"Because Miranda never underestimated Michael, right? Didn’t she stay with him even after he hurt her?"
Zainab was taken aback. "I don’t think it was that black and white," she said quietly. "I don’t think he meant to hurt her."
"It just happened," Emily spat, "because the man is a disaster. Fine, let him be. And Richard and Miranda can keep him, and Jessie and even Mitch can forgive him, but he is not allowed anywhere near my little girl, and that’s just the way it is."
The disappointment in Zainab’s eyes was more than Emily could bear. She hardened her eyes. "Should I tolerate Joe Welles’ presence around my daughter? Because as far as we know, he didn’t even like them as young as Michael did."
It was a cheap, underhanded shot. She waited for Zainab to tell her off. She forgot who she was dealing with. "You needn’t worry about Joe Welles doing anything," Zainab said grimly. "Thanks to Detective Teague, he’s sitting in prison right now. For a crime he didn’t commit."
Emily smiled. "Wow, who knew Teague could finally be useful?"
"You’ve got to be kidding me."
"He was never going to pay for what he did to you, and we both know it."
"This...doesn’t even it out." She turned her head to the side. "Emily, what the Hell is the matter with you? Can’t get Joe for what he did to me, so punish him for what someone else did? Can’t get Michael for what he did to you, so punish Miranda and Richard for it? Can’t get past what Mitch did in Ireland, so punish him now? Where would we all be without you to mete out justice for everyone?"
Emily’s eyes filled with tears. "I have to protect her," she said finally. "I thought you of all people would appreciate that."
Zainab shook her head. "Em, that’s not what you’re doing."
Before Emily could answer, Richard called on her cell phone. Emily answered, and then Zainab walked away.
~~~
At twelve, Emily was tapping her fingers as she waited for Michael at the library restaurant. Fifteen minutes later, he showed up. "Sorry I’m late," he said cheerily as she glared at him. He handed her an envelope. "Here you go."
"Thank you and goodbye," she said as she stood up.
He opened his menu. "I think you should open it first."
Scowling, she did as he suggested. She slapped the envelope down a second later. "This is half."
"Correct. I would have been disappointed if the Girl Wonder hadn’t gotten that."
"Michael, Michael, Michael. You’re not going to blackmail me with money."
"I’m not trying to. I just wanted to get your attention."
She sat down. "Now isn’t that funny?" Before she could continue, the waiter came by. Michael ordered a sandwich, and Emily reluctantly ordered the soup.
"Sorry, you were saying?"
"I was just pointing out that you’re the one, surprisingly enough, that jumps so high over money, no matter how much you were born with. Wasn’t that the source of many of your conflicts with Alex Sheldon?"
"Money was the only thing left of mine that he could replace."
"Right—only it wasn’t yours, was it? It was Miranda’s. But she gave it all to you to make you go away."
"What’s your point?"
"What could anyone give you now to make you go away?"
"Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t my involvement in Richard’s company actually your idea?"
"I told Richard that he could either ask you or his mother. And I didn’t say anything about a job."
The food came. Michael bit into his sandwich. "And that really bothers you, doesn’t it? I mean, what a rush to get Richard to swallow his pride because you said so, but then to go off script and ask me for help—I mean, who the Hell is Richard to decide what he needs?"
"Yeah, and you’d know about giving people scripts, huh? Tell me, how long were you back in town and watching Miranda’s every move, hacking into her personal information, sending her anonymous invitations to plays and whatever other sick little moves you pulled before we all got wise to you?"
"I am not proud of how manipulative I have been with her, but at least I admit it. I don’t have to bludgeon everyone around me with all of my good ideas or insights. But that’s not you, of course. Because you’ve never done anything wrong, and you never have anything to apologize for."
"I’ve been wrong many times. I just learn from my mistakes."
"So do I."
"Really? Let’s see, how many would-be sexual assaults did the trick such that I should now trust you with my little girl?"
Michael put his sandwich down. "Somebody hurt you when you were a kid, didn’t they?"
Emily smirked. "Wow, Michael. I hate to tell you this, but you actually wouldn’t be the first guy I met who got off on that idea. Sorry—you’ll have to find some other way to repulse me, but I’m pretty sure you will before the hour’s up."
"You think that would get me off?" Michael was disgusted. "Do you know what it was like growing up in that house? I knew Alex wasn’t sleeping with her, but he loved the way Miranda looked at him. He could have had her—in every way—any time he wanted, from the time she was a little girl until she was, well, your age." He looked away, trying to temper what he would say next. "But that didn’t bother you at all, did it?"
"What are you talking about? I couldn’t stand that man, and Miranda’s crush on him made my skin crawl—even more than you do."
"Be honest," Michael spat. "You threw her under a bus. You and Richard and Jessie—even Zainab and Mitch. Most of you wouldn’t speak to her when she was with me, but did you ever do anything to get her away from him? After you knew what he’d done to the both of us?"
Emily clenched her fists under the table. "You have no idea what she was like after you left," she said through gritted teeth. "She was so miserable. I thought we were watching her die. It seemed like she got better and then suddenly it was so much worse. Richard only called Alex as a last resort, after months. We all thought he might be just the person to get her to leave her room and rejoin the living. I mean, she couldn’t even look at me sometimes—" Michael closed his eyes. Of course. "What?"
"Nothing," he said finally. But his eyes were teary. "Look, I get why you hate me, but you were way out of line yesterday. You want to spit venom in my face? Fine—"
"I’ll just be sure to do it in a big crowd. Oh, wait—I don’t think that will make a difference."
"I’m sorry for what I did to you."
"What you did to me," Emily repeated. "Tried to humiliate me? Scare me? Disgust me? Congratulations, you were successful on the last one. And for the record, Miranda cried about it much harder than I did. She felt so guilty, and she was so scared that she’d lost one more friend."
"I know that, and I’m sorry," Michael repeated.
"Remember why?"
"Yes."
"And you’re sorry for that too, right? Oh, wait. You don’t have to be, because you went and got yourself shot. Good move."
"You think I did that on purpose?" he asked incredulously.
"It was very convenient. Jessie’s forgiven you, and God knows you owed her more of an apology than you owed me. But now you don’t ever have to be sorry for that again."
"Jesus, you cannot be for real." He shook his head. "But right, you’d know a little something about dramatic actions."
"Excuse me?"
"You and the guy who attacked Zainab."
"Shut up, now!" Emily shouted. Michael sat back. "Don’t you ever bring that up in public again, and don’t say anything to Zainab or I’ll shoot you myself, but my aim will be better." She waited a moment. "How did you find out about that?"
"Miranda told me."
"Of course."
"She’s going to be my wife—she is my wife—whether you like that or not. We’re not keeping secrets from each other."
"How romantic. And just for the record, thanks for screwing that up as well."
"What are you talking about?"
"The drugs!" Emily hissed.
"You have no idea how much damage you could have done when you took those."
"Drugs?" Michael frowned, then raised his eyebrows. "From Richard’s house. Those were yours?"
"No, you idiot, but they were my leverage against the animal who attacked her. Zainab has assured me recently that the monster is no threat to her ever again, but I have spent years looking over my shoulder waiting for that monster to come back."
"Why were they in Richard’s house?"
"Because Richard put them there."
"They’re at my house," Michael said quietly.
"What?!?" She looked around. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I didn’t want Richard to get in trouble. I put them in my house before I’d moved back in, and afterward I figured that if anyone ever found them I could probably think of more than a few people they might belong to. And if that didn’t work, I could probably survive prison better than he could."
Emily regarded him for a moment, tapping her fingers. "Did you touch them?" she said at last.
"Yes, but not too much."
"Then I—guess it doesn’t matter anyway. You should dispose of them—in separate garbage containers, spread out over a large geographic area—so you—and Miranda—don’t get in trouble."
"Thanks for your concern."
"Whatever."
"What were you going to do with them?"
Emily sighed. "Zainab’s attacker drugged her."
"I thought I saw some of that. Part of how I knew they couldn’t possibly be Richard’s."
"Yeah, why am I not surprised that you’d recognize that?"
"I have never—"
"Right—why do that when alcohol is so much more available?"
"Why did you have enough drugs in Richard’s house to get the two of you sent to prison for distribution?"
"That’s what’s left of the stash of the dealer who sold the drugs to him. If I ever saw her dealer again, I was going to trade it—all of it—to get him to turn in the other guy."
"Did you think that was going to work?"
"Honestly? No. But it was the only thing I had that I could use to protect her, and the pig was stupid enough that I knew he’d be afraid."
"Play to your strengths and your opponents weaknesses."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind. How did you get your hands on them?"
"I was dating the dealer." Emily looked away and sipped her water.
"Wow, you got me with that one," Michael said after a moment. "Who was it?"
"Drew Strand."
"Richard’s friend? He was dealing? I wondered what happened to him." It was all becoming clear now. "And that’s how you met Richard."
"Very good. And do you know how Richard met him?"
"How?"
"Drew was dating Sophie Gorman before he dated me." Michael made a face. "Amazing what one person can do, isn’t it?"
"You’re blaming me for that? Okay, whatever. Yeah, I was a big jerk to Sophie, but it’s not my fault that the both of you ended up with some loser, and hey, it sort of sounds like you wouldn’t have met Richard—and therefore Miranda and Jessie—if it hadn’t been for that. And weren’t you the one who introduced Zainab and Richard? Hmm? Hey, if I’m going to get the blame, then give me some of the credit."
"So you aren’t a complete disaster. Congratulations. I am actually very happy to hear that for Miranda’s sake. But you’re enough of one that I can’t trust you around my daughter. The last time I trusted someone I shouldn’t have—well, you saw what happened."
"Are you proud of yourself for replacing trust with paranoia? And by the way, your husband doesn’t seem to share your opinion of me."
"Let me ask you something," Emily snapped. "Alex was your father’s friend, right? But your mother wasn’t too crazy about him, if what Richard said is true."
"Don’t."
"Why, exactly, did she dislike Mister Sheldon? Because, really, what had he done at that point? He manipulated Lucy into marrying your uncle, and while that is kind of gross, how do you think that stacks up against all the garbage you’ve pulled? And ‘I was just trying to get Miranda’s attention’ isn’t exactly a good excuse. We both know you had it, whether she liked it or not."
"Stop now."
"Or you’ll what?" Emily’s eyes flashed, practically daring him to do something. "Ever wish that your mother had won that argument with your dad? Ever think of how different things might have been?"
"Don’t you dare compare me to that man," Michael said, his face turning dark. "I don’t play with people’s lives—"
"Unless it’s Miranda’s. Does letting someone else do it for you with everyone else count?"
"I would never do to a child what he did to me or her."
Emily shook her head. "I know, Michael. I know you’ve got everyone else convinced; just not me. You know what the difference is? My little girl. Maybe you’ll get it when—if—you have your own child. But until then, you’re just going to have to accept that I can’t trust you with the most precious thing in my life. Miranda can see her whenever she wants—"
"As long as I’m not there?" Michael shook his head. "You are so unfair. You call yourself her friend? You’re not her friend unless she does exactly what you want. And if she—anyone—doesn’t tow your line, to Hell with them. Miranda loves your little girl more than you can imagine, and you’re asking her to split herself in two pieces. One that can be with me, and one that can be with her. And I know that if your positions were reversed, she’d believe you. She’d trust you."
"And maybe she isn’t always the best judge, is she Michael?"
"Because we’re related, right?" Michael waited a moment. "Go on, say it. Because how depraved must she be if she’d want to be with me?"
"Oh, I thought that even before I knew you were related. But for the record, I don’t think she’s depraved—I think she’s just incredibly naïve and impressionable to buy whatever arguments you must have thrown her way. But that’s sort of your fault too, isn’t it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Did you or did you not intentionally and systematically isolate her almost all her life so that the only friends she ever held onto were Jessie and Richard who—oh, guess what—are actually sort of family? And Zainab and I, but we came later."
"Do you have a point?"
"Yes. You kept her desperate for decent, normal people. You made her vulnerable—to you and Alex, actually. And you made her so desperate to believe that someone was going to come in and rescue her from her loneliness that she’d even, ultimately, settle for you."
"You’ve got it all wrong."
"So why did you take away everyone else?"
"Because I didn’t want her to go away."
"And did you realize that staying with you meant staying with him?"
"Yes." He had never hated Emily more.
"So which one of us threw her under a bus?"
"She isn’t with me because she’s desperate," Michael said after a moment. "She came to me—she came to me the first time because she was angry—at everyone. At me, but also at herself. Then she left, and she was going to be fine. But I wasn’t. So I found her, because I’m good at that." He smiled to himself, because it was the first time something occurred to him. "Only difference was that this time I told her I’d found her, and I told her how I felt. And you know what? She came back to me—by her own choice. And since then, she’s been with me, in one way or another."
"Sorry, this was before or after you told her that her life as she knew it was based, roughly speaking, on a lie?"
"It really never occurred to you that she might genuinely love me, and that I might love her?"
"That she loves you? No, I do believe that, even if I don’t get it. But really, Michael, what do you know about love?"
"Do you know what it cost me to leave her? Do you think I did that because I cared about anyone but her?"
Emily didn’t blink. "Fine, you love her. That doesn’t make everyth
ing you do okay."
Michael glared at Emily as he had glared at Alex the day he came to taunt him in the gym. "Did you ever ask yourself," he said finally, "why?"
"Why you love her? I’m guessing it’s mostly physical."
"No. Why she couldn’t look at you? After I left?"
"Of course I did."
"And what did you come up with?"
"That it hurt to see me happy with Mitch."
"Oh, you’re close. But not quite there." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope Miranda had given him. "Open it." She didn’t move. "Come on, Emily. Fair’s fair." She looked grey, and he knew she remembered. "I promise you, this isn’t going to screw up your life—or your husband’s—at all."
Emily did as he asked. "Oh my God," she gasped as she looked at the ultrasound picture of Miranda and Michael’s 12-week old unborn baby. He looked as if he were sleeping. Somewhere, Emily had a very similar picture of Hellie. "When?" she said weakly, but she already knew.
"When I left, but I didn’t know. If I had, you could have shown her proof that she was my sister and I wouldn’t have left. She didn’t know either. But that’s why she couldn’t be around you. Because you were pregnant too—but you stayed pregnant."
Emily shook her head. "I had no idea, I swear." But then she remembered the awful day she’d given Miranda the news and how sick she'd been. Just as Emily had been.
"That’s my son," Michael said, and Emily felt her heart break. "My baby. The thing in the back of everyone’s mind when they think about me and Miranda and feel a little sick about it. But that looks like a perfectly healthy, perfectly beautiful little baby to me. Who would have been loved by his mother and hopefully his father if he’d ever been told. But I’m not much of a judge, I guess. What do you think? Does he look okay?"
Emily nodded, unable to speak. "What happened?" she finally asked.
"She had a miscarriage. She’s a carrier for something, and because we’re related, they thought the baby might have it too. So she had a test—"
"An amniocentesis?" Michael nodded. "She’s so young..." Emily felt like she couldn’t breathe. "I didn’t know that could—"
"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction as well, especially when she told me that he was fine." She slid the picture back to him. He wiped away his tears as he gazed at it. Emily thought how much he resembled Mitch as he looked at Hellie’s baby pictures. "I know what people think of me. I know what I’ve done, and I know what I’m capable of. I get to hear myself recite my sins on my therapist’s couch or in my AA meetings every week. But the only person whose opinion matters is hers, and she loves me. And she loved our baby." He looked up. "Hellie is only a couple of months older than our son would have been. Our son that she named after my father." He waited. "Who was also Miranda’s uncle—that’s what you’re thinking, right?" Emily couldn’t say a word. "Do you think everyone would have been as happy to meet him as they were to meet your daughter?"
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