“Oh, really.” The smile that came at her was horrible. Just a baring of teeth. “You know, I have to give you credit. I mean, you had me, you really did.”
“Sean, I didn’t—”
“I’m sure you’re going to get a good price for this place. And soon, too. I’m almost finished here so you can put it on the market right away. Or keep it. Either way, you won’t have to worry about rent for a while and not just because some sap is letting you live here for free.”
“Why in the world do you think I’d—”
“I saw the checks.”
“What?”
“The ones you wrote to yourself and made him sign.”
Lizzie was momentarily speechless. But then she had plenty of things to say. “I beg your pardon. First of all, your father’s hands shook from the meds he was on and it was hard for him to write. Secondly, those checks were to me to reimburse what I spent on him . He was all but housebound because of his heart and the only way I could get him to let me do his errands was if he paid me up front. And we still fought about it all the time. He hated accepting help.”
“A plausible denial, but you have no way of proving to me where any of this cash went, do you? Unless you have receipts from the past year, which somehow I doubt you’re going to be able to produce. Bottom line? There’s a lot more gone from here than can be accounted for through food expenses and miscellaneous purchases. And though I’m sure you’re one hell of a cleaning lady, I don’t think a good dusting is that expensive.”
Lizzie shook her head and thought of all the prescriptions she’d filled and doctor’s office co-pays she’d covered and cardiac rehab visits she’d shelled out for. And that was just the tip of the iceberg for what treating his heart had required.
But she wasn’t going to justify herself. Sean wouldn’t believe anything she told him and she was so angry at him she was likely to fly off the handle.
“You don’t trust me at all, do you?” she said.
“Give me one reason, in the face of all this, that I should.”
“Wow. Yeah…that’s all I’ve got right now. Just…wow.” She picked up her purse and put the will on a box. “You can keep the house, Sean. I wouldn’t take it if you paid me to.”
“Uh-huh, right. A convenient show, but legally it’s already yours.”
“I never asked him for this. And I can’t believe you find it so easy to doubt me. But you know what? I’d rather know about your lack of faith sooner rather than later.” She turned to the door and stared at him over her shoulder. “I’ve been telling myself you’re just slow to trust, but I don’t think that’s actually true. I think you’re broken, Sean…on the inside. So this showdown between us was inevitable, and although it hurts like hell, I’m glad it’s out of the way. I’ll put your things out in the foyer in a couple of minutes. Don’t knock on my door again. Ever.”
***
Chapter Sixteen
Sean spent the night at the Four Seasons and returned to the duplex to let the church folks in the following morning. Lizzie was working another double shift so she wasn’t around. Which was good.
His father’s place was empty by 11:00 a.m. and he was on his plane going back to Manhattan not long thereafter.
During the flight, he got no work done. Made no phone calls. Ate nothing, drank nothing. He sat alone in the luxurious cabin and tried to convince his brain to shut up. It was a debate he lost. The refrain that he’d been taken as a fool again just kept hammering at him, making him feel stupid and as if he shouldn’t ever trust his instincts. God, he’d been so careful. For years. To be taken unawares again challenged his faith in himself.
And the worst of it all? There was a little voice in his head that doubted what he’d seen with his own eyes…. That wanted to believe Lizzie Bond wasn’t capable of that kind of cunning…That craved to find out a different truth.
Anytime that whisper got too loud, though, he just reminded himself about all those checks and that will. Also recalled that desperation was no one’s friend…and he’d very certainly been desperate for that woman.
God, he was an idiot…
As the plane circled Teterboro Airport before landing, his phone went off in his pocket. He frowned at the caller ID on the BlackBerry. Untraceable.
“Hello?”
“Sean O’Banyon?” came a male voice.
“Yeah.”
“This is in regard to your brother, Sergeant Major Mark David O’Banyon.”
Sean’s blood ran cold until it was a solid in his veins. “Yes?”
“I understand you’ve left a number of messages for him. He’s on special assignment right now and will not be able to respond to them for a period of time. This is a courtesy call.”
Sean got dizzy from relief. Nearly saw stars. “Any idea when I’ll hear from him? There’s been a death in the family and I’d prefer not to tell him over the phone.”
“I can’t answer that in any official manner. But you might think in terms of months, not days. I can, however, try and get a message to him. If this is vital.”
“Our father’s dead.”
There was a pause. “You have my condolences and I will make sure that he gets the news. Is there anything else?”
God, there were so many other things he wanted to tell Mac, but not through an intermediary. “No. I’ll wait to hear from him, but thanks for this.”
“He will get the word. You can trust the army.”
“I do. Thanks again.”
Sean hung up and the plane descended. As the wheels squeaked on the tarmac, he remembered that tonight was the Hall Foundation Gala and he was going as Elena’s social shield.
Damn shame he was feeling so transparent.
***
On Sunday, Lizzie went to the local market and bought the Boston Globe for its classifieds section and the New York Times for the crossword puzzle. Back at home, she sat on her couch, turned on National Public Radio for company and got out a red pen to circle jobs and apartments.
As she went through the rental section, and looked at addresses and monthly costs, she was nothing but an ache with arms and legs. Her whole body hurt, but the worst of it was in her chest. And she couldn’t get her mind to focus. Eventually, she ended up doodling until her pen ate a hole in the newspaper and ink bled through onto her thigh.
She licked her forefinger and rubbed the red mark away.
She was so angry at Sean. Insulted. Hurt. Offended.
Now there was a crossword-puzzle theme. All the emotions you felt when you were grossly misjudged by someone. Probably wouldn’t fly though. PISSED OFF was not likely to show up in the Times as a clue. And neither was WEEPY AS HELL.
As she started in on another corner with the doodling, part of her wanted to call Sean and yell at him. Part of her wanted to prove she wasn’t who he thought she was. And part of her just wanted to crawl into bed and cry.
Determined not to fall into self-pity, she reminded herself that she had three interviews lined up this week and there were a couple of apartments that might work depending on whether their bathrooms were inhabitable. So she wasn’t trapped in this apartment and there were prospects for work.
God…the will.
She’d never expected Mr. O’Banyon to leave her anything. They’d never even talked about that kind of thing. And she would have told him no if they had.
Which was maybe why it hadn’t come up.
The thing was, even though she was mad at Sean, and even though he had so much money it wasn’t as if he needed any cash, she didn’t want to take his father’s legacy away from him and his brothers. That was inappropriate. And Mr. O’Banyon shouldn’t have done it. His children should have come first, no matter what had broken apart the family.
She tossed the Globe aside and picked up the Times. The massive weight of Manhattan’s famous paper was awkward in her hand and the thing spilled out onto the floor.
Which was how she saw Sean on the front page of the Style section holding a superbly dressed woman in his arms.