by Joy Fielding
“Almost midnight. Even the reporters have gone home.”
Caroline smiled. “Where’s Michelle?”
“Getting ready for bed. You should come, too.”
“I will.” She sighed. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. It’s been quite the night.”
“That it has.” My own brother, Caroline was thinking. That her sister-in-law could have done something so heinous was bad enough, but her own brother. Had he really hated her that much?
Or worse, had he not cared at all?
Jerrod and Rain had left almost immediately after Greg Fisher escorted Steve to the waiting police car, Mary following them to the station in Steve’s Buick. “There goes our lift,” Rain had remarked.
Peggy could only shake her head. “At least she’s consistent. You gotta give her that.” She looked over at Hunter. “You’re an idiot,” she said.
“No arguments there,” Hunter agreed. “I’m so sorry, Caroline,” he apologized again.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Caroline said. “Turns out that even if you hadn’t been with Rain, even if you had checked on the girls, it was too late. Samantha was already gone.”
“Thank you for that,” he said, turning to the daughter he’d lost. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Samantha told him.
“I hope you’ll give me a chance to make it up to you.”
She nodded, allowing him to take her in his arms.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Peggy and Fletcher had helped Michelle clean up before they left. “Try to get some sleep,” Peggy advised. “It’s going to be another media circus tomorrow.”
She was right, Caroline knew. Her brother’s arrest meant more questions, more headlines, more public scrutiny. That was okay. She’d had fifteen years of practice. She could handle it.
The phone rang.
“Who’s calling at this hour?” Samantha asked as Caroline reached for the phone.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, not even bothering to check the caller ID.
“How could you?” Mary demanded.
“How could I?”
“They’ve arrested him. Charged him with kidnapping. Did you know there is no statute of limitations on kidnapping? That it’s a federal offense? He could spend the rest of his life in jail.”
“Which is no less than he deserves.”
“You have to go to them, convince them it’s all a tragic mistake. Michelle doesn’t know what she’s saying. She doesn’t know what she saw.”
“She knows exactly what she’s saying. She knows exactly what she saw.”
“Even if that were true, and I’m not saying it is, it happened so long ago, darling. Fifteen years!”
“I don’t care if it was fifty years!”
“I understand you’re angry. I really do. But what do you gain by putting your brother in jail? Samantha’s home. You have your child back. Please don’t take mine.”
Caroline could scarcely believe her ears. Even coming from her mother, this was too much. “He’s not a child, Mother. He’s a grown man who committed an unspeakable act—”
“He was desperate. If he was involved with the mob, as you yourself suggested, they would have killed him. Maybe you, too. He didn’t know what else to do.”
“Are you seriously suggesting he did this to protect me? That he had no other option but to kidnap my baby?”
“I’m saying he didn’t know what else to do. He’s weak, darling. He’s always been weak. Not like you. You’re so strong. You’ve always been so sure of yourself. There’s a right answer, and there’s a wrong answer. That’s always been your motto.”
“And the right answer in this case would be to let him off the hook?”
“What happened is a tragedy, darling. There’s no doubt about that. But it has a happy ending. The right thing to do now would be to put it behind us and move on.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“Then think of the horrible publicity, the indignity of a trial…”
Caroline almost laughed. “I assure you I’m way past worrying about indignity.”
“I’m begging you not to do this.”
“You’re asking for too much.”
An angry silence, followed by her mother’s low growl. “He’ll never be convicted,” she said. “It’s Michelle’s word against his. The word of a mixed-up, spiteful young woman who’ll do anything for attention…”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“Just think about what you’re doing. He’s your brother, for God’s sake.”
“No,” Caroline said. “Not anymore. But he is definitely your son.” Then she pressed the key to disconnect the call.
—
The all-news channels were filled with breathless reports of her brother’s arrest. Caroline watched them from her bed, switching channels continuously, as if one of them might tell her something she didn’t already know. Samantha finished up in the bathroom, then crawled into bed beside her, glancing at the TV image of Greg Fisher guiding Steve from the house to the waiting police car. “Do you think he’ll be convicted?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe he’ll cut a deal.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think Beth knew?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline told her honestly. “But I’m sure the FBI will want to talk to her again. At the very least, she might be able to tell us more about the men her husband was involved with.” She gathered their blankets around them. “Do you want to call her?”
“No.”
“It’s all right if you do.”
“I don’t want to speak to her ever again. I hate her.”
“No, you don’t. You love her. And that’s all right.”
“How can I love her when she lied to me for fifteen years?”
“Because you do,” Caroline said simply. “Because for fifteen years, she was the only mother you knew. Because she loved you and looked after you. And whatever else she did, however much she knew or didn’t know, I have to be grateful to her for that.”
Samantha burrowed in against Caroline’s side. “Maybe I’ll call her eventually. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
“It’ll be strange, not spending Christmas with my brothers.”
“Well, maybe they can come visit one day.” Caroline looked up, saw Michelle standing in the doorway.
“Is this a private party?” Michelle asked.
“It certainly is,” Caroline said with a smile. “Only mothers and daughters allowed.”
Michelle approached the bed, a small paper bag in her hand. She offered it to Caroline.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for the tree. I bought it this morning. When I was out walking around. I tried to get a star or a giant snowflake, but all they had left were angels. Not that I believe in that stuff. It was just all they had.”
“It’s lovely,” Caroline said, taking the glittery, white plastic angel out of the bag and laying it on the night table beside the bed. “You can put it on the tree in the morning.” She turned off the TV, pulled back the covers, and beckoned Michelle in. “Come on. Sleep here tonight. There’s plenty of room.”
“Nah. That’s all right.”
“Please,” Caroline and Samantha said as one.
Michelle hesitated. But only for a moment. “All right. But I’m warning you,” she said, climbing into bed beside her mother, “I move around a lot.”
“You can dance, for all I care.”
“I just might do that.” Michelle reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, burrowing her backside into the concave curve of Caroline’s stomach.
“Good night, Micki,” Caroline said, kissing the top of her shoulder.
“Actually, I think I prefer ‘Michelle.’ ”
“Good night, Michelle,” Samantha
said without missing a beat.
“Good night, Samantha.”
Caroline smiled as Samantha’s hand wrapped around her waist. At some point, it would undoubtedly benefit all of them to seek family counseling, but she’d deal with that later. Right now she just wanted to enjoy the moment, lying in her bed, her daughters’ heartbeats bracketing her own. Tears filled her eyes and she stifled a sob.
“You’re not going to make the pillow all wet, are you?” Michelle said.
“I just might do that,” Caroline said, repeating Michelle’s words.
“All right, but try to keep the noise to a minimum. Okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good night, Mommy,” Michelle said.
“Good night, Mommy,” Samantha echoed.
Tears of gratitude ran freely down Caroline’s cheeks. “Good night, my beautiful, beautiful girls.”
You’d think I’d get tired of saying the same thing. But I don’t.
As always, a huge debt of gratitude to my great friends Larry Mirkin and Beverley Slopen, who read early drafts of all my manuscripts and offer their comments and insights, most of which make it into the final product in one way or another. I also want to thank my husband, Warren, and my daughter, Shannon, for their help in this regard. It’s never easy to accept criticism from one’s family, but either I’m getting mellower or they’re getting better at it. At any rate, I took their comments into account and this novel is the better for it. Thanks also to my wonderful agent, Tracy Fisher, with WME Entertainment, who has been a tireless and brilliant supporter, as well as a good and reliable critic, and to her former assistant James Munro and her current one, Alli Dyer, for all their hard work on my behalf. Then there’s my terrific editor, Linda Marrow, who is able to look at the material I submit and pinpoint the exact areas requiring special attention. Just as important, she’s able to tell me why. A nod also to Dana Isaacson for his careful attention to detail and suggested line edits, as well as to Elana Seplow-Jolley for her patience and hard work. And to Steve Messina, the production editor, for doing such a great job.
To Lindsey Kennedy and Allison Schuster, who work in publicity and marketing—thank you for all your efforts in getting my book out there. And to Scott Biel for his wonderful cover design. You’re amazing.
A special thank-you to all the people at Penguin Random House in Canada, although I really wish the newly merged company had chosen the name Random Penguin, simply because it’s such a wonderful image. To Brad Martin, Kristin Cochrane, Adria Iwasutiak, Val Gow, Constance McKenzie, Martha Leonard, Amy Black, Erin Kelly, and everyone else involved in the publishing of my books, thank you for your continuing support and hard work. You had a vision for making my novels a success and it worked, and for that I’m beyond grateful. I’m also grateful to Nita Pronovost. Even though she is no longer with PRH, I felt her hand guiding mine as I pruned and trimmed the manuscript, ridding the prose of unnecessary clutter and repetition. I wish her all the best in her new position.
Heartfelt thanks to Corinne Assayag at World Exposure, the company she founded while putting herself through law school, and which grew to be such a success that she never got around to practicing law. She recently redesigned my website (joyfielding.com) to make it a more interactive and state-of-the-art experience, and I think she succeeded brilliantly. Let me know if you agree.
Again, my thanks to my various publishers around the world and their wonderful translators. Please keep doing what you’ve been doing all these years. However my words are being refigured and expressed, it’s obviously working.
A special shout-out to Helga Mahmoud-Trainer in Germany, as well as an admonishment to stay well.
To my publishers who’ve only recently joined the fold, welcome aboard. I hope you’ll enjoy the ride.
Thank you to Annie, Courtney, Renee, and Aurora for all the love and help you give me on a daily basis. I love you, too. And to my beautiful grandchildren, to whom I’ve dedicated this book, I wish for you the happiness in your lives that you’ve given me in mine. You’re the best.
These acknowledgments would be incomplete without mentioning my very own long-deceased grandmother Mary, my father’s mother and as miserable a woman as ever walked this earth. She was the inspiration for Grandma Mary, and while this novel is unquestionably a work of fiction, many of the quotes attributed to her came straight from her mouth. There are times, as Caroline observes, when “you can’t make this stuff up.”
BY JOY FIELDING
She’s Not There
Someone Is Watching
Shadow Creek
Now You See Her
The Wild Zone
Still Life
Charley’s Web
Heartstopper
Mad River Road
Puppet
Lost
Whispers and Lies
Grand Avenue
The First Time
Missing Pieces
Don’t Cry Now
Tell Me No Secrets
See Jane Run
Good Intentions
The Deep End
Life Penalty
The Other Woman
Kiss Mommy Goodbye
Trance
The Transformation
The Best of Friends
Home Invasion—a special project designed to encourage adult literacy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JOY FIELDING is the New York Times bestselling author of Someone Is Watching, Now You See Her, Still Life, Mad River Road, See Jane Run, and other acclaimed novels. She divides her time between Toronto and Palm Beach, Florida.
JoyFielding.com
@JoyFielding