Oh, my god. Michael treated Drew’s mother the way he treated me. This was making more and more sense by the minute.
“Michael screamed for me to get out. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face as I stood there contemplating what I should do. Her expression held something between shame and humiliation as she too told me to leave the office, yet she was upstairs crying her eyes out because he was gone.” Drew shook his head like he was still trying to understand his mother. He turned and asked Deidra for a drink.
She filled his glass and left the bottle beside him on the windowsill.
He filled his glass often and I knew I’d be driving home. I kept quiet and listened, only speaking to myself, here and there.
Drew continued, “I walked to Michael’s liquor cabinet, not understanding how she could be so disturbed over his passing. Pouring a full glass of vodka, I sat in his leather chair, propped my feet on his desk and toasted the portrait of him and my mother hanging on the other side of the room.”
Portrait? I’ve never seen that portrait. I had never seen a picture at all until the day I saw it on her headstone.
“I boasted to the cold hearted bastard staring back at me in the portrait, ‘Here’s to you, you fuck face. I hope the maggots are eating your eyes out.’ Then I answered a call from Mr. Callaway. He asked how my mother was doing, like he gave a shit. ‘She’s holding her own,’ I told him.
‘Good, good, she’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Can you come by my office tomorrow? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,’ Callaway informed me.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I replied, not really wanting to dive into Callaway Jewels right away. Couldn’t I have a couple of days to mourn the death of his fucked up son? Although I didn’t think Mr. Callaway was anywhere near the ass that his son was, he still wasn’t my favorite person to be around. Power, that’s all the Callaway’s cared about, the more the better. Mr. Callaway demanded respect, and he got it. Everyone within twenty feet bowed down to the old fucker, including me.
I called Skyler after talking to Randal.
‘Hi, are you okay?’ Skyler asked, picking up on the first ring.
‘Yeah, I’m okay. I wish I could be there with you,’ I honestly told her.
‘You will be. Take care of your mother first.’ Skyler offered. That was pretty messed up too. Skyler didn’t give a shit about my mother. She never did,” Drew said, turning to look at me again.
I didn’t reply. I got the look from Deidra again.
“I told Skyler I’ll be there tomorrow. I needed to get out of that house. I hated that fucking place.
‘I love that house. I was hoping we’d live in it, you know, if your mom decides not to live in the house,’ was Skyler’s reaction.
Stunned by her answer, I asked her, ‘Why would my mother not live here?’
Skyler hesitantly replied, ‘I don’t know. I just meant, like the memories and all. I’m not sure I could live there after my husband died.’
I assured her he wasn’t her husband. She didn’t know shit about anything. If she did, I was sure she too would have been running for the hills as far away from me as she could get.
‘Don’t get mad at me. I’m sorry. I’m just saying, I love that house, and we could do a lot with it after we’re married. I’m glad Michael is gone,’ Skyler confessed.”
You will never touch MY house, you slimy little slut.
Telling every aspect, Drew kept talking, “I told Sky I would talk to her tomorrow. I was kind of tired.
‘Okay, I love you, Drew,’ she said.
‘Love you too,’ I mumbled and hung up.”
“Really, Drew? You can leave some stuff out,” I chimed in.
“Morgan,” Deidra chastised.
“Well, it’s the truth. He doesn’t have to mention the two of them saying how much they’re in love,” I complained.
“Morgan, I loved her this much,” Drew said, holding his thumb and finger a quarter inch apart. “I love you to the moon and back.”
“Can we continue now?” Deidra asked, giving me a look to shut the hell up. I crossed my arms and leaned back, waiting to hear more of how much my husband loved Skyler. I couldn’t wait.
Drew carried on, “I woke with a headache from hell, slumped in the office chair. Rubbing my face and eyes, I called, ‘Come in,’ when I heard the tap on the door. The nurse came into view and told me my mother was sleeping, she was heading out, and to call her when she was needed. ‘I will. Thank you for staying with her.’ I nodded, dismissing her. Flipping on the desk computer, I clicked the camera button, studying the empty rooms in the house. One by one I added them to the screen, starting with the kitchen, the living area, the den, and then Michael’s room. He never did share a room with my mother. She had her own living quarters upstairs and he only visited when he needed her.”