“Well, it’s complicated.”
“How?”
“Now Emily isn’t sure if she wants Danny to know I may have found his father. She’s worried that the dad—his name is Chase Sullivan—will feel pressured to take him and will eventually resent Danny.”
“Sounds like Emily’s a smart woman.”
“Oh, she is, but she’s only looking at it from her point of view.”
Nina frowned. “Yes, but she’s the mother and she’s dying. She wants what’s best for her son.”
“Even if it means Danny not knowing his father?”
“Sometimes those sacrifices must be made for the good of the child.”
Sam stared at her mother. She wondered if they were still talking about Emily and Danny. “Is that why you didn’t take Dad back when he asked?”
Nina paled, but didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes, because I didn’t want my children to grow up in an atmosphere of distrust and betrayal and bitterness.”
“But maybe Skye and I could have handled that.”
“Perhaps, but I knew I couldn’t. And I thought better to have one parent and live in peace and harmony than to be around two adults who’d grown to dislike one another. I had to make a choice, Samantha. Just like Emily.”
“But what if it’s not the right choice?”
Nina sighed. “Maybe it won’t be. People can only go with their instincts. With what feels right to them.”
“Is that what you did?”
Nina placed her hand on top of Sam’s. “I hoped it was the right choice.” She looked into Sam’s eyes. “What do you think?”
Sam wasn’t sure she wanted the talk to go this way, but it was too late to back out now. “I’m not sure. I never had the chance to find out otherwise.”
“No, you didn’t. But I never stopped your father from seeing you girls.”
Sam bit down on her lip. It always came to that. The irrefutable fact that he never had.
“Does it still hurt?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know, frankly. It shouldn’t, now that I’m all grown up.” She forced a smile.
“Maybe that’s why you care so much about Danny. Why it’s important for you to have him connect with his father.”
Analyzing again, Sam thought, but she had to admit how close to the mark her mother might be. “Maybe,” she whispered.
After a few seconds her mother said, “I think the lasagna’s ready.”
SAM LEFT her mother’s condo early. She had an appointment at ten the next morning, but needed to make a few phone calls to organize the final details of the sale and shipment of a Thai Buddha for the client. The report confirming the provenance of the Buddha was supposed to be e-mailed to her office before nine and her transatlantic phone call agreeing to the vendor’s terms had to be placed by nine-thirty. The adrenaline rush of such tight scheduling was a part of the job that Sam loved and a contrast to the long, sometimes dull, hours spent searching the Internet or obscure catalogs for items.
When she noticed she had voice mail, she was tempted to ignore it. Her gut feeling was that Danny had found out she’d visited Emily and wanted to pump her for information. Not that she had to return his call until the next day, anyway, but she bet he’d be waiting by the phone and she doubted either of them would get any sleep if she didn’t call him back.
But the message was from Skye. “Hey, Sam, got your call about the plate number for Chase Sullivan. I must admit, I am impressed. Didn’t take you long to rustle him up at all. Maybe you missed your calling. So here’s the info. The guy lives on Bainbridge Island. Cool, eh? Remember how we always wanted to open up a little toy shop there when we were kids? Anyway, he has a carpentry business called Sullivan’s Fine Furniture on Primrose Lane, wherever that is. I don’t imagine the island has grown too much in the last few years, so it shouldn’t be too hard to track him down. Listen, kind of off topic, but I’ve got an idea. My conference sucks, so I’ve decided to blow off the last two days, go back to the office and schedule some holiday time.
“I haven’t seen Mom since…um…Christmas, and you said you’d like some help with her sixtieth, so I think I’ll fly out there for a week or two. And like I said, since you’ve tracked down Chase Sullivan, maybe I’ll pop into the office there and have a look at the old case, see if anything’s been done on it since I left. So I’ll call Mom and tell her she’s going to be having a guest for a week or so. See ya soon. Bye.”
Sam jotted down the address, deleted the message and slumped onto the sofa. Great. All she needed was Skye added to the mix of Emily, Danny and now, Chase Sullivan. It was typical of her sister to butt into her business. First she compliments me on my detective work and then she decides to come and take over.
And in spite of the recent phone calls, Sam knew she couldn’t go through the whole Christmas thing again with Skye. The accusations and the expressions of wounded innocence. How could you think that? What kind of sister do you think I am? The kind who kisses her twin’s fiancé. With passion. That kind.
Sam groaned and headed for bed, sensing that the next few days were going to get a lot more complicated.
CHASE WAS IN THE BACK of the shop when he heard the tinkle of the doorbell, indicating someone had just entered. He’d hated the cuteness of that bell when he’d bought the place a year ago, but knew he’d be spending a lot of time in the workroom and common sense—business sense—had prevailed. He was clamping two sections of a chair together and rather than have to stop, he leaned forward to peer around the door frame. A woman was closing the door. Something familiar about her. When she turned around, Chase quickly withdrew his head. It was her. He couldn’t believe it. And how had she found him? Irrationally he convinced himself that if he stayed quiet, she just might leave.
“Hello?” she called out.
Any second she’d wander into the back and catch him perching on his stool. Chase swore under his breath, set the clamp down and headed into the showroom part of his small shop.
“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if anyone was here.”
She was either a skilled liar or a fool, and Chase doubted the latter. “Bainbridge isn’t so far from the city that we can leave our businesses unattended,” he said dryly.
“Oh? But it has the reputation of being such a tight-knit community. Neighbors looking out for each other.”
The look she gave him indicated she was up to the challenge of a sparring contest. Chase was having no part of it. “Miss…uh…”
“Sorrenti. Samantha Sorrenti.” Her tone and the look on her face told him she knew he hadn’t really forgotten her name.
“I’ve no idea why you’re here,” he said, leaning against one of the handmade oak display cases. “I’m sure you’re not just touring the island, and I have nothing more to say to you. If you’ve come to hound me about contacting Emily’s son—”
“And your son.”
“If you say so.”
“That’s not what you said yesterday.”
“I don’t recall saying anything about being the father of the boy.”
“His name is Danny.”
Chase held his breath, fighting to keep calm. She was doing it again, drawing him into a verbal wrangle that he knew could only end badly for him. It wasn’t his kind of game.
“And you know in your heart he’s your son,” she added.
He did, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. “I told you I would contact Emily and I will. Now I’d like you to leave my shop.”
The features in her face seemed to tighten and she turned her head. Bingo, he thought. That got to her.
After a moment, she quietly said, “I went to see Emily yesterday afternoon and told her about our meeting.”
A surge of anger rose inside him. What was it about this woman that she felt no impunity at all about interfering in his personal life? “I specifically asked you—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “I know what you told me. I also know that I don’t tak
e orders from you. Once again you’re not letting me explain.”
“But that’s the issue here, isn’t it? Why you feel you even need to explain. You found me and you passed on some information to me. Yes, significant information that affects me in a deeply personal way. And the key word there is personal, Miss Sorrenti. So now that I have that information, my question to you is, why are you still around?”
“I’m still around, as you so nicely put it, because Emily made a request of me that meant I’d have to contact you again.”
Judging from her expression, Chase guessed the request was not one she’d agreed with. He waited for her to continue, refusing to be drawn into any more talk than necessary. Besides, he could see that she was struggling to keep her voice steady and he wasn’t certain if that pleased him—in a petty way—or not.
Finally she said, “Emily isn’t certain now that she wants you to meet Danny. She’d like some time—not that she has a lot of it—to think things through. And she definitely wants to talk to you first, alone.”
It wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning over in his mind all the scenarios of a face-to-face with Danny. His son. By daybreak he’d accepted the very real possibility of Danny being his son and had even begun to accept that he’d have to bring him into his life in some way. The suggestion that this might not happen was something he couldn’t take in, at least not at the moment. He turned his back on her, hoping she’d leave. He needed to be left alone with this news—to digest it and decide what his options were.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, she said, “So now that I’ve done what Emily has requested, the ball is back in your court, Mr. Sullivan. Goodbye.”
He waited for the door to close before moving nearer to one of the windows to see her climb into a small red Acura parked in front of the shop. So that was her car parked illegally at Harbor House.
WHO WAS SHE KIDDING? Not that there was anyone else around to impress, anyway, but there was work to do. It was just that for the past few days she’d done little more than go through the motions. She seethed every time she thought back to the beginning of the week and her visit to Bainbridge Island. Her intentions had been good, she rationalized. She was doing Emily a favor and had expected that she’d be bringing a message he’d be happy to receive. But all expectations ceased the second she stepped out of her car.
She’d had to double-check the address because the chic simplicity of Sullivan’s Fine Furniture didn’t fit with the battered pickup truck he’d been driving. And the austere, almost stark exterior of the place also jarred against the whimsical cuteness of the neighboring stores, decorated with fake gingerbread and seafaring motifs. But the real surprise was what was inside.
The carvings of birds and pieces of exquisite handcrafted furniture were as good, if not better, than any she’d seen in online catalogs, or even in any exclusive furniture shop. The place was a gem tucked away out of public view on Bainbridge Island. Sam doubted the locals could afford his pieces and wondered how Sullivan advertised off-island? Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps clients found him by chance. Perhaps he preferred it that way.
The thought reminded her of Skye’s investigation into the family business. Maybe part of Chase Sullivan’s hostility had more to do with that than with the discovery that he’d fathered a son. Whatever the reason, he obviously couldn’t get rid of her fast enough and she was all too happy to oblige. Though why she was still fuming about the visit three days later mystified her. She’d called Emily right away, giving her an edited version of events and passing on the address of the place. There was no directory listing for Chase, but she decided to check out the Internet and found a Web site for the shop that was as austere as the place itself. An e-mail address and phone number were also provided.
Sam gave up pretending to work and decided to leave for the day. The phone calls she needed to make could be done at home and besides, she was happy to defer the last step in her most recent job. A man from Portland had e-mailed photographs of a twelfth-century Indian Buddha he’d recently purchased and wondered if she could find another one for his collection. She’d forwarded the picture and description to a curator at a Seattle museum who moonlighted as an appraiser. Her report indicated the Buddha was most probably a fake. Now Sam not only had to inform the man that he’d spent a small fortune on a twentieth-century reproduction but convince him of that fact.
She locked up, thinking her trip to Bainbridge had left her “prickly and snarly,” as her sister used to say in their adolescence, when arguments were a daily occurrence. Thoughts of Skye reminded Sam to call her back and tell her not to bother coming home just yet. As far as Sam was concerned, the whole Sullivan-Benson affair was finished, and their mother’s sixtieth was still a month away. She was still forming the voice-mail message she’d leave Skye when she stood in front of her condo door and realized it was unlocked. Either she’d forgotten to lock up when she’d left that morning or someone had broken in. Well, not exactly broken in, since there was no sign of forced entry. Someone with a key, then. And only two other people had keys to her condo. No, wait. Three? Had Todd returned his after their breakup? Damn.
She cautiously opened the door and noticed two things. The shower was going full blast and a black duffel bag was sitting on the foyer floor. She didn’t recognize the bag but wasn’t alarmed. Burglars didn’t usually shower. Still, she tiptoed toward the bathroom and reached it as the door swung open. Sam felt her stomach plummet.
It was like looking at her mirror image. Almost. Except this one was wrapped in her bath towel and dripping on the tiled floor.
“Hey, sister,” Skye said, flashing a big smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
“MY SURPRISE evidently has left you speechless,” said Skye.
“I wasn’t really expecting you. I thought at first someone had broken in.”
“And taken a shower while burgling the place?”
“Ha ha,” Sam muttered.
“Come on, lighten up,” teased Skye.
“You might have let me know you were coming.”
“I left a voice mail.”
“You said you were coming home. Not to my place.”
Skye stared at her long and hard. “So I guess I should get dressed and leave you to your place.” She went back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Damn and double damn, thought Sam. We haven’t seen each other for six months and we’re already pushing each other’s buttons. She retreated into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. When Skye emerged from the bathroom minutes later, Sam called out, “Want some tea before you go?”
Skye appeared in the doorway. “Tea? It’s almost five. Got any wine?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already checked.”
“I was going to do that after my shower.”
Her sudden grin tugged Sam back to their childhood, before adolescent rivalry had reared its ugly head. Sam turned off the stove. “Wine it is,” she said, pulling the refrigerator door open. She glanced at her sister while opening a bottle of Riesling. “When did you cut your hair?”
“A couple of months ago. When did you cut yours?”
“About the same time.”
They smiled at each other, understanding the weird connection of coincidence with identical twins. Their lives had been full of such parallels, until distance made any comparisons impossible. Distance and the fact they’d scarcely spoken to each other in the last six months. Sam frowned.
“Okay, so what’s really the problem?” asked Skye, picking up her wineglass.
Now wasn’t the time, Sam knew. “Nothing. I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Just wondering if Mom knows you’re here already. “
“Not yet. Thought I’d—”
“She hates surprises,” interjected Sam.
“I was going to say I planned to call her from here.”
“Oh.” Sam peered into her glass, thinking she was always making assumpti
ons about Skye and having them fizzle in her face. Maybe the problem is with me. No. I wasn’t going behind her back with her fiancé.
“Living room?” Sam cocked her head toward the L-shaped area off the galley kitchen. She led the way, taking the armchair opposite the couch.
“No changes here,” said Skye.
Sam glanced around the small apartment and its simple furnishings. In spite of a couple of expensive art pieces—an eighteenth-century Chinese porcelain bowl and a one-of-a-kind Lalique vase—the place was almost spartan. She thought suddenly of Chase Sullivan’s shop and the few pieces of furniture she’d seen there the other day, wondering what his reaction might be were she to turn up again, only this time as a customer.
“Why the smile?”
“Hmm?” Sam looked across at Skye. “Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking that except for a few things, the apartment is pretty bare.”
“Yeah, but the few things are really beautiful.”
“I guess.” Sam sipped her wine. The dead stop in the conversation was merely another confirmation of the widening gap between them. The Christmas-Todd thing seemed destined to be the “elephant in the room” no one would talk about, consigning their conversation to small talk. She wanted to say, “Look, if you’ll just say you’re sorry, then I can forgive you,” but she knew Skye was no more capable of apologizing then she was of forgiving. They’d established this pattern sometime in early childhood, and age had only entrenched them.
“What’re you thinking about?” Skye suddenly asked.
Caught out, Sam felt her face heat up. “Oh, nothing much,” she said, turning her head toward the window. She glimpsed Skye’s face as she did so, noting her sister knew she was lying. The silence stretched.
Finally Skye said, “I guess I should be going.”
“Are you going to call Mom?”
“I’ll call her on my cell in the taxi.”
Sam hesitated, then said, “I can give you a ride.”
“It’s a bit out of your way, Sam. Unless you were planning to see Mom tonight, anyway.”
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