29. Crybaby
Crybaby
Victoria
I hesitated before stepping into the guest house like I always did, because each visit reminded me my mother’s time was winding down. The box of chamomile tea shook in my hands as I gathered my courage.
I had psyched myself up to enter when I received a phone call from an unknown number from a Washington D.C. area code.
“Hello?”
“Am I speaking with Ms. Victoria Caldwell?”
“Yes. This is she.”
“Ms. Caldwell, my name is Agent Carl Domer, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation has received your report regarding alleged wire fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy against Hope and Faith Brown. Do you have a moment to speak?”
“Wow. Sure,” I said unsteadily.
“Is it a good time?”
“It is. I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected a response this soon. I only filed the reports a few days ago.”
“Correct. But due to the nature and severity of the crimes and the preliminary evidence submitted, we found it necessary to intervene as soon as possible.”
“I just want to know if they’ll do time.”
“A wire fraud conviction can result in a prison sentence of up to twenty years and fines of $250,000.00 per count. Most federal cases end in a plea bargain—prepare for them to be given a lighter sentence.”
“What preliminary evidence do you have besides my bank statements?”
“We have timestamps, IP addresses, device IDs, Geolocation, routing and account numbers, login history, personal account information changes, surveillance footage of withdrawals, and more.”
I was impressed.
“That’s a lot of evidence.”
“It’s enough indisputable evidence to have a warrant signed by a judge. I have a few follow-up questions if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
I sat on a cement bench in the garden and provided the agent with as much information as possible. He informed me of his next steps, including officially interviewing the future jailbirds.
“Do you have any questions for me, Ms. Caldwell?”
“I would like to retrieve my personal items—particularly my Social Security card, birth certificate, and a recipe book. How can I go about getting that?”
“Any stolen personal items will be logged, taken into evidence, and released to you at a later date.”
“Perfect. One more question: would I have to testify?”
“The probability of testifying is low because more than likely they will accept a plea deal. However, you can provide a victim impact statement for sentencing.”
My shoulders sagged with relief. Doug and Amelia had worked tirelessly to keep my legal battle with my sisters out of the headlines, and I clung to the hope that everything would be resolved quietly so I could finally move on.
It was bad enough that the press had branded me a gold-digging thot, and the so-called “carefully crafted” statement Amelia issued only poured gasoline on the fire instead of putting it out.
“We have enough for probable cause. After I interview your sisters on Monday, we’ll present the case to the U.S. Attorney. If they sign off, we’ll get a warrant and pick them up.”
“Thank you for your diligence, Agent Domer.”
I signed off and deliberately ignored a text from Knox summoning me to the bedroom.
Ever since announcing his retirement and ditching his cane, the man had turned into a full-blown menace.
He’d warned me he’d drive me crazy once he stepped back, and he wasn’t wrong.
Luckily, he still had a few transitional months left before officially handing the reins to Blankenship and sliding onto the advisory board.
And because I was a glutton for punishment, I’d agreed to shepherd Knox through the hand-off and train Blankenship’s new assistant myself.
Amelia: I hate to interrupt your time with your mother, but caterers have arrived. Mrs. Ramsey should be here soon.
Me: Thanks. Be there soon.
I entered the warm, dimly lit guest house and was greeted by the soft hum of the air purifier and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Nurse Linda was at the kitchen island, documenting medical notes on her laptop. She paused when she noticed me.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ramsey.”
“Good afternoon, Nurse Linda. How’s she doing today?”
“According to Nurse Brenda, your mother was a little agitated last night, and it took her a minute to get her settled. I think your mother wore herself out last night because she’s as cool as a cucumber now.”
I smiled softly.
“Good to hear. Has she been eating?”
“Not as much as I’d like. She only drank a quarter of her meal replacement shake this morning and had a few bites of soup.”
“That’s it?” I asked incredulously, moving to the stove to put on the kettle.
“I’m afraid so,” Nurse Linda answered earnestly with the gentleness of a grandmother.
“Has she been speaking?”
“A little, but everything is unintelligible.”
“Her blood pressure?”
“Lower than normal today. I messaged Dr. Fitzgerald about lowering her dosage.”
I prepared our tea while Nurse Linda gave me her full report; however, I knew she was skirting around the truth. My mother was declining.
I offered her a cup of chamomile tea before entering my mother’s bedroom.
My breath caught at the sight of her frail body, wrapped in an afghan while a soap opera droned in the background.
Her eyes flickered towards me, and briefly, I had the sense that she vaguely recognized me before her eyes dulled again.
I smiled anyway.
“Hey, Mama,” I said, sitting in a love seat beside her bed.
I carefully balanced the cup and tucked my legs beneath me.
“Nurse Linda said you haven’t been eating that much today.
You need to eat your dinner,” I mentioned as I blew into the steaming cup of tea.
She didn’t respond—just turned her head to gaze out the window.
I allowed the silence to stretch. We didn’t need conversation. I just needed her safe.
Amelia : Mrs. Ramsey’s ETA - 15 minutes.
I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone into my pocket.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, Mama, but I have to meet my future mother-in-law,” I explained, rising from the chair. I raised a brow when she started humming. I moved closer.
“What are you trying to say?” I asked, grazing her shoulder with as much gentleness as I possessed.
“Knnnnnnn-knnneeeees.”
“Knees?” I mumbled, shocked by her choice of words until it clicked.
Knees!
“No, Mama. He’s gone!” I exclaimed, laughing while wiping away tears. “Nah. I ain’t gotta deal with him or his crazy ass mama no more.”
She smiled faintly before returning to a blank canvas. Just like that… she was gone again. But that little spark was enough to give me solace.
“I love you, mama,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. I grabbed her hand and allowed my thumb to trace the veins. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
“I need more pictures of you and Mr. Ramsey,” Amelia’s high-pitched voice rang through the kitchen as I added the final touches to the dining room table.
“You have enough,” I grunted, adjusting the stemware.
“As your publicist, I strongly disagree.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“Why are you here? Today is meant to be a private family gathering.”
“Again. I need more pictures.”
“So that you can sell them to the highest bidder? How much are you getting on the back end from those tabloids?”
“I need photos showing a stable, happy home, and your mother-in-law’s blessing,” she replied, ignoring my accusation.
“The headlines must be brutal today.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Amelia commented. She sighed and sipped from her bedazzled pink tumbler, which I was certain was filled to the brim with Cutwater.
Don’t ask me how I know, I just know.
Out of nowhere, a wave of emotion dragged me into the undertow.
“Um… Victoria,” Amelia said with an uneasy chuckle.
“Fuck,” I mumbled, realizing that I was crying. I snatched up a folded linen dinner napkin and dried my face.
“You know what you need?”
“A blunt?” I blubbered.
“I would not suggest getting high less than five minutes before your mother-in-law’s arrival. You need a Crying Room.” The next thing I knew, Amelia was shoving me into the pantry and consoling me while I cried. “What’s going on, Victoria?”
“I don’t know. I’m so overwhelmed. There’s too much to do and not enough hours in the day.
I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water.
Mom is fading, my sisters are likely going to prison, Knox is retiring, and social media is a drag.
I wasn’t big on it before the island, and I’m certainly not fucking with it now.
Everyone is in our fucking business and wants to know every move we make.
I have to smile for the camera and tap dance for these strangers when I only want to feel my toes in the sand again. ”
“You can always move to Florida.”
That made me bawl.
Of all places to suggest! Not Mexico, not Bora Bora—fucking Florida.
“Have you told Mr. Ramsey how you feel?” I shook my head. “Why not?” she pressed.
“He has a lot to deal with already with the transition.”
“I think a husband should know if his wife is depressed.”
“You think I’m depressed?” I questioned, wiping my nose with the napkin.
“Depressed, anxious, stressed—you name it. We should get you a therapist as soon as possible.”
I sighed, and my shoulders nearly sagged to the ground. “Knox and I had discussed going to therapy. Add it to the list.”
“I know what can fix most of your problems.”
“What?”
“Quit your job.”
My body went rigid.
Quit my job? I can’t do that.
“No.”
“Literally quitting your job will resolve most of your issues. You’ll have more time in the day to focus on what matters: self-care, your friends, and your mother.”
“I can’t leave my job. What about Knox?” Amelia frowned and chewed her bottom lip as if she were looking for a way to put something delicately and still have her job. “You may speak freely.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. “He doesn’t matter.
” My eyes widened from the unexpected response.
“Don’t look at me like that, Victoria. You matter.
You already saved the man’s life, and now you need to save yourself.
The two of you have an obvious codependency, which isn’t abnormal given your situation.
I don’t know much about your life before the crash, but if I had to guess, the two of you were codependent on each other back then.
Mr. Ramsey doesn’t need you to babysit him; he can function without you.
You two need to learn how to function independently. ”
“You may no longer speak freely,” I joked through a sniffle. She grinned widely, showing off a dazzling smile that made me feel better. Despite her preppy and fluffy appearance, she kept it real.
“Don’t think about tomorrow, Victoria. Let’s just get through today.”
I nodded.
“Now, take a minute to gather yourself, and join me in the foyer,” she demanded before leaving my crybaby ass in the pantry.
My stomach curled into a tight ball of nerves. I’d already had my share of bitchy mother-in-laws and prayed I’d catch a lucky break with Lorena Ramsey.