CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lydia
Stuart's gone. I'm alone. Completely alone.
It's done.
He's done what he set out to do.
Desolated me.
**********
"Hey, honey," Daisy said softly, handing me a cup of coffee. I glanced up at her, breaking away from my thoughts.
"Morning." My smile felt small and weak. Outside the window, the sun was already shining brightly, the trees rustling with bird play. It was supposed to be in the eighties-a gorgeous late August day. God, where had the summer gone? Seemingly swallowed up in a haze of misery and grief.
"What do you want to do today?" Daisy asked, placing her coffee on a side table and sitting down on the overstuffed chair across from me. She adjusted her silk robe and brought her feet up under her.
I sighed. "I suppose I should do some job hunting."
I'd gone to De Havilland Enterprises the week after Stuart had been killed and resigned. Trudi had been stunned and saddened, but the company would do just fine without me. It had been operating without me for over a month and was all the better for it from what I knew. And I couldn't be there anymore. My heart wasn't in it, and working for Brogan was out of the question.
I'd received several paychecks directly deposited into my bank account since I'd first moved in with Brogan, and with those, I paid my last month's rent in New York City and moved out, putting my belongings in storage and going back to Daisy's where we now lived together in her luxurious mansion-the new home of the broken-hearted.
Because Daisy's husband, Gregory, had been so clearly in the wrong, starting the divorce had been an easy process, one he hadn't argued about. Not enough, as far as I was concerned. Fucker. Daisy was worth so much more than that scum. So we were both in mourning, although Daisy seemed to be doing better than I was, which didn't exactly make sense since she had lost a husband. Then again, I'd lost two people, a brother and a . . . what? What had Brogan been to me? Even now, I wasn't sure. My heart squeezed and I winced slightly, bringing my hand to my chest as if I could massage the agonizing ache away.
He'd destroyed my life in every way possible. No job. No money. No home. No family. My heart in tatters. He had achieved the ultimate revenge. I was utterly and completely obliterated. And the very worst of it was . . . I missed him, longed for him with an intensity that felt shameful. He'd betrayed me and killed my brother.
"Why work?" Daisy asked, bringing me back to the present. Right, I'd mentioned getting a job. "I'll support you in high style here. And if I get the divorce settlement I think I'll get, we'll be rolling in riches. We'll burn money on the lawn and dance around it naked. We'll melt gold and drink it like it's champagne."
I laughed softly. "As fun as that sounds, I can't have you support me, Dais. I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life."
A wave of grief washed over me when I thought about how much I'd loved working for Brogan-and how, even now, I missed it. I shook my head. I wouldn't cry. I'd already cried an entire river of tears.
Daisy's expression softened. "I know." She reached over and picked up her coffee and took a sip. "What about going back to school? You mentioned before you might look into getting your master's so you could teach."
I nodded. "Maybe," I said. Of course, if I did that, I'd still need to get a night job. Not only did I need to pay my bills, but Ginny had shockingly been mostly supportive when Stuart died, and she'd helped pay for his funeral. I had promised to pay her back. I didn't think she expected it, but I was determined to anyway.
"And you'll stay here with me?" Daisy asked. "Please? It makes it so much better, you being here."
I studied her momentarily, wondering if she was saying that for my benefit, or if being here really helped her with her own grief. It seemed to me that she was actually the one doing most of the supporting and I suspected the former. I was so very grateful for her. I smiled. "Only if you let me pay you rent."
She rolled her eyes. "You can pay for our monthly alcohol."
"I can't afford that."
She laughed. "True. That's the biggest bill we have. Utilities?"
"Done."
She grinned. "Okay. Go get showered and dressed. Today we go out and conquer the world." She raised her arm, making a fist.
I breathed out a smile, raising my own arm, but lacking the enthusiasm behind the gesture. I could barely conquer my heart, let alone the world. I sighed. Fake it until you make it. That'd be my life motto, for now at least.
**********
"You look hot," Daisy said. I turned, smoothing the skirt of my deep red cocktail dress, and adjusting one of the spaghetti straps. "It's the perfect fall color." Fall. A new season. The same ache in my heart.
"You sure? It isn't too short?" I'd bought the dress from the small boutique I had gotten a job at recently in the nearby town of New Canaan. It was close enough to be an easy commute, but far enough away that I didn't worry about running into anyone I knew from Greenwich. It wasn't so much that I was embarrassed about working retail, it was more that I was just too . . . raw to deal with being mocked. By Lindsey, for instance. I wouldn't be able to conjure up the moxy needed to successfully deal with her and I'd more than likely crumble. Best avoided. So yes, since Stuart had died, I'd been hiding to a certain extent, but sometimes hiding was necessary for self-preservation. But at least I had the semblance of a life now-a job, a goal. I worked weekends and a few nights a week, which was the perfect schedule to work around my online classes and still allow me plenty of study time. It'd only taken me three months to get here, and it was still only a start. Three months since my brother had died, since my heart had been decimated.
"Is that dress too short? With your legs? God, no." She leaned toward the mirror, checking her makeup, which was perfect. "Ready?"
I took a deep breath. This was the first social function I'd been to since the summer garden party I'd gone to what seemed like eons ago. The one where I'd first spotted Brogan. I pushed the thought from my mind. No, I wasn't ready. In fact, I wanted to rip this dress off, put my sweats on, and park myself in front of Netflix for the rest of the night. But I just nodded. Daisy had begged me to go to this event with her and I'd said yes. I wouldn't back out now. I owed her so much-I could muster the strength for this.
We went into the kitchen where Daisy opened a bottle of champagne, laughing as it bubbled over into the glass she held. She topped off two flutes and handed one to me. "To us," she said. "To moving on."
I raised my glass. "To moving on," I repeated. God, I only hoped I could. I still felt like an empty shell, breakable, and too delicate to step out into the world. When would that feeling start diminishing? When would I start feeling whole again?
"Oh, hey, something came in the mail for you," Daisy said, nodding to a large envelope that sat at the end of her marble counter. I frowned slightly. Who knew where I was staying? Who knew me at all for that matter? I was completely unconnected to anyone except Daisy. And distantly . . . Ginny.
I set my champagne down and picked up the envelope. No return address. Tearing it open, I pulled out the stack of papers. I sucked in a breath and sagged against the counter as I read.
"What is it?" Daisy asked, her heels clicking on the stone floor as she walked quickly to me.
I brought two fingertips to my lips as my eyes scanned the pages, flipping through them. "Brogan, he signed De Havilland Enterprises over to me," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, my hands beginning to tremble. What did this mean?
"Let me see that," Daisy said, taking the stack of papers from me and looking through them as I stared ahead, unseeing.
"Lydia, he also signed your old house over to you, and," she flipped through the stack of papers, "it looks like he's set up an account to pay for property taxes," she paused, reading, "upkeep, lawn and grounds maintenance, etcetera." She set the papers down on the countertop, looking at me. "Do you think he's trying to make up for what he did?"
I shook my head, a pit opening up in my stomach, a fresh wave of anguish making me feel as if I couldn't breathe. "I don't know," I whispered. "Maybe he does feel some guilt for what he did. But," I shook my head back and forth again, "either way, it's him officially writing me off. There's not even a note in here," I said, tears threatening. I took a deep breath, determined not to cry. "Nothing, but these documents from," I picked up the stack of papers, reading the names at the top, "Shaw and O'Malley, Attorneys at Law."