Carly's Gift (12 page)

“It isn't just David who's affected by this, it's his wife.”

“Would you stop borrowing trouble?”

“What ever made me think Ethan would change?”

“Carly, pull yourself out of this. You did everything you could to make sure your baby would grow up in a loving family. There was no way you could have foreseen that Ethan would let David's ghost haunt you all these years.”

“I've never been the wife Ethan deserved.”

“Oh? And what kind of wife is that?”

Carly opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “Someone better than me.”

“What you really mean is someone who loves him the way you loved David.” She lowered herself on her haunches so that she could look into Carly's face. “Or should I say the way you still love him?”

Carly's eyes remained fixed on the crease in her slacks. “David was the best part of my life when I still believed in happy endings. I never would have married Ethan if I hadn't been pregnant with Andrea.”

“If you hadn't been raped, you mean,” Barbara said.

“It doesn't matter. What matters is that there's no way Ethan could compete.”

“He knew what he was getting into when he married you. It didn't slow him down for a second. He was willing to take you any way he could get you.”

“And that's supposed to make everything all right?”

“What is it with you and these guilt trips of yours? You've made a wonderful life for Ethan and the kids. They couldn't ask for more.”

“Then why has my husband taken up drinking and my daughter wants to leave home to live with a man she's known less than a week?”

“Where do you fit in all this? You haven't said one thing about how you feel.”

“I don't count.”

“Where have I heard that one before?” Barbara said, disgust heavy in her voice. “The feminist movement really missed out on something when they didn't make that their battle cry.”

Carly got up and added another log to the fire. She used the poker to nestle the new wood into the embers, then watched to see if it would catch before closing the screen again. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not why I came here today. I need help, not my morale boosted.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Help me find a way to keep Andrea from leaving.”

“You mean short of telling her David isn't her father.”

“We both know why I can't do that.”

“I need a little time to think about it.”

Carly dropped the poker and threw her arms around her mother. “You've always been here when I needed you.”

“Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart,” she said. “Andrea's painted you into a tight corner. You're going to do whatever it takes to protect her, just like you always have—even if this time it means letting her go.”

“How can I do that? Even if David were crazy about the idea, he has no idea what it takes to be the father of a teenage girl. His wife obviously doesn't want children of her own—what's she going to think when David presents her with a half-grown daughter who cries over rock lyrics and thinks denim is the height of fashion?” Carly could feel the tears she'd been fighting all morning burning her eyes. “What am I going to do with myself if she goes? It will break my heart if I lose her.”

“Mine too,” Barbara said softly.

Nine

David glanced at
the dashboard clock on the Jeep. An hour and a half had passed without Victoria saying a word. They were only thirty minutes from Baxter and nothing had been resolved.

“We need to talk about this,” he said.

“You had no right to tell that girl she could live with us without consulting me first.”

“That
girl
happens to be my daughter.” What was he doing? Had he lost his mind? What was he going to do if Andrea really did come to live with them?

“Rubbish. This whole thing is a trifle too convenient for my taste.” She smoothed the skirt of her St. John suit in an elegant, offhand manner. “I have to tell you, David, I'm disappointed you haven't insisted on blood tests. How can you really know this child is yours?”

“I know her mother.”

“What a provocative statement.” She eyed him. “Would you care to interpret for me?”

“We were lovers at the time Andrea was conceived.”

“And now we're supposed to believe that this woman has waited all these years to tell you about it because—” She frowned. “I seem to have forgotten how it goes. No, wait, I have it. She wanted to be sure you were free to pursue your writing career.”

David sighed wearily. “Sarcasm isn't going to get us anywhere.”

“Forgive me. I've had little practice in this sort of thing. How is it I should be behaving?”

“All right,” he conceded. “Maybe it's asking too much to expect you to be happy about this. I'm not so caught up in finding out I'm a father that I can't see that Andrea will probably cause some disruption in our lives, but can't you at least consider the possibility that a portion of the disruption will be positive.” How could he be arguing so passionately for something that scared the hell out of him? He didn't have the first clue what it took to be the father of a fifteen-year-old.

“I don't understand how you could be so cruel. Don't you realize that having this girl in our home will be a constant reminder to me? Every time I look at her I'll see the children I lost.”

David flinched. He'd never completely been able to convince himself Victoria hadn't been secretly relieved when she'd gone through two miscarriages early in their marriage. The “heartache” she suffered was the reason she gave for never trying again. “Maybe I was hoping you would see the possibilities in having her live with us.”

“There you go with that conveniently selective memory of yours again. We discussed adoption, David. I haven't changed my mind. I'm quite content with things as they are. I work hard to cultivate our friends and maintain our lifestyle.”

“That's hardly something I'm going to forget.”

“Then how could you—”

“What in the hell did you expect me to do?” He needed a vent for his anger and frustration at being boxed in the way he had, but there was nothing, no one. Carly was beside herself with fear and Ethan wasn't worth the effort.

Victoria drew herself up into a rigid position. “Either talk to me in a civil manner, or not at all.”

“I wish you had listened to me and stayed home,” he said, losing his battle to control his temper.

“How convenient that would have been. What would you have done then, shown up with child in hand and presented her to me a fait accompli?”

“This argument is pointless. If Andrea is going to come home with us, there are a hundred things that have to be done before we can take her out of the country.”

“What do you mean ‘if'?” Victoria said, jumping on the unintentional qualification. “I was under the impression her coming to live with us was already settled. Does this mean there's hope for a reprieve?”

“The only thing that's been settled is that she can come, not how or when. For all I know, she changed her mind after I left this morning. Isn't that a woman's prerogative?”

Anger radiated from her. “The choice is entirely hers? I have no say in the matter?”

“Would you at least try to understand my position? How can I tell my own daughter I have no room for her in my life?” It was more than a little disconcerting to realize how easily he'd already begun to immerse himself in the lie.

Victoria grew quiet again. Several miles had ticked off on the odometer before she turned to David. “It will be difficult to enroll her in a decent school this late in the year, but not impossible. I'm sure Anne and Richard would help if we asked.”

David had known Victoria too long to be sucked in by her seeming change in attitude. “Doesn't their daughter go to school in Switzerland?” he asked conversationally.

“Yes, Aiglon. They wouldn't dream of sending her anyplace else. Think how exciting it would be for Andrea to learn to ski in the Alps. How many of her friends would be given such an opportunity? Of course, there's always Le Rosey. They would teach her to ski there, too, and I understand they're very receptive to foreign children.”

David pulled off the main highway onto the road that led to Baxter. He had to hand it to her. She'd had sense enough to suggest only the best—schools that would expose Andrea to the children of kings and diplomats and the privileged of the world while providing her with credentials to help her gain entrance into the top colleges in Europe and the States. “Sorry, Victoria, but it won't work. We're not shipping Andrea off to some boarding school on the continent. It's going to be hard enough on her to leave the only home she's ever known. She sure as hell doesn't need the additional emotional burden of being dumped in a boarding school.”

Victoria turned away from him to stare at the passing countryside. “Just what did you have in mind to do with her then?”

A sudden, protective feeling came over him. “There are plenty of good public schools in London.” Even after living in England more than twelve years, it still gave him pause to say public schools when, in reality, they were not “public” at all, but private.

“She'll never be able to keep up in any of the really good ones. If you insist that she stay in England, she'd be better off somewhere like Millfield or my old school, Wycombe Abbey, where they can keep a close eye on her.”

“How typical,” he said. “You haven't even met Andrea and already you've formed an opinion. How the hell do you know what she can and can't handle?”

“I'm simply being realistic,” she answered in a placating tone, as if finally aware of the dangerous territory she'd entered. “She may be bright, but no one could expect a child raised in some provincial little town in the States to be able to compete with children who've gone to school in London their entire lives.”

As much as David hated to admit it, she had a point. “We'll hire a tutor if necessary.”

“For the sake of argument, let's say she is bright enough that with the help of a tutor she'll be able to keep up with her classmates. Has it even once occurred to you how difficult it will be for her to fit in socially?”

He refused to let her throw him off track, no matter how persuasive her argument. “Children adapt more easily than adults. The change might be hard on her in the beginning, but she'll work it out. I'll make sure she isn't the only American in whatever school she goes to.”

“I'm surprised at you, David. It isn't her nationality that will give her problems, it's her background. You generally aren't so eager to see someone unhappy, especially not someone you profess to care about. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know I'm right about this. I shouldn't be making this fuss otherwise.”

He slowed the car as he entered the outskirts of town. “What I know is that Andrea wants to live with me and I'll do whatever it takes to give her what she wants.”

“And your wife be damned.”

“Give it a rest, Victoria.”

“Wouldn't that rather defeat the purpose of a discussion?” Before he had a chance to say anything, she added, “I will not be held down or hampered by this child of yours. The minute she gets in my way, she goes or I do.”

He made a left turn into the parking lot of the motel. “Welcome to Baxter,” he said, steeling himself for the next round of confrontation.

She looked out the window and then back at him. “Is this some kind of joke? You can't seriously expect me to stay in a place like this.”

“I tried to tell you not to come.”

“David, this isn't funny.”

“No, but it is the best motel in Baxter.”

All traces of anger were gone, replaced by a look of revulsion. “Why didn't you rent a house?”

“That's not the way things work around here.”

“I can't stay here—I won't.”

David reached for the door handle. “There is nowhere else.”

“Don't get out,” she told him.

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I've been here a week and nothing's happened to me. Surely you could make it through one night.”

“You did this on purpose.”

His eyes flew open. “Good grief, Victoria, would you listen to what you're saying? How in the hell could I have arranged something like this just to pull your chain?”

Tears came to her eyes. “You could have told me.”

From somewhere in the memory of the good times they'd had together came a spark of compassion. He had no more right damning Victoria for the way she'd acted than he had damning a mole for destroying a garden. “Last night you said something about our going on a trip after the memorial service. Where was it?”