Page 26 of Just (Fake) Married
“Well, shit,” Carter muttered. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“I am to read this letter.”
Mr. Prescott cleared his throat and started to read. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Harmony picked up her sister’s empty whiskey glass and slipped it into her bag. I coughed and her eyes flew to mine. However, instead of looking guilty or embarrassed, she looked me dead in the eye like all she was doing was taking her due.
It had always been just another wedge between the Calloways and McGraws. Yes, they owned most of the businesses in town, but in a place like Last Hope, those profit margins were always pretty thin. Growing up, the Calloways didn’t have much in the way of material things.
Whereas, the McGraws…well, we appeared to have it all. At least from the outside.
So, yeah, if Harmony thought she was getting some revenge by stealing a crystal glass, let her have it, I thought.
She lifted her finger and wiped the edge of her lip, like she was cleaning up that deep red lipstick. There was something about the stress in the room, her perverse nature, and the sight of her now smeared red lips that made my skin too tight.
Suddenly, all of my unease and frustration turned on her. A frustrated electric pulse traveled through me. I imagined lifting the skirt of that dress she wore, sliding my hand along her thigh. My face in front of hers, breathing in her air. Forcing her to breathe in mine.
Asking her what the hell she was doing, coming here and stealing…my peace of mind.
Our eyes were locked and I could see the rapid lift and fall of her chest. She was not as indifferent as she wanted to be.
It had been ages since I’d felt like this. Like I wanted to take everything out on someone. This instinct, this feeling, had always reminded me too much of my dad, and so I’d squashed it. Now, twenty-four hours back in his house, and faced with Harmony Calloway – that feeling was back with a vengeance.
God, the things I wanted to do to her.
“Monica,” Mr. Prescott read from the letter, and everyone in the room stiffened. I pulled my attention away from Harmony. “I hope you did what I asked, and are wearing the ring I gave you.”
Everyone, especially her daughters, turned to stare at Monica. Stared at her while she spun a small diamond ring around her left ring finger, and looked like she might burst into tears.
“I should have kept the promise I made when I gave you that ring. I am sorry I listened to my father. I’m sorry I let my pride get in the way.” Mr. Prescott read. “And I’m sorry for everything that happened after that.I know I let you down.”
“Mom?” Harmony touched her mother’s hands. “What’s he talking about?”
“If we could save questions until the end,” Mr. Prescott said. The house was chilled, but the lawyer was sweating. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his bald head.
“You okay, Mr. Prescott?” I asked. I stepped forward thinking I would check his pulse and pupils. He didn’t look well.
“Fine,” Prescott flashed an unconvincing smile, then picked the letter back up.
“This feud,” he read, “has destroyed our families’ chances at happiness and ruined lives on both sides for over a century.”
“Both sides,” Bliss interjected. “Let the record show that the Calloways have been on the receiving end of the ruined lives part way more than the McGraws.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Mac threw out there.
“Yes,” Amity said in a clipped tone. “We do.”
Harmony put her hands over her sisters’ thighs as if to support them, and calm them down at the same time.
Prescott cleared his throat. “I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life. Made a lot of mistakes-”
“Okay. No way Dad wrote this,” Mac said, crossing his arms over his chest, and I had to agree.
Dad never apologized for anything in his life. If he told us once, he told us a thousand times, it was a man’s job to make a choice, never to apologize for it and never to regret it.
However, what I came to understand over the course of my life was, that was fine for Leroy. But if someone else made a choice, one that he didn’t like, then he considered it mutiny.
“He predicted you might say that,” Prescott said. He reached into that briefcase of his and pulled out a piece of paper. He laid it on the desk so I could walk over and take a look.
Signed and notarized. Across the top in Dad’s handwriting:
