Fool Me Once
Page 32
“I had no other choice. Emily would have died. Because of…of that…procedure, I had thirteen more years. With my darling daughter. Thirteen years! I wouldn’t trade those thirteen years for anything in the world. When…when I explain things to her, I’m sure she will understand. She is my daughter after all. She only has one mother. We all have only one mother.” Sarabess’s voice was colder than chipped ice, her eyes colder.
Is he buying into my explanation? At first blush, it doesn’t seem like it. Well, that will have to change quickly.
“I don’t care how much it hurts, Sarabess, but you were never that girl’s mother. You didn’t sit with her at night when she was sick. You didn’t take her to church, you never took her shopping. You never once looked at her report card, never went to a school meeting. You never read her a bedtime story or tucked her into bed. Half the time you couldn’t remember what her name was. Emily didn’t like her either, thanks to you. Guilt is what took Harold to an early grave, and we both know it. I guess you’re just a lot tougher.
“Trinity has never touched the trust fund Harold set up for her. She knew about it, Sarabess. I believe that your husband, her father, told her about it when she was quite young. I cannot even begin to imagine what that young girl thought at the time if, indeed, he did tell her. I think the knowledge of that monstrous trust fund was what made her run away. At least that’s Mitzi’s theory. She didn’t want any part of it, you, or Harold. Let it be.”
Sarabess fingered the pearls at her neck. She felt choked up at her lover’s words. “When did you get so ugly, Rifkin Forrest?”
“Ten minutes ago, when I saw what you were about this morning. Today of all days. Why didn’t you make the decision a week ago, a month, yesterday? Today is the anniversary of Emily’s death. In just a few months Trinity will be thirty and will come into,” Rif said, his voice sounding ominous.
Sarabess didn’t think Rif’s voice could get any colder, but it did. She actually shivered in the humid June air.
“You went in that room, you looked at the pictures, you relived the thirteen years that Trinity gave your daughter. You probably cried; and then you decided maybe this was a good time to find your other daughter. The thought probably crossed your mind that you might have grandchildren somewhere. That’s the part I want to believe.
“The other part, having to do with the trust fund that will revert to you if Trinity dies or isn’t found in time to take possession of her trust, is not something I want to think about today. I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I have a tee time in thirty minutes.”
Sarabess was speechless. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’m leaving. I don’t want any part of upsetting that young woman’s life for your own selfish desires.”
Sarabess started to cry. “Please, Rif, don’t leave. I…I’m not doing this for me. I want to try and make it right. You may be right—it may be too late—but I won’t know if I don’t try. I just want to find her. I won’t invade her life if it looks like I…if.. she isn’t interested. I thought that Jake,” she said, referring to Rif’s son and law partner, “might do the search. He used to play with Trinity when they were little children. Emily used to watch them from the sunroom. She was so envious.” A linen handkerchief found its way to her eyes. It all sounded good to her ears. It should—she’d rehearsed this little speech for hours in front of the mirror.
Rifkin sighed wearily. “It always comes back to Emily, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it always comes back to Emily. You can’t expect me to turn thirty years off and on like you’d turn off a light switch. I made a mistake. I want to try and make it right.” That sounds good, too, Sarabess thought smugly.
“Jesus, Sarabess, you didn’t just make a mistake, you made the Queen Mother of all mistakes. You brought a child into this world for her bone marrow so another child could live. Then you threw that child away. Now you want her back. I’m sorry, it just doesn’t work that way. On top of that, it’s too late.”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t throw Trinity away. I…what I did was pay the Hendersons to take care of her. I couldn’t do it. I was fighting for Emily’s life. Trinity had a roof over her head, good food, adequate medical care. If she was neglected, as you say, it was only by me and my husband. I will concede the point that the child needed a mother, and that’s where I failed her. If she…if I had brought her here to the big house, she would have been raised by servants. At least with the Hendersons she had a normal life. She wanted for nothing, and don’t try to tell me she did.” She’d said these words so often, they sounded truthful to her ears. She struggled to cry. She whipped the handkerchief past her eyelashes as she watched Rifkin carefully. She needed him.
“Too bad you couldn’t pay the Hendersons to love her. When are you going to factor in Trinity’s trust fund?”
“The fund has nothing to do with this. The Hendersons did love Trinity in their own way. They are plain, hardworking people. They’re not demonstrative. That doesn’t mean they didn’t love Trinity. They raised her for fifteen years. There was feeling there. Even as sick as he was, and living with that woman, Harold told me they were heartbroken when Trinity ran away. Harold would never have lied about something like that.”
Rifkin watched the little brown bird as it dived into the fern with a piece of string in its beak. Preparing her nest for her young. That’s how it’s supposed to be, he thought. Even the birds know about motherhood. “Were you brokenhearted, Sarabess? Did Trinity’s running away affect you in any way?”
He was just saying words, words he’d said hundreds of times. It was a game, pure and simple.
Sarabess drew a deep breath as she fingered her pearls. “No. It barely registered. I was still mourning Emily. Nothing registered. Nothing.” Such a lie, she thought.
“I have to leave now, or I’ll miss my tee time.”
“Well, a tee time is certainly important. Even I understand that. Run along, Rifkin. Enjoy your golf game,” Sarabess said in an icy voice.
Rifkin refused to be baited. He waved as he descended the steps. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Sarabess wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she bit down on her bottom lip instead. Her eyes filled again. Everything Rif said was true. Tomorrow she would think about everything he’d just said. Everything she’d been thinking about for the past fifteen years. Tomorrow. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t.
Today was Emily’s day. Today she had to go to the cemetery to talk to Emily.
Tomorrow was another day. Rif would come around; he always did.
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Copyright © 2006 by Fern Michaels
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ISBN: 978-1-420-12940-3