The measures might prove to be overkill on my part, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
All our drivers and pilots were already members of security and trained to fight off any threat. Any time Molly had traveled for business, she’d been accompanied by security without her realizing it. Now, I’d had to get a little creative, so I placed them in maintenance vans, as landscapers, linemen, and even as people jogging along the sidewalk out front.
This wasn’t about infringing on her privacy, it was about keeping her safe. No matter how separate our lives might become, any place she chose to reside in would be safe.
I’d make damn sure of it.
After my father’s murder, I’d increased by the security personnel at the estate, as well as the surveillance coverage, going so far as to employ the use of drones overhead. I didn’t plan to ever be caught unprepared again, whether from the Bianchis or anyone else.
I refused to allow danger anywhere near my baby daughter. Or near Molly.
28
Molly
My father was dying.
After Tara had stormed out of the apartment, I’d done as she asked and read the letter. It’d been three pages long, probably due to the wide looping scrawl of his handwriting. It contained quite of bit of information and he’d apologized multiple times. He hadn’t mentioned his impending death until the last paragraph.
When I leave Curran-Fromhold, I’ll be going into full time hospice care. I’ve been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer, and that plus my good behavior got me a ticket out of this dump. But I deserved being here, especially after what I put you girls and your mother through. I’d like to see you both, but I’ll understand if you don’t come.
He’d understand. Good for him.
Still, as much as I didn’t want it to, it pulled on my heartstrings. The more time passed and the more I thought about it, the more I felt like I should relent. Or at least consider relenting.
It’d been three days later when I texted her, telling her I’d go with her to see him. I’d even looked up stage four pancreatic cancer to find out what state he’d likely be in. To see if he’d be dangerous or capable of the violence I remembered him for. But he wouldn’t be. At this point, he’d probably have to be wheeled out of the prison and straight into a hospice care bed.
I still felt lots of trepidation and fear when I thought of him. But I didn’t want my sister going alone.
Luckily, Tara forgave me. She’d always been like that, quick to forgive. She had a pretty short fuse, but her temper rarely lasted long. It felt good to be talking to her face to face again, to return to the one part of my old life that I’d missed.
I tried not to think about what I missed in my new life. About who I missed.
I was due to go back to work in three days. Back to being Queen Molly. So I made a plan with my sister. Tomorrow, we’d go visit my father. The next day I’d go to the clinic. And then the last day, we’d relax together at the apartment.
I knew I’d need to take it easy for twenty-four hours after the procedure was complete.
I did my best to keep my mind off my decision to terminate the pregnancy. It hadn’t been a decision I’d ever wanted to make, but I felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. I hoped I’d feel better once it was all over.
We went to visit my father a week before Christmas. After a blustery and snowy month of winter weather, the day dawned bright and clear at a mild fifty degrees. I even took my heavy jacket off as I hopped into a taxi beside Tara.
Even though I knew he was terminally ill, I was nervous about seeing Milton Greene again. My memories of him weren’t only traumatizing, they were nearly two decades old. I didn’t know who to expect or how to react. By the time we arrived at Helping Hand Health Care and Hospice, I was a mess.
“Okay, I’m officially letting you off the hook,” Tara said as we stood right outside the door to the two-story stone façade of the facility. The hospice looked pretty ragged around the edges, clean but in a state of early dilapidation.
It might be better than a prison, but it still didn’t look like a place anyone would want to go to s
pend their final days.
“What?” I asked her, pushing my shaking hands behind my back.
“You don’t have to go in. You don’t have to see him.”
“I told you I would.”
“Yeah, but look at you,” she said, her features twisted in resignation.
I glanced down at my clothing. I’d put on a multi-colored sweater over one of my professional skirts which I noticed only that second was inside out. And though I’d stepped into a nice pair of boots, one of them was navy while the other turned out to be dark brown. Guess I’d been more out of it than I’d thought this morning.