I approached the sanctuary of my own home, inserted my key, and opened the door.
Shaking off the chill, I walked across the living room and dropped my backpack on the couch. Someone was playing tricks—some sick old hag having fun at my expense. I could rationalize some prankster removing the sign. I could even accept that I’d been so awed by the creepy old lady that I’d never noticed the boarded-up windows. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get my revenge later. I have more immediate concerns.
Ghosts weren’t real, and a good thing, too. Tonight, I had enough to worry about, dealing with the real world.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I burst into my bedroom, my mind already five steps ahead and focusing on what I needed to bring for later tonight. I grabbed two bobby pins off my dresser and stuck them into my hair.
Pack light, Chip had said. He’d take care of the tools. I pulled open the closet door and placed my hands on “The Box”, still hidden away behind my shoes and winter boots.
I hadn’t opened “The Box” since that day Sylvia—or whoever she was—made me return the switchblade. Somehow, I couldn’t get rid of the items inside, no matter how much I told myself I would never need them again.
I flipped up the lid, fished past the top layer of buttons, and grabbed at the sharp metal pins. I found the three or four most useful ones from the dozen Joey had filed for me.
My fingers brushed across the carved wooden handle with the tell-tale metal switch, and a tingle ran up my arm. I scooped up the knife. It lay across my open palm, from my wrist to the second joint of my middle finger.
I closed my hand over the weapon. The silver blade snicked into place, doubling the length of the weapon. Light reflected on silver, and I could stare back at my own widened eyes in the edge of the blade.
Shocked eyes. Weak eyes. The look of someone who’d gone to the edge and walked away.
At the time Joey gave the illegal knife to me—a misguided birthday present—he showed me how to kill with it, but it was all theoretical information. I’d never been in that dire of a situation to really worry about it. He also showed me how not to kill with it. Most times, the simple appearance of the blade and a couple of threats got me out of almost all nasty situations in Ripple.
I heard the front door open and shut.
Without further thought, I retracted the blade into the sheath and slid the weapon into my pocket.
I could hear determined footsteps crossing the living room and entering the hall.
I closed the box as casually as I could and placed it back into its hiding spot.
I heard the door open behind me as my hand closed around a flashlight.
I stood and turned. “Hi, Mom.”
No salutations. She stood, hands folded across her chest, leaning against the doorframe. She jumped right in. “Fiona, did you have a boy over at the house while I was away?”
Oops. “Uh, just a friend, Mom. He picked me up, and we went to a movie.”
Her eyes glared disappointment and fury. “You’re lying to me. Your friend was Eugene Farren, and he didn’t leave here all night.”
“Excuse me?” I stared into her angered face. “You...spied on me?”
Undeterred, she continued with the riot act. “What could you have possibly been thinking? His father is a very important contact with our firm.”
I still couldn’t get past the first point. “Now you spy on me? Now? What did you do, pay one of our fine neighbors to watch the house for you?”
She sighed and dropped her hands to her hips. “Fiona, does it matter how I found out? If word gets out to Eugene’s father, it could be a problem for the both of us. I can’t believe you would jeopardize my position like this.”
The train of thought only now began to sink in. Wait...you’re angry...over who I slept with?”
Mom’s nostrils flared, and I could see her teeth grind. “I don’t pretend to know how to control you, but I thought you’d be more discreet. I thought somebody should keep an eye on the house, since you’re never home these days. Instead, I find out that when I’m gone, you never leave the bedroom.”
“Well, I figured one of us should be having fun.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Her face contorted into a grimace I’d never seen before—and it scared me.
Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and left, slamming the door.
I heard her storming through the house. I stood in the middle of my room, not daring to move. Then, she started shouting, loud enough that she knew I could hear, about how I didn’t respect her and didn’t know how hard she worked for me. The usual tirade.
I waited impatiently until the ranting stopped, and an uneasy quiet settled over the house.
I knew the time had come to split. I placed the flashlight into my messenger bag, zipped it, and strapped the pack on.
I threw the door open and cut across the living room.
“Just one second, young lady!”
I froze in place, my hand on the doorknob.
“Look.”
Like a fugitive caught by the cops, I turned slow and easy and relaxed my arms.
She sat on the white couch. From where I stood, with her face in profile, I could see the age lines around her eyes and mouth in clear contrast to her smooth, white skin. “I suppose I should take some of the blame. I kept you on a pretty loose leash in Broad Ripple. I never could get you to behave.”
I cringed at her unintentional references to my “pet daughter” analogy.
She blinked tears from her eyes. “You’re in a community now, Fiona. Everything you do has consequences in ways that they never did in Broad Ripple. I didn’t try to ‘spy’ on you, much as it might please you to think so. Your little antics came my way quite by accident. The same way they always do.”
I flinched and looked down at the rug. She knew.
I heard her ironic chuckle. “Oh, yes, all of your antics. Even the Broad Ripple break-in.”
The lie started by reflex. “I don’t know what—”
“Of course you do.” I heard her sigh deeply, and I wanted to disappear. “Dammit, Fiona. Do you really think I’m that stupid? Do you think my daughter could attempt a felony that made the newspapers, and I wouldn’t figure it out?”
I glanced up, shocked.
She leaned forward on the couch. The hard, disappointed look on her face overwhelmed me with guilt and forced me to look away again. “I didn’t think it worth mentioning at the time for two reasons, one of which was how badly you botched the job, and I knew the fear of God must have hit you in a way that I never could. Anything else was redundant.”
I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t believe she knew...she’d always known.
She paused, apparently to collect her thoughts, and then took another deep breath. “It was obvious, Fiona. The way you looked away whenever it was brought up, the stiffness in your shoulders—everything you did reflected your guilt.” She spoke as if giving a public testimony. “You couldn’t possibly hide that from me.”
My anger finally overrode my guilt, and I looked her in the face. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say anything? Not one word the entire time.”
Mom shrugged her shoulders. “Because it wouldn’t have done any good, and because you’ve since done more to punish yourself than any punishment I could come up with.”
She knew—and she noticed. Though, she never said a word.
Mom brushed her hands across her face, as if to wipe the new wrinkles away. “Fiona, I can’t pretend that I understand you. When I was going to school, I didn’t behave the way you do. You can be a real pain in the ass, but I also know that deep down you’re not a bad kid.”
My breath caught in my throat at the half-compliment. Backhanded as it was, those words were the closest to praise than I’d heard since...well, since I couldn’t remember.
She must have noticed. “It’s true, and I know it. I could never afford to spend the time with you that chil
dren require. It just wasn’t possible. When you did something wrong, sometimes it was easier to just look past it.”
She started blinking rapidly and rubbed at one eye with a palm, as if trying to work out a lash. “I also think I ignored you when you did good things, and I’m sorry about that. I just wish you didn’t hate me so much. I guess most teenagers feel the same way, and sooner or later, you’ll get over that, too.”
Her shoulders slumped, and her body seemed to more-or-less mold itself into the couch. “Somewhere down the line you grew up, and I missed it all. When I heard what you had been doing this weekend...I thought about how much you’d slipped away from my life. If you were here to start dinner and disappear so I could rest, I was happy. At some point, though, I lost touch.”
Her body shook with a final sigh of defeat. “When you turned against me, I didn’t want to know you anymore.”
“I never turned against you,” I lied, feeling guilty. I had done exactly that.
“Oh, Fiona, of course you did. I reacted badly, of course. I don’t know you. I’ve never even tried to understand you, and I don’t even remember when that started happening.”
I took a tentative step toward the couch, where she sat, her face looking more defeated than I’d ever seen in my life. “Mom...all these years, you’ve been just a peripheral part of my life. I stay out of your way, and I make my own space. Hell, you taught me how to do that. Now, all of a sudden you’re concerned?”
My hands balled into fists. “You’re not concerned because of me. You’re more concerned about your business and how my latest actions might affect it.” I approached the couch, gaining new strength. “It’s not about me at all. So don’t pretend for one minute that it is.”
She sighed, staring straight ahead with a look of resignation. After a long time, she finally spoke. “You’re right.” Her voice came to me in a whisper. I had to strain to hear her. “It’s absolutely pathetic, but you’re right.”
I shook my head and matched her quiet tone. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s all different. As soon as we moved, it all became different.”
“Fiona… maybe I was upset for the wrong reasons, but this afternoon I came to a decision. I want to get back in touch with my daughter. I know that we...what I mean is...just because we fight all the time, I never stopped caring about you.” She swallowed. “Or loving you.”
“Mom...” I couldn’t recall the last time she’d said that.
I sat down next to her on the couch. She reached out to me, squeezing my limp hand and sniffling in a motherly fashion.
I’d never seen her cry. Not ever. I didn’t know what to say or do.
Tears continued to run freely down her face. “Look at you. You’ve become a woman on me, and I’ve missed it.”
“I’ve been here, Mom.”
“You look like you’re getting ready to go out, even now. Can you stay?” I heard the please she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.
Dammit. Now my eyes were stung from fresh tears. Why is this happening tonight? It’s not fair that I have to choose.
I shook my head. “No. What I mean is, I have something I have to do tonight.” I couldn’t look at her. I focused on the glass coffee table in front of us.
“Will you be with Eugene?”
“Yes. Chip. He’s taking me to Perionne Park.” Well, that much was true.
“Oh.”
We wallowed in an awkward silence. From the corner of my eye, I could see her wiping tears. “Is he...a nice boy?”
I smiled, and my composure broke. I swallowed back my own tears. “Yes. Oh, yes. Very nice. You’ll like him.”
“Oh, my. I’ve heard that tone of voice before. I sounded just like you, a long time ago.” She leaned forward, trying to see my face. “Fiona, you’re in love!”
I opened my mouth to state a denial, then paused. “I don’t know.”
I looked into her eyes and flinched, seeing genuine concern reflected back. “You sound like me, a long time ago.” Then she added, “Be very careful.”
What was she talking about? “I sound like you?”
She nodded, but didn’t elaborate. A thoughtful expression covered her face. I could see—for the first time—individual gray strands standing out in her dark hair. “Listen, I’m blowing off work tomorrow to take it easy. What do you say we...” She shrugged. “...we find out what there is to do around here?”
I took a breath and prepared to tell her I couldn’t. “I’d like to, but I don’t know.”
She nodded, keeping her face emotionless, but I could read her disappointment. “Okay, well, you think about it.” With that, she rose and stepped toward the kitchen.
I called out to her retreating back. “Mom?”
She stopped in mid-reach of her briefcase, which she’d earlier placed in the recliner. “Yes?”
I paused, gathering my courage, wondering if this was a good time. Then, I decided to plunge ahead. “What happened between you and my father?”
A pained look crossed her face, and she reached a hand up to cover her mouth. “I never told you?” Her voice trembled.
I pushed forward. “No. You refused to tell me. I always thought Paul was my father. Was he?”
Mom lifted the briefcase and placed it on the ground, seating herself. She stared into space and didn’t answer for many seconds. At first, I didn’t think she would. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I really messed up.”
I gripped the arm of the couch, my hand digging into the arm. Finally, I’d know. “Will you tell me what happened?”
Mom shook her head, and then drew a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s always been painful for me to talk about. I didn’t realize that...you still remembered him.” She seemed to drift off, and then return, speaking from a distant place. “You still remember your father. I think you were—what, maybe, five years old the last time you saw him?”
I pressed the question I really wanted to know. “Why did he go away, Mom? Why did he leave me? Why did he leave us?”
She looked away. “He was a senior partner in the firm when we started dating.” Her voice took on a high, drifting quality at the memory. “Paul was a wonderful man, and for a long time, we were so happy together. I would have done anything for him.”
Her voice hardened with bitterness. “Then, I became pregnant, and...” She shrugged, as if words failed her. “He...decided fatherhood wasn’t something he really wanted.”
I shook my head, not wanting to hear what she said. “He seemed so...he always tried really hard...to make me happy.” I had it all wrong.
“Oh, yes. He was a great weekend Dad, wasn’t he? That’s all he really wanted, though.” She shrugged. “I kept hoping some day, given enough time, he’d want to build something permanent for all three of us. Except, he never...” Her shoulders slumped, and she let the thought trail away. “I got tired of waiting.”
She raised her arms, then slapped them on her lap. “Then he received a job offer from New York. He’s been contributing to your trust fund like clockwork, but otherwise I’ve never seen him. It hurts too much.”
She stood, looking down at me with a sad, sober expression. “He’s never wanted to see me, either. Even at the end, if he’d offered to marry me or take us in, I would have gone. He never offered, though.”
She dropped down next to me on the couch. “I didn’t want you to know that your father didn’t want us. For that, I’m sorry. You deserved better.”
The world lost focus. The painful truth that my father had chosen to leave us was more than I could take. I wept, overwhelmed and aching to my soul. Unimportant tears spilled down my cheeks.
Loving arms embraced me. “Fiona, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“God...I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know...” I couldn’t go on.
Like a small child, I cried against my mother’s bosom. Her soft voice shushed me to a numb calmness.
I’ve hated her for so long…for all the wrong reasons. How can I make that up?
I sniff
led and took a deep breath. I reached out and gripped her arm. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Good.”
I sat up, wiping my face clean.
Her face showed visible disappointment. “Now, you have to go?”
“Yes. I really do. It’s vitally important, or I wouldn’t.” On a weird impulse, I leaned over and kissed my mother’s cheek. “There’s something I have to do, but I’ll be here tomorrow. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the sun dipped down below the horizon, I approached the now-familiar, two-story brick home. The looming presence seemed to swallow me.
I reached out and knocked on the thick door made of solid redwood. The door opened. The light from the room behind him placed me in the darkness of Mr. Farren’s overwhelming shadow.
He looked down at me and grinned, folding his beefy arms across his solid, lumberjack chest—an image strengthened by the now-familiar red-striped, button-down shirt and blue jeans. I couldn’t shake an odd fear that he would reach down and pat me on the head.
Did he know Chip and I were sleeping together? If he did, did he care?
“Fi-Fi. How are you?” His bearded face reflected only friendly concern. “Chip tells me you two are going to the park. Probably need a break from cracking the books, I’m sure.”
Sounds pretty clueless to me—or is he being sarcastic?
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, Mr. Farren. I guess the park’s not going to be open much longer.” Duh. No kidding, Mister Obvious.
Well, if Mr. Farren found the comment lame, he kept it to himself. “Oh, I imagine that come the first really cold weather in the next week or so, they’ll decide to call it quits.” He nodded vigorously, looking ready to grab his coat and join us.
Instead, he stepped aside, and I shuffled past into the small, wood-paneled foyer leading to the carpeted living room. “Is Chip upstairs?”
“Yep. I imagine he’ll be right down, but you can go up if you want.”
“Thanks.” I ascended the stairs toward the loft, my hiking boots making a loud clomping noise on the wood.
Haunting Blue Page 18