I don’t have a problem with the man, but his daughter, on the other hand …
“I need a favor,” he announces, straightening his tie nervously.
“What is it?” Bones asks, standing over by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The black curtains pulled tight to block out the sun. Bones prefers darkness in every aspect of his life.
“I need a million dollars,” he announces.
The room falls silent. My eyes go to Bones, and he’s running his hand down his freshly shaven face. Grave pops a bubble with his gum, and Cross is flipping his Zippo.
“Done.” Bones nods. “I’ll have it for you in three hours.”
Mr. York’s green eyes widen for a brief second, and then he makes sure to look at each of us when he speaks. “Don’t you want to know why?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“No,” I answer.
“The why doesn’t matter to us. What is important is that you pay it back,” Bones explains.
Nick nods. “Of course. I …” He clears his throat. “Just tell me when.” He decides against what he was about to say.
“Three months,” I say.
He stands from the chair and buttons up his twenty-thousand-dollar suit jacket. “I won’t even need that long.”
We never did find out why he wanted it or what he did in order to pay us back.
“It seems fishy,” I agree. “But at least something good is going to come from Nick’s death.”
“Which is?” Cross asks.
I smile, looking over at him. “I made a phone call and was informed that George is back in town for his business partner’s funeral.”
“Meaning?” Grave asks, throwing back more of his energy drink.
“Meaning, we’re going to collect our money,” I answer as Bones glares at him.
EMILEE
I haven’t sleptin days. As soon as George called me, I threw some of my tubs that were packed with my clothes into my car and headed straight for Las Vegas. A twenty-four-hour drive took me thirty-five. I drove as fast as I could. I never stayed at a hotel, but I did pull over for a few hours of sleep here and there. I survived on energy drinks and fast food. They were cremating my father per his wishes, and it gave me some time to get back home. I wanted to fly to get here faster, but I needed my car here. I knew once I arrived, I wouldn’t be going back for a while. If ever.
Slamming my car into park, I enter my father’s house and run up the winding staircase, two at a time. Once I reach the second floor, I run down the hall to the master suite, then I shove the door open without even knocking. My mother lies in the king-size bed with her head resting on the upholstered white headboard and the red silk sheets pulled up to her neck. Her nurse stands to her right, helping her sip from a Styrofoam cup.
“When the hell were you going to tell me that you got a divorce?” I snap, trying to catch my breath.
She doesn’t even seem surprised that I know. I think she’s too tired at this point. Or she just doesn’t care. I’m not sure which one I’d rather it be.
“Emilee …” She softly says my name.
“Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “Don’t talk to me like I’m five, Mother. You got a divorce.” I growl. “A divorce? Why …? What?” I reach up and start yanking on the bobby pins and ponytail holder that kept the bun in place. “Fuck!” I hiss, scratching my head roughly.
“Will you give us a second?” she asks her nurse in a soft voice.
I begin to pace the large room. My eyes scan over the white carpet. My mother has always been a clean freak, but to be honest, she always paid someone to do it for her. My father gave her the ability to hire help, to allow her to be a stay-at-home mother who never had to worry how the mortgage was going to be paid or where her next meal would come from. I think she took that for granted.
Once she exits, my mother begins. “It’s complicated—”
“No. It’s not,” I interrupt her. “You. Got. A. Divorce. Who wanted it? You or Daddy?” My chest is heaving with every wild breath I take. The news of their divorce is hitting me hard. I understand that not every marriage works out. I’m not stupid. I know how love works. People change over the years and grow apart. It’s the fact that she never told me. I talked to her all the time. She had thousands of chances to come clean, and she chose not to.
She lets out a long sigh and pats the large space next to her. I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to move. I love my mother, but I’m not going to give her a pass because of her condition. She’s been lying to me. Daddy had been lying to me. What else don’t I know?
