Never Kissed Goodnight

by Edie Claire

  Grinning sheepishly, Leigh took her mother's travel bag off her arm and started walking toward the baggage claim. "Of course I am. But I wasn't doing anything else, and I thought we could talk."

  The look of anxiety brewing in Frances's bloodshot eyes flared into open alarm. "Good Lord," she said, halting in her tracks. "The election. You aren't giving Warren a hard time about not being home, are you? You know the man has responsibilities! Please tell me the two of you aren't having problems already. You are, aren't you? You've been nagging him—I knew it."

  Leigh stopped, took a deep breath, and did a quick about-face. Though her mother had a stellar track record of not approving of anything she'd ever done—particularly in the employment and love-life areas—her marriage to Warren Harmon had been one point on which they'd been in perfect agreement. In Frances's eyes, in fact, that decision had been the only thing standing between her daughter and certain doom. Frances worshipped the ground her new son-in-law walked on, and Leigh had no illusions about who her mother would testify for in divorce court.

  "Warren and I are fine," she answered with her best attempt at patience. "The campaign's going splendidly. But he's at home sound asleep, and I needed to get out. So tell me, how was India?"

  Frances's piercing, bird-like eyes surveyed her critically, and Leigh did her best to look innocent. Though she had always been proud of her talent for distorting the truth without actually lying, she knew her mother was wise to the concept. This time, thankfully, Frances's analysis went in her favor. The worry lines around her brow relaxed slightly—an indication that whatever she perceived her daughter was hiding, at least it had nothing to do with her sainted son-in-law.

  "The architecture was lovely," Frances answered tiredly, "but India is an incredibly filthy country. You wouldn't believe the poverty…"

  They walked through the hub and rode the escalators down to the transit area with Frances running through a long list of things in India that should be cleaned, and Leigh trying to figure out how to segue onto the topic of Mason Dublin without seeming uninterested in third-world hygiene.

  She was watching through the large round window at the end of the transit tunnel when the next train roared up and inspiration dawned. "So I guess the transportation system there isn't the best," she began casually. "Evidently the phone system isn't either, because Gil had a question he wanted to ask Lydie, and he couldn't get through."

  Frances dropped the cleanliness tirade and turned to Leigh with a look of intense curiosity, but thankfully not panic.

  So far, so good. Thirty-one years as Frances Koslow's daughter had taught her nothing if not how to extract sensitive information in the most efficient way. She knew, for instance, that once Frances swung into full mother-worry mode, the only things she'd be forthcoming with would be nervous hand-rubbing and murmured predictions of doom. Getting Frances to squeal about whether or not her twin sister really did have something to hide would require the element of surprise. A careful set-up, and a careful watch of the eyes.

  Of course, Leigh could choose to level with her mother from the beginning, but that method had its risks—namely that Frances would spill only to Gil and the PI and staunchly refuse to admit the truth to her own daughter. That Leigh couldn't tolerate. She was up to her eyeballs in this mess of secrets, and she bloody well wanted out of the pit.

  "Gil tried to call Lydie in India?" Frances asked, making no move to board the waiting train. "What on earth for?"

  Leigh faced her mother squarely. The moment was now. "Someone told him that Lydie had once committed a criminal act, and he wanted to know if it was true."

  The words had no sooner left Leigh's mouth than she regretted both her plan and her choice of location. The color drained out of Frances's face instantly, and she stood stock still, her pupils expanding to alarming dimensions. The other travelers began pushing around them to board, and with one particularly ill-timed jostle, Frances's limp body began to sway. Leigh jumped forward quickly, seeing horrifying visions of her mother collapsing into the path of the closing train doors. "Mom!" she exclaimed, steadying her with hands on both arms. "Are you all right?"

  "What did you say?" Frances asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Someone told Gil what?"

  Leigh looked around for a place to sit, but saw nothing promising. Instead, she pulled her mother away from the train doors and leaned her up against the round window around the corner.

  Frances offered no resistance. "Tell me right now," she insisted, her face still deathly pale. "Who said what to Gil?"

  Leigh took a deep breath and realized she didn't feel too steady on her own feet. She'd wanted to catch her mother off guard, but she hadn't wanted to give her a stroke. That Frances might react this severely hadn't even occurred to her—undoubtedly because she had never really believed Lydie had something to hide.

  Had she been wrong? The look on her mother's face chilled her to the bone.

  "Leigh Eleanor," Frances repeated, her eyes brimming with an emotion that was just short of terror. "Tell me!"

  Leigh stepped unsteadily sideways and let the glass window support both of them. "It's Mason Dublin, Mom," she said in a whisper. "He's back."

  ***

  Never in Leigh's life had she known her mother to order a drink as scandalous as a rum-and-Coke, particularly not on a Sunday morning. The fact that she was guzzling it without apology was even more disturbing.

  The college-aged waiter surveyed his first patrons of the day with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile. "Rough flight, eh? Can I get you ladies anything else?"

  Leigh—who had ordered nothing to begin with—shook her head, but Frances nodded, swallowing quickly. "Some crackers, please."

  The waiter smiled again and departed.

  "Mom," Leigh began again. "You've hardly said a word. Don't you dare get sloshed before you tell me what's going on."

  Frances threw her daughter a disapproving glare. It was a familiar one, but with the added element of the bloodshot eyes, it was particularly scary. "I am not getting 'sloshed,'" she said resentfully. "I'm steadying my nerves."

  Leigh sighed and waited while her mother took a few more swallows. She knew she had to be patient. Pushing Frances never accomplished anything, and besides, the story she'd just divulged (which was reasonably complete, although it failed to cover either trailing incident), had to come as quite a shock. Still, she had finished talking almost five minutes ago, and so far all Frances had had to say was "Look—the TGI Friday's is open. How convenient."

  When the rum-and-Coke was two-thirds gone, Leigh tried again. "Mom—"

  "All right, all right," Frances said irritably. "I suppose there's no point in trying to hide the past from you, not any more. As for Cara, that has to be Lydie's decision. You're not to pass on one word of this yourself. Is that understood?"

  Her tone brooked no dissent, and Leigh nodded mutely.

  Frances began with a sigh. "Lydie was very much in love with Mason Dublin when she married him, there's no denying that. He was a door-to-door salesman and he could charm the pants off a snake. And you have to understand, Lydie was going through a rough period back then. The older sister she worshipped had been off the deep end ever since she'd lost her husband in Korea—you know how wild Bess was back in those days; we hardly ever saw her. As for me, I was living the life we had both always dreamed of: I was happily married and living in my own home, with a beautiful baby girl. Then there was Lydie—making a pittance as a waitress with no hope of being able to afford college. She had to live with your grandma and grandpa, and the rules of the house hadn't changed much since we were children. The situation would be tough on any sister, but with identical twins, it was especially difficult. We had always done everything together before. Lydie never resented me, and she adored you and your father, but she was very unhappy nevertheless. You might even say she was getting desperate—desperate for anything even remotely exciting to happen in her life. Unfortunately, that's when she met Mason Dublin,
and she latched onto him like a life preserver."

  The waiter reappeared and set a basket of crackers down on the table in front of Frances. He hovered for a second, awaiting further instructions, then slipped quietly away, undoubtedly sensing this was no time to pitch an early lunch.

  "Mason was charming and clever, and he had big dreams," Frances continued. "He talked of all the money he was going to make, and the places he'd travel to. Your aunt is a very practical person, as you know, but she was young, bored, and lovestruck to boot. He swept her off her feet in a matter of days, and before anyone in the family even knew what was happening, they had eloped."

  Leigh digested the information. She had never known her aunt Lydie to be anything but sensible, hard-working, and honest. Still, she had always had a fun-loving streak just below the surface, and it wasn't that hard to imagine such an emotion dominating her youth. Leigh couldn't blame her for eloping with a salesman. She just wished the tale had had a happier ending.

  "So what went wrong?" she asked quietly.

  Frances breathed out in a huff. "Everything, of course. Neither of them had any money saved up. Mason didn't own a car. More importantly, they had nowhere to live." She picked up her glass to take another drink, but finding it empty, opened a package of crackers instead. "Your grandma and grandpa were quite reasonable, under the circumstances. They offered to let Mason live with them, in exchange for a small amount of rent and some handy work."

  The gloom in France's voice dragged down any hopes Leigh had of hearing about early marital good times. "I take it that didn't work out too well."

  Frances waved her hand in dismissal. "Mason was a drifter, a free spirit. He hated living in that house. He wanted to go on the road full-time until he had saved enough money to get the two of them their own place. But Lydie didn't want him to leave. She was scared to death he wouldn't come back. So your Grandpa got him a job at Heinz—low-level factory work. Mason hated that too, of course. He was miserable, and he started talking to Lydie about running off together and living on the road. I don't know if she would ever have agreed to that—I rather doubt it—but before she had a chance to decide, she found out she was pregnant."

  The waiter returned, and this time, Leigh did have a request. She wanted something sweet to counteract the quickly developing bad taste in her mouth. When the waiter had left, Frances continued.

  "It was very distressing for all concerned, I'm afraid. Mason started talking about taking Lydie to New York City or Chicago and looking for work there, and your grandpa had a fit—and rightly so. He told Mason that if he didn't tough it out at Heinz, they'd throw him out for good, which sent Lydie into hysterics." Frances paused a moment, as if reliving a few more bad memories she didn't want to share. Then she cleared her throat and went on.

  "So you can see the situation was rather desperate. I do believe Mason loved Lydie, but he was too young and too self-centered to give up his dreams of the good life. Getting rich was all he ever talked about—he was always cooking up some scheme or other that would be the big one, the one that would change his luck forever and give Lydie everything she'd ever wanted. He made up stories about the life they'd have—Lydie and he and the baby—traveling around the world making more and more money. The worse reality got, the more determined he became not to give into it. That's why it happened."

  It? Oddly, the thought of Mason as a criminal had somehow fled Leigh's mind. Now it was back. "So, he decided to rob a bank?" she asked weakly.

  Frances nodded sadly. "We never knew how he got linked up with the man who actually planned the heist. That man—something Donovan, I believe his name was—was a career criminal, and dangerous. Lydie had never seen him before that night. Apparently, Mason had agreed to be an accomplice for a share of the take. It was supposed to be enough for he and Lydie to get a place of their own, to set them up for a while while Mason could look for a job he liked better."

  The waiter appeared with Leigh's sweet roll and coffee, but she barely even noticed him. A horrifying thought was starting to brew in her insides. "Lydie didn't—" she began uncertainly, "I mean, they didn't plan—"

  "Of course not!" Frances said indignantly. "Lydie had no idea what Mason was planning. He told her that he had a new idea and that they'd have a lot of money soon, but he was always saying that. After the robbery, when he told her what had really happened, she was absolutely devastated."

  Leigh tried to imagine the horror of having the man she loved tell her that he'd just robbed a bank, but even her fertile imagination fell short. If her own squeaky-clean husband ever so much as kept the wrong change, she would be dumbfounded. "Then what happened?" she prompted.

  "Lydie came and told me, of course," Frances answered tonelessly, her eyes once again seeming many years away, in a very grim place. "She made me swear never to tell anyone, not even Randall. And you know, I never did." She sounded proud of herself, in a sad sort of way. "The whole thing would have put your father in a very awkward position."

  Leigh's brow furrowed. Her father was a straight arrow all right, but Frances's story had ceased to make sense. She had to have told her husband about the robbery at some point, because he had been the one to tell Leigh about it. She was about to point the fact out when Frances began talking again, her mind still three decades in the past.

  "The days after were the worst of both our lives. We listened to the news reports and read every paper, praying every minute that that poor bank employee who'd been shot would be all right. Lydie was beside herself. She wouldn't even talk to Mason—much less let him come back to the house. She told your grandma and grandpa that he had the flu, and was staying with friends because he didn't want to give it to her when she was pregnant. In truth, neither of us knew where he was, and Lydie didn't seem to care. It was like a giant switch in her heart had suddenly turned off."

  Except that love doesn't work that way, Leigh thought to herself. And Lydie was carrying his baby, besides. "But the man lived, didn't he?" she asked tenuously.

  Frances nodded. "Thank the Lord for that. If he had died, Mason could have been charged with murder, even though he didn't do any of the shooting."

  Leigh took a deep breath. "He said that?"

  Frances nodded again. "He told Lydie that his role in the whole affair was just to watch the doors—that Donovan had assured him no one would get hurt. Mason swore to Lydie that the gun he was carrying was Donovan's, and that it wasn't even loaded. He did seem genuinely distressed about the man getting shot, I'll give him credit for that. But Lydie was having none of his excuses. She just shut him out. Slam. That was it. She told him to leave and that she never wanted to see him again."

  They sat in silence for a moment, Leigh looking down at her untouched sweet roll while Frances compulsively wiped the table with a tiny cocktail napkin.

  "It was a very difficult decision for Lydie to make," Frances said finally. "She must have still loved Mason, though she certainly didn't act like it. But her only concern was for her child. She refused to let Cara be brought up as the daughter of a bank robber. To grow up with an indignity like that—" she paused another moment, shaking her head. "It may be hard for you to understand now, since nobody is held responsible for their own actions these days, much less their parents'. But back when you girls were little, who and what your parents were was very important. Cara would have been stigmatized, and Lydie couldn't bear that.

  "That's why she told Mason to leave and never come back. She figured the sooner he got away from Pittsburgh, the less likely he was to get caught. And if he never got caught, she could make up whatever story she wanted to explain his disappearance. And that's exactly what she did."

  Leigh felt her eyes growing moist, and she quickly took a sip of coffee. "What did Lydie tell grandma and grandpa?" she asked quietly.

  "Oh, they knew about the robbery," Frances said matter-of-factly. "They weren't stupid. After a few days, when Mason didn't return, they started grilling Lydie, and eventually she told them."

&
nbsp; "What did they do?" Leigh had a hard time imagining her stable, conservative grandparents dealing with such a tragedy, but then, she was having a hard time imagining most of Frances's story.

  "What could they do?" her mother responded. "They supported Lydie's decision. Told her they'd do whatever they could to help her raise the child on her own. Randall and I promised too, of course."

  The inconsistency that had bothered Leigh earlier popped back into her head. "But you said you never told Dad about the robbery," she said, confused.

  Frances gave her daughter a hard stare, then pursed her lips and sighed deeply. "That wasn't what I said," she answered softly, but firmly. "What I never told your father about—what I've never told anyone about—" she paused, maddeningly, and took a deep breath before looking her daughter straight in the eyes again. "What we never told anyone was how Mason and Donovan managed to escape from the police that night."

  Leigh looked back at her mother's stony face and steeled herself for the worst.

  "Your Aunt Lydie drove the getaway car."

  Chapter 9

  Leigh stared blankly at her mother. "Lydie did what?" she croaked, her voice sounding like someone else's.

  "You heard me," Frances returned brusquely. "She had no idea what she was doing, of course. Mason simply introduced her to a new friend of his one afternoon—Donovan—and they went out joyriding. Then Donovan said he and Mason had an errand to run, and he told Lydie she could take the car for a spin while they were out. She just had to be sure to be back at a certain corner by a certain time, because he had somewhere he had to go right afterwards.

  "In retrospect, I know it sounds like an obvious setup, but it seemed like a harmless enough request at the time. Lydie could drive, but she didn't get the chance very often, and the car was a nice one. Not all girls back then even had the occasion to learn, you know. So she was happy to comply. It wasn't until Mason and Donovan returned to the car, sweaty and panicked, that she had any idea something was wrong. They just told her to drive back to West View, which she did. It wasn't until they ducked down in the seats that she suspected they were running away from something, and then she could hardly stop to argue about it. She thought that Mason was in danger, so of course she wanted to help."