“She seemed fine to me.” She took a long drag from her Salem Light, blew out slowly.
“Of course she would. You don’t know her. She panics when Michael or I are ten minutes late, a full-blown won’t leave the window, calling cell phone, friends, anybody kind of panic that takes a good hour to settle down once she sees us and knows we’re okay. It comes and goes, worse when she reads about a disappearing parent, or now, when she’s working a case with a kid whose mother goes to the grocery store and poof, disappears.”
“I never meant to hurt her.”
“Save it. There’s nothing you can say to make it any better. Annie slept with your picture under her pillow for the first year so she wouldn’t forget your face. She even wore your perfume so she’d remember your smell until Dad made her stop because he couldn’t stand the torment anymore.”
She stubbed out the cigarette and reached in her handbag for another. “If it’s any consolation to you, I didn’t want to see her.”
“It isn’t.” The woman had nerve.
“You lied about me to protect her.”
“I’d kill to protect her.”
“I see.” She studied her unlit cigarette. “That doesn’t change things, Quinn. I still need your help.”
“Of course you do, Rita. Let’s keep our priorities straight, right?”
“Do you really think I would have come here if I had any other option?”
The coolness of her words chilled him. “An option? What an endearing term.”
“Just help me. Please. And I’ll leave.”
Annie had seen her, and now she thought Evie Burnes was back and his sister wanted that so much she didn’t care what was inside as long as the packaging resembled her childhood memories. Damn those eyes that gave it away.
“Give me back my name and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to forget you ever came here, but now I’ve got to think about Annie. You aren’t going to desert her again.” A plan began formulating in his head. “You’re going to stay here for her, and when I’m sure she’s okay, you can leave.”
“But he’ll come looking for me.”
“He’ll never find you because we’re going to resurrect Evie Burnes from the grave.” She flinched and he almost laughed. The old name must harbor a certain amount of guilt, and he took pleasure in that. “I’ll take care of the papers.”
“My things, they’re at home.”
“Forget them. You walked away from everything the first time, this should be easier. It’s not like we’re talking about a husband and two kids. Or are we?”
She shook her head.
“You can’t go back to wherever you came from. Your old ties are gone. Just like when you left Corville.”
“How long?” She pushed the words through tight lips.
“As long as it takes. A few weeks, a month, a year if she needs you, depends on you and her.”
“And then?”
“I’ll give you a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars to go away, and stay away.”
***
The Stuffed Flounder was dark and intimate. The lobster proved exquisite, the filet mignon a superb red-pink, the Dom Perignon a bubbling perfection. But something was very wrong. Eve had been surprised yet touched when Annie called to include her in this special celebration, though she’d not been privy to the exact details until she arrived at the restaurant and by then it was too late.
Being an artist herself, she knew the delight of the first major sale, the unequivocal thrill that surged through the body, sparking every nerve with the knowledge that a singular creation, a heretofore sheltered piece, had been accepted into the world and deemed so worthy as to receive a sizable monetary recognition. That was why she’d accepted the invitation tonight, but there was more to celebrate than Annie’s sale. Much more, or less, depending on which member of the party one spoke to . . . if they were speaking. Consider Quinn, seated next to her, sulking yet handsome in his subtle striped shirt and dark pants. He’d had far too much to drink already and had confined his speech to one word answers. She’d not seen this less polished side of Quinn Burnes before and wondered at the reason.
Then there was Michael Sorbonne, Annie’s doctor fiancé, who hadn’t stopped talking since he and Annie picked Eve up at The Silver Strand. On and on he went, the wounded fiancé who had been kept in the dark, whose future wife shared more secrets with her brother than with him. Michael waxed rhetorical and philosophical. How can a relationship survive without complete honesty? How can a man trust a woman who has kept secrets from him? How, how, how?
Annie remained giddy and oblivious, her attention focused on the source of Quinn and Michael’s discontent; Quinn and Annie’s mother. Evie Burnes was the quietest member of all, sipping champagne, sampling olive pate’ and crackers, nibbling filet mignon. So elegant, so aloof. So like her son, with the same compelling eyes, the same lips, the same perpetual frown.
“Thank you so much for coming tonight,” Annie said, lifting her champagne glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.” Her voice quivered, her eyes glistened. “To the buyer of my painting, may this be the first of many offers.” She paused and placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “And to my mother, a miracle who has come back into our lives.” Glasses clinked one to another, circling the table, except for Quinn, who threw back his champagne in one long gulp. He met Eve’s gaze with dark challenge forcing her to look away.
“Here, here.” Michael pushed himself to his feet and tapped the side of his champagne glass with a spoon. “Ooops.” The spoon clattered onto the table. “I’d like to propose a toast.” He held up his glass, looked at Annie and said, “To the future Mrs. Michael Sorbonne, to a lifetime of honesty and”—he paused, scratched his head— “and honesty.”
Quinn lifted his glass, realized it was empty and set it back down with a grunt.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Eve asked, eyeing Quinn’s plate.
“What? I haven’t had a mother in eighteen years and now I have two?”
“I just think you should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.” He pulled his lips into a slow smile as he reached for the champagne. “But I sure as hell am thirsty.”
“Quinn, stop.” Annie leaned over and whispered, “I don’t like the way you’re acting. You haven’t said two words all night.”
“Maybe he’s upset,” Michael said. “Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of sharing you with me and your mother.”
Annie glared at him. “Shut up, Michael.”
“She should have told me,” he said to Quinn. “I’m going to be her husband. I could have helped or at least understood why she was so damn paranoid every time I was two minutes late. I’m a doctor, and neither one of you thought I should know your mother went to the grocery store one day and just disappeared?”
Eve fixed her eyes on the tiny bubbles fizzing to the top on her champagne glass. She should not be hearing this. It was too personal, too exposed. Quinn would not want her to know this.
“Stop it, Michael. You’re acting childish.”
“Am I, Annie? No wonder the two of you are like Siamese twins. Are there any more secrets you’ve been hiding? Bring them out now, come on, out on the table. True confessions. Anybody else? How about you, Danielle? Got any dirty little secrets?”
“That’s enough.”
“Of course, it’s enough, Quinn boy. You know, it’s bad enough Annie idolizes you, big brother and all, the one who can do no wrong, the one all men must be compared to, except your choice in women, her words not mine. She likes this new one though,” he said as he pointed to Eve. “And I have to admit, Danielle’s a sweetie, but hell, I don’t stand a chance trying to measure up.”
“Outside, Michael. Now.”
“What? Ohhhh. Sorry. She doesn’t know you’ve got the hots for her? Shhhh.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Forget I said that, okay, Danielle? Let’s have a drink. A celebrationa
ry, no, a celebratory drink, that’s it, I think. Evie, or should I say, Mom, how ‘bout you?”
“No thank you, Michael. I’m fine.”
Eve slid a sideways glance at Quinn’s mother. Evie Burnes was a beautiful woman, well-spoken and graceful. Quinn looked more like her than Annie and from the small bits Eve had gleaned this evening, he’d rather not have anything to do with his mother, resemblance or otherwise.
There was more to their mother’s story than what Annie relayed to her on the ride to the restaurant. There was always more to these kinds of stories. If she’d been in that position could she have returned home after being beaten and abused? Could she have felt whole again, able to give to a husband and children? Or would she have chosen to stay away for their sake, telling herself they were better off, forcing herself to start over, until the daily reminders of what she’d lost were dulled by the hope that they’d gone on, survived and thrived?
Was this why Quinn had many women, not one woman? So he could just leave them at will, before they left him? And was this why he and Annie were so close? Why Michael sometimes felt like an outsider and why, at this moment, he was getting convincingly drunk?
“So, Evie, excuse me, Mom, how long are you staying?” Michael was talking again. “And where?” He hiccoughed. “Maybe you can just move in with us, or has Annie already invited you?” He leaned over, pointed a finger at his fiancé. “You see, sometimes she forgets to tell me things . . . important things.”
“Michael, you’re ruining this whole evening. Stop it, now!”
He swung toward Annie so fast, Eve gasped, certain he was going to slap Annie’s face, or punch her jaw. He did neither. Instead, he settled back, ran both hands through his hair and mumbled, “God, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
Annie touched his cheek, stroked her fingers along his jaw. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”
“I’m sorry baby.” He pushed back his chair and wobbled to a stand. “I just want to be a part of you.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Michael.” She leaned up to kiss him on the mouth. “It’s okay.” Annie slung her arm around his waist and said, “You know you can’t drink, I don’t know what came over you.”
“Stupidity, I guess.”
“I love you, Michael. Okay?”
“Me, too. Let’s skip the fresh air. I am going to throw up.”
When they disappeared into the men’s bathroom, Quinn forced a laugh and said, “Welcome to Family Life 101.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a cigarette.” Evie Burnes grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“A little too much honest emotion I’d say,” Quinn murmured. “So now you know more about me than most of the women I’ve slept with.”
“Should I feel privileged?” Quinn Burnes was big on shock value or maybe just very drunk.
He shrugged. “Not necessarily.”
She was dying to ask him the question that had plagued her all night. “Your mother’s really not much different than me, is she?”
“You mean the disappearing act?”
She nodded.
His gaze narrowed on her. “If you’re wondering if you’ve got an eighteen year run before anybody finds you, quite possibly. I doubt there were many who looked harder than my father.”
“She changed her name?”
“Pass the champagne.”
Eve refilled Quinn’s glass and waited for him to take a drink. “Do you think,” she paused, reworked the words, “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but do you think I could talk to her and maybe find out how she did it?”
“Sure. Talk to her about how she did it. Every mother should know how to go undercover from her family.”
Eve spotted the vulnerability there, an open wound smoldering under layer after layer of hurt and denial. She reached out to comfort him, but there were too many walls, too many years, and she pulled her hand away.
Chapter 11
They were sitting in a restaurant two doors down from The Silver Strand. It was close. Safe. Dark. Eve selected this location for all of the above reasons. It was still too soon to venture past the perimeter she’d formulated in her brain as safe. Alexander might be dead but the fallout from his death still lurked. What if Ernesto decided to track her down? What if Alexander Sr. sent his minions after her? What if.
What if they discovered she was carrying Alexander’s child? They would drag her back and force her to remain Eve Maldonando, widow to their dead son. They would lay claim to the unborn child, the solitary heir of Alexander Maldonando, Jr. Eve clutched her still flat stomach. They’d never find out. If she had to live in basements for the rest of her life, move from city to city, change her name time and again, they would never find out.
No one knew except the doctor who had examined her two days before she fled. Alexander’s family would never suspect a pregnancy, not when she’d been estranged from him for sixth months. Of course, they would never believe their son capable of raping his own wife. They had no idea what Alexander was capable of, the brutality of what he’d done to her.
She must find a way to continue this new life she’d created, to forge a believable existence that voided any connection with the Maldonando’s. Evie Burnes knew how to make it work. She’d done it for years, which was why Eve invited her to lunch, why she dared risk venturing into the open so soon, in the daylight no less. She glanced at the wide windows in the front of the restaurant. They were covered with three inch wooden blinds, slatted to half-closed. More protection. Eve stirred her tea, settled into the cramped booth and chose her approach. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me today.”
Quinn’s mother nodded her cropped head. Today she wore a lavender scarf around her neck that lightened her eyes to liquid silver. Like Quinn’s. “I gather we share something in common. Other than Quinn, that is.”
“Quinn and I . . . there’s nothing there. He helped me out of a rough spot.” Eve shifted her gaze to the sugar settling in the bottom of her glass. There was nothing between them and yet, she couldn’t deny the pull of attraction when he was near.
Evie Burnes ignored the comment. “You mentioned on the phone you were running from your estranged husband.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want him to find you.”
“He can’t find me. He’s dead.”
“I see.” There was a long pause. “Are you a suspect?”
Eve shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s just . . . I can’t go back. I have to start over, give myself and my,” she caught herself and finished with, “give myself a fresh start.”
Another pause. “How can I help you?”
“Tell me how you did it. Quinn said you disappeared and no one was able to find you. How did you erase yourself so permanently?”
The laugh splattered against the dark, dingy walls like a cold, hollow memory. “I made a choice and stayed with it.”
“Annie said you kept away to protect your family. In a way, I’m doing the same thing.” I’m protecting my unborn child.
“Well then, you have to make a decision. Right here, right now.” Her pale eyes burned into Eve. “Do not dwell on the life or the people you left behind. No matter how much you want to be free of that life, it will seep into your existence and pull you back. If you let it.” The next words were a command. “Don’t let it. You’ll need identification.” Her voice dipped and she looked away. “When you take someone else’s identity, you’re taking their whole past, good and bad. It can backfire.”
“Did you have a problem?”
“You could say that.” She didn’t offer more. “Start with the obvious. Change your hairstyle, maybe the color, though that’s a beautiful black, and your clothes, too.” She stirred her drink and added, “You sound too West Coast. Work on developing a Philly twang. Pay everything with cash. And your handwriting, change that, too.”
“Okay. I can do those things.”
“I assume Danielle isn’t yo
ur real name?”
“No.”
“Good. Maybe it makes more sense to take your chances with a fictitious name than someone else’s. You won’t have a social security number, but at least you’re under the radar.” She studied Eve. “Do these things and you’ll have a chance. If no one’s looking for you, better yet.” She clasped her glass between her hands with fingers that were long, graceful, void of rings. “What does Quinn say about you talking to me?”
“He said it was okay.”
“But he didn’t like it, did he?”
“I don’t think so.”
She nodded. “Of course not. Did he mention he used to paint? Oils. I doubt he’s touched a brush in years, but he’d still have the talent if he’d let himself.”
“Quinn paints?”
“Quinn painted. And he was wonderful.”
“I thought Annie was the one who painted.”
“Ah, Annie.” She blinked hard, and murmured, “She wants it so badly but it’s not there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Quinn had a gift, has it still, I’m sure, if he’d only let himself feel it again. But Annie will always be a beginner.”
“Then how do you explain the ten thousand dollar sale?”
Her silver blue gaze met Eve’s. “I can’t.”
***
Quinn pulled on a pale blue shirt and adjusted the color. It was Annie’s favorite. She said it matched his eyes. Why did women always make statements like that, as if their brains were mini fashion transmitters that coordinated and accessorized subconsciously, without purpose or regard? He wore the blue shirt because it was comfortable. Period. No hidden agenda. Nothing but the obvious, so unlike a woman.
And the reason he was wearing the damn shirt at all was because of his sister. When she found out today was Danielle’s birthday, damn if she didn’t call and beg him to take the woman to dinner. I’d do it myself but I promised Michael I’d go listen to him speak tonight. Please, Quinn. She’s got no one.
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