Page 81 of Forget That Guy
I sighed. “It’d be really nice if everyone stopped treating me like I was spun glass.”
“You were kidnapped yesterday,” Margery pointed out. “Let us be nice. There’ll be plenty of time later when we’re not as considerate.”
I just shook my head, because what else was there to do?
After leaving Denver’s family in the house, I walked with him to the barn to help saddle up the horses we’d be riding for the day.
We’d just gotten to the barn when Sorcha hurried out of the house and called out to us.
Denver turned with a frown on his face when he saw Sorcha’s worried look.
She held out a Walmart sack to us and said, “Hey, these papers look really important, Holly.”
I winced. “Oh, shit.”
“What are they?” Denver asked as he reached for them before I could.
I started to take them away from him but he only shoved the empty sack in my hand before reading what was on the papers. “What is this?”
I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. “My mother’s suing me.”
“For what?” Denver barked at the same time Sorcha cried out, “What?”
I scrubbed at my face, noticing a sticky spot on my finger, and brought it to my lips as I said, “For the life insurance policy that my dad left me after his death.”
Denver growled. “She’s doingwhatnow?”
Seeing no point in lying now, I told them everything.
“Mom wants her fair share,” I said. “She also tried to take me to court for the house that she thought I got. But luckily, that went to you.”
Denver grunted and thumbed through the pages. “You have a lawyer?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“This says that the hearing is set for next Monday. That’s four days, Holly.”
I made a face, which caused Denver to sigh. “I’ll contact the club’s lawyer. Get him everything.”
“I’ll do that.” Sorcha snatched the papers. “That bitch. I hated her from the moment I first met her.”
And, like we’d conjured the wicked witch herself, dust started to travel along the length of the road heading past Denver’s driveway and straight to my old one.
I watched from at least half a mile away as a sporty-looking SUV turned into our old driveway and came to a stop where the house once stood.
“Who do you think that is?” Sorcha asked.
But somehow, I just knew.
“It’s my mom.”
Denver looked over to me. “How can you tell?”
“I mean, other than driving ninety miles an hour down a road that only two families have ever driven on for going on thirty years? That’s how my mom used to come home every single night after her friend dates in town. Always ninety miles an hour, taking the turn into the drive on two wheels, and alwaysdriving a black high-end SUV. Sometimes, I felt like she chose black just so she could complain about the dust on it.”
Sorcha snorted. “I remember once when we did a car wash at the school for Denver and his football team. She’d brought that sporty SUV which cost over three hundred thousand dollars, then complained the entire time when the boys missed spots. I had to point out to her that she was asking teenage boys to wash her car. Not men that did this for a living.”
“I remember that,” Denver said. “She complained that we scratched her car. Then that we missed several spots. I remember writing PENIS in the dirt covering her back glass before I washed it. Then she complained to our coach that someone had done it.”
