Page 46 of Shattered Desires

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I felt I needed to tell you a few things,” Melanie says and my stomach drops. If she’s here to try to clear her name and talk shit about Kade when he can’t defend himself, I’m going to have to say something.

“What’s going on, Melanie?” Mrs. Reid asks, her eyebrows drawing together. She doesn’t need any more bad news. I don’t think she could take it.

“There are some things I think you should know. I know that Kade said I was out gambling and cheating on him, but that wasn’t the case.” I look at Mr. and Mrs. Reid and expect them to be much more shocked, but they both remain stoic and calm. “Kade was the one with the gambling problem, and from what I’m hearing from some of our old mutual friends, he was telling people it was me.”

“Melanie, I don’t know if it matters who gambled and who didn’t now. Kade is gone so—” I try to defend Kade, but Melanie quickly interrupts me.

“Let me finish, Declan. I promise it will all make sense.” She shifts on the high-backed chair and removes the scarf from her neck as her cheeks grow warm. “Kade developed a pretty serious drinking problem when we first got together. It was replaced by a gambling problem a couple of years ago, and one day I woke up to the news that our home was going to be foreclosed on.”

I look over to Mr. and Mrs. Reid again, but they remain the same. My brain is swirling with disbelief. What would he have to gain by lying about it?

“He left not long after, and apparently, he made up a story about me gambling our money away and leaving him for some other man, but neither of those things are true. He told me about his lies to his parents so he could get the money to save the house.” Her shoulders fall as she shakes her head. “I thought about calling and coming clean myself, telling the family what was really going on… I just didn’t feel like it was my place. I think he was partly embarrassed about what he had done… but the other part to it was you.” She looks at me, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Before I can interject, she continues. “Did you know he initially left Chicago to give Spence a shot with you?”

It isn’t news to me now, but this is the first that I see Mr. and Mrs. Reid come undone. Mr. Reid puts his hand over Mrs. Reid’s, and they look between each other.

“I don’t think he ever really got over you, but he loved Spence, and he told me that Spence would give you a better life than he ever could. Way to make me feel like a consolation prize, right?” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It didn’t matter. Despite it all, I loved him. Despite that he never really got over you or the fact that Spence was in love with you. When the house went into foreclosure, he had also just found out that you were getting married to someone who was not Spence. I don’t know if he found out on social media or if the two of you spoke or what. It doesn’t matter. But the reason he went to stop your wedding was to kick Spence’s ass into gear. From what he told me when he left Minnesota for good, during one of our many screaming matches, if Spence didn’t make his move, Kade was going to get you back.”

Mrs. Reid’s eyes well with tears as one solitary tear rolls down my cheek.

“I can see why he could never quite let you go, Declan. You’re beautiful.” She turns her attention to Mr. and Mrs. Reid and stands, walking over to them. She pulls a white envelope out of her coat and hands it to Mr. Reid. “This has a check for the amount of money you gave to us when Kade asked for a loan. It turns out he gambled all of that away, but I want you to have this. You’re owed that much, especially after everything.” Mr. Reid holds the envelope in his hand, and it looks like he isn’t sure what to do with what she’s just said. “I loved your son, Mr. and Mrs. Reid. I tried my best with him, but he had demons, and they were stronger than all of us.”

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30

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DECLAN

My phone vibrates against the marble top of my nightstand, and I’m immediately on alert. I don’t have any idea what time it is, but judging by the fact that there’s not even a sliver of light poking in from underneath my blinds, I know it’s the middle of the night. Dread pools in my stomach as I turn my cell phone over in my hands, squinting against the bright screen as I read Belleview. Fuck.

“Hello?” I clear my throat because I don’t even think that fully came out. “This is Declan Rothschild. What’s going on?” They don’t call me in the middle of the night unless something is wrong.

“Ms. Rothschild, my name is Linda. I’m one of the night nurses in your mother’s assisted living community.” She pauses, and it feels as if my heart is beating out of my chest. “I’m calling to inform you that…” Another pause. “I’m calling to inform you…”

“Linda, excuse my language, but what the fuck is going on?” I don’t mean to get rude, but I can’t take one more second of this unknown. “Is my mom okay?”

She sighs deeply into the phone, and I kind of want to throat-punch the woman.

“Ms. Rothschild… we can’t find your mother.”

The tables have turned, and it feels like someone has just throat punched me. They can’t find my mother?

“We noticed she was gone about an hour ago. We searched the entire community from top to bottom, and she isn’t here. We were hoping perhaps someone came and picked her up and didn’t sign her out?” Linda’s voice raises a few octaves, and there’s a glimmer of hope in her tone.

“You’re hoping someone signed her out?” I ask, breathlessly moving around my bedroom, turning on lights and yanking on clothes. “When was she last seen?”

I hear what sounds like rustling paper, and then Linda replies, “She was here three hours ago when our staff did their rounds.”

I remove the phone from my ear and check the time. It’s three thirty in the morning.

I want to ask her if they really think I’d come pick her up after midnight, but I stop myself. “You’ve looked everywhere?”

Linda clears her throat and tells me that they have. The entire community has been torn apart looking for my mother.

By the time I’m in my car and racing to Belleview, the nurse is asking me if I have any recent photographs of her or if I knew what she was wearing.

“I’m sorry, but she lives there,” I say, my irritation growing. “Doesn’t someone there know what she was wearing? You have cameras, can you check them and see what she was wearing? If she walked outside, surely a camera caught an image of her. I’m not there every single day. I have no idea what she was wearing.”My irritation sparks, mixing with my worry, but I just don’t understand why I’m the one telling them to check their damn cameras.

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