I’ll dawdle all I damn please. “If you’d let me know you were coming, you wouldn’t be out here freezing your ass off.”
Diana opened the front door. Eleanor Martin swept by her grandly. “If I’d let you know I was coming, you wouldn’t be here now.”
“You’re probably right,” said Diana, closing the door behind them.
In the light of the foyer, Diana watched her mother shed the awful set of dead-animal skins that she so highly prized. Let her hang it up herself. She knows where the closet is.
When her mother returned from this task, Diana noticed her pale mauve cashmere pantsuit, perfect platinum hair—even after hours on the plane and more time in a taxi. Her mother’s skin was incredibly taut and youthful for a woman of fifty-eight. New facelift?
“You look tired, Diana.”
Diana headed for the living room, then saw that her mother was on her way to the kitchen. “Have you eaten, Mother? They do still feed the first class on a plane, don’t they?”
“Not like they used to,” replied Eleanor as she examined the contents of Diana’s refrigerator. “No yogurt?”
“I’ll make you some tea.” Diana sighed. Sustained anger was too heavy a load to carry indefinitely.
Eleanor sat down on a stool at the island and removed leather gloves that matched her suit. “Greg’s living with that tart, you know.”
“I know. They’re married.”
“So fast?”
“That’s how things happen here when you’re not fighting over property or—”
“Why so fast? Were they racing the stork?”
“The stork?” Diana looked at her mother’s long legs and slender nose. A suppressed giggle escaped her.
“I’m glad you can laugh about it. Daddy and I have been worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Diana handed her mother a cup of hot tea from the microwave, then put in a cup for herself. “You want some reheated manicotti?”
“Is it vegetarian?”
Vegetarian and you wear a fur coat? “It has a cheese filling. Is that okay?”
Eleanor nodded as she looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. “Daddy and I have been reading up on postpartum psychosis, dear.”
Diana dropped the refrigerator dish. Manicotti flew like missiles and splattered on the kitchen tiles. As she cleaned up the mess, Diana eyed her mother who seemed unruffled after the bombshell she’d just set off. And the cashmere pantsuit still appeared spotless. Why couldn’t I have aimed?
“So, you think I’m nuts, Ma?”
“You never call me ‘Ma.’”
“I just did.”
“It’s the violence, Diana. The tart told me about it. She answered Greg’s phone and told me all about it.”
“It?”
“You attacked Greg with a golf club. Do you remember doing that, or is it repressed?”
“I revel in the memory. One of my fondest.”
Eleanor got up off the stool and moved toward her. Diana moved back out of reach.
“You need help, Diana. You’ve never had a propensity toward violence. You were a gentle child.”
“No I wasn’t. I was an angry child. You just never noticed.”
“What were you angry about? Daddy and I—”
“—are full of crap. Pretending you had a marriage all those years when all you had was a financial arrangement.”
She watched the color drain from her mother’s face. Eleanor sagged back down on the kitchen stool. Somehow she looked much smaller than she had a minute ago. Diana had a momentary flash of guilt. No. This time she’s going to face it.
“I did what you never had the guts to do, Mother.”
Eleanor looked away. Seemed to be studying the blue and white tile pattern. “How long have you known?” she asked in a remarkably detached voice.
“I was about four when I saw the babysitter Lewinski-ing Daddy in the guest bathroom. I didn’t even know what I was seeing, but it sure looked weird.”
Eleanor’s mouth drooped, but no sound escaped her. Remorse crowded in, dampening Diana’s anger. It felt like squashing an injured bird, not that she’d ever experienced that. Her words felt cruel, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“When I was older and realized what I had seen, I started looking for the signs while you turned away and pretended he wasn’t cheating on you. How could you do that? Is money so important to you that you’d sell your soul?”
Eleanor sat silently, perfectly manicured fingers covering her perfect mouth, pressing hard to keep the secrets in.
“Cry or something, Mom.” Mom. Diana rarely called her that. Too endearing. Maybe she needed some endearing. “Please, Mom, say something.” Tears filled Diana’s eyes.
The hands came down to rest, then one picked up the mug of tea. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “You’ve never been afraid of anything.”
“Me fearless? I’ve been afraid to talk about this all of my life.”
“Why would you want to talk about it?”
Are you really my mother? How can we be so different?
“Because I wanted to show you that you don’t have to live a lie. There are alternatives.”
“Yes, I suppose there are alternatives.” Eleanor’s posture straightened as she looked at Diana, the old superior glint back in her eye. “I could have divorced your father and ended up alone. Like you.”
Diana dumped the manicotti and broken dish in the trash, slamming the lid down hard. “You know what, Mother?” she asked as tears pushed against the backs of her eyes, “I’d a damn sight rather be alone than to live like you do. I’ll bet he doesn’t even bother to hide it. Or maybe he does. Is that why you don’t have caller I.D.? In case one of them calls him?”
Eleanor didn’t blink. Whatever reaction Diana had hoped for wasn’t materializing. What did I think? We’d yell at each other, then cry and hug? And be mother and daughter at last?
The wisp of a frown creased Eleanor’s brow, as if her Botox needed a boost. “Do you think it was that apparent … to other people?”
You are pathetic.
As if reading her mind, Eleanor continued, “You needn’t feel sorry for me. I have a friend now, you know. His name is Kenneth. He’s a bit younger ….”
My mother has a boy-toy?
Eleanor looked expectantly at her.
It’s a bit late for girl talk. Like twenty years. “I’ll go make up the guest room, Mother.”
Chapter 26
Diana watched nervously from an upstairs window. Though it was still only February, a Chinook wind had eaten up all the snow and seduced the trees and shrubs into sending out early buds. The late afternoon sun still warmed crocus and daffodil blooms that lined the front walk. She counted herself blessed that her mother was safely on a plane back to Chicago.
As a tan pickup truck pulled into her driveway, she straightened the collar on her green silk blouse, then glanced briefly at her full-length image in the bedroom mirror.
When she looked back outside, Darren Rogart was ushering his two children toward her front door. Lori looked small and vulnerable as she clung to her father’s hand. Keith, on the other hand, looked like any active ten-year-old as he bounced off the front walk toward a squirrel on the fence.
Why take the daughter hunting and leave the son at home? The question was shuttled aside by the sound of the doorbell. She hurried toward the stairs. Slow down. You’re acting like a schoolgirl.
When she’d called Rogart to tell him about not being able to help him with the trust matter, he’d said it was no big deal. She’d offered to mail the instrument back to him, but he said he wanted to pick it up and introduce the kids. This is a big deal. Maybe. It had been big enough to keep from Jess and Winston.
As she opened the door, Diana was struck by Lori’s beauty. The girl had the same almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones that Diana had observed in Rena Flannigan and in the photograph of Brandi. But Lori had blond hair and gray-hazel eyes under dark lashes. T
he ethnic blending was awesome.
Rogart stood behind his daughter, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Diana, I’d like you to meet Lori,” he said.
As Diana reached out instinctively, Lori winced, avoiding her touch. The girl’s eyes were downcast as she mumbled a greeting. But when she did look up at Diana, her eyes were more insolent than shy.
“Keith, get over here,” Rogart called good-naturedly to his son. Keith gave up on the squirrel and hurried over to the doorway. A handsome little boy, he too had Rogart’s piercing hazel eyes.
Diana watched as Lori looked beyond her into the house, as guarded curiosity hardening her eyes. Diana moved aside, realizing she’d been staring at the girl. “Come in,” she invited, trying to make amends with a welcoming smile.
Rogart stepped in front of Lori and gave Diana a chaste hug and a peck on the cheek.
What, no tongue? Bite yours, Diana.
“Come on, kids,” he beckoned. They slowly trailed him into the house, looking around awkwardly.
“Sorry we’re late,” said Rogart.
Diana smiled. “But you’re not. Late, that is.” She led the way into the living room, then turned toward the children. “Lori and Keith, I’ve heard so much about you. I hope you like lasagna.”
The children both smiled half-heartedly as they nodded politely.
“How about a soda pop?” Diana offered.
“Okay,” said Lori as she took a seat on the sofa beside her father. She sat too close. Diana blinked as she assessed the girl’s posture. It was not that of a shy, traumatized youngster. More like a woman asserting her territory, her expression a beat away from hostility.
Diana turned toward Keith so she wouldn’t be staring at Lori again. After giving the living room a once-over, she watched him head toward the patio door at the rear of the room. “Do you have any pets?” he asked.
“Yes, a cat,” replied Diana. “He sometimes hides when he doesn’t know you.”
“Is he hiding now?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you look around? He’s a big, yellow tabby.” Diana smiled inwardly. At least the boy seemed to be warming up.
Keith slid open the patio door, stuck his head outside, then called back, “What’s his name?”
“Tigger.”
As if on cue, Tigger ambled into the room from the kitchen and promptly jumped into Rogart’s lap. Diana felt relief as she saw Lori’s expression soften as she reached out to pet the cat.
“He must smell Dad’s animals,” said Keith, now back in the room and stroking Tigger’s back vigorously.
“Keith!” admonished Lori, a frown creasing her pretty face.
Keith giggled. Thoroughly confused, Diana watched amusement steal across Rogart’s face, too.
“Dad’s animals are dead,” explained Keith.
“You are so gross, Keith.” Lori rolled her eyes. “Just before dinner.”
Rogart put an arm around his son’s shoulders. “I don’t know about that, son. They look pretty lifelike to me.” He winked at Diana.
Both kids laughed aloud. “Now I get it,” said Diana. “The taxidermied animals.”
Now all three Rogarts cracked up. “Taxidermied animals,” echoed Keith. “That’s not what you call them. They’re mounts.”
More giggles all around. This time Diana joined them, then excused herself to get the promised soft drinks.
When she returned and passed out pops to the Rogarts, Darren asked, “Need any help in the kitchen?”
“I never refuse help.”
He turned to his daughter. “Lori, hon, go help Diana.”
He shouldn’t push us together, she thought. It’s too soon. Doesn’t he know that? Can’t he tell from her body language that she doesn’t want to be here?
In the kitchen, Diana handed napkins and silver to Lori. “Since it’s still so warm, I thought we’d eat on the patio. Sound okay?”
Lori shrugged, her expression gone sullen. Definitely not childlike. “Whatever,” she said as she pushed open the kitchen door to the patio and left with the table settings.
Through the open door, Diana heard Lori’s voice again. “Trisha would’ve liked to come with us.” The girl’s words came through distinctly. Deliberately so?
Diana turned from the oven with a dish of steaming lasagna. Outside on the patio she saw that Rogart had joined his daughter through the door from the living room. Diana couldn’t hear his reply, but Lori’s came through clear enough. “I don’t understand why not.”
As she placed the lasagna on a cat-shaped trivet, Diana strained to hear the conversation. When she removed a fresh, green salad from the fridge, she heard Rogart say, “Hon, now’s just not the right time.”
Who is Trisha?
“How’d you like Dad to stuff you?” Keith’s voice behind her whirled Diana as the boy carried Tigger into the room.
“Keith, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Diana couldn’t hold back the words.
“Why not? Lots of people have their pets stuffed when they die,” said Keith.
She didn’t know why the child’s words bothered her so. “But Tigger is a young cat. Besides, I wouldn’t want a stuffed dead pet around.” Here she managed a smile, so it wouldn’t seem so much like a lecture. “I’d rather remember my pets alive.”
Keith seemed unfazed. “When Dad gets through with ‘em, you couldn’t tell the difference.”
Glad to change the subject, Diana enlisted Keith’s help in bringing the food to the patio table. The lasagna went over big. Even Lori ate a generous portion.
Throughout the meal, the question nibbled at Diana’s brain: Who is Trisha?
When they’d finished seconds, and Rogart had consumed thirds, Keith started up from the table. Rogart stopped him with a look. “Oops, may I be excused?”
Another stern look from his dad prodded the child to continue, “Thank you for dinner, Diana. May I please be executed?”
This kid has a morbid sense of humor.
“I mean … excused.” Keith giggled at the effect his pun was having. Both his dad and sister were suppressing smiles.
Diana hid her mouth with her hand to conceal the fact that she wasn’t seeing any humor here. Maybe it was the thought of her Tigger stuffed and on the mantle.
“Can I go down to that lake where we drove in?” asked Keith. “I wanna check it out.”
“Sure,” said Diana, “if your dad says it’s okay.”
“Go ahead, son.”
“Watch out for skunks,” added Diana.
As a charged-up Keith headed out the patio gate, Rogart nudged his daughter. “Why don’t you go with him?”
“Dad,” Lori whined, “do I have to?”
“Somebody’s got to keep him out of trouble. Unless you want to stay here and help Diana clean up … and I’ll go with Keith.”
Lori was on her feet. “No. It’s okay. I’ll go.”
Diana pretended to study the floral design on her empty plate. She looked up seconds later to see Rogart standing at the patio wall, watching his children disappear among the trees in the fading light.
“They’re beautiful kids,” she said. “I can see how you must’ve missed them.” Then she thought how stupid her words were. The children’s physical attractiveness would have no bearing on the degree of their father’s love. But Rogart didn’t seem to find anything wrong with her comment as he beamed with fatherly pride.
In the kitchen, as Rogart helped her clean up, Diana juggled the question again.
But he leaned close, knocking that question right out of her head. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” With a flick of his wrist, he snared her across the shoulders with a dish towel and pulled her toward him.
Somehow it didn’t feel right. “Oregano,” she tossed back, ducking under the dish towel and escaping to the fridge with the butter dish.
“Who’s Trisha?” she asked as she turned back in his direction.
He looked at her for a moment, as if he hadn’t understoo
d the question. Then he rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You heard Lori and me.”
“I heard Lori.”
“I’m not sure how to go about this.”
“Go about what?”
“Trisha is Patty Strickland. She’s come to me for help.”
“The girl Jess’s been looking for? Have you told her the girl’s not missing? Have you notified the authorities that she’s turned up?” She knew that she was sounding like a lawyer, not a … whatever it was she was to him. She didn’t even know what it was she wanted to be to him.
He sat down at the kitchen island and put his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up, he said, “I know I have to do both of those things. Trisha doesn’t know it, but I have called her mother. She doesn’t want her daughter back. Can you imagine?”
“No I can’t.” Diana bristled. “Does she think her daughter’s damaged goods or some such crap?”
“That might be it,” he replied. “Trisha’s pregnant. She won’t talk about who the father is. She won’t talk about any of it. End of story.”
“But it’s not. Charges should be filed. That mother should be prosecuted for neglect.” Raw emotion caused her to rattle on.
Rogart got up and put a hand on her arm. “She’s seventeen, pretty much considered an adult. I haven’t decided what to do. If I push her about accusing Joe, there’s no telling what she’ll do. She might even run off again. She looks like she’s due to deliver pretty soon, but she doesn’t even seem to know when. I’m sure she hasn’t seen a doctor. Don’t look at me like that. I’m working on that, too.”
She suddenly felt ashamed of judging Rogart as she considered the new responsibilities he was taking on. He already had a missing wife and two kids to raise. But, as quickly, the nibbling suspicion was back. How did he find Trisha? How did Trisha know where to find him?
Before she could ask, he put his arms around her. “What color are your eyes?”
What color are my eyes? The bizarre segue did in her budding desire.
“Sometimes they look light brown,” he continued. “Then they look gold. Like right now. Gold with green flecks.”
She pulled back, but found his arms immovable. “How did we get from a girl in trouble to … my eyes?” Panic crept up on her like Tig on a bird.
The Trophy Hunter Page 11