So I decided, for my boy, to let it go.
Now, it was worse not only because they were late but also, except for a quick text from Auden that said simply, We’re gonna be late. Sorry. I’d had nothing. I gave it half an hour then I’d texted. I’d phoned.
I’d received no reply.
My kids were not impolite. Since our reunion, this kind of thing didn’t happen. They might not reply immediately, but they replied.
Knowing they were late, they’d reply at the very least so I wouldn’t worry.
I snatched up my cell, declaring, “I’m gonna call him.”
“Sweetheart,” Lawr said, reaching out a hand to wrap it around my wrist. “Don’t.”
I looked up at him. “There are pies to be baked!” I snapped.
He lifted his brows and looked down at the pie crust he was rolling out (always there for me, my big brother Lawrie).
“We need to bake three of them, Lawrie,” I reminded him.
“And they’ll get baked,” he replied.
I looked to the crust and mumbled, “I should have made them yesterday.”
And I should have, though I didn’t know how I could have, what with spending half the day baking and decorating Thanksgiving-themed cupcakes to take to Dove House, where, after Mickey left, Lawr, the kids and I were going.
That part of the day I wasn’t nervous about. I was just excited. The kids were finally going to meet the residents and I was going to get to show them and Lawr what I did that meant so much to me.
And bonus, I got to spend time with my old folks on Thanksgiving with my family (or most of it, but maybe next year I’d get to take Mickey, Cillian and Aisling).
“MeeMee,” he called and I looked back to him. “If he’s playing some game, you don’t want to lose it and fall into his plans. You also don’t want the kids, who know they should be here and are already probably stressed out that they aren’t, to be more stressed with you phoning and texting. Give them another half an hour. If they don’t show, call Auden again. If he doesn’t answer, call Conrad just to be sure they’re okay. In the meantime, try to relax.”
Relaxing was an impossibility.
I was a wreck.
Lawrie read it.
“MeeMee, sweetheart, I know this is a big day. It’s a big day for the kids too. But you have to guide it. Get in that space. Okay?”
What he meant was that I had to pull myself together.
Again.
Because of Conrad’s antics.
Again.
But I had made up my mind that he would never again best me.
So I nodded.
The doorbell rang.
I tensed.
I didn’t recognize the shadow in the glass, which was concerning.
As I studied it, Lawrie said, “This is ready. Get it in the plate and pour that gunk in it. I’ll get the door.”
He gave me no opportunity to reply, he walked toward the door.
I rolled the crust on the rolling pin and was spreading it out over the pie plate when I heard, “Signed delivery.”
That surprised me.
Who did signed deliveries on holidays?
I kept spreading as I watched Lawr sign then take the envelope with an expression of gratitude before he closed the door and turned to me.
He was walking and examining the envelope.
He got to the end of the counter and lifted it up. “Mom and Dad’s attorneys.”
I relaxed.
“I have Preston amassing information I can use against Conrad in case he feels the need to get ugly in the future,” I told him something I’d shared previously.
Lawrie didn’t think this was a suitable explanation. I knew it by the puzzled expression on his face as he studied the envelope.
I crimped the crust as I said, “It’s probably something to do with that.”
“Special delivery on a holiday?” Lawrie asked.
I shrugged.
“Can I open it?” he queried.
“Go for it,” I invited.
I kept crimping and had moved on to pouring the pumpkin in the crust when he growled, “Son of a bitch.”
My attention snapped to him.
He looked angry.
No, he looked enraged.
I tensed again but not much. It was likely Conrad had done some other horrible thing while we were married and Preston’s investigator had found it.
But except for today’s situation, Conrad had been quiet and not annoying me. So even though it was good to have all the ammunition I might need, so far he hadn’t done anything to make me consider using it.
“If this is going to annoy me, considering Conrad is already pissing me off today, if you could just take that to my room and shove it somewhere the kids can’t see, I’ll look at it later.”
Lawrie gave his eyes to me. “It isn’t from Preston. It’s from Addison.”
I stared at him.
Addison Hillingham was my parents’ attorney at the firm. He was a managing partner.
He was also the executor of the Calway trusts.
“I’m sorry?” I asked my brother.
“Put that in the oven” he ordered.
“Lawrie—”
“Get it baking, Amelia.”
Oh God.
He called me Amelia.