It's A Shame

It’s A
Shame

By C.E. Hansen

Copyright
©
2013 by C.E. Hansen

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written consent of the Author.

Cover Image File licensed by
www.c-e-hansen.me

Cover Art By Fiona Jayde

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

Publish
ed in the United States by Hansen Publishing.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to the wonderful women, whom I’m proud to call friends,

who
have stood my be, held my hand, and gave me a smile when I needed it most.

You
all know who you are.

Lauren – You are my Bess
, I love you and always will!

Renee
you are, most definitely, one of a kind, and a great friend.

Chapter 1

It took some time before things started
getting back to normal, although normal really wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe the harassing phone calls, the constant shadowing of the paparazzi, and the hundreds of threatening letters we collectively received. The one thing that really got to me was the letters I received from a few of the victim’s families. For the most part they were empathetic, understanding and very touching, not to mention heartbreakingly sad. However, one letter I received, from a family member of the first victim found in Central Park, had me reeling. The family member, I would never mention whom to either Michelle or Cole, held me accountable for what my half-broth…for what Jonathan did.

The letter went on to tell me
‘I should have been the one who died.  That human excrement should have killed me instead of his daughter. Then she would still be alive’.
That absolutely devastated me.  Reading that literally felt like someone reached inside my chest and tore my heart out with his hand…because deep inside I felt they were absolutely right, I
should
have died instead of his little girl. And that was something I would have to live with for the rest of my life.

Five innocent, beautiful women in the beginning of their lives, would, because of Jonathan, never know love, marriage, children,
or old age. He stole that from them leaving their families empty and me with the guilt of his actions.

Cole, who had his hands full trying to run his empire while moving his company’s headquarters from Colorado to New York,
always made time for me, no matter what. I’m sure his business suffered because of it, although he’d never admit it. Because of me he had to contend with a roadblock of one kind or another almost every single day, and sometimes more than one.

I admit, there were times
when the stress of it all saturated each and every cell of my being, and there were several times when I felt like I was on the verge of losing it, but he was always there for me, no matter how small the issue. Making himself available, 24/7, for both Michelle and me. Always standing stoically at my side.

When the news first broke
about Jonathan being the nefarious ‘Golden Hair Murderer’, everything, and everywhere, was total madness. Cole’s army of body guards kept the reporters, the bottom feeding paparazzi, at bay for the most part but it seemed like one would always get through, begging, taunting, grabbing. The police had their hands full. Then, of course, there were the never-ending flashbulbs going off—coming from every direction blinding us.

We rode out the storm and eventually
their numbers dwindled, as one by one they gave up harassing us for a newer story that had broken.  During that time I found myself wishing, more than once, that we all could just run away from it. Sneak off in the night and disappear. There were times when I dreamt of us all going to Cole’s Vermont home and waiting it out there. But of course that was impossible…we all had our lives and responsibilities in the City, and who were these people, who would keep us from our lives? Neither of us was willing to let them win and take away our freedom.

I
began suffering from horrific panic attacks, and Cole, being the most wonderful man on the planet, without delay, packed up all of his things from the Asbury and moved into my apartment on Central Park West. It was to be temporary until the renovations were completed on the new ‘Grayson Industries’ building on 412 2
nd
Avenue.

Cole
hired two of the best engineers in New York City and gave them a very short deadline to have plans drawn, agreed upon and construction completed. He was determined to have us move into our new duplex penthouse in a timely manner. The sooner we could move in, the sooner we could get on with our lives and from what he told me, everything was right on schedule.

I was
progressing well, as my therapist would have me believe, in
building bridges
. ‘We were all building bridges that would, one day, help us face our demons, lead us back to the people we love, and strengthen the bonds between us…in the end make us stronger because of the difficulties we each faced…’
Seriously
?
I thought she should give up her job as a therapist and just write for Hallmark.

There was o
ne
bridge
that needed building. It was the one between my mother and me. So many things have surfaced recently, not least of all the fact that she wasn’t the person I had spent an enormous part of my life thinking she was. And because of this revelation, I agreed to forge a new relationship with her, one that would be built on truth and love. Knowing my mother, there were sure to be a lot of bumps in the road.

I discovered
she wasn’t the spoiled, pretentious woman I thought her to be, but instead a sad, lonely woman who had a fear of being alone. I believe—as does her doctor, that when she was put in the home for unwed mothers by her parents and abandoned there until she gave birth, with absolutely no one to lean on or confide in—she developed anxiety issues, as well as separation fears.

When I was twelve,
I didn’t have a clue about any of this… so instead of understanding her actions, I was constantly angry with her; angry she married Franklin; angry she saw fit to marry him six months after the death of my beloved father. To me it was unforgivable and I held a grudge for many years, content to keep my distance, which only exacerbated her fear of being alone. I wanted as little as possible to do with her. From what I knew then, she was self-serving and thoughtless when it came to others, especially me.

I was wrong.
Big surprise there.

But now, t
ogether, we were learning things about each other that we might have never learned if not for the terror we both experienced.

Now that things were progressing well with her therapy, and my own, I was actually looking forward to spending time with my mother, whereas before I was happy to see her once a year
, and even that was something I had to talk myself into tolerating.

We were al
l having lunch today, my mother, Michelle and I. Sort of a celebratory lunch, and as such, my mother had her driver pick us up, and take us all to La Grenouill
e
for a fabulous meal, just us girls.

As
Michelle and I climbed into the back of the limo, my mother surprised the both of us with a bottle of champagne she had chilling on ice. She poured us each a glass and handed them to us, then held hers high.

“To my beautiful daughter Grace, and her equally beautiful friend,
my other daughter
, Michelle, I’d like to propose a toast—to us all. We have come through one of the most difficult times of our lives and are celebrating six months of our new lease on life!” She looked between Michelle and I trying to gauge our response. “I love you both with all my heart, and as I’ve been told, what does not destroy us, only makes us stronger.”

Another Hallmark moment
.

The
tinkling sound of the crystal glasses chimed in the small space as we all toasted.

“I’ll drink to that…” Michelle smiled and squeezed my hand as she lifted her glass.

“You’d drink to anything.” I laughed.

“Yep.”

“That was lovely mother.” I exclaimed as I raised my glass to my mouth and tentatively took a sip, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to run down my freshly made up face.

The
women sitting on each side of me were the most important women in my life and I knew I was more than lucky to have them both. I sipped the Krug Imperial Champagne again, loving the feel of the little bubbles bursting over my tongue.
Delicious
.

“I love you both so much
,” Michelle exclaimed, her voice breaking as she looked between us, tears building in her eyes.

That was it.
I couldn’t hold back another second and my own tears fell freely. We all laughed to break the tension that occupied the small space like electricity. There was nothing like a near death experience to bring three strong women together, forging a bond that is damn near unbreakable.

We pulled up outside the restaurant a few minutes later and I quickly
pulled out my tissues wiping away the smudges as I quickly reapplied my makeup. My mother and Michelle both stood outside the car waiting patiently for me to finish.

As I stepped out we
all turned to walk into the restaurant.

“GRACE!”
Someone shouted, the sound echoing behind me.

I
looked around trying to see who it was that called me and spotted a man; medium build, dressed in jeans and a long sleeved shirt, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. I wasn’t able to see his features clearly but there was something about him…I couldn’t say what it was exactly, but it gave me the creeps. The only part of his face I could see was his mouth, his teeth bared as he laughed. Then just like that, he just turned around and started to walk in the opposite direction, disappearing into the crowds of the lunch rush.  Neither Michelle nor my mother seemed to notice anything, however, the small interaction left me feeling anxious and somewhat jumpy.

I mentally shook it off and followed
my mother and Michelle into the restaurant, somewhat confused. But before I let the door shut behind me I ventured a brief glance in the direction I last saw the man. I quickly scanned the crowds of pedestrians crossing the streets and I spotted him out of the corner of my eye as I stepped over the threshold. I could feel his eyes bore into me, the exchange making me very uneasy. The tactile feel of him watching me—actually watching was too benign a word—made me feel agitated and just a little queasy.

I
nearly ran through the door into the restaurant, extremely relieved when it closed behind me. I searched my memory trying to piece together where I had seen him, but had no luck in that department. It was obvious that he knew me. I shook it off the best I could and got in the spirit of the afternoon.

Lunch was absolutely delicious, our three meals consisted
of Asperges Tièdes à l'Oeuf Fermier Mollet, Pâté de Campagne et Céleri Remoulade and Le Confit de Canard aux Fèves et Petits Pois, which is French for damn good Aspargus, Pate, Duck and…well, you get what I’m saying. We all ended up passing our plates around. The White Peach Granitee I had for dessert was amazing. My mother settled for another cup of tea and Michelle, who had opted for another glass of champagne, was smiling ear to ear.

It was wonderful to see her so happy and carefree after all that’s happened
. I quake internally when I think of how I almost lost her, the person I loved like a sister.  Her near death experience, still fresh in my mind, caused me many sleepless nights. Every detail etched in my memory like a slow motion movie, playing over and over again. She had a long recovery, and a lot of emotional scarring.

Her jackass boyfriend
, Jeff, abandoning her when she needed him most, was like her getting kicked when already down. So when she was happy and carefree like today, it made me happy.

I briefly thought about the strange man outside the restaurant and
shuddered involuntarily as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. But I quickly pushed that thought aside. After all, this was a good day for us all.