The Other Daughter (31 page)

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, lass! You are my favorite woman in the whole world.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Her godfather arched a brow and regarded her more seriously. “You are in a mood. Well, I don't know. Why do you love anything, Melanie? I suppose because you do.”

“Is it? You've always been there for me, Jamie. For my coming-home party, my first day of school, my birthdays, my charity balls, everything. That's a lot of interest in a goddaughter's life.”

“Well, you are a special goddaughter.”

“But why? Why do you love me so much, Jamie? What is it you want from me?”

Her voice was rising a notch. Her godfather immediately waved away her distress. He said simply and calmly, “I love you for being you. And all I've ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Melanie thought it was one of the loveliest things she'd ever heard, and a heartbeat later she knew she didn't believe a word of it. For the first time in her life she doubted her godfather.

Moments passed, the silence growing strained. Jamie's expression changed from tender to wary.

“If something was going on with you,” he finally asked, “you would let me know, wouldn't you?”

“I don't know. If something was going on with
you
, you would let me know, wouldn't you?”

“No, I wouldn't.”

“Why? I'm twenty-nine, I'm ready to hear—”

“And I'm fifty-nine, which is still older than you and wiser.”

“Wiser about what, Jamie? Wiser about a reporter named Larry Digger, or a midwife to Russell Lee Holmes? Wiser about Brian and Meagan Stokes?”

Her godfather studied her. His eyes, she realized, were much more sharp, much more knowing than she'd ever given him credit for.

“Not Brian,” he said. “But you, lass. You.”

“Jamie—”

He moved away, making a show of dusting off his trench coat, flicking at lint. “I'm going to be in town a bit, Melanie. Business is booming, what can I say? So if you need anything, of course” — he looked at her meaningfully — “call me at the Four Seasons. Day or night, I'll come.”

“Jamie—”

“I've met a woman, Mel, have I told you that? I'm thinking of settling down, maybe becoming a local. What do you think? Can you see me as a married man? Bah. You're right, you're right. What am I doing looking at myself as a family man? That's Harper's gig, you know. Pipe dreams again. I'm getting maudlin and foolish in my old age.”

“Jamie—”

“At the Four Seasons. Just call the number and your old godfather will be here. Now try to get some sleep.”

Then he was gone.

After a minute Melanie opened the French doors and walked onto the patio.

Her parents were dining alone. Harper was wearing hospital scrubs and reading the paper; he must have had a surgery this morning. Patricia sat across from him, sectioning out bites of grapefruit, which she followed with nibbles of dry toast. For as long as Melanie could remember, her mother had dined on only grapefruit and plain wheat toast.

Patricia turned at the sound of Melanie's approach and her eyes grew wide. They looked at each other uncomfortably, memories of a phone call stretching between the two of them. Melanie had never felt awkward around her mother, but now she did.

Finally, Patricia smiled tremulously and held out her arms for her daughter's embrace.

Melanie's knees almost gave way. This was what she wanted, she realized. After the last forty-eight hours, she wanted to come home to her mother. She wanted to inhale the scents of Chanel No. 5 and Lancôme face cream she'd known most of her life. She wanted to hear her mother say, as she had so many times over the years, “It'll be all right, child. You're a Stokes now, and we'll always take care of you.”

And then Melanie thought, Oh, God, what did you people do to Meagan?

“How was your evening?” Patricia asked lightly.

“Fine,” Melanie said. She stared at the patio floor, then fingered the petals of a pink climbing rose. Her mother's arms finally came down. She turned back to her grapefruit, shaken, and Melanie felt worse.

Her father lowered his newspaper. He looked at her, then at Patricia, then her again. He frowned. “Melanie? Are you all right? We haven't seen you in days, which is not like you.”

“I just needed some space.”

“That may be, but we're still family. Next time, make sure you call. That's common courtesy.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “How …how is life around here?”

“Busy,” her father said with a sigh. He looked pale and overworked, his face showing his age. “Got called in this morning for another pacemaker installation. I swear, that hospital never lets me get any rest.”

“Your father and I have been talking,” her mother interjected suddenly. “We think it's time the whole family went on vacation. Even Brian.”

“Europe,” Harper said.

“What?” Melanie couldn't have been more surprised.

“I've always said we should take a family vacation,” her father continued reasonably. “Finally I said to your mother that maybe we should just pack our bags and go. We'll spend six months traveling around France and England and the Mediterranean. It will be the time of our life.”

She was bewildered. “I don't want to go to Europe. Not now.”

“Nonsense,” her mother said. Melanie thought her voice was too bright, as if she were placating a child. “You need a vacation, Melanie. You deserve one. It will be wonderful. We'll relax and bask in the sun.”

Melanie shook her head. She looked at her parents, but they wouldn't return her gaze. Patricia was wringing her hands on her lap, then twisting her wedding band. Harper was tapping his foot, shifting a bit to the left, shifting to the right, in a way she'd never seen her father do before.

This wasn't a vacation, Melanie realized. This was escape. Had they gotten a shrine? Or maybe a phone call telling them they got what they deserved. Were they panicking and resorting to fleeing once more, as they'd fled from Texas to Boston?

“I won't go,” Melanie announced.

Harper frowned. “We're offering you a vacation to Europe, Melanie. Of course you'll go.”

She shook her head. Her hands were knotted at her sides, and she realized as she spoke that her voice was climbing. “This has nothing to do with a vacation. You
never
go on vacation, Dad. One would think if you spent more than ten minutes away from your precious hospital, you'd turn to stone.”

Her father's gaze narrowed. “I don't know what you are talking about, young lady, nor do I appreciate your tone.”

“I'm talking about the truth,” Melanie cried. “I'm talking about what happened to a little girl named Meagan Stokes.”

A silence descended upon the patio. Melanie saw her mother pale. Then the silence was broken by the sound of metal screeching on flagstone as her father pushed back his chair and leaped to his feet, his face an unhealthy shade of red. “Don't you dare, young lady. Don't you dare bring this up in front of your mother!”

“Why not? It's been twenty-five years. Why don't we ever speak of Meagan? It's not like you guys don't think about her. Or that I don't find Mom staring at her portrait, or you yourself gazing at it over a glass of Scotch. Brian still calls out her name at times, Jamie used to stutter every time he had to say Melanie. Meagan's here. She's in this house and she's part of all of our lives. So why don't we ever speak of her?
What are you so afraid of
?”

“Young lady, that is enough. You will not speak to your parents like that—”

“My parents. Yes, my parents. One more thing we never mention. Why didn't we ever look for my birth parents, Dad? Why didn't you ever suggest hypnosis or regression therapy or anything that might help me reclaim my own identity? Why were you at the hospital that night and not watching the execution of Russell Lee Holmes?”

“Melanie!” her mother gasped. “What …what is this?”

Melanie didn't get a chance to answer. Harper thrust up a hand, immediately silencing his wife. He stared at his daughter, and there was a cold expression on his face Melanie had never seen turned on her before.

“How dare you.” His gaze burned the way it had when he'd looked at her brother the night Brian had announced he was gay. “How dare you stand in my own house and speak to me this way. After everything I've done for you. Goddammit, I took you in, I put a roof over your head. I've done everything a father is supposed to do, looked after your health, paid for your education, guided you through life. I've never short-changed you, young lady. I have never treated you as less than my own child, you spoiled, ungrateful—”

“What?” Melanie goaded softly. “Killer's brat? Is that what you're trying to say? Is that how you
really
feel, Harper?”

“You little bitch.” He raised his arm and smacked her hard. Melanie fell onto the patio without even a murmur. As if from a distance, she heard her mother's soft cry of distress.

Slowly Melanie raised her head.

“It's not going to go away, Dad,” she whispered. “The truth is out now, and not even Boston's best cardiac surgeon can control this mess. Not even you can make it go away.”

“You don't know what you're talking about—”

“Stop it,” Patricia yelled. “Just stop it.”

They both turned to her. Patricia was getting shakily to her feet. Her body swayed tremulously, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Please,” she whispered. “No more. This is our daughter, Harper. Brian is our son. They are all we have. What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to teach them some gratitude. You see what happens when you give them everything, Pat? How they are both turning out—”

Patricia placed a hand on his shoulder. “Harper, please.”

He yanked his arm away, his expression too angry, too hurt.

“You too, Pat?” he growled. “Goddammit, I have had enough. Who bought this house and the cars you're driving and the clothes you're wearing and the food you're eating anyway? Certainly wasn't you or your father. He left all his money to charity, remember? Told us we could earn ours. So I did. I go to that hospital every day, I work my ass off in a stressful position you couldn't even imagine, and what kind of respect do I get for that? What kind of appreciation from my own wife?”

He whirled on Melanie. “And you. Your charity work is great, but how the hell does it pay the rent? What kind of responsibility do you show around here? You just went off for two days as if you hadn't a fucking care in the world.

“Now, what would happen if I did that? Huh?
What would happen
? Don't you people get it yet? My own children dance and play and join freak shows while
I
pay the fucking bills. My wife shops and nurses her self-pity while
I
get up and go to work every single day regardless of rain, weather, or mood. Jesus Christ, Pat, all I ever asked of you was to be a good mother. Then Meagan dies and you weren't even that. You became a mourner, a full-time professional mourner. Is it any wonder that Brian became a freak? Of course he had to turn to men. It wasn't like he was getting any affection from the women in his life!”

Patricia inhaled sharply, but her husband was far from done.

“So don't you turn on me!” He stared directly at Melanie. “Don't you speak to me in that tone of voice! This is
my house
. Paid for by me, maintained by me, because that's what my life is all about — taking care of the rest of you whether I feel like it or not. You guys get to play. I have
never
had that luxury. Not even when my little girl was murdered, you selfish, self-centered—”

Harper's voice broke off abruptly. He was near tears, Melanie realized. Oh, God, she'd driven her father to
tears
.

He wiped his face with the back of a hand, quickly composing himself, but still angry.

“I'm going to the hospital. While I'm gone, I expect you two to give this some thought. And you, Melanie. I want an apology to both me and your mother by morning. And then you can start packing your bags. Because whether you like it or not, this whole family is going on vacation and we're all going to be happy, if it kills us!”

Harper banged through the French doors. Moments later they could hear him storming down the hall and then slamming the front door. Then the house was silent.

Patricia was staring at Melanie, who tried to think of something to say, something to do. She found herself fingering her cheek; it still stung. Her mind couldn't grasp it. She'd never seen her father violent before.

“He just needs some time to cool off,” Patricia murmured. “He's been under a lot of pressure lately….”

Melanie didn't say anything.

“It's going to be all right,” her mother said more anxiously. “This is how families are. We have spells, bad spells, but we get through them, Melanie. We all get through them, and that's what makes us strong.”

“Maybe we shouldn't keep getting through them,” Melanie said tiredly. “Maybe what this family really needs is to fall apart.”

She staggered to her feet. Her legs felt rubbery. Pain gathered behind her left eyeball. Another migraine was coming.

“You're only twenty-nine,” her mother was saying. “Only a twenty-nine-year-old would say something like that. The bottom line is that families must forgive, Melanie, and families must
forget
.”

“Why? We have never forgotten Meagan. And you and Dad have obviously never forgiven each other, or how could he have said even half of what he did? What did you guys do back then? What did you do?”

Patricia paled again. Then her shoulders sagged and Melanie supposed she'd finally gotten what she wanted. Her mother broke, looking hurt and frightened beyond belief.

Melanie decided there was no satisfaction in it after all.

IN HER OWN room, the colors greeted her sharply. Red, green, and blue. Yellow and orange, and Lord, what a mess.

She shed her dress and climbed into the shower. And there beneath the protective spray, she sobbed simply because she needed to.

When she climbed back out, all the emotion had drained away. She was no longer scared or angry or overwhelmed. She was exhausted.

She took her Fiorinal, cocooned herself in bed, and within seconds fell asleep.