Authors: Barbara Freethy
Rose and Lily ran toward the large white building as the footsteps grew closer, as the sound echoed in the night. Lily stumbled, and the backpack flew out of her hand as she fell to her knees. She let out a cry of distress. Rose helped Lily to her feet as the big man came around the corner of the dock.
"He's coming." She grabbed Lily's hand and pulled her along.
"Wait, I have to get the backpack."
"We don't have time."
The man started to whistle, and Rose ran faster, pulling Lily along beside her. His shadow reached out for them like the shadows on their bedroom ceiling. They raced toward the big building in front of them, but the lights were off and the doors were locked. They ran around the side of the building, looking for a place to hide. There was a blue trash bin at the far end. It was the only thing between them and the water.
"Let's hide behind that." Lily grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her behind the Dumpster. There wasn't much room, just enough for two tiny bodies to squeeze in. They backed up against the far wall and held each other tight.
Rose heard the footsteps coming closer, the whistle getting louder. He was coming after them, the big man, the stranger. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that Mama or Daddy or Joanna would come and save them.
Lily's head pressed against hers, and Rose felt Lily's body shake with fear. Her sister -- her brave sister was scared, too. The footsteps stopped in front of the trash. Something was wrong, He was supposed to keep walking. He wasn't supposed to find them.
Rose took in a trembling breath as she felt the Dumpster rock and shake above them. For a moment she thought he was pushing it against the wall, trying to squish them. Then she realized he was throwing something into the trash.
He began to whistle again. His footsteps started out loud, then grew faint as he walked away. He hadn't been chasing them after all.
Rose let out a breath. Lily lifted her head. They stared at each other for a long moment.
"He's gone," Lily said.
She nodded somewhat shakily. "Let's stay here until it's morning. I don't want to go out there again. It's too scary."
"Okay." Lily leaned against the wall. "I'm hungry"
She shivered as a breeze blew through the space between the Dumpster and the wall."Do you think Daddy made Joanna go away?" she asked after a moment.
"It was just like when Mama left. They shouted at each other, and she started to cry. Remember?"
"Yes," Rose said slowly. "Then Daddy went out and Mama went upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom."
"When she came out she was all dressed up."
"Like she was going to a party."
"She looked as pretty as Joanna did last night."
Rose struggled to remember what Joanna was wearing the night before. It was a really pretty black dress. Her mother had worn something blue, or was it purple? She couldn't remember and started to panic. "I don't remember, Lily. What was the color of Mama's dress?"
"Pink." Lily tilted her head. "Maybe it was red."
"Sometimes I can't remember what Mama looks like anymore, I mean, she looked like Joanna, didn't she?" A long silence fell between them. Rose laced her fingers together. "Lily?"
"What?"
"I want to break our promise."
"You can't." But Lily didn't sound as sure as she had before.
"I don't miss Mama anymore," she confessed, feeling better once she said it. She took in a deep breath. "I miss Daddy. I miss talking to him."
Lily swallowed hard. "Me, too."
"Do you think he still loves us?"
"He has to; he's our daddy."
"Do you think he'll find us?"
"Yes."
"He was sad last night," Rose said. "I think he was sorry Joanna cried. I wish Joanna could be our mama."
"Me, too," Lily whispered.
* * *
As soon as Michael pulled his car into a parking space at the St. Francis Yacht Club, Tony and Joanna jumped out. The three of them ran along the fence by the boats, calling out for Lily and Rose.
"They're not here," Michael said.
"They have to be. We've looked everywhere else in this city," Joanna said.
Tony stared at the water. "It's like the last time. We kept looking for Angela, but she never came up."
Michael grabbed Tony by the arms and shook him. "The girls are not dead. They're not."
"I know. I know," Tony said, shrugging out of Michael's tight grip. "You're right. It's not the same."
"Let's check out the building," Joanna said. "Maybe they went inside to find someone to help them."
But the building was closed. The doors were locked. The lights were off. Michael pounded on the door anyway.
Joanna didn't try to stop him. He needed to let out his anger and frustration. The long day had taken its toll. She could see it in the weary lines of his face, the droop of his shoulders. His confidence and courage had dwindled down to nothing.
"If something happens to them, it will be my fault," he said heavily. "I should have let someone else take them after Angela died. That's what one of the doctors suggested. They could have had a woman's influence, a stable family life."
"Michael, you're a great father," she said.
"The best," Tony added.
"Where could they be? It's as if they vanished."
"They're midgets. It's easy for them to hide."
Midgets. Joanna smiled as Tony tried to lighten the mood. She liked this guy, her half brother. He wasn't like the other De Lucas, so serious and proud. He had a spark, a humor, a passion. She could see why he and Michael were friends, and if Angela had been anything like Tony, perhaps she could understand the draw there, too.
She turned away from the men and wandered down the driveway that led around to the back of the club. She tripped over something at her feet -- a forest green mini backpack, the kind the girls used. She picked it up and ran back to the men. "They were here."
Michael took the backpack out of her hand and pressed it to his chest, right next to Peter Panda Bear. Joanna's heart broke at the sight of his children's things in his arms, when all he really wanted was his children.
"They must be close," Tony said. "What exactly did that wizard tell you to do?"
"I don't remember," Michael said. "Something about the saints and the sea. I don't know."
"Don't be rash. Don't leave without looking in the trash," Joanna said.
"Where would they keep the trash?" Michael asked.
"A dumpster," Tony said.
"Behind the building, maybe," Joanna added.
Michael took off at a dead run, Tony following. Joanna ran after them, hoping beyond hope that the girls were close by. She didn't think Michael could take having his hopes dashed one more time.
There was a large dumpster behind the back door of the club. They stopped in front of it.
"Lily, Rose!" Michael called. "Where are you?"
Joanna's heart turned over as two small figures flew out from behind the dumpster. Their shorts were dirty, their tennis shoes scuffed, their hair tangly messes, but they were the prettiest sight she'd seen in a long time.
Michael fell to his knees, opening his arms to the girls.
They ran into his embrace. "Oh, God. You're all right. You're all right," he muttered, showering kisses over their small faces. "I love you so much."
Rose and Lily stared into his face with somber eyes. They glanced at each other, then back at him.
Rose's lips trembled. Lily cleared her throat. Joanna held her breath.
"We love you, too," they said together, a stunning chorus that broke the dam of emotion.
"I can't believe it," he said in amazement. "You're talking to me."
He squeezed them tight, and when he let go Joanna saw tears on his cheeks. He gazed over their heads at her, and for the first time all day she saw a gleam of hope.
"I'm sorry. Daddy," Rose said. "We didn't mean to make you sad. We promised Mama we wouldn't talk to you until she came back."
"She said if you found out she went to see the man with the black mustache, she wouldn't be able to come home," Lily finished. "But even though we kept our promise, she still didn't come home."
It made such perfect, simplistic sense, Joanna realized. Having spent a week with six-year-olds, she now had a better understanding of the way their minds worked. Lily and Rose had taken their mother's words to heart.
If you talk to your father, I can't come back
.
"Your mother didn't come home because she died," Michael said. "It wasn't because of your promise. It wasn't because of the man with the mustache. Your mom died in a storm. It was an accident. It wasn't anybody's fault."
"I wish she could have come back," Rose said.
"I do, too," Michael replied, hugging them again as if he couldn't get close enough.
She took a step back, his unguarded words cutting deeply. He was still in love with Angela. He wished she could come back. She felt an arm come around her shoulder and turned her head in surprise.
"For them," Tony said quietly. "He wishes she could have come back for them."
"How do you know that?"
"Because he's in love with you."
"How do you know that?" she repeated.
He smiled. "Because he's my best friend. We've been through a lifetime together."
"She was your sister."
"So apparently are you. I loved Angie, but she's not here anymore, and you are. If Michael loves you, it's okay by me."
"That's pretty generous of you."
He shrugged, offering her his trademark grin. "I'm a nice guy."
"And modest, too."
"Yeah. So, Sis, do you know any good-looking girls who want to sail around the world with a really nice guy?"
"Not a one. Sorry."
"Maybe I should ask Mariah."
"Maybe you should."
Michael stood up, his arms filled with children, his eyes filled with happiness. "Let's go home," he said. "All of us."
* * *
Caroline picked up a photograph of Angela from the mantel in the living room and studied it closely. She'd had plenty of time during the day to explore the house, and she'd done just that, snooping unashamedly, wanting to know more about the man who seemed to be in love with her daughter.
Michael had won dozens of basketball trophies and judging by the paperbacks in his bedroom, he was a reader. She also knew he ordered a lot of pizza and Chinese food, because those delivery numbers were taped above every phone extension. A man after her own heart, she thought with a smile. Then her smile faded. He wasn't after her heart; he was after her daughter's.
She was afraid for Joanna, afraid that her daughter would only be filling another woman's shoes. She wanted Joanna to have a grand, passionate love, one that belonged only to her. Could this Michael Ashton truly love Joanna, or was he simply attracted to the image of his wife?
Maybe she just didn't want to believe in their love, because if Joanna and Michael got together, then Joanna would become even closer to the De Lucas. There might not be room for her in Joanna's life, and Caroline couldn't stand the thought of going through the next twenty years alone.
"Oh, Edward. How could you do this to me?" she asked. She set the photo back on the mantel and walked over to the window. Deep down in her heart, she knew Edward was Joanna's real father. She'd always known it.
He'd been unhappy with her for months before Joanna came along. They'd fought over everything, battling the little things so they wouldn't have to think about the big thing -- their lack of a baby. Although they constantly had sex, because she desperately wanted to conceive, they'd lost their teasing playfulness, their passion for each other. Sex had become a job, a commitment.
She didn't want to believe he had turned to someone else, but she wasn't stupid. He'd brought Joanna home. He'd given her the birth certificate and assured her there was no record of adoption.
Of course there was no record. He hadn't needed one -- not when he was taking his own child home, but not to her real mother, only to his wife.
The front door opened and Caroline whirled around, expecting to see Michael and Joanna. Sophia stood in the hallway. Sophia De Luca, the woman who had stolen her husband but given her a child, the woman she wanted to hate, but it wasn't that simple.
"They're not back?" Sophia asked.
"No."
"We need to talk."
"Yes, we do," Caroline agreed. She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. "Edward was Joanna's real father, wasn't he?"
Sophia nodded slowly. "It was only one time."
"Oh, God." Caroline put a hand to her heart as once again her fears were realized. Edward and this woman had made love.