She stops jumping and bobs her head. “She died when I was a baby.”
Cautiously, taking advantage of her chattiness, I ask, “How did she die?”
“My daddy told me she was in a terrible car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” And I’m sorry I can’t take you into my arms and hug you to pieces. And that I’ve missed so many formative years of your life. Your first steps. Your first words. Your first birthday. Your first everything. I’m so, so sorry, my baby. Regret eats away at me like burning acid. My eyes sting.
“Don’t be sad, Scarlet. It’s okay. I don’t remember her.”
“Not at all?” Such a stupid question. She was only nine-months old! Yet, there’s a hole in my soul that longs to hear that there’s some kind of recollection. A connection.
She shakes her head. “My daddy says my mommy is in heaven.”
Her words pain me, sending an ache to my gut so great I almost wince. “Sweetie, I think she’s right here with you.”
Puzzled, my little girl furrows her brows. “What do you mean?”
My heart stutters. I falter for words. “What I mean is that she’s in your heart.”
“That can’t be!”
“Yes. I’ll prove it to you.” I put her little hand to her heart and hold it there with mine. “Do you feel that?”
She nods. “Why is my heart beating so hard?”
“That’s your mommy. Her heart is beating with yours. Every second. Every minute. Every hour of the day.”
“But dead people can’t be alive!”
“They are in a different kind of way. They live in your heart forever. I want you to believe me, Maddie.”
What I can’t believe is that I’m having my first conversation with my daughter about me, and it’s so heady, so profound. My wiser-than-her-years little girl seems to be taking it all in stride.
“I do believe you, Scarlet!” She jumps off the bed. “Do you want to see a picture of her?”
“Sure.” Unsure.
“Look!” She lifts off a small, framed photo from her night table. With hesitant steps, my heartbeat accelerating, I join her. She shows me the picture, pointing at the radiant young woman. “That’s my mommy.”
I stare at the photo, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. “Can I hold it?”
“Sure.” She hands me the photo. Bringing it closer to my eyes, I battle the tears that threaten to erupt. The old me! Standing next to Finn, holding newly born Maddie in my arms. Big smiles on our faces. I remember the day it was taken as if it were yesterday. It’s the very same photo that’s in my locket. The locket that’s a part of me. Even now it’s around my neck concealed beneath my top.
My hand trembling, I lower the photo so it’s almost eye-level with Maddie. Rising on tippy-toes, she peers at it again. “My mommy was so pretty! Like you!”
Like you. The irony of her words rattles me. Yet, I’m touched and speechless. While I always considered myself smart, I never thought I was that pretty. Though I photographed well, I always complained about my faults, but Finn saw through them all and loved me all the more for them. He said they gave me character. Made me painterly.
Once again, Maddie’s sweet voice brings me back to the moment. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes. She was. And it looks like she really loved you and your daddy.” And still does! My wobbly voice is soft and full of emotion. Though I’ve seen hundreds of images of the old me online, not one of them was of our family. I kept my personal life very private. Away from social media. For a brief minute, I reflect on the past. The way I used to be. So young! Full of life! So fulfilled! A beautiful family . . . a meaningful career. The old me who possessed undaunted optimism. A sense that the world and its possibilities were open to me. My heart contracts with raw emotion. The present mourns the past. What was can never be. Sorrow soars inside me.
Maddie is oblivious to my sadness. Cheerfully, she says, “Daddy told me I look just like my mommy!”
Despite my grim self, a small smile forms on my lips. I look down at my smiling daughter, and reminisce about how I used to look in my youth. The similarities between us are extraordinary. The same thick cinnamon hair, big expressive chocolate-brown eyes, cute little button nose, and slightly cleft chin. The only thing that’s different is that she’s inherited Finn’s enviable full lips and kissable dimples. “You do, my sweetie.”
Maddie cocks her head and looks up at me. “Scarlet, how do you know that?”
I swallow back tears. Three little words. “I just do.”
For a brief moment, she digests my words, then takes my hand again, entwining her tiny fingers with mine. My body warms as she tugs me away.
“Come, Scarlet. I want to show you our classroom. It’s right next door.”
Grabbing her kangaroo from the bed, my enthusiastic little girl ushers me through a door, which I thought was a closet. It opens to another bright, sunlit space with wraparound windows. I take in my surroundings, my eyes flitting from wall to wall of the spacious corner room.
“Do you like it?” asks Maddie as she darts to the child-size table in the middle and plops down on one of the two chairs. “This is my desk. Where you’re going to teach me!”
My eyes continue to circle the room. Low-level shelves, organized by subject from reading, math, and science to music, language, and art, line the walls. They’re filled with books, educational games, arts and crafts supplies, and other learning aids. In addition to the shelves, there’s a play area with assorted toys and colorful mats, and across from it, a comfy cozy slipcovered couch—more the size of a loveseat—the perfect place to curl up and read a book or have one read to you. On the bright yellow walls, I eye a map of the world and a handy whiteboard as well as charming framed paintings obviously done by my talented daughter.
“So, Scarlet, what do you think?” she asks again.
“It’s awesome!” It really is the perfect learning environment. Whimsical, cheery, stimulating.
My little girl beams. “My daddy designed it! He built all the bookshelves all by himself.”
“Wow.” What an incredible father Finn has been to our child. Single-handedly grooming her to be bright, insightful, inquisitive, and polite as well as imaginative and creative. My mind fills with his beautiful face and I ache to see him again. My gaze follows Maddie as she leaps up from the table and waltzes over to a bookshelf. She squats down, setting Kangy on the floor, and surveys the books.
“This is my library. My mommy bought me all these books before I was born.”
“I remember them.” A wistful smile tugs at my lips. Indeed, I do. That day, in my third trimester, I snuck out of my office at lunchtime and drove to Barnes and Noble, wishing they had a shopping cart for all the books I intended to purchase. I vowed that I would make my child, be it a son or daughter, fall in love with books like I did as a child. And to become a reader. Books, preached my late mother, are dreams you hold in your hand. They open worlds you’ve never experienced and maybe will never know. She loved to quote Dr. Seuss: “The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.” From the get-go, I planned to instill the value of reading into my child.
Sliding out a book from the bottom shelf, my little girl looks over her shoulder. Scrunching her face, she shoots me a puzzled look. “What do you mean you remember them?”
I bite down on my bottom lip. I said something I shouldn’t have. Note to self: Think before you speak. I have to be careful. It’s not going to be easy. Hastily, I rectify my faux pas. “I mean I remember reading all your books.”
Thankfully, with a placated smile, she buys into my response. “Guess what, Scarlet! I’m an excellent reader.” She proudly draws out the word “excellent.”
I smile back at her, my heart swelling with pride. “I know. Your daddy told me.”
Her grin widens, the dimpled smile just like Finn’s and making me ache again for him. Clutching the book, she stands up and fac
es me. With both hands, she holds it up. “This is my favorite book.”
I silently read the title: Madeline.
The fearless, feisty, fictional little girl who inspired my daughter’s name. Just knowing her for the short time I have, I can tell my pint-sized bundle of energy is equally fierce and fearless. A girl after my own heart.
“That was my favorite book, too, when I was your age. I loved Madeline.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Uh-huh.” I asked my mother to read it to me so many times I could recite it by heart.
“Do you want to read it together?”
“I don’t have the time right now. I need to head back downstairs and talk more with your father and then settle into my quarters.”
She frowns with disappointment, but then her face brightens. “Maybe, we can read it together when I go to bed tonight?”
“I’d love to do that.”
“Yay!” Returning the book to the shelf, she skips over to me and gives me a hug. Her little arms circle my waist and her head rests on my hips. Tears she can’t see break loose and trickle down my cheeks.
I’m drowning with emotion. Unadulterated love.
She squeezes me tighter. “Oh, Scarlet, I’m so happy you’re my new teacher!”
“Me too, sweetie. Me too.” Happier than she will ever know.
CHAPTER 19
I trail Maddie as she bounds down the winding stairs. When she nears the bottom, she leaps over three steps, flying in the air and landing right in front of a startled Rosita.
“Dios mío, mi amor! You are going to hurt yourself!”
Maddie giggles. My fearless Madeline! “Poo, Rosita! You’re such a worry wart!”
“Worry wart?”
Maddie translates into Spanish. There’s no exact translation for that expression, but she communicates the meaning well enough. Her accent is perfecto.
The housekeeper dramatically throws up her hands. “Aye, chiquita, you will be the death of me.”
Maddie laughs again. “Dónde está mi papa?”
“En la sala grande.”
Finn’s still in the great room. In addition to Spanish, I can fluently speak six other languages I picked up from my world travels with my parents. French, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Mandarin, and Arabic.
“Mi chiquita, es hora de—”
Time for what? Maddie dashes off before Rosita can finish her sentence. I follow her. Butterflies flit in my stomach at the thought of seeing Finn again.
When we get to the great room, Finn is now seated on one of the sofas. Reading something. A white binder sits on his lap.
Maddie runs up to her father. “Daddy! Guess what!”
At the sound of her voice, he lifts up his head, his gaze meeting her bright eyes. Whatever he was indulging in doesn’t matter. He slides the binder onto a cushion, allowing Maddie to climb onto his lap.
“Tell me, my love.”
“Scarlet’s read all my books! And she loves Madeline!”
He looks up at me. “Really?”
Before I can respond, another voice enters the room.
“Darling.” Female. Breathy. Seductive. Maddie’s smile fades as I look over my shoulder.
Sauntering toward us is a vaguely familiar statuesque blonde. There’s only one word to describe her: Stunning.
Movie star beautiful with a chic platinum bob and a svelte long-limbed figure. Flaunting her subtle curves, she’s dressed to the nines in head-to-toe white—tight designer jeans and a cashmere V-neck sweater—and toting a monstrous designer bag that matches her strappy stilettos. She oozes wealth, glamour, and confidence.
“You really must get rid of that cheap drugstore brand hand soap in the guest bathroom. It’s so abrasive.”
What an opening line. Then . . .
“Phineas, did you review the pricing chart for the paintings?” She shoots Maddie a dirty look. “Or were you too busy with her?”
Even her haughty voice is vaguely familiar. I turn to look at Maddie. She pokes her tongue out at the insolent blonde. I love my girl!
My eyes return to the woman. Her face turns livid. “The nerve of that child! Phineas, you must really teach her some respect.”
Rage surges inside me. Talking about abrasive! The audacity of this pig-headed woman to criticize my sweet little girl. Before Finn responds, I jerk around and blurt out, “She’s only five years old.” Not even.
Swinging her bag, the woman strides up to the couch and meets me face to face. I don’t forget faces. Especially one as striking as hers. I know I’ve met her before. But where? I search my mind as she glowers at me.
“And who the hell are you?”
Finn’s wife! The mother of his daughter! I bite my tongue before the words fly out like flaming arrows. Finn introduces us.
“Kayla . . . ”
The name, too, is vaguely familiar. Where have I heard it before?
“ . . . this is Maddie’s new teacher. Scarlet. She’ll be living in the guesthouse.”
Pursing her lips, the icy blonde gives me the once-over. Her venomous green eyes glint with contempt. “Well, I hope you can teach that child a little respect.”
Bitch! Sparing me from saying something I may regret, Rosita returns and announces lunch.
Finn gives Maddie an affectionate noogie. “Sunshine, why don’t you go with Rosita and have something to eat.”
Our little girl looks up at him with her big puppy brown eyes. “But, Daddy, aren’t you going to have lunch with me?”
“I can’t today, baby girl. I need to spend time with Kayla and go over things for my upcoming exhibition.”
Frowning, she turns to me. “What about you, Scarlet?”
Inwardly, I sigh. “I’d love to, but I need to talk with your father and then get settled in.”
Kayla shoots me another contemptuous look that borders on possessive. It’s obvious she doesn’t like me. And the feeling is mutual.
Sensing the tension in the air between us, Rosita chimes in. “Ven conmigo, mi amor. Hice tus tacos favoritos. Pescado.” She’s made Maddie’s favorite tacos. Fish.
“Okie dokie.” Sulking, my little girl acquiesces. After giving Finn a hug, she bounces off his lap.
“Daddy, can you go with me to the beach later?”
“I’ll try, sunshine.”
Kayla rolls her eyes as Rosita takes Maddie by the hand and leads her out of the room. My radiant girl looks my way, her eyes gleaming.
“Scarlet, you can come with us too.”
I shoot her a smile, already missing her as she disappears. Just the three of us remain—Kayla and I awkwardly still standing next to each other.
She harrumphs. “Excuse me, Sarah—”
“Scarlet,” I correct in a curt tone.
“Whatever. Phineas and I have important business to discuss.” She pauses. “Privately.”
Finn interjects. “Kayla is my manager.”
She fires me a fiendish smile. My eyes don’t leave her. Suddenly, it comes to me like a hailstorm in summer. I know where I’ve seen her before. At Christie’s . . . the night I met Finn. I’m positive it’s her. Her hair is shorter now, her face thinner, her cheekbones more pronounced, but for sure she’s the woman who was talking to that sleazebag—that revolting fat pig, who put his hands all over me. And ironically connected me to Finn—my knight in shining armor who came to my rescue. A shiver shimmies down my spine. This is all too uncanny. All too much.
“Scarlet, what do you need to talk to me about?” asks Finn, hurtling me back to the present. Blinking hard, I stammer.
“Maddie’s curriculum.”
“Can it wait for later?”
“Of course, it can,” snaps Kayla. “Your show at the Zander Gallery is way more important.” She tosses her enormous bag onto the couch and then smooths her lustrous hair with her left hand.
My heart skips a beat. My eyes grow wide. For the first time I see it. A humongous pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger. At least three gli
ttering carats, it practically blinds me. She catches me staring at it and holds up her hand so it’s in my face.
“Oh, Phineas forgot to tell you . . . ”
Smirking, she pauses as my stomach clenches and bile ascends to my throat. No! Please God, no!
“I’m also his fiancée. We’re getting married in a few months.”
Her words are like bullets to my heart. Little black spots dance in my eyes. Sweat beads cluster on my chest as I feel the color leaving my face.
“Scarlet, are you all right?” Finn’s concerned voice drifts into my ears, but I can’t get words out. They’re stuck in my constricting throat.
On my next strangled breath, I feel my knees buckle, the world going dark. Just as I begin to spiral to the floor like a limp strand of spaghetti, Finn leaps up from the couch and catches me, lifting me into his strong arms.
“Scarlet, can you hear me?”
I blink my eyes several times, then open them slowly. Worry etched on his face, my forever hero holds me intensely in his gaze. My head resting against his taut chest, the thud of his heart brings me back to consciousness. I nod weakly.
“You fainted. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Puh-lease. The wilting flower is such a drama queen,” snips Kayla, lowering herself onto the couch next to her bag.
“Yes,” I reply to Finn, recovering. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just a little overwhelmed.” That’s an understatement. I’m devastated. Nauseated. Sick to my stomach. The news of Finn’s impending marriage to his despicable manager has sucked the air out of me.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. I think I just need to rest.”
“Do you need me to help you to the guesthouse?”
I shake my head. “I think I can make it there on my own.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. On my next faint heartbeat, Finn gently sets me down. Still nauseous, I wobble on my legs. Wrapping his arm around me, he steadies me.
“Hey, why don’t you sit down while I get you some water?” I notice that the two bottles that were on the coffee table earlier are no longer there.
Nodding, I let him escort me to a chair. Thank goodness, I’m not sitting next to Kayla. And thank goodness, she ignores me, opening the binder Finn left on the couch.
Remember Me Page 10