by Moira Reid
* * * * *
Claire leaned against the closed door. “Unlike you, Butch can be counted on to stick around when he’s needed. I go get a cast in the hospital, and when I get home, you’re gone. Forgive me if I don’t share your desire to get reacquainted and pick up where we left off.”
Her mother shook her head, and a slow smile crossed her lips. “So much like your father. It’s amazing. I guess I should have expected that he’d poisoned you against me, but still, I’m a little surprised.”
“Don’t you dare say anything negative about my father,” Claire said, her voice rising. “He didn’t leave me—you did. And as to poisoning me against you: He’s never said one negative thing about you in all the years you’ve been gone. Not one in all those years…and there have been a lot of them, Olivia.” She spat out her mother’s name like a curse. She could not bring herself to call this woman mother, mom, or anything like it.
Olivia took a step toward her, and Claire pushed off from the door. She no longer needed it to support her. She knew who she was, whose daughter she was, and it was not this woman standing in her Diane von Furstenberg and Ferragamos, carrying a Dooney & Bourke.
“So spare me your trying to make him into the bad guy. I’m not interested in your perception of him, or of me either. I have a lot of things to get done today. Perhaps you could check with my secretary and set up a proper appointment. That might give you time to decide exactly what you need to tell me. Better yet, put it in a letter and mail it.”
Her mother shook her head, and the smile disappeared. “Yes, I left, and yes, I haven’t been in contact with you. But you don’t know everything, and it’s high time, obviously, that you do.”
“Spare me, Olivia.” She began to like the sound of her mother’s name on her own lips. It was mean, distancing, and comforting all at the same time. She wished this meeting could have gone another way, had imagined it so differently, but not now. She was not ready to do this, not ready to hear whatever her mother had come here to say.
Claire strode to her desk with purpose and hit the Intercom button on her phone. Liz’s desk sat conveniently right outside her office for moments just like this. “Liz, would you come in here, please?”
She stared at her mother and waited in silence. A moment later, Liz stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Would you please make an appointment for next week after the Anthony Group meeting for this woman?”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” Liz walked toward her mother carrying a notepad and pen. She and Liz had done this numerous times before…had rehearsed it so if ever the need arose, Liz would know exactly what to do. When Claire told her to “make an appointment for next week,” Liz knew what she meant.
Get rid of them.
“I’m so sorry, but Ms Simonson is very busy this week. She has an opening for next Thursday. I’m sure we can coordinate something for you then.”
Claire took another long look at her mother, then turned to walk out of the room. She reached her office door before her mother called to her. Olivia Simonson hadn’t married an overbearing man and survived this long by being a pushover.
Claire knew she would say something, but she hadn’t expected her mother’s next words.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but he wouldn’t let you go with me.”
Claire paused for an eternity at the door, her hand on the knob; then she straightened her shoulders. That was probably the truth, but it didn’t matter. If she had a child of her own, nothing in the world could stop her from taking that child. Nothing could convince her to leave that child behind. And nothing Olivia would say could change that.
She jerked the door open, then halted in the doorway.
“Well, there you are.” Her father rolled his chair away from Butch until he was directly in front of her. “I see you’ve spoken with your mother. Are you ready to talk with both of us now?”
Chapter Six
“Where have you been?” She threw her arms around her father before she realized what she was doing.
“The same thing I’m always doing.” He turned his head until he was whispering in her ear. “Trying to take care of you.”
She straightened immediately and flattened her hands down the front of her jacket. The sense of relief flooding over her was almost palpable. She hadn’t really expected anything had happened to him, but once Butch planted the seed of doubt in her mind yesterday, she’d had a difficult time putting the thought out of her mind. “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls? I left messages. I thought something had happened to you.”
Her father looked up at her, his face as composed as always. “As I was just telling Butch a moment ago, cell phones are an annoying invention. I left mine in the van yesterday, so I didn’t get any messages. Why were you trying to reach me?”
Two of her R&D managers stood at Liz’s desk, trying very hard to look like they weren’t listening to every word being said. They made eye contact, then quickly looked away.
Butch rose from his seat and stood beside her. “Maybe we should go into your office.” He kept his voice low, but Claire was certain even if her employees couldn’t hear him, they could see the burning embarrassment reddening her face.
She turned to go back into her office but came face-to-face with her mother. The last thing she wanted to do was walk back into that room, but what choice did she have now?
“I think that’s an excellent idea, Butch.” Her father rolled his wheelchair into her office, naturally assuming all of them would follow. Claire had the sudden urge to run out of the building like she had yesterday, race away from all the responsibility and confusion and emotional turmoil that had become her life.
Unfortunately, her responsibilities outweighed her desire. Besides, running away wasn’t the way she handled things—she was nothing like her mother. She straightened her shoulders and walked into the room, Butch close on her heels. He pulled the door closed behind him.
“What is he doing in here?” Her mother’s voice snapped like a rubber band and flew across the room at the three of them.
“I hired Butch to be her bodyguard.”
“I already told her,” Claire snapped back, making her voice sharp as her mother’s.
“I hardly think he needs to be involved in a family discussion about Claire and her life.”
“You’ve had your say in any family discussion, Olivia,” Claire said. “That part’s over. Right now the only thing we’re doing is waiting for those people at Liz’s desk to disperse so we can all walk out of here.”
And probably walk around the rest of the afternoon gossiping about me. It will be a miracle if they get any work done. Claire walked to her desk and picked up her phone. She pressed the button to Liz’s line.
“Yes, Ms. Simonson?”
“If Jack and Harry are still standing out there, tell them something for me.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “We have the most important meeting of this company’s future on Monday morning at eight o’clock. If they aren’t one hundred and ten percent prepared, they will be cleaning out their desks by eight thirty Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell them They were just leaving.”
Claire clicked off and stared down at her desk. The Anthony Group’s company prospectus lay in front of her, the full-color photograph of the front of their corporate offices beginning to blur in her vision. She lifted her head slowly and looked from one of her parents’ faces to the other. “Give them about two minutes. You can all get out of here then, so I can get back to work.”
“Unfortunately,” her father began, “we do have something we must discuss. Your mother got here first, but I’m not sure how much she’s told you.”
Claire examined her parents’ faces. Whatever was going on, while they might not have started out being in on it together, they were now.
“The only thing Olivia told me was you wouldn’t let her take me when she left—as if I would’ve gone
. Beyond that, we’ve established my bodyguard sticks closer beside me than she ever did.”
She knew the words were cruel, but she couldn’t find the will to care. Her first moment of excitement when she’d seen her mother had been crushed. There was nothing to do now but get her out of here.
Her father was unfazed by her anger. “That notwithstanding, we have something we need to tell you.”
“I still want to know why said bodyguard who is such a good watchdog that he never leaves her side”—Olivia stared hard at Butch, her eyes glinting cold blue steel—“belongs in this room while we’re having this discussion.”
“If you have information regarding the recent attack and kidnapping attempt on Claire, I need to hear it. I have no other interest in listening in on your private conversation.” Butch’s voice held barely restrained rage.
“Let’s all dial back the claws, shall we?” Her father placed his elbows on the wheelchair’s armrests. “Butch, Olivia knows nothing about what has been going on with Claire. She is here for an entirely different purpose. Correct, Olivia?”
Her mother’s scowl remained in place, but she nodded once.
“And Olivia, would you not agree that Butch should remain for reasons perfectly evident to probably everyone in the room except our daughter?”
Her mother’s scowl deepened creases in the otherwise flawless skin of her forehead. “I still don’t understand what he could possibly have to do with this. There is absolutely nothing he can do about it now.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire asked. Her father was right. Everyone seemed to know what was going on but her.
“Claire, honey.” For the first time in Claire’s life, her father seemed to struggle to find the words to say what he wanted to communicate. His shoulders slunk in the wheelchair, and she saw just how old he had become when she wasn’t looking.
“Let me tell her.” Her mother took a step closer. She lifted her hand as if preparing to lay it on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire took a step back, then moved behind her large desk, keeping the barrier between them. “Someone had better tell me what’s going on. Father? What is it?”
“Oh my God.” Butch’s words chilled her like a cold wind over bare skin.
Olivia pivoted hard on her heel and pointed at him. “How dare you? Stay out of my thoughts, criminal.”
But he ignored her words, strode past her, and stopped beside Claire. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”
Gripping her arm, he pulled her toward the door. She tried to shrug him off, but he did not relent. “Butch, what are you doing?”
His burning gaze narrowed. “Trust me. Come.”
Why should I trust you? she wanted to ask, but something in his demeanor stopped her. He knew something. He’d read something in her mother’s mind that she didn’t want him to know. Had Olivia intended to tell her whatever it was? Given the two choices of whom to trust, she chose Butch.
He exited the room, escorting her along beside him, placing his arm around her back and pulling her close against him as he moved.
Surprisingly, neither her mother nor father followed them. Butch did not stop until he’d reached the door to the supply closet. He yanked it open, pressed her inside, then followed her and closed it behind them.
They stood close together in the dark space.
“Is this what I think it is?”
She sighed. “If you think it’s a closet, yeah.”
She could just barely see the outline of his head as he nodded. The scent of cleaning supplies and something like a dirty, wet mop mingled with the smell of soap on his skin. He said nothing, simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.
“What’s going on, Butch?”
“Where’s the light switch?” Butch reached over his head, probably searching for a string to pull to illuminate the small space. Claire flipped the switch on the wall behind her.
Shelves full of paper towels, toilet paper, reams of bond paper, and other office paper accoutrements surrounded them. A dirty mop lay inside a large bucket with wheels at their feet.
Claire placed her hand over her mouth to fight off an insane urge to laugh. “Liz is probably wondering what the hell we’re doing in here. What are we doing, Butch?”
“I have to tell you something neither of them wanted to tell you. You’ve had enough shocking things happen to you in the last two days, but you’re going to have to prepare yourself for another.” Butch brushed his hand over her hair. “And you should probably hear it from me.”
She pressed her hands against his chest to disengage herself from his arms. “Okay then, tell me.”
“Olivia is your mother—”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“And she’s a Viven, like me.”
Claire stared at him in the yellowish light of the room. “What?” Did he just say what she thought he’d said? No. That was impossible.
“That’s not all.”
Her heart stopped beating, and she sucked in a short, hot breath. “It’s not?”
“Dirk Simonson is not your biological father.”
Claire felt her knees turn liquid, and she sagged until he pulled her against him once more. “Not my father?” The words were impossible, their meaning obviously obscured by his first revelation. Even in the complete quiet of the broom closet, she could not have heard him correctly over the roaring sound in her ears.
“Your mother came here years ago when she’d gotten pregnant by one who was not her intended. She would not consider him as a mate. She ran away to this planet to have her child. Your father met her, fell in love with her, and married her. He raised you as his own, while your biological father knew nothing of your existence.”
Whether he was pausing to let that sink in or if he had something worse to tell her next, she wasn’t sure. His features were drawn together, the pain of revealing this to her evident in his gaze. She stared into his eyes, pleading with him to spill everything in one quick motion, to cut the lock on the Pandora’s box of lies from her past.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I did not to delve deeply into his thoughts.” Butch rubbed his hand slowly over her back, pressing her into his protective warmth. “I respect him too much to do that, but I’m certain he did it to protect you. Many children search for their biological parents when they discover they’re adopted. The agreement between Vivemonde and Earth is strategically secret, and for your own protection, he never wanted you to know that you weren’t his.”
She had no words, no clear thoughts at all save one: her father loved her. She held on to it like the lifeline it was in a swirling sea of horrible truth. She struggled to listen without falling into pieces before him.
“Claire, from the first moment I met you, I was sure you were his child. His belief in that fact is so strong that I never picked up on any other possibility—until a few moments ago. And even then, the thoughts were not his, but your mother’s. Your mother has returned for you.”
“Returned for me? So I am—” She could not make herself finish the sentence.
“You are an earthling, although not in the way Dirk Simonson is. You are what we call a kindred—part human, part Viven. You were adopted by an Earth man, but your blood is only part human.”
“Part human? That means I’m part…” She tried to let the weight of that sink in but couldn’t. She searched for a simpler piece of his revelation to dissect. “Olivia’s returned for me to do what? She can’t possibly think I’m going to leave the planet with her?”
“I did read her thoughts—I apologize to you for that, not to her. I had to know what the hell was going on.” His voice rough, he clenched his teeth as he continued his soft caress on her back.
“Hey, that might be a big problem on your planet, but frankly, I don’t give a damn how you found out. What is she planning?”
“She returned to tell you why she left. I don’t believe she wants you to return with her; she knows you have a lif
e here. She’s stayed in touch with the captain all the years you’ve been apart. She cares for you deeply, Claire. It was not her choice to leave you, but the captain’s. He didn’t believe her staying would be safe for you, and so he sent her away where you would both be safe. In spite of what you might believe, he loves her as much as he loves you.”
Claire tried to let this information sink in, but it didn’t compute. So many years she was gone, so many times Claire had wanted to ask the only question that mattered: why? And yet, the only times she’d ever asked, her father’s reply had always been the same: “She did what she had to do. We will do what we have to do.”
“I’m sorry, Claire, but there’s something else.”
If the timing of her mother’s appearance was more than coincidence, there could be only one other thing he hadn’t told her. Her biological father. The reasons began to click in her mind: why her mother had shown up now, why Butch was here to protect her from someone bent on getting to her.
“That’s why my mother came back when she did, isn’t it?” Claire swallowed. “This is about Garren.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
“She’s here because of him. She knows him.”
“Yes.”
“He’s my father, isn’t he?”
Butch paused a long moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”
Trying hard to let everything she’d heard sink into her mind as it spun crookedly out of control, she shook her head. “If I’m his daughter, why was he shooting at me? Why is he trying to hurt me?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Butch squeezed her to him once more, then released her. “And something we’re not going to figure out in here. The only people besides Garren who might know the answer to that question are in your office.”
“Then we’re going to my office. I’ve had all the hiding away and living in the dark I’m going to put up with.” She turned and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Claire strode up the hallway with new purpose. She’d had to hear about her life from someone outside her family, and now she wanted to hear it confirmed by the two people who’d had the biggest impact on making it all happen. Dirk and Olivia Simonson had a lot of explaining to do.