The Black Chapel (19 page)

“It’s trending all over Portland, Scarlett. You can’t hide from it. You’ve just got to let it run its course,” Anne says.

Trending? She’s right I can’t control anything about the situation now. “Then what the hell do I do? I’ve lost the one man I ever loved, and now I have to marry him for show!”

“Honey, you have to look at the bright side. He still wants to go through with the deal, right?”

“Yes, but—” I say.

“And now you can save your parents’ house, save your dad, and live happily ever after as a single woman. You don’t need a man to make you happy, especially one who wants to cheat on you with a stripper.”

I don’t agree, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. “At the ball, he made it look like—”

“Yeah, I know. He did the gentlemanly thing. You screwed up and now you’re in pain,” Anne says, her baby blue eyes unapologetic.

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” I say sarcastically.

“What are friends for?” Anne smiles and takes a sip of her wine.

“But I did some pretty shady stuff,” I say.

“Well, you’re not perfect. And if he can’t handle less than a perfect Scarlett, then he doesn’t deserve you. I mean, it’s not like you did something worse than him, right? And you forgave him.”

“I did forgive him, didn’t I?”

“Honey, you’re my best friend. I just want to see you happy. Michael seems like a great guy, but he has been doing some pretty shady things, too. Don’t you think?”

“Yes.” I huff. “We’re one messed up couple.”

“Well, I suppose you’re still a couple in a way. But what I‘d say is that if he doesn’t find it in his heart to forgive you, he doesn’t love you as much as you had thought.”

I didn’t want to hear that, but Anne was right. He must not love me as much as I love him.

An hour later I’m at my dad’s. Before I go into his room, the nurse pulls me aside. She has a serous look on her face, even more serious than normal, and it worries me.

“The doctor visited your father earlier, and the news isn’t good. Your father has taken a turn for the worse. His cancer has reached stage four.”

“What? But just a few weeks ago, he was stage two!” I say.

“These things can progress really quickly sometimes. We just can’t predict how fast.”

“What does all this mean?” I think about the necklace I have at home. I need to sell it so my father can live. Screw my pride about not wanting to take anything from Michael. This is about my dad’s life!

“The cancer has metastasized—”

“Metastasized?”

“It has spread beyond the liver into other areas of the body,” the nurse says.

“Is he in pain?” I ask.

“He was, but we put him on morphine so he is not feeling it now,” the nurse says.

“How long?” I can’t say the words: until he dies.

“If he receives treatment, the five-year survival for this type of cancer in this stage is less than 10 percent.”

I wince. “And if he doesn’t receive treatment?”

“Weeks, maybe months if he’s strong. If you can find the money, there are numerous treatment options available, and you could at least extend his life some.”

“Yes, you’ve explained it to me before. How much will it cost now that the cancer has advanced?” I ask.

“He’ll need treatment for at least six months, and maybe even up to a year. A month of treatments runs you roughly 8,000 to 10,000 dollars, all depending on how many treatments his body can take each month. Is there anyone you can ask, a family member perhaps?”

“I’ve come up with the money. Please schedule his treatments right away,” I say.

I visit my father, who is sound asleep, and leave the nursing home feeling completely devastated. God must be cursing me because I don’t go to church and because I chose to work as a stripper.

I head home and to my surprise, find a black limousine waiting outside my house. I pull my car into the driveway and right as I step out, a beefy chauffeur steps out of the limousine.

“Mrs. Hansen?” he says.

“Yes,” I say.

“Mrs. Manning would like to have a word with you.”

“Well, tell Mrs. Manning that I don’t want to see her or any of the Manning family ever again,” I say. Who does this woman think she is to show up at my house in her limousine expecting to speak with me? I’m not speaking to that devil.

“Mrs. Manning asked me to say please.”

I roll my eyes. “No, thank you.”

“She says it’s really important,” the chauffer says.

“I don’t care. She screwed up my life, so she can die for all I care.” I can’t believe I’m being so cruel, but the woman really is a witch, and someone I do not want to associate with in this life or the next.

I step inside my house, slam my door shut and close the blinds. I hope they leave. But of course, my curiosity gets the best of me, so I separate the blinds just enough so I can peek out.

Mrs. Manning is now climbing out of the car with the help of her brawly chauffeur. Shit! I feel really guilty all of a sudden. I know she’s wheel chair ridden, so this can’t be easy for her, and I figure that what she has to say to me must be important.

Annoyed, I open my front door and yell, “Don’t bother getting out, I’ll be right there!” I head to the limousine and get in.

Mrs. Manning is wearing a white fur coat, pearls around her neck and her hair is impeccable.

“Thank you for coming, dear. I needed to speak with you.” She coughs for about a minute, and I have to resist calling 911—she sounds so bad.

“I apologize. I’m dying, dear, so at least with one of my last breaths I can set things straight.”

“You can’t set things straight,” I say. I am still angry as hell. But why is she really here? She doesn’t know the full truth.

“Well, I can try. I know I caused an argument between you and my son. Michael said the argument was about me. He won’t tell me much about it, but I can only assume it’s about me. The sad thing is that it’s caused a rift between you two. Michael says he might break off your engagement.”

No! I’m in shock. He’s actually considering pulling the deal. I feel so sick; I think I’m going to throw up.

“First, I want to apologize for my behavior night. It was completely inappropriate,” Diane says.

“You think?” Her apology is not very impressive, and I don’t accept it at all.

“I really thought that by revealing where I assumed you worked, I was protecting my son and my family’s good name,” Diane says. She sighs.

“By airing out your son’s sexual preferences? How stupid could you be?” I blurt out. No filters here.

“Yes, I was indeed stupid. And I shouldn’t have been so rash to broadcast it so publically before I was 100 percent certain. But I thought you were leading him on, posing as a respectable girl—”

Diane keeps talking, rationalizing why she did what she did, but I zone out. I feel a tinge of guilt, but I can’t get myself to tell her the truth. Not yet. There may still be hope for the deal if Michael and I can keep it all under her radar.

“The only real thing I need to know is, do you love my son, Scarlett?” Diane asks.

I’m taken back by her question. “He’s broken my heart.” I look down, feeling the stinging truth of my own words.

“Oh, for heaven sakes, just answer the damn question!” She coughs again.

I look down at my hands. They’re trembling. “Yes.”

“All right. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She gets a distant gaze in her eyes. “Michael never usually visits me you know. It’s like he’s disowned me. That’s the real reason I didn’t want the inheritance to go to him. I resented him for excluding me from his life.” Diane’s eyes tear up. “I’m sorry you have to see an old, sick woman cry.”

I feel sorry for her. The woman is probably lonelier than I can imagine, though I think she completely deserves it, being such a control freak and stalker.

“Well, we can all learn from this, can’t we?” Diane looks at me and she has returned from wherever she was. She smiles.

I nod. “Thank you for coming out. And thank you for the apology.”

“I had to. Michael is miserable.”

A spark of hope ignites in my mind. “Really?”

“He hasn’t called to talk to me, but his butler tells me everything.”

“You have a spy in his own house?” I ask, stunned. But of course I shouldn’t be too surprised.

“Well, how could I not? I am his mother and a mother needs to know how her only son is doing!” Diane says defensively.

Now I know why Michael is such a sneaky son of a bitch.

After Diane leaves, I head to the jeweler at the mall to see if I can’t sell my diamond necklace. Once I show the clerk my diamonds, he immediately gets the manager.

A short man that looks like he’s spent his whole morning grooming himself comes over. “Hello, I’m Mark. I’m a certified diamond dealer and can tell you what your necklace is worth in about thirty minutes. Do you mind waiting?” he says.

“No,” I say. While I’m waiting, I meander around the mall. There are almost as many shoppers here now as there were on Christmas Eve, it’s disturbing. Everyone’s probably trying to exchange all the gifts they didn’t really like. Once I get back to the jewelers, Mark comes over to me immediately.

“Are you interested in selling?” he asks, his pearly whites glistening.

“Yes,” I say.

Mark smiles, like he’s just found a secret goldmine. “I’d like to buy it. We rarely receive any pieces as elegant as this one, and I’d love to add it to my collection.”

“What is it worth?” I ask.

“I can buy this piece for 32,000 dollars,” Mark says.

It’s a lot of money, but I have no knowledge of what this piece is worth. Mark could be trying to rip me off. I rummage through my white leather purse so I can call Anne, but discover that I’ve left my phone at home. So instead, I decide to take the diamond necklace to a couple of other jewelry shops to get a couple more offers. Mark looks very disappointed as I leave.

The first shop says they can get back to me in a week when their appraiser comes back. I can’t wait a week, so I go to the last jewelry shop in the mall. The offer comes back slightly higher.

“36,000 dollars,” the elegant female appraiser says.

I take her offer, and she writes me a check. It’s the largest check I have ever held in my hands, but the only thing I can think about is that I still won’t be able to afford my dad’s full chemotherapy treatment. I’ll have to sell the house, and he’ll be devastated.

I head home, a little more hopeful since I can at least start my dad’s chemotherapy. With this check, I can afford at least three, maybe four months of his treatments. I’ve at least bought him and myself some time to come up with the rest.

Once at home, I find my phone on the kitchen table and see that I have a text message from Michael. I’m almost afraid to read it and brace myself for whatever he’s said.

Scarlett, or should I say Samantha?

Why does he have to rub it in? I think. He’s just being a jerk.

I’d like to meet to discuss our deal. Are you still willing to consider it? Michael

He still wants to go through with the deal. My heart leaps in my chest, and I feel a whole ocean of worry roll off my shoulders. He’s really set on getting that money, which is great, because so am I. I text him back.

Michael, I’d be willing to meet to discuss the deal, Scarlett
PS: Please refrain from being sarcastic. If we can keep this professional, it will be so much easier for the both of us.

He replies immediately.

Scarlett. I agree. I will be professional from now on. I’m sorry about the dig. May I come over now? I’d like to move ahead as quickly as possible. Michael

Michael, yes, that works well, Scarlett.

Mind if I bring Reverend Summerlin so we can get this over with ASAP? I’d like to exclude my family for reasons you know. Michael

Get this over with? He’s definitely not considering my feelings at all. And I get the feeling that our deal is just that, a cold, I’m-gonna-get-my-money-no-matter-the-cost business transaction. I feel the tears pressing, and I despise myself for it. Just don’t think about Michael that way any more, I tell myself. Think about this deal saving your dad’s life. But I know I can’t, and somehow I know I’m heading for a lot more heartache.

I don’t know what to do to keep my mind busy while I’m waiting for Michael, but finally I turn the TV on. Of course the local news is on, and of course Michael and my romantic story has made the headlines.

Billionaire Michael Manning and his fiancé have quite a story. At last night’s Christmas Gala at the Manning residence, Mrs. Manning exposed…

I turn the TV off. I just can’t watch this. It’s too painful, not to mention humiliating. I wrap a blanket my mother quilted for me around my body and slowly drift off to sleep.

I’m abruptly woken up by a bang on the door and hop off the sofa. Through the window, I see Reverend Summerlin standing next to Michael, and there’s a young man I don’t recognize. Michael looks unusually cheerful, but I know he’s just putting on a formidable façade. My hammering chest reminds me that I’m so not over him. I straighten my hair and check myself in the mirror. I look tired.

“Welcome,” I say, opening the door with a smile. “Please come inside.”

“Now I remember you.” Reverend Summerlin beams at me. “I remember seeing you in church. How romantic. You two met there and now you want to be married. This is Carl, and he’ll be witnessing the marriage today.”

I nod to Carl, a timid young man, and try to give him an authentic smile, but I’m too distraught to even manage. Michael glances at me briefly, but then looks away. His eyes have dark circles underneath, and there is a sorrow in them that wasn’t there before. Oh, God, I still love him! I’m marrying this man today, but it’s only for the money. What could possibly be worse? Focus, Scarlett. You dad needs you.

“Tell me more about your story,” Reverend Summerlin says.

“I don’t want to be rude, but we are really in quite a rush. Do you mind?” Michael says.