by Becki Willis
She forgot she had an audience until Craven quietly cleared his throat. She whirled around, her eyes wide.
“Oh, Craven!” she cried in something akin to horror at her own thoughtlessness. “I-I -”
Shaking his head, he held up a hand to stop her words. “Don’t,” he said. His voice was soft but firm. Definitely sad. “Just … don’t.”
“I’m so sorry, Craven,” she whispered. “I do care for you, truly I do.”
“But you love him.”
There was no denying the obvious. With a simple nod, she whispered, “Yes.”
Kenzie dropped tear-filled eyes to her hands while he took a moment to gather himself. When he spoke, his voice came out a bit muffled, but strong. “So, my friend, what is this about tomorrow?”
“I- uh-” Too rattled to think clearly, Kenzie rubbed her forehead and tried to concentrate. “You’ll know soon enough. Just know that if you need to talk, I’ll be here for you.”
Craven slapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself off the couch. “And on that very ambiguous note, I think I should go.”
“I-I’m sorry, Craven. About everything.”
“I am, too, Kenzie. I was hoping…” He let his words trail off. After the slightest hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His voice was slightly unsteady, just as Kenzie’s legs were as she walked him to the door.
“Craven -” She called his name as he stepped out the door, but there was really nothing more to say. He stopped at the sound of her voice, but he did not turn around to face her. He never saw the tears that streamed down her face.
She never saw the tears that swam in his eyes.
After a slight pause, he continued down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Just after one o’clock the next day, the United States Attorney General stood before a national news conference and informed the public that formal charges had been filed against some of the country’s top leaders — two Senators, two Congressmen, and one Federal Judge. Interspersed with the politicians were three powerful businessmen, including an influential DC millionaire and two men with known ties to the Italian mafia.
A wide variety of charges covered everything from obstruction of justice and abuse of power to fraud, embezzlement, and money laundering. An assortment of other accusations muddied the flow of political fall-out.
Recused from covering the story themselves, Kenzie and Makenna listened as the rest of the news media went wild. Rumors about the mysterious Joseph Mandarino were already rampant; the sisters dreaded when their connection to him was revealed and the spotlight thrust upon them. The overload of speculation and news reports was so overwhelming, that soon they turned off the television and shut down their computers.
Pizza was their comfort. Makenna paid the delivery boy, just as Kenzie was hanging up the phone. “Pizza’s here,” she announced.
“Smells delish. I’m starved.”
“Judging from your hour-long call, I take it that Craven is not handling this well.”
“He’s devastated. A couple of those men were his mentors. He feels totally betrayed and is completely disillusioned with politics right now.”
“I can imagine. Especially when the mastermind behind the entire scheme was his own co-worker and staff member. Too bad Bernard Franks was killed before he had to pay for what he’d done.”
Kenzie gave an unladylike snort. “He definitely deserved worse than a mere bullet in the forehead.”
Makenna bit into a slice of supreme pizza, the first real food she had truly eaten in days. “So how is your friend the Senator taking all this? They may not have pressed charges against him, but he’s looking rather foolish right now, having something like that happen right under his nose without him even knowing it.”
“Hey, he’s not my friend,” Kenzie denied with exaggerated innocence, holding up her hands as if to distance herself.
“He bought you a car,” Makenna smirked.
“You, too,” she shot back.
Makenna stuck out her tongue, to which Kenzie pulled a silly face. They were still laughing when the doorbell rang.
“Who on earth…?” They were not expecting any guests.
“Maybe it’s my Mom,” Makenna suggested.
Closest to the door, Kenzie licked pizza sauce from her fingertips as she walked over and peered through the peephole. “Oh. My. God.” Even whispered, the shock was audible in her voice. “It’s her.”
“Mom?”
Kenzie turned back toward her sister with a stricken expression upon her face, shaking her dark curls in denial. Makenna was already up and rounding the table. “No,” Kenzie hissed. “The-The woman from New Hampshire. The one in the Prada shoes.”
Makenna gasped. “What-What is she doing here?” Even in a whisper, the words were squealed.
“The Convention,” Kenzie murmured, piecing scattered thoughts together in her head. She was a politician, after all, with ties to the Convention. And to the mafia.
This time, their visitor rapped on the door.
“What do we do?” Kenzie whispered frantically. Her eyes darted about the room, unconsciously searching for a place to hide.
Makenna grabbed her phone. “Which officer is on duty tonight?”
“Uhm, Deputy Larza.”
“I could call him and make sure she cleared credentials. That she’s not… armed or something.” Makenna’s fingers trembled as she scrolled through the names on her phone.
“No need. He’s at the door.” Kenzie could see the officer through the tiny portal, watched him raise his large hand just before the doorbell rang again, followed by a strong rap.
“Hello? Miss Reese? Miss Reagan? This is Deputy Larza. You have a visitor, ladies.”
Exchanging a wary look with her sister, Kenzie gave a helpless shrug and slowly opened the door.
“Evening, ma’am, Miss Reagan.” The Travis County Deputy tipped his hat to the two women crowded around the opening. “This nice lady has asked to speak with you, if you’re willing.”
Kenzie clearly hesitated. “I-I suppose.”
It was not the most gracious of invitations, but the sisters stood back to allow the older woman to step over the threshold. She hovered just inside the door.
“I’ll be out here in the hall if you need me,” the Deputy assured them.
An awkward silence filled the air as the women stared at one another. When they did speak, it was all at once.
“I’m afraid we don’t -” Makenna began.
“I know you are wondering -” from the woman.
Kenzie was more blunt. “Who are you?”
The sisters stared expectantly at their uninvited guest, waiting for her answer. When she drew in a deep breath and repeated her introduction, her cultured voice warbled with nerves. “I know you are both wondering who I am and why I’m here.” Even though she was already inside the apartment, good breeding demanded she ask. “May I come in?”
In answer, both twins simultaneously used exaggerated hand gestures to usher her inside.
“I see you still work in tandem.” The older woman eyed their gestures with amusement.
Kenzie and Makenna exchanged a baffled look. “You know us?” Kenzie asked.
“Yes.”
“Again,” Kenzie demanded, shutting the door behind her, “who are you?”
An odd look touched the woman’s face, almost one of pain. “I couldn’t expect you to remember,” she murmured. “You were just babies the last time I saw you, not even three yet.” The older woman’s gaze flickered to the living area behind them. “May we sit for a moment?”
Even as Kenzie took the request under cool deliberation, Makenna played the part of hostess. When her twin invited the woman to have a seat, Kenzie had little choice but to follow behind. She took the armchair as the other two women settled on either end of the sofa.
Up close, their visitor was obviously older than the sisters had originally
guessed. Although probably in her late sixties or early seventies, the woman possessed an ageless beauty. She was as tall as either twin, her body straight and graceful. Silver strands threaded throughout her chestnut hair, where an intricate ruby-studded gold clasp held it into a neat, loose chignon near the base of her neck. Her wardrobe was simple but chic, a fashionable navy dress accented with matching red leather belt, purse and shoes. All bore a designer label. More rubies glittered from around her neck and ear lobes, completing her look.
Once seated, Kenzie cut straight to the chase. “Why were you following us in New Hampshire?” The woman arched a manicured brow at the accusation but did not interrupt as Kenzie continued. “We know you came to the cabin. What did you want?”
Surprise stole over their guest’s features. “You were there?”
“Yes. The question is, why were you?”
“I wanted to see it again,” she said simply.
Kenzie ignored the distraction of the word ‘again’. She kept her voice hard and cold. “Even if it meant breaking and entering?”
“It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” the woman protested quietly.
Curiosity pulled the words from Makenna. “Why-Why do you have a key to our house?”
A soft smile touched the woman’s handsome face. It changed her entire appearance, making her look more approachable. It also made something about her gently lined face look familiar. Both sisters were trying to place where they knew her from, even as she answered, “Because, my dear, it was my house first.”
Kenzie eyed her suspiciously. “Exactly what are you saying?”
“I lived there once upon a time. It was my honeymoon cottage, in fact.” She smiled again, as if reminiscing. “My husband built it for me when we first married.”
“That doesn’t explain who you are or why you were following us in New Hampshire. Why you are now here in Texas. At our apartment.”
Instead of answering directly, she murmured, “After seeing you two in town that day, I really shouldn’t be surprised to hear you were at the cabin. But the old place still looked deserted from the outside… I went up to the door, but a noise frightened me away.” She gave an apologetic half-smile. “I thought it might be rats.”
The same shiver of revulsion that rippled through her slender frame echoed through Makenna’s. Rolling her eyes at their dual dramatics, Kenzie kept her voice firm. “If you don’t explain who you are and why you’re here, we are going to insist that you leave.”
“I understand, dear. Of course.” The woman took a deep breath of courage and blew it slowly out. Just as Kenzie decided the woman was a delusional drama queen, she made a stunning announcement.
“I’m here because I, my dears, am your grandmother.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kenzie’s face paled. Makenna stared at the woman in confusion, thinking she had not heard correctly. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “What did you say?”
“It’s true. I am your grandmother. Your mother’s mother.”
The twins stared first at her, then at one another. Makenna was the first to voice their thoughts. “I’m sorry, but why should we believe you? Do you have any proof?”
“Well, let’s see. Your name is Tamara Leigh. And you, my dear, are Tressa Anne. Your middle names come from me, by the way. My given name is Leigh Anne. And you were born on January eighteenth at five-forty-nine in the afternoon.”
“Any-anyone could know those details,” Kenzie said. Never mind that she and Makenna had only known them for a few weeks.
“Your mother’s name was Margaret Anne, but we called her Maggie. She had big green eyes. Like mine.” She softened her voice as she added, “And yours.”
“Tell us more.” In spite of herself, Makenna sounded like a young child, begging for one more bedtime story.
“Well, let’s see… When she was a little girl, she wanted to be a ballerina. It was all she could talk about. So, naturally, I signed her up for dance lessons.” The polished woman laughed softly, caught up in an old memory. “Unfortunately, your mother had no sense of balance. She could not manage a pirouette. She couldn’t even do a proper en pointe.”
“So… what happened?” Silly, but the nearly forty-year-old story left Makenna breathless as she hung on every word.
“She sprained her ankle. But she had a darling nurse, and soon she became your mother’s new idol. For the next several months, all her brothers had to go around with bandages and splints and make-believe casts. It was quite a sight!” The older woman - their grandmother - clasped her hands together in delight as she retold the memory.
“I-I imagine most little girls want to be ballerinas and nurses,” Kenzie said stubbornly.
“I imagine you are right, Tressa. Or shall I say Kenzie. And yes, I know you go by the name Kenzie Reese now. I know you are a brilliant photographer and have made quite a name for yourself as a photojournalist. And you, Tamara, are now Makenna Reagan, with a budding career of your own. Congratulations on your new assignment with Now Magazine. It’s so nice that both you girls will be working there.”
“How-How do you know -?”
“What kind of grandmother would I be if I didn’t keep up with my granddaughters? My very special twin granddaughters?”
“The kind that doesn’t meet them until they’re twenty-six years old?” Kenzie suggested with a wry voice. She saw the older woman’s smile fall from her face, yet still she pushed. “The kind that disowns her daughter when she marries the love of her life? Doesn’t that about cover it, Kenna?”
“Kenzie!” her sister chided, mortified by her rudeness.
“No, no, she’s absolutely right. I allowed my husband to turn our daughter away, to force her to choose between her family and her husband. I should have stood up to him. I should have made him listen. Instead, I had to hide my relationship with my own daughter. And for that, I am eternally sorry.”
“Then… you didn’t disown our mother?”
“No, Makenna, I didn’t disown my only daughter. I couldn’t. And I did not disown you two girls, either. For three wonderful years, I was a part of your lives.”
Kenzie stood up and paced the room. “How do we know you’re really our grandmother? Why should we believe you?”
“If you had looked closely around the cabin, you would have seen evidence. There was a framed sampler on the living room wall I made when I was very young. If you had looked closely, you would have seen my initials stitched into the lower right hand corner, LAH for Leigh Anne Hannah. You would have found a platter in the china cabinet. It belonged to my mother, Anne Hannah. It was from a set of dishes she received as a wedding present, and she gave it to Maggie when she married.”
Kenzie remained stubborn. “Easy to say now, since we can’t confirm any of your claims.” The woman could have returned to the cabin, seen the platter, and used it in her story to make it sound believable; which, Kenzie had to admit, it did.
The woman turned her red Zagliani handbag on its side and ran a slim hand into its interior. She pulled a photograph from within and held it out for inspection. “This was taken our last Christmas together. A generational picture, your mother called it.”
Kenzie’s hand was unsteady as she took the picture and pulled it close for scrutiny. Two small faces peered back at her, each balanced on the lap of the woman holding her. One of those women she now recognized as their mother. The other she recognized as the woman sitting on their sofa. There was no denying the family resemblance between all four faces.
And they all had green eyes.
Kenzie silently passed the picture to her sister. Tears were already streaming down Makenna’s face. Kenzie stubbornly brushed her own aside as she sank back into her chair.
One question seemed paramount above all others. “Why did our grandfather disown our mother?”
A delicate sigh slipped from the lips of their guest: their grandmother, so it seemed. “Like most fathers, he never believed your father was good
enough for his little girl. And there were… extenuating circumstances. Your father was working for people who were taking advantage of him. Your grandfather tried to intervene, but your father saw it as interfering. There was a terrible argument and your mother…” the older woman paused, choosing her words carefully. “Your mother sided with her husband. She believed things about your grandfather that were not true. My husband - your grandfather- is a prideful man. He could not accept that his daughter believed the worst of him. Harsh words were spoken, ultimatums given. And words can never be unspoken.”
Kenzie kept her eyes averted as she tried to absorb the fantastic story. She did not need to see her grandmother’s face to know she was crying; she could hear the tears in her voice. She could feel them in her own heart.
She sensed movement from the couch as their grandmother produced another picture from within the bowels of her leather bag. Kenzie took the photo hesitantly, noting more faces in this offering. It was of their parents on their wedding day, edged on either side by an older couple. Judging from the family resemblance, Kenzie assumed these were their two sets of grandparents; the mere concept boggled her mind. She had never seen the couple standing beside her father, but the two people beside her mother were familiar. The woman was a younger version of the person crying quietly on her couch. And the man was…
Kenzie’s hand trembled as she slowly looked up, holding the photograph in her unsteady fingers. Her voice quivered as she asked haltingly, “Why-Why do you have a picture of - of Harry Lawrence?”
“Why, he’s your grandfather.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I-I don’t believe you.”
Leigh Anne Lawrence smiled. “It’s true, Kenzie. Harry Lawrence is my husband, Maggie’s father, and your grandfather.”
As Kenzie shook her head in stunned denial, Makenna murmured, “That explains the cars.” Drawing in an unsteady breath, she realized, “That explains a lot of things, actually.”