The Invisible Heiress Read online

  “You’d be a widow if the orderly hadn’t intervened.”

  “Get off the drama train. I would’ve let him go.”

  I dragged the one chair away from the wall. She’d been confined to her room until I could sort out the mess.

  “Preston, this is serious, a major setback. I can’t make a convincing argument for releasing you now.”

  I waited for Preston to explain herself, forgetting she never felt the need.

  “How could he waltz right in?” she said.

  “You’re not a prisoner. Visitors are welcome. You don’t have to agree to see them. Lord knows you’ve turned your father away often enough.”

  “I had to see Brendan, at least once more. Old times’ sake.”

  Preston turned her face away, whipped her long hair around in a blonde swoop. Could’ve sworn I saw tears so I scooted closer.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “Fucker pissed me off.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Came to gossip. He doesn’t give a monkey’s ass about me.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  “He is my husband.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Preston mashed her damp eyes with both fists. “I . . . he . . .” She bit her lip to stop its trembling but couldn’t.

  I kept my lips sealed, hoped against reason Preston might fill the silence. A real breakthrough might happen, if she’d only allow it. She cried in silence while I fought the urge to care. No good could come of that. Never had. Never would.

  I inventoried her room to keep myself in check. Most patients were allowed only the bare minimums. Preston wasn’t most patients. She’d arranged her books in neat stacks on the floor. The questionable picture of her and Cooper glared back at me, still taped to the wall. Three artfully arranged watercolors hung over a small desk that I hadn’t noticed before, where more books, a laptop, and a spiral notepad covered in doodles waited. Rich brat lived in better digs than me, when she should’ve rotted in prison. Trying to tally how much Preston’s bare minimums cost brought my bitterness out. I beat it back.

  To get the ball rolling again, I said, “Preston, talk to me about your husband.”

  “I don’t give a whore’s twat,” she said.

  “Does not giving a whore’s twat equal trying to kill him?”

  “Kill him? Hell to the no. I wanted to scare the dickhead, put hair on his chest.” She laughed. “Should’ve seen him. Eyes bugged out, face ballooned all purple, screamed like a little girl.”

  I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they’d break. Took a few breaths as calmly as possible, hoped she wouldn’t notice my unintended empathy had been replaced by escalating fury.

  “You don’t have a criminal record,” I said. “You’re one month from getting out, starting over.”

  Preston didn’t flinch. “I could die here for all you give a shit.”

  A film of sweat covered my face. “You were almost free.”

  “I’ve never been free.”

  “You’ve got all the money in the—” I stopped myself.

  “You’re one of those money buys happiness kind of idiots?”

  Something inside me cracked. “Aw, poor little rich girl whose parents’ money bought her a free pass out of prison.”

  Preston laughed. “Geez Shrinky. What’s crawled up your ass? Keep talking like that, I’ll scratch your snarky ass off my Christmas list.”

  “I’m not here to make friends,” I said to both of us.

  “Finally. Something you actually mean.”

  I couldn’t unsay what had rolled off my tongue too easily. Best to say nothing for a few moments. I quietly fantasized about slapping Preston’s entitled ass across the room.

  “How much longer will they keep me here?” she said.

  “With the stunt you pulled, could be six months. Even your parents don’t have the stroke to talk the clinic director into signing off on your release.”

  Of course they had the stroke. Todd’s check for the new wing cleared but plenty more where that came from. Judge Seward was in their custom-made pockets, but Harrison would look for any chance to keep her wild child under lock and key.

  “You mistake me for someone who gives a shit,” Preston said.

  “I think you do.”

  “You think wrong.”

  “One. Goddamn. Month.”

  “What?” Preston said. “Can’t hear you when you talk to your invisible pals.”

  I realized I’d once again said out loud what I thought I kept to myself. Shit.

  “Look we’re stuck together for a few more months,” I said fast. “Take the next few days to think about what we can talk about that you might find useful.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re killing time. Think I’m too nuts to notice you don’t give a fuck either?”

  I managed not to say, no, unfortunately.

  “Don’t you want to get out of this place?” I said instead.

  “No.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Serious as a razor blade to the jugular.”

  “You almost choked your husband to death so you could stay?”

  “Yahtzee.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabel

  “Christ Almighty,” Todd said. “How did this happen? Why are we hearing about it two days after the fact?”

  DA Fitzgerald slammed the door of the clinic director’s empty office behind him. The VIPs got to use the feng shui decorated office for crisis interventions instead of the institutional green visitors’ room.

  “I left a voicemail at the number you requested I use for all matters regarding Preston,” I said.

  “Todd’s too busy to listen to his voicemails. Aren’t you, dear?” Harrison said. “That’s what you tell me anyway.”

  Todd gave Harrison the evil eye. She returned the favor with a smile usually reserved for the gynecologist who tells jokes during a pelvic exam.

  “We checked Preston in here to keep a lid on potential damages, considering her state of mind. This’ll cost a fortune. Brendan will milk us dry.” Todd pulled his cuffs at the bottom of his jacket sleeves. “Not to mention how far back this sets Preston.”

  I shifted my gaze back to Harrison, expected her to jump on Todd’s use of the words we and us. She stared out the window instead.

  “Unless advised in advance, Haven House doesn’t keep visitors out. Preston’s husband wouldn’t raise any red flags,” I said. “They are married.”

  Harrison spoke up. “We should certainly respect the sanctity of marriage.”

  A muscle in Todd’s cheek jumped. “Harrison, can you water down the sarcasm long enough to—”

  “So,” Harrison turned to me. “She stays at least another six months, barring any additional unfortunate incidents, right?”

  “Could be less, or more,” I said. “Depends on Preston and the judge. You know she’s not really a prisoner, right?”

  “I’ll call Judge Seward myself,” Harrison said. “Well, Todd, good thing you’ve paid for a new wing. She’ll have somewhere to stay.”

  “Harrison, really I—”

  “Imagine my astonishment when the director thanked me for the check ten minutes ago,” Harrison said.

  She faced her husband full on. I noticed a stain on her pale pink, silk blouse, collar loose, the dreadful scar around her neck showing, hair flattened in the back like she’d just gotten out of bed. Her eyes, normally glacial and clear, had gone murky.

  “You’ve worked up quite a nerve, spending that kind of money behind my back. How much exactly?”

  “This isn’t the time or place,” Todd said.

  Ah, the suffering of the rich and pampered. I kept quiet, watched the volley, favored Harrison forty-to-one despite her post-apocalyptic appearance.

  “It’s a little late to hide our dirty laundry,” Harrison said. “What’s one more pile of dung on the h
eap?”

  “We’re here to talk about our daughter.”

  “What’s to talk about? She’s psychotic. Wake up, Todd.”

  With no preamble, Todd broke. He dropped his head like he’d been cuffed from behind, heaved sobs from somewhere deep. Neither Harrison nor I said a word, more from shock than discomfort.

  “Harrison,” he croaked out. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. You’ve lived a nightmare.” He looked at his wife full on, face wet. “But this isn’t just your nightmare. It’s mine too.”

  “How dare you compare what—”

  “I’m not, Harrison. I know there’s no comparison. But I’m doing what I think necessary to save our family. If paying for the stupid new wing helps get Preston the best care, then so be it. I’m helpless to do anything else. Can’t you understand that even a little?”

  “Can’t you understand Preston’s lost? All the care on the planet won’t change her one bit. Now answer my question. How much? I’ll find out as soon as I get home anyway. I want to hear you say it out loud.”

  “Harrison, she asked for a photo of Cooper. I brought her one of the two of them together a few weeks ago, the last one, that Christmas.”

  Harrison shrank like a dehydrating sponge. If Todd threw that photo out to dissuade his wife’s inquiry, he succeeded, at least temporarily.

  “What?” she said.

  “See? She’s feeling homesick, or nostalgic, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “Todd, you’ve always been a dunce where Preston’s concerned. Jesus. You’ve got early onset Alzheimer’s? Sudden case of amnesia? What’s wrong with you?”

  He turned to me. “Isabel, don’t you think Preston’s interest in her brother is a good sign? She misses a sense of family?”

  “Well, uh, frankly, I only just heard Preston had a brother.” I paused. “That he died.”

  I’d hoped I’d get a reaction, a clue about what happened that day, or some piece of information that could confirm Preston’s lurid story. I should’ve intervened but couldn’t. Or asked more questions about Cooper but didn’t. Harrison turned her face toward the opposite wall, silenced. Todd sighed like a man who knew he’d been beat, wiped his face with both hands using broad strokes.

  “Well, you’ve got your car and driver,” Todd said. “I suppose I’ll see you at home eventually.” On his way out, he said over his shoulder, “Isabel, I’ll call you later about Preston.”

  “If he thinks he can continue taking liberties now that I’m not comatose, he’s got one hell of a shock coming,” Harrison said to the slamming door of the visitors’ room.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” I said. “About what just happened? About Cooper? Preston?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Would you like to see your daughter?”

  “You’re the worst therapist ever.”

  ****

  After Harrison Blair swanned out of the day room, I filled out the necessary forms, made pointless notes, tried to make sense of my tactics and unprofessional behavior. I’d let Harrison and Todd control the session, my tone-deaf indifference unmistakable, lost it with Preston. Big no-nos. Preston’s nonchalance about staying on at Haven House felt like a ploy, but for what purpose? I didn’t know or care. Well, I didn’t want to care. Trying my damnedest not to. What’s worse, Preston knew it.

  Truth was Preston reminded me a lot of me. If someone, anyone, had shown an interest in me, before it was too late, my life would’ve turned out differently. There was a lot I didn’t know, but I knew that. I needed a drink. I’d learned the hard way that living went down easier with a shot of tequila to keep my feelings trapped below the surface.

  Couldn’t get a pulse on Harrison. Flawless socialite turned trailer park wreck? Not likely. Something unpleasant brewed. Had no idea what to think about the son who only lived a short time but whose memory could deliver a two-ton wallop.

  I gathered my crap, trudged toward the exit, stumbled into a doll-carrying resident in the hallway. Preston’s nemesis, I assumed. Couldn’t remember her name. Roxie, Rosie, or something.

  “Should you be out here?” I said.

  “Dunno. I’m here anyways.”

  “I’ll see if I can get the nurse to help—”

  “Tow truck took your car.” She cradled her doll in the crook of one elbow.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The men. Big truck hooked it up.”

  “How do you know my car? Never mind,” I said. “Outta my way.”

  “Hauled it off. Bye-bye, car.”

  “You are crazy.”

  She held up her little finger. “Pinky swear.”

  I pushed past her through the glass doors. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.”

  The psycho got it right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isabel

  I stood in the parking space at Haven House where my heap of a car used to be, punched at the buttons on my phone.

  “Mom? It’s me. Don’t hang up.”

  I heard her two-packs-a-day breathing, the wet cough that sounded like cancer. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her, forever ago, even though she didn’t live that far away.

  “What do you want, Isabel? Let me guess. Money?”

  “I’m in a bind, Mom. I’m desperate or I—”

  “Knocked up again?”

  “Like you should talk.”

  “What was I gonna do with another kid? Couldn’t keep track of you as it was.”

  “You didn’t give a shit about keeping track of me.”

  “You want something from me? Better rethink your delivery, drop the smartass history lesson.” The top of her Coors can popped in my ear.

  “The leasing company took my car.”

  I should’ve lied, told her it’d been stolen, but I’d used that one already. Besides my wimp nerves jangled me into truth telling.

  “Here’s a fix,” she said. “Why don’t you pay your goddamn bills?”

  “I’m getting back on track. Really—”

  “You’ve never been on track.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don’t start,” Mom said. “You won’t pay me back. Never have. Never will. Your gimmes are done. I paid for how many abortions? Bought you a new car then you wrecked it. Paid your rent. Then the fancy psych hospital—cost me a fortune. Won’t fall for that again. From what I could tell, you got a free holiday at a swank spa. Suffering for your stupidity is not the same as a nervous breakdown.”

  “I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say so?”

  “Don’t bother. Stop blowing up your life, demanding bailouts. Grow up.”

  “Big talk from the woman who a couple of years ago lived in a single wide, on the government’s dime, with her seventh husband, after what? Twenty-seven boyfriends? You act like it’s a million of your precious dollars. It’s not that much. You can afford it.”

  “Nothing spends faster, or is sooner forgotten, than other people’s money. Consider this cash cow dry.”

  Fucking Christ. No one brought on a crying jag like my mother.

  “Mom, I really need your help. I’ve got creditors threatening me. I can’t keep my job if I can’t get to it.”

  “You need to get your life right.”

  “I will this time. Seriously,” My fingers hurt from gripping the phone so hard. “I need about ten thousand. I know you’ve got it. Mom? Are you there? Hello?”

  Hypocrite bitch hung up.

  I felt that certain catch in my chest. The one that always gave away the hope I nursed that my mother would care what happened to me. No matter how far I fell, no matter how dire my circumstances, she never budged, never met me halfway. She only paid for shit so I’d go back under the bridge I crawled out from under. I let myself cry for one more minute. I timed myself. Sixty seconds’ worth was all the sadness I’d allow. Right on time, I shrugged my feelings off the best I could, flung my phone back in my purse.

  Now what?<
br />
  Groped for my compact, snuck a look. Not too bad. Did some quick preening and fluffing. Phone back in hand, I poked at a few digits, stopped. I’d promised not to call him again.

  “We never should’ve taken off the masks,” he’d said last time. “I think about you too much, never meant to get attached. We’re playing with fire.”

  Sorry, Sherman. Gotta pour some gas on the flame.

  About to stab out the last number, I saw a long, black car in my periphery. Curious, I watched it roll closer, veer past me in the middle of the parking lot. Slow enough to catch a glimpse of the passenger.

  Harrison Blair in her Town Car plus driver. What the hell? Checked my Timex again. She’d left my Haven House office almost an hour before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Preston’s Blog

  Musings from the Dented Throne

  Shizzleosity

  Something’s stinky with Shrinky.

  The wreck popped in a few days ago to remind me of house rules (I broke one. Big whoop. So my stay got extended). Stevie Wonder could’ve seen the change in her, all spruced up. No more Walking Dead. Wouldn’t say Vogue material exactly but definitely somewhere between Sex and the City and Sons of Anarchy. New haircut, extensions filling in the bald spots, designer stilettos, eyelashes on straight, eyebrows drawn on just right, fake nails to hide her stubs.

  Changing up your shizzle is the universal sign for—new man on the radar. Am I right, girls?

  You’re wondering—who’d date that freak? Who wouldn’t? Take it from me—men love crazy pussy—probably a line out the bathroom stall for a Shrinky hummer. Whatever loser she’s lassoed slaps her around. Bruises healed from before but I know she’s hiding more. Long sleeves, pants, neck covered. Before you get sucker sympathetic, don’t. I’d bet the estate the skank likes it.

  Another thing—Shrinky’s got it in for me—can’t hide it anymore. She’s never liked me, but who can blame her? No one’s ever accused me of being likable. Anyway, she got a little gangsta on me. Seemed too invested in my expiration date. Can’t wait to get rid of my unruly ass. I think I’m too much work for her. She’s getting easier to bait. One more sideways glance from the Heiress, and she’ll go blitzo. You wait and see. Already gets this astonished look on her face like I’ve suddenly gone naked and have three tits. Riddle me that if you can.