Page 71 of Replacement
“I’m owed something. You wouldn’t be where you are without me! And I have a contract with William. You think I’m going to just walk away—”
“I don’t really care what you do. William has pulled out of the contract, which is allowed at any point for either one of you. He’s worked it out with his lawyer. Both of you signed nondisclosure forms, and he’s prepared to enforce it, so I wouldn’t advise you to go to the press with whatever story you concoct of being a victim. We’ve moved most of the furniture and art in the apartment that you picked out and all your clothes and possessions into a storage unit. It’s yours free and clear. I’ve also given you half of Mom’s jewelry and everything that used to be Dad’s. You’ve stolen money from William—and he has a documented paper trail for it—but he’s prepared to let that go and not press charges for it if you go away and leave us alone.”
“That’s it? You want me to just go away? How am I supposed to support myself?”
“You’ve got the money you stole from him, and otherwise you can get a job. You’re an adult. You’re responsible for yourself.”
“But I’m your sister! How can you treat me this way!” Even now, she sounds more outraged than grieved.
“I was also your sister when you ignored my pleas for reconciliation for year after year. I was also your sister when you used my desperation against me to get what you wanted. Maybe one day I’ll feel different, but for right now I don’t want to see you or talk to you. I’m building a life for myself for the very first time, and it’s a good one. I’m not going to let you do anything to make it worse for me.”
“What about my life? Where’s William? I want to talk to him.”
I meet his eyes, and his mouth twitches up in the corner in almost a smile. I say, “He doesn’t want to talk to you. If you cause trouble for us, he’s going to press charges for the theft.”
“Jade, don’t you dare—”
“I’ll text you the information for the storage unit. William paid it for a year, but after that, you either need to take on the payments yourself or forfeit what’s inside. If you need money, there’s plenty of stuff in there you can sell for cash. You’re not destitute. You just didn’t get what you wanted out of this scheme. It happens.”
“Jade—”
“That’s it. We’re canceling this phone plan, and we’ll leave the phone itself in the storage unit with the rest of your stuff. Do what you want with the rest of your life. Just leave us alone.”
She’s starting to object again, but I disconnect the call. Then I stand still, breathing raggedly.
William comes over to hug me. “Good job.”
I shake against him for a minute, but I’m not crying. The truth is, I feel ridiculously proud of myself.
* * *
I reach into the hot oven and pull out the large pot. It smells delicious, and I hope it tastes as good as it smells.
When I place the pot on the granite counter and open the lid, I’m greeted to the sight and scent of beef bourguignon. The beef is so tender that I’m able to fork off a little bite. As I bite into it, the flavor hits my taste buds, and I do a little dance of excitement in the kitchen.
I’ve been working on developing a jewelry line in the past month after Montaigne’s bail was set very high and his family refused to pay it. His trial won’t be for a while. If convicted, the most he’ll get is six months in jail, but that will at least give us some time and freedom.
Maybe when he gets out, he’ll have moved on from his obsession with me.
Right now I’m not worrying about much except taking safety precautions.
Since I’m working close to full time now, I haven’t had as much time to cook. So I’m particularly pleased with my ambitious culinary accomplishment this evening.
I walk down the hall to William’s office. The door is cracked, so I tap on it and push it open. William never shuts and locks the door anymore.
He turns around in his desk chair and stares at me blankly. He’s stressed about some sort of project for work. He’s been buried in it for several days.
“Dinner,” I tell him with a smile.
He glances back at his computer. “Okay. Just a minute.”
I walk over to where he’s sitting. “It’s ready now. You can work later.” If I’m not firm, his “minute” will turn into a full evening of work. He still has trouble setting appropriate boundaries when he’s stressed.
He sighs, saves his document, and lets me pull him out of his chair. As we go into the kitchen to set the table and get dinner together, I ask him about his project. Since he’s tired, he talks more than usual, going on at length about the details and obstacles he’s trying to deal with. By the time we sit down to eat, he’s relaxed and smiling. He asks me about what I accomplished today, so I can tell him about the meeting I had about branding for my jewelry line.
My beef bourguignon is a success, and I’m pleased when William doesn’t immediately put his plate up and head back into his study to work.
Sometimes he still does. He’ll always be an intense, complicated man and a borderline workaholic. And that doesn’t change just because I love him and he loves me.