Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(86)

Shannon, honey, was always a bad sign. “I’m fine, Mom. What’s up?”

“I’m calling to make sure we’re still on for your birthday dinner.”

Birthday dinner? Good God, she’d been so busy and preoccupied with the loft, Victor . . . the stitches that still pained her with every step, she’d forgotten about her birthday the next day.

“I don’t know, can we postpone that?”

“I’m not sure how one can postpone their birthdays. If I knew how, I would have years ago.”

Shannon tried to keep the tears from falling. “I’m having a bad week.”

“I can help make it better. Paul called and asked if he could join us.”

Shannon bounced back. “He what? When?”

“He called a couple of hours ago. I saw the paper, honey. I can’t tell you how hopeful your father and I are about a possible reunion. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mom . . . there is no reunion.”

“Paul made it sound as if there was.”

“Paul is full of shit.”

“Shannon!” her mother scolded her.

“No, Mom. Cancel the dinner. I won’t be there. If Paul calls, tell him to revisit our last conversation.”

“Honey, please.”

“Mom . . . listen to me carefully. I love you. I love Dad. Thank you for wanting to celebrate my birthday with me, but not this year. I have other plans.” Like slipping away to sulk in peace.

“I’m so disappointed.”

“I am, too.” And she hung up.

Pent up energy had her scrubbing the floor harder. Calls came through, but she didn’t answer any of them. Victor, Lori, Avery . . . even Trina.

She got the feeling that if she didn’t leave the loft soon, they would all descend upon her like locusts. In the bathroom, she washed her face and swept her hair back into a ponytail. Dark glasses, in case some camera-toting asshole was outside trying to capture more pictures.

In her car, her phone rang again.

Unknown caller.

“Hello!” Her greeting was an accusation. When no one started talking, Shannon’s anger spiked again. Paul would say something. “Hello?”

Nothing.

There was only one person she knew young enough to be the heavy breather on the phone. “I know who this is. You aren’t fooling anyone, Corrie. Why don’t you try growing up?” Shannon disconnected the call.

It rang again.

She punched the answer button, felt her heart slamming against her chest. “Grow the fuck up!”

“Whoa . . . whoa . . . Shannon?”

Familiar voice . . . not Corrie. “Who is this?”

“It’s Angie.”

Shannon rested her head against the steering wheel and blew out a breath. “Oh, Angie, I’m sorry.”

“Phew . . . hello, big sister. This is Shannon, right?”

“It is. I’m sorry. I’m having a really crappy day.”

“Apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an f-bomb fly out of your mouth.”

They didn’t come often. “Today is that kind of day.”

“That sucks, and on your birthday.”

“That’s tomorrow . . . apparently.” She really had forgotten.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I should have figured that out. I got your message last month and started feeling guilty for ignoring it.”

That was nice to hear. “Why did you?”

“Selfish reasons. But I don’t want to add to your bad day. I wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday and tell you I love you.”

Okay . . . tears were starting to fall again.

This was getting ridiculous. “I love you, sis. I miss the hell out of you.”

“You should come visit me sometime. With all those millions, it isn’t like you can’t afford a ticket.”

Which was true. “I have to know where you are before I book a plane ticket.”

“I’m in Barcelona. I thought you knew.”

“Barcelona? I thought you were teaching English for the Peace Corps somewhere remote.”

Angie laughed. “That was, like, five years ago.”

“Mom said . . .”

“Mom says a lot of things. I’ve been in Barcelona for three years. Still teaching English, but not to indigenous people. I could only volunteer for so long before I realized I needed to make my own income.”

“We have so much to catch up on.” She thought of Victor, Paul . . . her new friends and new direction in life.

Victor.

“Are you serious about me visiting?” Shannon asked as she switched the engine over in her car.

“Of course.”

“How does tomorrow sound?”

“Are you serious?”

“Great, what’s your address?”

“You’re for real?”

“I told you I was having a bad day. You just made it better. Give me your address, Angie. If you can’t clear your schedule, that’s fine. I just need to get away, and seeing you sounds exactly like what I need right now.”

Three hours later, Shannon was boarding a plane with clothes she’d shoved in a bag to avoid lingering at her house and being cornered by anyone.