Chapter 19

Cohen

“What are you doing?” I asked her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Abby—”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “I was just feeding Paul.”

“And grilling him about your mother,” I snapped. I had heard her conversation, had heard her talking about me and how she didn’t think she was the one. In all her earnest conversation, not once had Abby mentioned that she had feelings for me. I knew what that meant—this was nothing to her.

“I was not grilling him,” she snapped back. “I was just—”

“Why am I not surprised that you would do this when he’s sick?” I asked. “That’s why you took this job. To manipulate an old man with Alzheimer’s—”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously, her eyes narrowing in anger. “What the fuck are you talking about, Cohen? I’m not manipulating him. I was just asking him questions.”

“Now is not the time to grill him,” I said to her.

“I wasn’t—”

“Listen, Abby. I get it. You wanted to know more about your mother. But he’s given you all he’s got to give. You’ve got to stop wringing him dry. No wonder he’s so worn out.”

“Don’t you blame this on me,” she spat. “Paul’s old. He’s sick. He’s dying. You have to come to terms with that.”

“Maybe he’d be doing a little better if you weren’t questioning him every waking moment, Abby,” I said, knowing what the words meant, that I was pushing her away with every single one. She looked absolutely furious and I didn’t blame her, and yet still I poked at her, keeping her at arm’s length.

“What is wrong with you, Cohen?” she asked. “I can’t—”

“You’re taking advantage of my uncle and my hospitality,” I said. “I have let you stay in this house. I’ve fed you, paid you—”

“I can’t believe this,” she said, shoving her finger at me. “God, I can’t believe you.”

“What? That I would protect him from you? You thought I could just sit here and be blinded by how much I want you, let it happen.”

She stared at me, her face going blank.

“I thought I had feelings for you,” she said. “And I thought—I should have known better. You’re nothing but a cold, hard piece of plastic. You don’t have any feelings.”

I didn’t say anything, caught off guard by her words.

“You said—”

“You shouldn’t have been listening to my conversation. I never grilled your uncle. He wanted me to read the letter to him,” Abby said. “And you can go fuck yourself, Cohen. Get away from me.”

“Abby—”

She cut me off by storming away. She didn’t even bother to grab her things before she left, slamming the front door behind her. I sighed as I watched her go, tempted to go after her, knowing it would do no good. I didn’t know if she was coming back or not. I checked the clock to see that it was around one and that Grayson would be there any minute. I ran my hands through my hair, going into the kitchen to throw something together for us to eat. I heated up the stew I had made, my fingers tapping nervously on the counter. It was only a few moments later that the doorbell rang and I went to go get it, seeing Bella and Gregory in the foyer.

I answered the door to see Grayson there. The usually gruff man beamed at me, wrapping me in a hug and clapping me on the back.

“So good to see you, Cohen,” he said, shaking my hand with a bright smile. I played along, grinning at him.

“Good to see you too, Gray,” I said, then gestured for the other two to join us. “This is Bella Murray and Gregory Bell. They have been staying with me for the past few days.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Bella in that flirty voice of hers, putting her hand out to shake Grayson’s. He kissed it instead of shaking it, looking into her eyes.

“So nice to meet you,” he said. “Who are your friends, Cohen?”

“I’m Paul Rosenfelt’s son,” Gregory said. Grayson raised his eyebrows, looking at me.

“Paul had a son?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

He nodded. The four of us went into the dining room, and I disappeared into the kitchen, steadying myself as I ladled the stew into four bowls and carried it out. I handed the bowls out and sat down next to Grayson, who started eating appreciatively and sipping at the wine I’d left for them.

“So tell me this long story,” Grayson said. “I never knew Paul had a kid, that old rascal.”

“I didn’t, either,” I said.

“Nobody did. Paul kept us a big secret, I guess. He didn’t want to admit that he’d abandoned a whole family.”

“Gregory says that his mother and Paul were together until Paul was thirteen and his mother got sick.“

“What is your mother’s name?” Grayson asked.

“Sheila Bell,” he said. “You can look her up. She died just a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Grayson said, a sympathetic look on his face. “I bet she was a great lady.”

“She was,” Gregory said. “A saint. She really loved Paul before she got sick. Made me sick, too, when he kicked us out of this place. I always did love this house.”

“That’s some pretty crazy shit,” Grayson said. “Wow.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked. Grayson nodded.

“Sheila Bell. Why does that sound so familiar? Where did your mom grow up?”

“In Rochester,” Gregory said, swallowing hard. “New York.”

“I knew that sounded familiar. I went to school with a girl named Sheila Bell. Got those same eyes.”

“You knew my mother?” Gregory asked, looking slightly stupefied, although he was trying to hide it.

“Sure did,” Grayson said. “We practically grew up together. I couldn’t see her with a guy like Paul, though. Not her type.”

Gregory cleared his throat. “I don’t know what her type was. She was my mother.”

Grayson grinned. “Of course not. Sorry. Sometimes I stick my foot in my mouth, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gregory said, obviously annoyed.

“What about you?” Bella asked, chiming in for the first time. “What do you do?”

“I work for Cohen’s company, do some consulting now and again. We went to college together.”

“Seems like you know everyone,” Bella said.

“But I don’t know you,” Grayson responded with a charming smile in her direction. “Which is too bad. What’s your story?”

“Gregory and I are friends. I’m from New York City—”

“Of course, big city girl,” Grayson said. “Bella Murray?”

She nodded. “You might have actually heard of me. I used to do a little modeling now and again.”

“Of course you did,” Grayson said. “Look at you. So what are you doing in a place like this?”

“Just helping out a friend,” she said vaguely. “After that, I’ll go home. Unless I get a better offer.”

Grayson smiled at her, finishing his stew. He stood up, nodding at me.

“Sorry to have to take off so quick, Cohen,” he said. “But I’d better get going. You know how the boss gets.”

I laughed. “I am the boss.”

“Exactly,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “And you’re an asshole. I’d better get back to work.”

“Thanks for coming by, Gray,” I said to him, lifting my hand in a wave.

“It was nice to meet you both,” Grayson said before he left, excusing himself. I heard the front door open and close and stood up myself.

“I’m going to go check on Paul,” I said to them.

“How is he doing?” Gregory asked. “Can we see him again?”

“Better not,” I said. “The doctor put him on a drip. He’s—not doing well.”

“Oh,” said Bella, trying to give me a sympathetic look. It didn’t work, instead made her beautiful face look twisted and dark. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“You let us know if there’s anything that we can do,” Gregory said. I left them behind then and went to Paul’s room, surprised to find Abby in there. Paul was asleep and she was standing over him, staring down at his face. When I walked in, she met my eye.

“I’m staying. For Paul,” she said. “He needs me.”

“OK,” I said to her. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

“I want nothing to do with you,” she said. “Not at all. I don’t want to see you or talk to you unless it’s about Paul.”

“OK,” I repeated dully, glancing at my uncle. “I’ll come back later.”

She said nothing as I left, but I heard her take a deep, shaky breath before I closed the door behind me.