Shopping for a Billionaire 4 (8 page)

“Go on.”

“You want me to go on about rats?”

“Could you please connect the rats to James?”

“Isn’t it clear?”

“No.”

She sighs heavily. “The building was overrun with rats.”

Amy and I both shudder and gag. I shudder, she gags. Then we trade.

“And the only way to keep the rats away was with cats.”

“Is that where we got Chuckles?”

She snickers. “No, but Chuckles could be the baby of one of the babies of one of those old warehouse cats. There were so many.”

“Rat killer thrice removed,” Amy says. 

“Get on with it. The James part.” I’m impatient. My life is hanging in the balance here. Amanda’s researching what the hell happened with Declan’s mother, who died in a most fragile way and one that could kill me, too. Meanwhile, my mother spills the fact that she once dated (slept with?) Declan’s father, and she’s blathering on about rats.

“So when he saw how we controlled the rats, he went to the humane society and adopted fifty cats. Set them loose in the building. Except he didn’t think about the stray dogs in the neighborhood.”

“Dogs?”

Mom’s laugh is infectious, and I study her profile. The years strip off her face and she looks like she’s twenty again. Sunshine frames her face and I hold my breath, enraptured.

“All these dogs started sniffing around the building, howling. They wouldn’t kill the rats, but they loved to chase the cats. We slept on these little pallets in the art studios and it reached a point where you didn’t know if a rat, a cat, or a dog was running over your body at 3 a.m.” She makes a funny frowny face. “Or if it was the residual effects of the hit of acid from that night.”

“Are you sure any of this is true?” Amy asks. “Maybe it’s all just an elaborate flashback.”

Mom whacks her lightly on the arm and Amy yelps with manufactured injury. “It’s all true. You can ask James.”

“I can’t ask James anything,” I argue.

“Sure you can. He’s still your client.”

“What about you and him? How’d you start dating?”

“He came to the building one day and was horrified to find that it had become a doggie hotel. The cats were in hiding, the rats were gone, and a ton of homeless women had followed the dogs who were so starved for attention that they curled up in everyone’s laps. There was one, named Winky—this cute little mangy Jack Russell terrier. That thing was smaller than some of the rats he managed to kill.”

“A rat-killing terrier?” Amy’s laughing.

“Mom! Dating!”

“He came over one day to assess the mess and I told him he had to take care of Winky’s vet bill. The poor thing had an infected paw from a rat bite. James thought I was crazy.”

“You are crazy,” Amy and I say in unison.

“James agreed.” She chuckles. “I got that man to take me and Winky to a downtown veterinarian who treated him with antibiotics and stitches, though. James paid the bill, then asked me out for dinner.”

I stop smiling. “When was this?”

“About a year before he married Elena.” 

Elena. Mom knows her name. Mom knew all this time about Declan and played dumb. The sidewalk dips and cracks from old tree roots along the tree lawn, and I halt, one foot higher than the other on a slab of concrete. Being off kilter makes sense.

“You’ve been lying this entire time,” I blurt out.

“Not lying, honey.”

“Don’t call me honey! Declan called me honey!”

“I haven’t lied, Shannon. I just…didn’t tell you.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.” Throwing that in her face gives me a certain satisfaction, because it was what she always said to us when we were kids and didn’t tell the whole truth.

She sighs and looks up at the sky. A massive jet leaves contrails that spread out like a zipper opening, white fluff filling in the space.

“You’re right. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“All this ‘marry a billionaire’ and ‘you can love a rich man as much as you love a poor man’ crap has been because you regret being dumped by James McCormick a million years ago?” I snap.

Angry eyes meet mine.

“That’s not true.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what’s true, Mom? I dated Declan. I brought the man to Easter dinner and you pretended not to know his mother is dead! A woman whose name you know because you dated his dad.”

“I had no idea Elena had died! I haven’t seen James McCormick in thirty years, Shannon. Aside from the society and business pages of the newspapers.”

“And Jessica Coffin’s Twitter stream.”

Her cheeks pinken. “He’s in there sometimes.”

I’m so livid that words turn into angry balloons in my head. I march forward, Mom and Amy rushing to keep up. We’re halfway around a giant loop we walk in my neighborhood, and if I have to spend one more second being patronized I’m going to scream.

“‘Marry a billionaire! Billionaire babies! Farmington wedding!’ Jesus, Mom, you’re one big, fat hypocrite.” I come to such a sudden halt that Amy slams into my back and squeaks.

“Does Dad know you dated him?”

“Of course. Jason’s the reason I broke up with him.” 

Awestruck. I’m awestruck, and Amy looks like she’s just been hit by a bolt of lightning. Are we smoking? We should have tendrils of fine white smoke pouring up to meet the jet trails.

“You dumped James McCormick to be with Daddy?” I gasp.

“Well, he wasn’t
the
James McCormick back then. He was just an arrogant man who was hungry to make a deal and launch himself in the business world.”

A pink flower catches my attention. Then the drip of a lawn sprinkler. A dog barks in the distance once. Then twice. The pneumatic wheeze of a dump truck starting to move after being stopped at a red light fills my ears. This cannot be real. My mother cannot be telling me that—

“You mean he was the equivalent of Steve? Like, the 1980s version of Shannon’s ex?” Amy says.

Mom swallows, her hand fluttering at the base of her throat, eyes troubled. “I suppose so. I never thought of it that way, but yes.”

I slump against a giant, knotted oak, a triple-truck so gnarled and scarred it looks like it saw combat. “That explains so much.” 

Mom leans against a shiny patch of pale yellow wood where the bark has been picked clean. Sheared off. “I guess it does. I wanted you and Steve to work out because he reminded me of James.”

“And when I brought Declan home?”

“I wanted that even more.”

I snort. “Because it was like reliving James. For you. If I got together with Declan it was James, once removed.”

“No!” Mom’s face flushes bright red, almost purple, and her eyes turn so angry. All that youth that captured her levity and light in her laughter moments ago is banished, replaced by an outrage I rarely see. “Don’t conflate the two. I wanted you to be with Declan because it was immediately apparent from spending ten seconds in both your presences that something very unique is there. The air around you two is charged. You don’t see that often.” 

“You didn’t have that with James?”

“No.” She blinks, hard, working to control her emotions. This is a side of my mother I’ve rarely seen. In fact, I’ve
never
seen this.

“What did you mean Daddy’s the reason you broke up with James?” I ask quietly. We resume our walk, talking long strides, measuring our speed. Amy’s eyes are alert and perceptive; she’s taking it all in without saying much.

Mom looks at the sky again. “You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“And you didn’t fall in love with James?”

“I tried.” Without elaborating, she lets that hang there. A child flies by on a scooter and we move to get out of his way, the wind whipping through his hair, pure joy on his face as he races his dad, who is on his bike on the road. The dad is pedaling slowly, moderating his pace so his son can win. 

We all smile at the sight. Mom’s face folds in fastest, though, going somber, her eyes a bit haunted. “I tried,” she repeats. “But you can’t force yourself to love someone if it’s not right.”

“And maybe that’s what’s happening with Declan.”

“You’re not forcing anything, Shannon,” she says, gently touching my arm.

“No—not me. Him. Maybe I really wasn’t enough.” I let a frustrated sigh burst out of me. “Or I was too much.” His words ricochet in my head.

“Do you really believe that?”

We round a corner and watch the dad and son fade out over the big hill we’re about to climb.

I can’t answer. My mouth has gone dry and my throat aches. So much information. Too much history. Mom dated James? Mom rejected James? Mom watched me bring Declan home and didn’t say a word? Was that really out of respect or was there something more?

“How did James take it when you ended your relationship?” I ask, deflecting. I don’t want to answer her question.

She gives me a rueful smile. “Not well. James doesn’t like to lose.”

I laugh so hard I trigger a bunch of dogs behind a fence, their furious barking making me laugh even more. “That’s an understatement.”

“He didn’t have a choice. I chose.” Her eyes go to a place I can’t even see, where a love that has lasted more than thirty years lives. Dad’s in there somewhere, and he and Mom have their own world where they are each other’s sun and moon, orbiting each other.

Amy pipes up finally, as if she’s been holding back all along from asking a question that’s burning a hole in her head. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“How did you meet Dad?”

Her smile broadens. “He was the vet tech for Winky.”

* * *

When we get back from our walk, two issues are clear:

1. We’re still going to eat ice cream.

2. Amanda’s struck out.

“I have the best Google skills this side of the Mississippi,” she groans. “But there’s just this obituary. Not even a mention in the society pages. It’s…weird.”

We’re shoving mouthfuls of sex substitute (and no, not vibrators) into our mouths, my caramel chunks a poor substitute for a man’s mouth, but hey, I’ll take it, when Mom shouts, “Jessica Coffin!”

I inhale a solid piece of chocolate-covered frozen caramel and the world begins to swirl. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. I thump my chest and stare, bug-eyed, at Mom. 

“Look at Shannon do her
Planet of the Apes
imitation,” Mom jokes.

Dark spots fill in the edges of my vision. I seriously cannot breathe, and Mom’s face changes as she realizes I’m not making a sound. 

Amy jumps up and is across the room in seconds, arms wrapping around me from the back as one thought fills my mind:

Death by chocolate is very, very real.

You take first-aid classes and learn the Heimlich maneuver and wrap your arms around a dummy and pull toward you. You practice on another human being without hurting them. In the seconds between life and death in real life, though, you don’t realize how hard you have to pull, the force it takes to dislodge an errant chocolate caramel, or the panic that you feel as blood’s cut off from your brain, your entire life in the hands of the baby sister who used to break the heads off your Barbies and roast them on a stick in the fire in the wood stove.

If I’m going to die, there’s a certain irony that it’s like this and not from a bee sting.

Amy, fortunately, turns out to be as much a hero as Declan, and with one rib-cracking yank the chocolate climbs up my throat, scrapes against the back of my tongue, bounces off the top of my mouth, and flies right into Chuckles’ eye, sending him sprawling off the back of the couch and into a wastebasket next to the front door.

A hole in one.

Whoop!
I inhale so long and hard it’s like the sound a hurt toddler makes as they gear up for a big old outraged cry. Chuckles beats me to it, scratching his way out of the trash can and howling with outrage. 

“My God, Shannon, are you okay?” Mom asks, rushing over with a glass of water.

Everyone ignores Chuckles. He marches over to the front door and begins peeing in Mom’s purse. My throat is raw and I can’t say anything, but a weird hitching sound comes out of me, tears rolling down my face as sweet, blessed air makes its way where the frozen caramel just perched.

“Eye,” is all I can manage, pointing at the cat, who is now peeing on Amy’s shoe. The new Manolo knockoff.

Amy’s studying her hands like they’re an Oscar statue. “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispers. Mom gives her a huge hug and they all watch me, Amanda behind me, her hand on my back with a supportive touch.

Normal respiration resumes. By the time I’m okay, Chuckles has moved on to peeing on a plant, a doorstop painted like a bunny, and someone’s stray Target bag filled with dish soap. Equal opportunity sprayer, he is.

He hates everyone equally.

“Jessica Coffin made you choke!” Amanda declares, trying to be funny. She fails.

“Why did you shout her name?” I ask. The words make sense to me, but everyone acts like I just spoke in Farsi.

Somehow, Amy understands what I’m asking and repeats it.

Mom frowns. “We can talk about that later.”

“Now,” I croak.

“Okay, well…” She really doesn’t want to say this. “When you’re recovered.”

I drink all the water in the glass she’s given me, heart slowing down. “Thank you,” I say to Amy with as much gratitude as my damaged voice can muster.

“Anytime.”

“This makes up for the Barbie,” I say in a shorthand only siblings understand.

“Finally!” She throws her hand up like an Olympian winning a gold medal. “It only took fifteen years and near-death!”

“That was my favorite Barbie,” I rasp. We share a smile. I inhale deeply and turn to Mom.

“Jessica Coffin?”

Amanda points at Mom. “You’re right! Perfect!” The two share a look that goes right over my head.

“Care to share?”

“She’s the hoity-toity gossip queen. If anyone knows what happened to Elena, it’s her. Or her Mom. They both use gossip like it’s currency.”

My throat nearly closes up again with the implications of what they’re saying. “You want me to go and see Jessica Coffin to pick her brain for the answer to how Declan’s mother’s death is connected to his dumping me?”