Here Comes Trouble Read online

  “This is quite a shift in thinking.”

  He caught Veronica’s suspicious gaze. “Things with Sheila have gotten a little more complicated than I expected and—”

  “And you’d like to see where things might go should you give them a chance to blossom?”

  “Blossom? Really?” Malcolm nearly gagged and wondered why he’d said anything. “Sometimes your vocabulary astonishes me.”

  “As does your ability to underestimate the power Sheila Tremayne holds over you. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you,” she added. “I like her. I think she’s great for you. As long as she never finds out you’ve been lying to her again. Women don’t like being lied to.”

  “I’m not lying to her.” Malcolm’s phone rang and before he thought better of it, he snatched it up. “I’m not,” he said again and answered. “Malcolm Oliver.”

  “I guess Veronica gave you a stern talking-to about answering your calls.” The female voice on the other end sent a chill racing through his entire body. He avoided looking at Veronica as he wandered away, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stand, the humor that had been shining on her face moments before evaporating under a veil of concern.

  “Hey, Doc.” He couldn’t seem to swallow. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “Malcolm, if there’s one thing I understand it’s that people deal with health issues in different ways. But I am heading out of town for a few days and I wanted to talk to you before I left. So.”

  Shit. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead as his knees went weak. The back of his throat began to ache. “How bad is it?”

  “As you expected, your blood work is a bit off.”

  “A bit as in finish updating my will or as in the antibiotics could still work?” After overseeing his previous eighteen months of chemotherapy and radiation, she was used to his sense of humor.

  “Off as in I want you in for some more tests. CT and PET scan, a physical exam.”

  “When?” Was it normal to feel as if your heartbeat was a stop watch on countdown?

  “I know you’re out of town, Malcolm, so I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.”

  “I hadn’t planned to be back to the city by then.” He tried to remember his schedule, but his brain wouldn’t lock in. It sounded as if a jet plane was roaring in his ears.

  “Which is why I made the appointment at Lantano Memorial.” She said. “One of the top oncologists researching Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is working there. He and I went to med school together so I called in a favor. I know you’re trying to keep this under the radar so I made the appointment for you under the name Michael O’Connor.”

  “Okay.” He pulled open the glass door to the balcony. The air hit his face like a sharp slap, but he welcomed the reminder he was still alive.

  “How are you feeling otherwise? Any other symptoms other than the night sweats and fatigue?”

  “No. Aside from an upset stomach most of the time, I’ve been feeling better.” Until now.

  “That’s the antibiotics. Your numbers aren’t so out of whack that we can’t give them a chance to work, so keep taking them until they’re gone. In the meantime, keep to your routine. Get a lot of sleep, exercise when you feel like it. Eat well but try not to obsess over it. Those protein shakes you concocted make me nauseated.”

  Veronica stepped outside, arms wrapped tight around her torso as she looked out over the city, giving up any pretense of pretending not to listen.

  “How long until we know for sure?” he asked.

  “A while still. Malcolm, I don’t have to tell you that even if the tests reveal a recurrence, we’ll look at every option,” Dr. Chapman said. “We knew this was a possibility and there’s no reason not to think treatment won’t be successful again.”

  “Yeah, understood.” He leaned his arms on the iron railing and took a deep breath. “So next step is tomorrow morning.”

  “I know we’ve talked about this, Malcolm, but having a strong support system around you can do so much good. If there’s family you can lean on . . .”

  “I’ve got you, Doc.” But the last thing he wanted was to be the object of anyone’s pity. He didn’t want to be anyone’s obligation. Besides, the people he’d tell had more than enough to deal with. And the idea of telling Sheila he had had cancer once, let alone could be preparing to battle it a second time? He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t protect himself from this illness, but he could sure as hell protect her. “Appreciate you calling, Doc. Have a good trip.”

  He clicked off and leaned over, willing the panic to subside as he crouched down to ease the building pressure in his torso. Just as he felt as if he’d gotten things back on track, rebuilding his reputation, reclaiming the life he should have had, reconnecting with the woman he’d let slip away . . . Wham!

  “Malcolm.” Veronica crouched down beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “What did she say?”

  His head spun. He closed his eyes, squeezed until stars exploded as he tried to remember to breathe. Sheila . . .

  “More tests,” he said. His heart fisted in his chest, seizing and expanding at the same time. “She won’t say for certain, but she’s made me an appointment for tomorrow morning at the hospital here, and then we wait. Again.”

  “Do you want me to go with you? Or be with you when you tell Sheila?”

  “I’m not telling her.”

  “Malcolm—”

  “I’m not having this discussion with you again, Veronica. She watched her baby brother die of cancer. I’m not putting her through that.”

  “That’s not fair to her. She cares about you.”

  “If you want to stick by me, great, but not if you’re going to lecture me every five minutes on what I should be doing. I mean it, Veronica. I can’t fight the cancer and you, too.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, rubbing his shoulders. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t say another word about it.”

  “And you won’t say a word to Sheila. Or anyone else in this town. I want you to swear to me.”

  “I swear.” Her hand stilled. “I, um, hear my phone. I’ll be right inside.”

  “Yeah. Dammit.” He sank into the wrought-iron chair behind him, rested his elbows on his knees and stared out into the town he’d called home most of his life. It just wasn’t meant to be, was it? He’d wasted too many years planning his father’s takedown. Focused too much on work, on money, on rebuilding a reputation that when push came to shove, meant jack shit in the grand scheme of things. He’d forgotten to live.

  And from what he could tell, so had Sheila.

  “That’s it.” The idea coalesced, images and ideas forming so quickly in his mind he didn’t know what to do first. He aimed a smile up to the sky and took a deep breath.

  He knew what he had to do.

  ***

  “We’ll get everything we discussed today settled in the next few weeks, Alcina.” Sheila closed her notebook, keeping her place in the upholstered chair in Alcina’s bedroom. Malcolm’s grandmother had settled herself in the chaise by the balcony door, the late-afternoon breeze billowing the gauzy sea-blue curtains, casting her bedroom in a tinge of the sea.

  Alcina pulled the lightweight blanket up to her waist. “Nothing like putting down a retainer for a death watch.”

  “Alcina, please.” Sheila clutched her hands together and tried to keep her voice light, but nothing was stopping the clamminess from claiming her. There weren’t many things that threw her off-kilter, but this was one of them. “Unless you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness, aside from stubbornness”—she clarified with a stern look at which Alcina laughed—“I think your time would be better spent focusing on living rather than dying.”

  “Sheila, I thought you of all people would understand I’d want things taken care of in a particular way. My way.” Alcina fold
ed her hands in her lap. “I know my son. The last thing he’s going to want to do is pay any attention to how I want my life to be celebrated. And that’s what I want, young lady.” She wagged a finger at Sheila. “A celebration. No black. I want color, a celebration and good memories. This is just the next stage of life.”

  Sheila’s heart twisted, and once again, she wondered where Malcolm was. Part of her had been so relieved when he’d told her last night he’d be here when she and Alcina went over the maudlin plans, but the longer the meeting went on, the more disappointed she was that he hadn’t shown up. She should have known not to rely on him.

  “I’ve lived a good life, Sheila.” Alcina reached out her hand, waiting for Sheila to take it, and when she did, Sheila found the strength in the old woman’s grasp surprising. “I’ve had my trials, my worries, and I will admit these last five years have been lonely without Malcolm, but Ty has been a blessing.”

  “They both love you,” Sheila said and leaned forward. “The fact Malcolm was here for your birthday is a testament to how much.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I was a part of the equation,” Alcina said with a knowing smile. “But I wasn’t the only factor in his decision. The boy has plans. I can see the wheels turning in his head every time he walks in the room. And every time he looks at you—”

  “Alcina,” Sheila sighed. “I know there’s a closet romantic lurking inside you, and Malcolm warned me you were hoping to act the matchmaker, but we are just friends.” Friends who kissed. More than they should. Friends who still had enough spark between them to put the fire department on alert.

  “He hurt you. That’s hard to forgive.”

  “Malcolm never owed me anything. He did what he thought he needed to do at the time.” She had to tread carefully with what she knew about Malcolm’s leaving five years ago. “There were factors we weren’t aware of at the time, not that it changes anything. This isn’t his home, where it will always be mine, so please don’t put hope in what can’t be.”

  “Doesn’t mean the two of you can’t be more than friends for now, though, does it?”

  “Oh, good grief.” Sheila rested her chin on her palm, recalling Malcolm had said the same thing last night. They were double teaming her. “You’re not about to give up, are you?”

  “Not when it means seeing my boy happy.” Alcina patted Sheila’s hand as her eyes widened. “I’m not the crazy old woman who lives upstairs, my dear. I don’t believe for one moment that Malcolm did what he was accused of and that my son didn’t have a hand in it. While I don’t know the particulars, you’re quite right when you say Malcolm had his reasons for leaving. Knowing Malcolm, they were noble ones. Which you also know, otherwise you’d be angry with me right now for pushing you two together.”

  Sheila ignored the last statement yet clung to the first. “If you knew what Chadwick had done—”

  “He’s my son,” Alcina said, and for the first time that day, grief washed across the old woman’s face. “One day you’ll see. There’s no greater joy in this world than being a parent, even when they aren’t perfect.”

  And there was nothing worse than watching them die. Sheila’s smile was tight as she withdrew her hand and got to her feet, struggling to keep her façade of calm from cracking. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m having lunch with Morgan and her fiancé,” she lied.

  “Now there’s a wedding I can’t wait to attend,” Alcina said with a soft, wistful smile.

  “I’ll be finalizing Chadwick’s art deliveries next week, but once the auction and the gala are over, we’ll get down to finalizing things.”

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere before then,” Alcina said. “But if I do, you have your marching orders.”

  Tears burned the back of Sheila’s throat as she gathered her bag.

  “Just one more thing, Sheila,” Alcina called as Sheila reached the door.

  “Yes?”

  “No tears. Not for me.” She waved a gnarled finger toward the solitary tear that had escaped Sheila’s control. “Not ever for me.”

  “Maybe just today?” Sheila asked with a tight smile before she stiffened her spine and closed the door behind her.

  She made it as far as the Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired glass window at the end of the hall before the sob erupted. She caught it in her hand as she leaned against the wall, eyes burning her as a searing band of pain locked around her chest.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was her baby brother harnessed to a roomful of machines that drained the life out of him. Or another little boy with a too-big tool belt around his waist as he laughed up at her and made her wish on more than one occasion that he’d been hers. Her emotions cycloned, churning up memories she didn’t want; couldn’t bring herself to process.

  And then there was Alcina, who would no doubt soon be joining them, albeit with a smile on her face.

  “Sheila? I’m so sorry. There was a call—” Malcolm’s voice shot her to attention. She swiped a trembling hand under her eyes, but there were no tears to wipe away. He approached, the concern on his face easing the vise on her heart as he reached for her, touched her shoulders. “What is it? Is Gran okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Sheila wished she didn’t have the overwhelming urge to burrow into him, to let him hold her as she cried out useless tears that wouldn’t show themselves. She didn’t blame them. Once she started, she didn’t know if she’d be able to stop. “She’s as feisty as ever. Wanted to make sure I knew that no matter what I wasn’t to let Nichols Mortuary handle any part of her funeral arrangements. Can you imagine?” Her eyes continued to burn. “Sorry. I, um. I need to go.” She pushed past him and dashed toward the stairs and left an echoing emptiness behind her.

  “Sheila, wait.” Boy she was lightning fast even on those killer heels of hers. She’d pulled open the door before he’d reached the landing, the sound of voices brisk and short erupting from the porch. “Sheila.”

  “What the hell did you say to her?” Ty barked as he came in the front door.

  “Stay out of this.” As much as Malcolm wanted to go after her he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  “Malcolm?” Alcina was pushing herself off the chaise when he entered her room. “Where have you been? I thought you were going to be here when I met with—”

  “I need this, Gran.” He popped the lid off the ceramic cat and took out the key to Chadwick’s office. He expected a protest, an argument, or even a demand of an explanation. When none came, he faced her and found her watching him, a mixture of sadness and encouragement on her face. “Gran?”

  “Do what you have to do.” She nodded and folded her blanket. “It’s taken you long enough.”

  “What is going on with you and Sheila?” Ty asked, but Malcolm shoved him aside, the sight of the navy blue suit his brother wore making him sick.

  “Go with him, Ty,” Alcina’s voice echoed in the hallway as Malcolm unlocked his father’s office door. “This involves you as well.”

  “What involves me?” Ty stopped in the doorway as Malcolm flipped on the light and let out a long breath as he headed for the bookcase. The fear and unease he expected didn’t descend. Instead, a wave of calm crashed over him as if confirming he was doing the right thing.

  “What are you doing?” The panic in his brother’s voice sent Malcolm spinning to that day twenty-plus years ago when he and Ty had sneaked into their father’s office in an attempt to find out why he preferred spending his time in this room instead of with them. Little did they know being discovered by their father racing their Hot Wheels around his desk would leave Ty’s backside stinging for days—a punishment Ty blamed Malcolm for.

  Chadwick had created a rift between brothers that day. A rift their father had been exploiting ever since.

  “It’s time you heard the truth,” Malcolm said.

  “Not this ag
ain.” Ty’s knuckles whitened on the doorframe where he continued to stand as if an invisible shield prevented him from coming inside. “Everyone else has moved on from what happened five years ago. Why can’t you?”

  Malcolm trailed his fingers over the line of leather-bound books. “Maybe I have trouble with the fact my kid brother thinks I was capable of betraying everything I helped to build. And for the record, I wasn’t the only one who was set up.” He tilted Dante’s Inferno forward and revealed the keypad. A few seconds later, the bookcase slid forward, the lights to the safe room flickering to life.

  Like a bug drawn to a zapper, Ty stepped into the office. “Do you know what Dad will do if he finds us in here?”

  “I am past caring. You should be, too.” The room was as Sheila described, from the crookedly stacked boxes to the empty frames leaning against one another as if in support. The shelves were unorganized, as if some contents had been packed away while others had been abandoned. But it was the boxes he wanted. And the papers inside.

  Malcolm skimmed the notes scribbled on the outside, setting some boxes aside until he uncovered one from the year in question. “It wasn’t my signature on the contract selling the water system to Worthington, Ty. It was yours.”

  “Five years and that’s what you came up with? You can’t be serious.”

  “Look where we are and tell me I’m not serious.” Malcolm stopped long enough to glance at his brother. “Nothing’s changed, has it? You were always so desperate for his approval you believed anything he said, especially after he made you a VP. Do you even remember how much paperwork you had to fill out when you started working for the company? How many contracts you signed?”

  “Of course I don’t.” And there it was. The thinnest sliver of doubt on his brother’s face.

  “I was twenty-four hours away from signing over those rights, Ty. No one was going to see a penny of profit, not me, and certainly not Oliver Technologies. You tell me, how okay would Dad have been with that? He played me. He knew the one thing that would get me out was to show me proof you’d screwed up, that you’d put your entire future and the future of the company at risk to impress him.”