two little boys who need what we gave Brandon. So I do it for him.”

“Yeah. I’ll remember that. I, um, have some work that needs doing. Malcolm, have a good weekend.”

“Sheila?” Malcolm caught her arm as she passed, but the concern in his eyes ignited her temper.

“I’m fine,” she said, not able to meet his sympathetic gaze as she tugged free and followed Morgan and Kelley outside into the bright sunshine. Alone.

***

Malcolm didn’t remember Lantano Valley having this many glass windows, but he’d seemed to have found most of them in the last few days.

Friday morning’s view of downtown Lantano Valley, replete with a movie theater, coffee bar, a new age art gallery, and one of the best Kosher delis this side of the Mason-Dixon line, was courtesy of Lantano Valley Memorial’s oncology unit and research facility.

At least with the buyout behind him, some of the pressure was off. Not that he’d been able to sleep. Waiting for the fallout would be doubly draining.

His head continued to reverberate with the bang, bang, banging of the CT machine, but at least the tests were over and done despite the holes in his arm Tiger Woods could practice putting on. The second he was out those front doors he was heading for the biggest burger he could find . . .

“Okay, Malcolm.” Dr. Joshua Collins strode into his office with Malcolm’s medical file, offering one of those encouraging yet guarded smiles as he gestured for Malcolm to retake his seat. “I can call you with the test results myself or have Doctor Chapman do so once she’s back. Up to you.”

“She mentioned having you consult on possible treatment options.”

“If need be, yes, I’d be happy to.” Dr. Collins took a seat, and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up higher on his face. He made Malcolm’s joints creak with his positive and youthful enthusiasm, which, all things considered, Malcolm appreciated. “I hope you’re not dwelling on the worst-case scenario.” Dr. Collins’s brows knit as if scolding a naughty child. “Despite the odds of a recurrence being slightly higher in the type of cancer you were treated for—”

“I was told there was a forty-five percent chance within five years. Sounds like Vegas odds to me, Doctor.”

“One reason I don’t care for Vegas. And it’s Joshua, please. I make it a point to be as open and honest with my patients as possible, so as far as I’m concerned, from here on, no matter what the tests say, you, me, and Doctor Chapman are a team. We’ll do what has to be done; we’ll fight it together. You’re either on board or you can find another doctor. Understood?”