by Joy Fielding
“Conversations usually work both ways,” Melanie said. “How would you feel if I were to pepper you with questions about your sex life?”
“Go ahead,” Robin said, her back stiffening, as if she were physically bracing herself for what was to follow. “Ask me anything.”
Melanie shrugged. “I have nothing to ask.”
“You’re not curious about my life at all?”
“Not particularly. I think I know pretty much all I need to know.”
“And what’s that?”
Melanie swiveled around in her chair, crossing one knee over the other and staring directly at Robin. “I don’t think you really want to get into this now.”
“Might as well,” Robin said, tingles of anxiety starting to ferret through her veins. “Not much else to do.”
“Breathe,” she heard Blake say.
“Fine. I think you’re a spoiled brat who assumes the world revolves around her.”
The breath caught in Robin’s lungs. “But I don’t think—”
“Sorry. I thought you were interested in what I thought,” Melanie said.
“I am, but…” Invisible hands reached for her throat.
“I think you feel entitled and superior. You and Alec both. The two of you always uniting against me, laughing behind my back. Or right to my face, judging by last night.”
“We weren’t…” Unseen fingers pressed down on her throat.
“You think you’re better than me. You think you have all the answers because you have a college diploma, and you think that gives you the right to sit in judgment of my life, my parenting, my relationships…”
“I was just trying to get to know you.”
Breathe. Just breathe.
“Why? What’s the point? Are you planning to stick around when this is over?”
Robin said nothing.
Melanie sneered. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“It doesn’t mean that we…”
“What? Can’t be friends? News flash—we’ve never been friends.”
“Because you’ve never given me a chance,” Robin said, the words shooting directly from her lungs. “You’ve hated me since the day I was born.”
Melanie looked toward the ceiling, as if she were seriously considering what Robin had said. “You know, you might finally be right about something.” She shrugged. “Anyway, you were Mom’s favorite, so what does it matter? What’s that stupid saying—‘It is what it is’? When this is all over, when our father dies and Alec is either in jail or back in San Francisco, you’re going to return to L.A. and marry the Ken doll of your dreams. And maybe it’ll work out, and maybe it won’t, but one thing is certain: I’m going to be stuck here in Red Bluff.”
“You don’t have to be stuck,” Robin said.
Melanie raised both eyebrows.
“You’ll have money,” Robin said. “You’ll be able to afford professional help for Landon. You can put him in a special school…”
“You mean an institution.”
“No,” Robin said. “I was thinking maybe an art school.” Then, “I don’t know.”
“Really? There’s something you don’t know?”
Robin sank back in her chair, anxiety swirling through her head, her energy spent. “Okay. You win. I give up.”
“And Cassidy? You gonna give her up, too?”
“I won’t abandon Cassidy.”
“No? How noble. What does that mean in practical terms?”
The receptionist was suddenly standing in front of them. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
Robin pushed herself to her feet. “Actually I think I’ll take a walk.” She crossed to the door and opened it. “I could use some air.”
“No need to hurry back,” she heard Melanie say as the door closed behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Breathe. Just breathe.
Robin stood on the sidewalk in front of Jeff McAllister’s office building and gulped at the surrounding air as if it were water. “Damn it,” she whispered. Just when she thought she and her sister were making progress, that they were on the verge of a real breakthrough, that they might actually be able to forge a relationship, reality had to rear its ugly head, like a rattlesnake disturbed at the side of the road by an unwary hiker.
How many times did she have to bang her head against this same brick wall?
“That’s it,” she said out loud. “I’m done.”
“I’m sorry,” someone said. “Are you talking to me?”
Robin looked up to see a woman perhaps a decade her senior standing in front of her, an inquisitive look on her wide face. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Just talking to myself, I’m afraid.”
The woman laughed. “I do it all the time. No worries.”
Unfortunately, I have nothing but worries, Robin thought, as the woman continued on her way.
Robin looked up and down the long main street, stopping at the bright blue building that housed Davis Developers. It had been years since she’d been inside the attractive two-story structure; her father had frowned on unscheduled drop-ins. She remembered the place as a beehive of activity—employees rushing back and forth between offices, phones constantly ringing, designers toiling away to create something new and innovative, draftsmen making last-minute changes to blueprints, marketers struggling to develop fresh campaigns, the sales staff trying to persuade new clients to come on board. In addition to the creative staff, a substantial support staff served the business side of the company—the chief financial officer, two accountants, an office manager, and at least a dozen secretaries and assistants.
Still, only one person really counted, the one man they were all there to serve.
Her father.
Davis Developers was his business, his baby, his mistress. Robin thought it was probably the only thing, other than himself, that he’d ever truly loved. Nothing else came close. Not his wife. Not his other women. Certainly not his children.
“Cassidy,” she’d heard him whisper, his eyes searching the hospital room for the child who was not his own, but who had somehow managed to scale the wall of his self-absorption, a feat that none of his natural-born children had been able to achieve. I won’t abandon you, she thought now, recalling the look of skepticism on Melanie’s face, and wondering how Blake would react to the idea of Cassidy returning with Robin and him to L.A. She desperately hoped she wouldn’t be forced to choose between them.
So don’t tell me I have no worries, she called silently after the woman as she disappeared down the street. Taking another deep breath, Robin opened the elaborately carved wooden door of her father’s building and stepped inside the small lobby. She was greeted by a one-two punch of silence and frigid air.
“It’s freezing in here,” she said, more to herself than to the attractive, rosy-cheeked blonde behind the marble-and-glass reception desk. The nameplate on the desk’s black marble surface identified her as Shannon Leacock. She was wearing a heavy white sweater over her yellow sundress.
“I know. They keep it so cold,” Shannon commiserated. “Can I help you?”
“It’s so quiet,” Robin said, not really sure what she was doing here. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so quiet.”
“Well, we’re operating with a skeleton staff at the moment. Until we know…I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Robin said quickly. “I’m…I’m Robin Davis.”
“Robin Davis? Robin Davis?” Shannon repeated. “Are you related to Mr. Davis?”
“I’m his daughter.”
Shannon jumped to her feet, almost upending her black leather chair. “I’m so sorry. Your father…has something happened? Is he…?”
“Still hanging in there.”
“Oh, thank God. Just a minute, I’ll get Jackie. She’s our office manager.” Shannon grabbed her phone, pressing the numbers for Jackie Ingram’s extension before Robin could stop her.
Jackie Ingram was probably the last person Robin wan
ted to talk to right now. “It’s not necess—”
“Oh, no worries,” Shannon said.
Dear God.
“She’ll be right with you,” Shannon said, hanging up the phone. “How’s the little girl? Cassidy, right?”
“Yes, Cassidy,” Robin agreed. “It looks like she’ll be okay.”
“Well, thank God for that. Oh, here comes Jackie now.”
Robin turned as Jackie Ingram rounded the corner. A look of relief instantly flooded the woman’s face. Clearly she’d been expecting Melanie. No worries, Robin thought with a smile. She has that effect on all of us.
“Is…has something…your father…?” Jackie began, but was unable to complete a sentence.
“There’s been no change.”
Jackie nodded, tapping her hand lightly on her heart. She was wearing a dark blue suit, and her hair was pulled into the same soft bun that she’d had the first time they’d met, in Greg Davis’s hospital room. She wasn’t quite as attractive as Robin remembered—her features a little too doughy, her nose a tad too prominent. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked every bit of her fifty-plus years. It was hard to imagine her father choosing her as a lover. Especially with Tara waiting for him at home.
Unless, of course, Tara wasn’t waiting, at home or anywhere else.
What’s good for the goose…
Jackie Ingram stared at her expectantly. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I don’t know,” Robin began. Why was she here? “I don’t know.” Tears filled her eyes and began streaming down her cheeks.
“Why don’t we go into my office?” Jackie wrapped her arms around Robin and led her down the hall without waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed,” Robin said as they entered the first office on the left and Jackie directed her to one of the two beige velvet tub chairs opposite her desk. A tissue appeared in her hand, as if she’d pulled it magically from her sleeve, and she handed it to Robin, then sat down in the chair beside her.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Robin blew her nose, then dabbed at her eyes, although it did no good. The tears kept coming. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I can’t seem to stop.”
“It’s okay,” Jackie said. “This can’t be an easy time for you.”
“You’re very kind.” Behind Jackie’s desk a large window revealed a view of mountains in the distance, peeking out beyond the tops of the surrounding buildings. Inside the crowded office, stacks of Architectural Digest and assorted other architecture and design magazines stretched across the beige-carpeted floor, climbing up the pale blue walls like vines.
“Are these your grandchildren?” Robin asked, referring to three framed photographs on the wall to her right, one of two little boys bearing proud, toothless grins, another of three little girls in lacy dresses, the last of a smiling baby asleep in its mother’s arms.
Was my father really sleeping with a grandmother?
“Aren’t they beautiful? Three girls, three boys. But you didn’t come here to talk about my grandchildren.”
“To be honest, I have no idea why I’m here.”
“You want to know about your father and me,” Jackie Ingram stated without rancor.
“My sister was out of line the other day,” Robin said. “I’m sorry.”
“Your sister was out of line,” Jackie agreed. “But she was also right.”
“You were sleeping with my father?”
“We were having an affair, yes,” Jackie said, making the subtle correction.
“When? For how long? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind,” Jackie said. “Let’s see. I came to work here two years ago, after Lisa Holt left, and it probably started about six months after that. Did you know Lisa?”
Robin shook her head. “Was my father having an affair with her, too?”
“I can’t say for sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”
“You’re not. I’ve known about my father’s extracurricular activities for years. I just thought maybe he’d changed after he married Tara.”
“You mean because she was so much younger than he was?”
“Yes,” Robin admitted. “I guess I figured she’d be more than enough for him.”
“I actually think that was part of the problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Can I be blunt?”
Robin almost laughed. Tara was dead, her father was gravely injured, and she was sitting in an office being comforted by her father’s last known mistress. A grandmother, no less. “By all means,” she said, lifting her hands in resignation. “Be blunt.”
“I think your father didn’t quite know what he was getting into when he married Tara. Not only was she much younger, but she also had a very young child. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a youngster underfoot all day, every day. Not that he didn’t love Cassidy. He did. But as she got older…well, you know what girls Cassidy’s age are like. They’re not the easiest. She and her mother fought a lot. Your father hated that. And Tara hated having to share a house with your sister and that poor boy of hers. She was always after him to move into a place of their own. And then there were problems…in the bedroom.”
“Problems?”
“Unfortunately, instead of making your father feel young again, Tara made him feel pretty old pretty damn fast. Not her fault, really. But she had a lot of energy. Your father had a hard time keeping up, if you get my drift.”
Robin nodded, trying to erase the image of her father and Tara in bed together that was already forming in her mind.
“He once told me that he’d forgotten what you thirty-year-olds were like in bed.” Jackie chuckled, remembering. “He was worried about his heart, said he was afraid she was going to kill him. Not intentionally, of course.” She took a deep breath. “Do you want anything to drink? Some water, perhaps? You’re looking a little…”
Robin made a deliberate effort to relax the muscles in her face. “No, nothing. Thank you. I’m fine. You were saying…”
“You’re sure you want to hear this?”
“Quite sure.” Actually, not sure at all.
“It was just that your father had this image of himself as a great lover. Don’t get me wrong—he was. For a man his age, and for a woman my age. Girls your age expect more…stamina. And these days they want—no, they demand—orgasms. Women my age—well, we’re just happy the man shows up. We don’t expect—hell, we don’t want—all-nighters. They’re painful, and truthfully, they’re a little boring. We’ve had the years of foreplay. We know what works; we know what doesn’t. We just want to get to the point. Am I shocking you?”
“No.” Yes.
“At any rate, what I’m getting at here is that I think your father liked the fact that with me he didn’t have to work so hard. He needed to be admired. I admired him. It’s as simple as that.”
“And your husband?” Robin asked. “What about his needs?”
“Oh, my husband lost interest in sex years ago. At least with me.”
“He was seeing other women?”
“Other men, as it turns out,” Jackie said with a shrug. “Amazing how you can live with someone for years and have no idea who they really are.”
“What about how angry he was when he learned of your affair, the threats he made?”
“Purely for show. A way of keeping up the pretense. Not many people know about his other…interests.”
“So you don’t think…”
“That he shot your father? Not a chance. Why would he? I actually think he was relieved when he found out about Greg and me. It meant he didn’t have to feel so guilty anymore. And don’t forget, your father was not only my lover but also a very generous employer. Now, God only knows what’s going to happen, if I’ll still have a job—” She broke off. “Anyway, not your concern.”
“Can you think of anyone else wh
o might have done this?” Robin asked, relieved that they were no longer talking about her father’s sex life. “A disgruntled employee, an unhappy client…?”
Jackie Ingram shook her head with such vehemence that the bun at the nape of her neck came loose, sending strands of dark hair cascading onto her shoulders. “Your father could be stubborn and imperious, even ruthless at times, and it’s true that not everybody was a big fan, but to do something like this, to kill people, to shoot a child, no, I can’t imagine any of our employees or clients ever being that angry.” She paused. “Your father’s not going to make it, is he?”
“It doesn’t look good.” Robin stood up. “I should go.”
Jackie Ingram was immediately on her feet. “Will you tell him that we’re all praying for him, that we…that I miss him.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Robin allowed the other woman to take her in her arms and hug her close. “I can find my way out.”
“Take care,” Jackie called after her.
Her sister and brother were waiting by the car when Robin emerged into the bright sunshine. “Told you that’s where she was,” Melanie said to Alec.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said, a blanket of heat falling on her head. “Were you waiting long?”
“Long enough.” Melanie unlocked the car doors and climbed behind the wheel. “Get in.”
“Where are we going?” Robin asked, getting in beside her.
Melanie was pulling away from the curb even before Robin had her seat belt fastened. “To see a friend of mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Are you going to tell me who this friend is?” Robin asked when Melanie failed to elaborate.
“Don’t think so,” her sister said.
“Is this the same friend you were talking to earlier?”
“Could be.”
“Are we playing Twenty Questions?”
“Only if you insist on asking them.”
Robin swiveled around in her seat to face her brother. “What happened with McAllister?”
“Confidential,” he said.
“Seriously?” she asked. “Nobody’s telling me anything?” Robin returned to her previous position, staring at the scenery beyond the side window as it quickly changed from urban to rural, barren fields taking the place of sidewalks and offices. The only constant was the heat, which rose like waves from the pavement. “And no one’s curious about my visit to Dad’s office?” she asked after several seconds had passed.