The Ex Files (22 page)

S
HERIDAN

She couldn’t stop thinking about Brock.

In the ten-minute ride home, she’d called his cell, his home every few minutes. But, there’d been no answer. Now, as she paced the length of her living room, her glance ricocheted between the telephone and the front door. She wanted to call Brock again, but any minute, Tori would barge into the house.

“Brock will have to wait,” she whispered.

She heard the click of the door’s lock before she even finished her thought.

“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted her daughter.

“Hi,” Tori responded, without looking up.

“How was your day?” Sheridan grabbed Tori’s backpack.

She shrugged. “Fine.”

Sheridan had seen this look, heard this tone, so many times before. But was it different now?

“Come in here.” Sheridan pointed into the living room. “I want to talk to you.”

“Mom,” she whined, “I just wanna go to my room.”

With just a look, Sheridan made her demand again and Tori dragged behind her. “Dad must’ve told you I called.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Well, I was mad,” she said. “But I’m fine now.”

“Why were you mad?”

Tori looked away. “No reason.”

“You’re going to sit here until you talk, so you might as well tell me.”

Tori thought for a moment, shrugged her shoulders as if life was no big deal. “Everyone’s so mean to me, but I don’t care.”

With the tips of her fingers, Sheridan raised her daughter’s chin. She looked into eyes that held no tears, but were drenched with sorrow just the same. “You don’t care?”

Before she could shake her head, her snivels began. “I don’t care,” she quivered. When Sheridan hugged her, Tori cried, “Mom, it’s awful! No one will talk to me. And I have to eat lunch by myself. And everyone is friends with Lara.”

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me this was going on?”

“Because you said it would get better. And I wanted it to. But it’s not.”

“Okay, then, we have to do something.”

Tori pulled back. “What can we do?” Her question was swathed in hope.

“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out. Your dad is on his way over—”

“Dad is coming over here?”

“Yes. We’re going to have dinner and we’ll talk. We’ll fix this.”

Slowly, Tori nodded. “But I don’t know what we can do, Mom. I don’t want you and Dad to come up to school.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to come up there and threaten to beat up everybody,” she kidded, but Tori didn’t smile with her. Sheridan added, “Whatever we do, we won’t embarrass you. Whatever we do, it’ll be okay.”

Tori nodded. “What time is Dad—”

The doorbell rang before she finished her question, and Tori ran to the door.

It was a small smile, that Tori wore when she strolled into the living room with her father, but it was enough to erase a bit of the ache in Sheridan’s heart.

“Hey,” Quentin said, sitting next to her. Tori dropped to the floor, yoga-style. Sat in front of her parents as if she were waiting for the meeting to be called to order.

In the few seconds of quiet, Sheridan noticed Quentin’s shoulder touching hers slightly.

“Mom, said you’re staying for dinner.”

“I am, but first, I want to talk about what’s going on in school.”

Sheridan inhaled, now taking in his fragrance that she no longer recognized. “You know what?” Sheridan leapt from the couch, needing to move away from his touch, his smell. “Let’s go out. We can talk at the restaurant.”

“Okay,” Tori jumped up.

She saw the question in Quentin’s eyes, but she was grateful that he followed her lead.

“Can I change clothes first, Mom?”

She nodded. “Go on.” She glanced at Quentin, thought about being alone with him, and added, “Don’t take too long, Tori.”

It wasn’t until they heard Tori’s bedroom door slam that he asked, “So, you’d prefer to go out?”

“Definitely.”

“You think that’ll be okay—talking to her in a public place rather than here?”

“It’ll be good for Tori to get out. I talked to her a bit and she really is having a tough time.”

Quentin shook his head.

“She’ll be all right,” Sheridan said. “But I want to take her mind away from it for a while. It’s hard being bullied—”

“Did she get into a fight?’

“No, but she’s being made an outcast and I won’t allow that.”

Quentin stood and, once again, stepped so close that she could feel more of him than she wanted. “We’ll take care of this, Sheridan. Together.” His gaze warmed her skin again.

There was nothing but silence; nothing but their stares. It was in slow motion—the way he moved—his face closer, closer, his lips aimed for hers.

“I’m ready,” Tori yelled, as she bolted down the stairs.

Quentin turned away and Sheridan breathed.
What was that?
she wondered as she grabbed her jacket and purse. When they stepped outside toward her car, Sheridan tried not to think about what almost happened. Tried instead to focus on a restaurant. One far away from her home. One where she could be sure Brock Goodman would not find the three Harts together.

A
SIA

Asia paused outside the den and peeked inside. Angel was stretched out on the floor, kicking her heels as she laughed at the cartoons. With a deep breath, Asia stepped away, leaned against the hallway wall. She had less than thirty minutes.

She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I don’t know, Noon,” she spoke loudly. “There’s something wrong with Bobby.” Asia paused, as if Noon really were on the other end. After a few seconds, she continued, “I’ve been watching the way he touches Angel. What he’s doing is wrong.” More silence; Asia peeked around the corner. Angel was sitting up now, Asia’s words bringing her to attention.

Asia leaned back, spoke. “All I know, Noon, is that I will do anything to keep Angel safe. I love her. But”—she paused—“I don’t know if Bobby loves Angel. I don’t think he does.”

That’s enough
, Asia thought as she took a deep breath. All she wanted to do was rush into the den, hold Angel, and tell her that she was loved by her mommy and her daddy. But all she did was tiptoe away, leaving Angel alone.

Asia waited in the kitchen and, just as she’d expected, within minutes her daughter stood in front of her.

“Hey, precious. You’ve been so quiet.”

Angel looked up, her eyes filled with tears that had not yet fallen.

Asia stayed in place, not rushing to pull Angel into her arms like she wanted. She said, “Your daddy is coming by—”

“No, Mommy,” Angel shook her head and cried.

“He’s just stopping by to say hello.”

“Does he have to?”

Finally she took her daughter’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

She said nothing.

“Did Daddy do something to you?”

Angel squinted, as if she were trying to get the right words.

She’s not ready
. Asia pulled her daughter into her arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll always protect you,” she whispered, as she held her. When the doorbell rang, Angel’s arms squeezed her mother tighter. “I promise I won’t leave you,” Asia added.

She held Angel’s hand as they walked toward the front door.

“Hey,” Bobby said as he stepped inside. He reached for Angel; she stiffened, became a load of dead weight when he lifted her into his arms.

For Asia, the moments moved in slow motion—Bobby’s lips aimed for Angel’s—a gentle peck, the same as always. But this time, he had barely leaned back when, with the back of her hand, Angel wiped away his kiss.

He laughed. “Why’d you do that?”

“Ah, Bobby, you said you had something for me?” Asia asked before Angel could speak.

“Yeah, I have the condo papers.” He lowered Angel to the floor, then grabbed a packet from his jacket. “It’s in your name now.” He glanced at Angel. “We…can talk about this later.”

“It’s okay.” She turned toward the living room, pulling the papers from the envelope; Angel scurried behind her. “Would you mind if I took a look?”

“Not at all. It’s a done deal. This”—he waved his hands around—“is all yours.” He sank onto the couch, then motioned toward Angel. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, patting his lap.

“No!”

The fright in her voice shocked them both.

Bobby frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Angel’s eyes darted between her mother and father.

“Nothing,” Asia said quickly, putting her arm around Angel. “She wasn’t feeling well when she got home from school.”

“Oh…okay.” His frown was still in place. “Maybe I should go then.” He stood. “Would you mind giving Daddy a little kiss good-bye?”

This time, Angel screamed “No!” before she tore from the room and up the stairs.

“Whoa.”

“I told you; she’s not feeling well.”

With a shrug, Bobby ambled toward the door. “Give me a call if you have any questions about the condo.” He paused, looked back at her.

Asia frowned. She recognized that glare.

He said, “Look, I’m free tonight, and Caroline’s in Dallas. If you want, we can—”

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” Asia interrupted him. “Lonely?”

“Nah, nah, I’m just sayin’…”

“Why don’t you just say good-bye?”

He held up his hands. “Tell Angel ’bye for me.” He opened the door, then stopped. Took a moment, then turned. “Tell Angel that I love her.”

By the time Asia rushed to her daughter’s room, Angel was sprawled across her bed, crying. Asia’s eyes sprouted their own tears as she held her daughter. Her cries were for much more than Angel’s pain today; she wept for the hurt that Angel would always know, believing now that her father didn’t love her. It was the same pain that she breathed every day.

That’s okay
, Asia thought, holding her daughter as their sobs blended together. She’d survived without a father, and Angel would survive too. She’d make sure that her daughter had a wonderful life, even without Bobby Johnson.

K
ENDALL

Kendall pressed the key on her phone to hear the voice mail again.

“Baby girl, your sister is back in the hospital, back at Cedar’s. Please baby girl, please do what’s right.”

She pressed the key, repeated the message, listened again. But there were no more words, no hints. She clicked the phone off.

Why would Daddy do that?
she wondered.
Why would he call and not say more?
But then she wondered why she asked herself that. He wasn’t supposed to be calling her at all. She wasn’t supposed to care.

Kendall grabbed the telephone again and with a deep breath, she dialed. As the phone rang on the other end, she stared through her balcony windows at the early-morning surf.

“Cedar Sinai.”

“I’d like some information on one of your patients?”

“What kind of information?” the operator asked with a frown in her voice.

“I want to know how my…one of your patients is doing.”

“Name, please.”

“Sabrina Leigh, but I don’t want to—”

She heard a click, then a pause before another phone began to ring. She prayed that she was being transferred to a nurse’s station. Her eyes stayed on the ocean’s hypnotic rhythm, and she was reminded of the first time she’d had this view.

“We cannot afford a home in Malibu,” she’d protested when Anthony insisted there was a house on the edge of the Pacific that he wanted her to see. “And you’re talking right on the beach? You must be working too hard because surely you’ve lost your mind,” she’d kidded her husband of almost a year.

“That’s the beauty of sharing your bed with a man whose brother’s in real estate. We get first dibs on the deals.”

“This house would have to be darn near free,” she’d argued. “Our money’s tied up.”

But Anthony had ignored her. Dragged her away from the office with promises to return her to her desk within a few hours.

During the ride over, she’d recounted for Anthony all the reasons why the dream of a Malibu home could not come true. But the moment she stepped into the split-level home, she’d dropped her case. When Anthony had taken her hand and led her to the deck, she’d inhaled the fragrance of the sea and then almost begged her husband to find a way to make this wonderful place a part of their perfect life.

Her sister’s “Hello” broke up her memory.

Startled, Kendall waited to hear Sabrina’s voice again.

“Hello.”

She strained to hear what she wouldn’t ask. Did she have any pain? Did she have any hope?

Without a single word, Kendall clicked off the phone, then slipped through the balcony doors, her sister’s voice still on her mind.

The morning mist kissed her and launched her back to the last time she’d strolled along the ocean’s edge. The last time the sand had tickled her toes.

Anthony had held her hand that day. And they’d stopped every few steps to kiss.

After that, his lips had never touched hers again.

That day had flipped in just minutes, right after she’d announced that she was going back to the office.

“But I planned this evening for us since you’re leaving
again
, in the morning,” Anthony had said.

“I know, baby, but I’m not ready for the meeting tomorrow and I really want to line up Ozark as our beauty products supplier.”

“It’s not that big a deal. They want to do business with us.”

“But I want the best prices.”

He’d sighed.

She’d said, “Why do you always make my work a problem?”

“Why don’t you make our marriage a priority?”

“Everything I do is for us. For our future. Baby, if we work hard now, we’ll be able to play later.”

He’d waited just a moment before he said, “If you keep this up, later may never come for us.”

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer—at least not right then; she’d found out what he’d meant two days later when she’d found him in bed with Sabrina.

She shook her head now and wished that motion could toss every memory she held into the deepest part of the blue brine. Life should have been getting easier—her divorce was final and Anthony and Sabrina’s engagement had sent a stake through any hope she’d had, ending those dreams forever. Still, remnants of her love remained.

How can I get Anthony out of my heart?

She turned back to the house, stepped inside, and gasped.

“What are you doing here?” She held her chest, trying to calm her breathing.

“What are
you
doing here?” Anthony asked.

“I live here,” was what she said. Her tone added,
You
do not.

He said, “I thought you’d be at work.”

“I took the morning off.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Why?”

“I’ve never known you to take time off from the business.”

She wanted to scream. They were divorced, but his complaints were the same. That she never had any time—for life or love. “It’s the weekend.” She shrugged. “Not a big deal if I take a couple of hours off. And that’s not the point. What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“I’m meeting with the designers of the club in Orange County and I remembered the blueprints were here.”

“I didn’t know you still had a key.”

“You never asked for it back.”

She reached her hand toward him and, after a pause, he dropped two keys into her palm. “You should have called,” she said.

“I would’ve if I’d known you were going to be here.” He pointed toward the office upstairs. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” She watched as he jogged up the staircase. This time, when she inhaled, it was his scent that she took in. And she hated that she was pleased.

“Thanks,” he said when he returned. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

She watched his back, and her mind scrolled through all the things she could say. “I thought you’d be at the hospital with Sabrina.”

He paused. Looked at her as if he wondered about the motivation behind her interest. “I don’t want to get into anything about your sister.”

Kendall folded her arms. “My father left a message that Sabrina was back in the hospital.”

He looked at her, eyes softer now. “Yes.” He nodded. “The fever is back and her doctors are concerned.”

“Is she all right?”

He frowned as if he didn’t understand her question. “No. She’s not. She still needs the transplant and, most likely, will die without it.”

Kendall shook her head slightly, not sure if she was trying to get rid of her guilt or her regret.

Anthony said, “You haven’t spoken to your father?”

His tone made her sink onto the couch; she shook her head.

He settled next to her. “Your father wants to be Sabrina’s donor.”

“What?!”

“Well, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be a match.” He paused. “Siblings are the best shot.”

“But isn’t this too risky for my father?” she asked, ignoring his last words. “He’s too old.”

“He knows that, but he’s not willing to wait for a donor. When he found out that over seventy percent of patients never find donors, he started talking about…”

“What?”

“He said that if he’s not a match, he’ll just have to think about having another child.”

Kendall bounced from the couch. “You’re kidding!” She laughed, but then stopped when Anthony didn’t make a move. “How can he have a child? He’s sixty-five years old.”

Anthony shrugged. “He knows how old he is. But what he knows most is that he may lose his daughter.”

“My father has lost his mind.”

“No. He hasn’t lost his mind, but he’s losing his hope. He’s desperate. And desperate people…come up with the strangest ideas.” He looked down at his hands. “Kendall, I was hoping you’d reconsider.”

“Is that what my father’s thinking? That if he comes up with enough ludicrous ideas, I’ll do it for Sabrina?”

“No, this isn’t any kind of game to him. He’s fighting to save his child. He would do the same for you.” Softly, he added, “Sabrina would do it for you, too.”

Kendall tried, but she couldn’t hold back. “She should; look what I’ve done for her.” She folded her arms. “I gave her my husband.”

Slowly, Anthony rose. “So, do you feel better now? Does the prospect of your sister dying make you feel like you’re even?”

She stood defiant.

It’s the law of the streets
.

With a shake of his head, he backed up, moving fast, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. As if staying in the same space would contaminate him too. “I feel sorry for you,” he said as he opened the door.

“Don’t feel sorry for me; I’m not dying.”

“No, you’re not dying.” He paused. “You’re already dead.” He stepped outside and closed the door of the place they had both once called home.