Chapter 5 – Not Exactly Little Orphan Annie

Almost all of the bad news Shannon had ever received had been by way of telephone. October 28, 1991, Shannon was six, and all that ran through her mind were plans for her Halloween costume. You know how young kids are, when Halloween is the highlight of the entire year. Shannon had been sitting with two other pigtailed, freckled girls, when Miss Harrah, her raven-haired teacher, had solemnly led Shannon to the office and handed her the phone silently.

"Hello?" Asked Shannon earnestly. She was one of those children who had an adorably high-pitched voice, and until this call, was one of the poster children for cute little kids.

"Shit." Said David. "I don't know how to –"

"What's the matter, Daddy?" She had squeaked, completely unaware of what was going on.

"Your mother – she – "

"Is she coming home late from her vacation in Paris?"

"Shannon. Don't be dumb. She's gone. Fuck."

"You shouldn't use that word, Daddy. Miss Harrah told Robbie Mitchell, that is was very ba – "

"Don't you understand, kid?" This was when Shannon had known that something was very, very wrong. She would become accustomed to the new, bitter, and hard David, but at six years old, it was new to her.

"Understand what? Daddy, you're confusing me!" she cried.

"Then why don't you listen, you little brat!" Tears stung in Shannon's eyes.

"Don't be mean to me! Please tell me where Mommy is!"

"She left with that bastard…"

"What's a bastard?" He sighed in annoyance.

"Shannon, your mother doesn't love us anymore. She left with someone who, for whatever reason, she likes better."

"She doesn't love me?"

"Not anymore, I can't believe she's doing this to me!" David seemed to be fighting tears, Shannon could hear in his voice. "She can't just run away when things get bad, that bitch!"

"Dad…"

"I love her so damn much! Why is she doing this?"

"Dad…"

"Shannon, I think we're on our own now."

"She isn't coming back?" Shannon yelled.

"No. She's never coming back, not ever, and you won't be able to talk to her ever again. And I won't either, the way she pretends to love me… and you… she's just a fake, a manipulative, little self-centered bitch, and I love her so bad!"

"Dad, why are you telling me…"

"I'll see you at home, Shannon."

"What – but – "

"Bye, Shannon."

"Wait! Daddy, don't – " All Shannon could hear was the taunting buzz of the dial tone.

You don't fucking know me… you don't fucking know me… Boone's voice echoed in her head as she stepped out of the shower on that cool April day. The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She raced to pick it up, like there was anyone else in the house competing with her to answer it.

"Hello?"

"May I please have a Miss Rutherford?"

"Um, this is she. Are you selling something?" She sighed. She so did not have time for a telemarketer right now.

"This is Dr. Marcus Tillman, you're David Rutherford's daughter, correct?"

"What the hell is going on?" She asked, her voice tense.

"Your father, Mr. Rutherford, arrived in the ER this morning – "

"Is he okay?"

"He had been in a car accident – there was a building involved, and its effects were – "

"Do you have to do surgery?" She asked pointedly.

"Miss Rutherford, I need you to calm down. Perhaps you could take a seat."

"No, I don't think I will. I want to know what the hell is going on with my Dad!"

"The effects of the crash were fatal, Miss Rutherford."

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice cracking. Her irritation was replaced with a growing fear in the pit of her stomach. It pulled at her stomach, making her feel nauseous and starving at the same time. No, no, no, no….

"He passed away at four o' clock this afternoon."

"No, no, no, no… NO!" She sobbed, tears clouding her vision. "Is this a joke? No, this can't be – "

"I'm very sorry, ma'am."

"Is there anything that needs to be done?" No. He wasn't dead. No, no, no. He had been alive the day before! He had yelled at her last night, he had gone to sleep, he had – "Oh, fuck. He crashed the car, didn't he? Into the building? He was drunk… he… oh Jesus!"

"He was severely intoxicated – the combination of alcohol poisoning and the physical damage on his brain is what caused his death."

"Oh, Jesus. I – I'll be there in five minutes… is there… is my step mother there?"

"She identified the body at four fifteen."

"Why are you calling me now? It's five forty for fuck's sake! I'm his daughter!"

"We were – " Shannon hung up on Dr. Tillman, surprised at her own audacity.

July 18, 2001.

Shannon stepped out of the crowded Charles De Gaulle airport, two suitcases and a tattered envelope clutched in her hands. It read – 264 Rue de Napoleon, Paris.

Shannon remembered the day she had gotten the letter – she had been fourteen, and Boone had slowly handed it to her, like it was a time bomb. It was the most frightening thing that Shannon had ever seen. Would there be an explanation about why she left? Would she come and visit her? Her mother's handwriting on the envelope was familiar, curly and spindly like it had been when she taught Shannon to write the alphabet. Inside were two simple sentences. It said, "Glad to say the cancer is in remission. I love you." It was so inadequate, yet she clutched onto it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Today, Shannon stood awkwardly at the door, watching people come and go constantly. She waved down a taxi and took a deep breath. This was it. It was time for Camilla Rutherford to resurface in Shannon's life. Shannon sat in the dingy cab, thinking about how little she knew of Camilla. Camilla had been called Cammie when she was a child – it suited her free spirited personality. She had been prom queen, and there were pictures of her in a long, pale pink dress with sparkles, standing next to a stone-faced football player. But that night, Camilla had met David, a wiry nerd with glasses, and it had been love at first sight. Or was it lust? Shannon remembered Camilla telling the story before Shannon went to sleep at night to the four-year-old Shannon, who imagined that her mother, with the long blonde hair that flew behind her when she walked, was Cinderella. Somewhere in her little mind, a clutter of half-recycled princess stories, Shannon recalled remembering that David wasn't exactly Prince Charming.

Shannon had been born only a year later, when Camilla was the tender age of eighteen. David's parents disapproved of the flighty Camilla – they disowned him when Cammie got pregnant, because they were very old-fashioned, and Cammie and David weren't married yet. Shannon's maternal grandparents were sweet, lovely people, but Shannon had lost touch with them when Camilla left with Armand, who had lusted after Camilla since when they were sixteen and spent a summer in France together. Shannon still thought it sounded like a fairy tale.

And – in her letter, Camilla had said that her cancer was in remission. Shannon didn't know what kind of cancer it was, when she had gotten it, but in remission meant gone, so did it matter anymore? She knew nothing of her mother now. Had she outgrown her beauty, did she have a job? What was it, and was she even still living at 264 Napoleon? Had she had new children to replace Shannon? How would she react to the news of David's death?

"Madame," said the driver, "Rue de Napoleon." She clumsily handed him some coins. Shannon had taken a year of French, but had barely scraped by.

"Merci," she said, and looked up at number 264. The stone wall was covered in sprawling vines of ivy, and the whole apartment building seemed to mock Shannon, daring her to enter. Suddenly, tears stung her eyes. This was going to look so stupid! What if Camilla slammed the door in Shannon's face?

Shannon dialed Boone's number. He picked up on the third ring – "Hello?"

"Boone – I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"I'm standing in front of Camilla's house."

"You're in Paris? Have you been there long? I haven't heard from you in -"

"I'm standing in front of my fucking mother's house! What am I doing?" she cried.

"I know you can do it. It must be hard, not having seen her in… eleven years."

"Well, you wouldn't know, would you."

"I haven't seen my dad since last year, but – "

"I just walked up a step."

"That's great, Shan. Slow and easy, I know you can do it."

"What do you think she's going to say?"

"She'll hug you and she'll be very surprised. But happy."

"You think so?"

"I know it."

"This isn't a movie, it's not going to end that way. Something horrible is going to happen. Oh god, someone's opening the door. It's… it's a guy… I should go."

"Bye, Shannon. I'm really glad you called."

"Bonjour," said Shannon to the man cautiously. "Parlez vous anglais?"

"I speak English," he said with a slight accent. "My name is Jean."

"Oh, thank you. Um, I'm looked for Camilla Rutherford, she lives in this building – she – "

"Camilla Rutherford?"

"My mother."

"Your mother? Camilla?"

"Yes!" She answered, exasperated.

"I think that you should come inside for a moment, Miss – "

"It's Shannon."

"Come inside, Miss Shannon, you may want to sit down."

"Thank you." Shannon walked into the building warily, confused. Had something happened to Camilla?

"I don't know that much about the former tenant… but, I'll tell you what I know."

"Um." Former tenant?

"Mrs. Rutherford arrived here eleven years ago, when I was sixteen, with a very charming man called Armand," said the man, sitting at the other side of the table where Shannon was seated. "I lived in the room upstairs. Now I occupy both rooms."

"He wasn't charming, my mother left my father for him."

"Well, I hope your father had moved on."

"My father died three months ago."

"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid that isn't the last of the bad news." A small boy who looked about four walked through the room. "My son, Pierre…" He said something to the boy in French, who smirked and walked away.

"Oh?" Thoughts raced through her head. Had the cancer come back? Had Camilla moved far away? Was she… no, she couldn't be.

"About two years after she moved in, she and Armand were quite pleased because she thought she was carrying his child. But after she came home from the doctor, she found out that she had a terrible disease. A cancer."

"I know. She sent me a… well, a note, when I was fourteen. Said it was in remission. That was four years ago."

"Yes, well, about that time, Armand left Camilla… he said it was too much for him to deal with. She was depressed and angry and lonely. Pretty soon, the cancer came back, and…"

"She died." She couldn't believe this! Her mother was dead!

"I wish it had been that peaceful, Miss Shannon."

"What do you mean?" Shannon didn't know if she could handle any more news today.

"Camilla wanted to end her suffering, so one night, with what little strength she had, she poisoned herself and went to bed."

"She never woke up, did she?" Shannon's voice cracked, and she stared at the floor in misery.

"No. I'm very sorry for your loss… both of your losses." Jean put his hand on top of Shannon's, comforting her.

"My mother killed herself." It sounded so real out loud. Her mother, the princess, the fairy, and the woman she had dreamed of having in her life for so long! She was gone, and her father too… and… there was nothing left anymore. Just Boone. Shannon couldn't remember a time when she had loved him more. No. Just when things couldn't get any worse… she couldn't be in love with him. She had to distance herself. Then maybe it would go away! Maybe something would go right!

"If there's anything I can do, please let me know. I'll give you some time." Said Jean. Shannon Rutherford was alone. There was no one to guide her, no one who could show her the way. She was broke, alone, and an orphan. And she had to do something about that.