Not Just A 'Shelby'

Chapter 49: Old lovers.

"Alright, Harry, family will be here in an hour. Everyone else needs to stay away from the snug."

"Understood, Miss Shelby."

Dorthea turned, smiling at him. "Harry you've known me for 27 years, you can call me Dorthea."

"Alright." He smiled back, turning to the office where the phone was ringing. Dorthea turned back towards the booth to give it a once over. She had hung gold streamers from the ceiling for the small family birthday being held tonight. Michael was finally coming of age and they were going to celebrate.

"Miss Shel... Dorthea?" Harry called.

"Yes?" She answered back, peaking through the window to him.

He raised the phone to signaling it was a call for her.

"Hello?"

"It's good to finally hear your voice, Dot."

"Hello, Ollie."

"How are things in little ole Small Heath?"

"Same ole same. Got shot last week."

"John called after he had gotten back. Almost ran my arse down there, figured I'd get the story from you first though."

"Henry Yuan paid our side a visit, ran him off good I'd imagine."

"I imagine so." She could hear him stalling through the phone.

"Just ask whatever you need to Oliver and stop making small talk."

"When are you coming home?" I would like to see my daughter soon.

"About a week."

"In a week or is that a 'I don't know' answer."

"Yes."

"Dorthea Lily Shelby"

She scoffed. "Oh, are we no longer married?"

"We are, but right now you're acting like a Shelby."

"On that comment, dear, I have to go. Planning a party today that no one from Camden was invited to. Goodbye." She flung the phone on the receiver, slumping down in the chair that was next to the desk.

"Everything alright, Dorthea?" Harry questioned, his head sticking through the doorway.

"Peachy, Harry." She put on a smile as she stood, straightening out her shirt and pants and putting her jacket on. "If anyone touches that fucking room, Harry, call the den. I'll have their eyes cut out, don't care what Thomas says."

She had found herself sat at Tommy's desk in the den after her phone call with Ollie.

"Who shit on your toast this morning?" John asked, walking into her office and sitting in the chair that sat in front of hers. He grabbed the whiskey bottle that sat in between them, pouring some into his own glass.

She smiled sarcastically. "You're dear brother-in-law called this morning."

"Freddie called from the grave?" John snickered at his comeback, dodging the pen that flew in his direction.

"You idiot, Oliver. Called asking when I'd come home."

John paused, looked from his glass. "Did you give him a time?"

"Told him about a week. He just wants to see his daughter."

"Not his wife?" John questioned.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I assume, but he didn't mention me. Called me a Shelby."