You’ll Find Out

Chapter 8

The first week of Shane’s visit flew by at an exhausting pace. Personnel were shuffled, the microcomputer, “Delta’s finest,”

was shipped and assembled, and truckloads of information, anything from payroll records to scrapped ideas about products, were fed into the large keyboard with the video screen. Shane insisted that everyone in the office be able to run the machine, at least to some degree. The more private files concerning personnel or secret new designs were specially coded so that only a few of the more trusted employees had access to them.

Mara was reluctant to sit at the keyboard and hesitant to work with the imposing piece of new machinery, but she couldn’t hide the smile of satisfaction when she had mastered a few of the more basic programs.

Within weeks, Shane assured her, she would be an expert concerning the Delta 830-G.

At home, where Mara should have had time to relax and unwind, the situation remained tense.

June’s health was a very real concern for Mara, as the older woman seemed far too distracted at times, and the grayish pallor of June’s face couldn’t be hidden by even the most expensive cosmetics.

Angie was as exuberant as ever, and Mara wondered if the vivacious child was too much of a burden on June.

But every time that Mara broached the subject of June’s health, the older woman found a way of avoiding the issue.

Mara even suggested that June make an appointment with Dr.

Bernard, but the advice was conveniently ignored.

Angie was busy discovering the world.

The four plump kittens were one of her most time-consuming infatuations, and her idolization of Shane was apparent to everyone, including June.

Several times in the past few days, June had made excuses to stay late with Angie, at least until Shane’s sleek silver Audi pulled into the driveway.

Mara caught June observing Shane and Angie, and the older woman’s mouth drew into a fine line of pain when she noticed the easy familiarity that Shane lavished upon the child.

And Angie’s innocent and loving response wasn’t lost on June.

Whatever love that Angie harbored for Peter was forgotten when the child was with Shane; that much was certain.

Mara was torn.

She cared for her mother-in-law, she cherished her child, and she loved Shane with a passion that at times burned wildly through her body.

The past week of watching him at work, while he was absorbed in some minor problem, made her body ache with longing for him.

He hadn’t stayed with her since the first night together, and somehow she felt betrayed.

She knew that it was his own way of saying that until she told June about Angie, he wouldn’t have any physical contact with her.

Mara was wise enough to realize that he still wanted her, perhaps more desperately than ever.

She would catch him gazing at her, his eyes touching her, caressing her, and she knew in the black intensity of his gaze that he was burning for her.

And yet he controlled himself, silently waiting for her to tell the world about Angie.

Mara flirted with the idea of attempting to seduce him, hoping to break down his ironwilled control, but she hesitated, foreseeing more problems than the three of them already faced.

It was the day of the board meeting that the simmering tension between them snapped.

It didn’t help that the day dawned hot, and that the cool mountain breezes that usually favored the high plateau of Asheville hadn’t appeared.

Instead, the dull, sultry heat was unnervingly oppressive, even in the early morning.

The dust and bothersome insects that Mara rarely noticed seemed to be everywhere, inside the house as well as out.

And Angie, usually happy to spend the day at home, clung fitfully to Mara’s legs, whining and crying, begging Mara to stay with her.

Mara was standing at the mirror, trying to apply a light sheen of plum lipstick to her lips while Angie complained loudly beside her.

Angie’s face was red from the heat and passion of her outburst.

Mara dropped the lipstick tube on the counter and bent on one knee so that she could face her child on her level.

As she did so, she felt the tickle of a run climb up her knee in her panty hose.

Ignoring the fact that she was already late and doubted she had another clean pair of panty hose in the house, she cradled Angie’s curly head in her hands.

“What’s wrong, Angie?”

Mara asked, wiping a tear from the child’s flushed cheek and reaching for a tissue to wipe Angie’s nose.

“I don’t want you to go,”

Angie sobbed.

“But, honey, you know Momma has to go to work . . .”

“No!”

“Tell me what’s bothering you,”

Mara suggested. “I can’t make things any better unless you tell me what’s troubling you. Don’t cry, just talk to me.”

“I . . . I don’t want to stay with Mrs. Reardon . . . I want Grammie!”

Angie demanded, stamping her bare foot imperiously.

“But, honey, Grammie will be here later. You know that she has to be at the board meeting today.”

“No, she don’t!”

“Angie,”

Mara said authoritatively. “Mrs. Reardon is a very nice lady. She comes here every Friday to help Momma . . .”

“But she don’t play with me.”

“Honey, she’s very busy. She has to clean the house, but I just bet, if you ask her nicely, she would read a book to you.”

“I don’t like her!”

“Sure you do.”

Mara was having difficulty hiding the exasperation in her voice. The last thing she wanted this morning was a full blown battle with her child. The guilt about leaving Angie was beginning to get to her. Did all mothers who worked full-time at a career they enjoyed feel the welling sense of guilt that Mara was experiencing? “Come here, Momma’s got to find a new pair of panty hose,”

Mara called to the child as she stepped back into the bedroom and rummaged in her top bureau drawer. The digital clock on the nightstand reminded Mara that she was already twenty minutes late. Somehow, she had to placate Angie. If she left the child and Angie was unhappy, Mara knew that she would have trouble concentrating on the board meeting. And today, more than ever, she needed every drop of concentration she could muster.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,”

Mara hinted in a secretive voice that Angie loved.

Instantly, the child was intrigued. She lowered her small, blond head between her shoulder blades and her dark eyes danced. “What?”

Angie asked, in a collusive whisper.

“Why don’t you help Mrs. Reardon clean the house?”

Angie’s face fell and she eyed her mother suspiciously. Mara ignored Angie’s restraint and continued with her idea.

“Here—”

she reached into the top drawer again “—is one of Mamma’s old hankies. You can use it to wash the windows and polish the furniture, and look,”

Mara retreated into the bathroom, still tugging at the new panty hose. Quickly, she fished under the bathroom sink to retrieve a blue bottle. “This is a bottle of glass spray . . . you can spray the cleaner on the windows and wipe it off with the hanky . . . like this.” Mara sprayed the cleaner onto the mirror and watched her image become distorted in a froth of bubbles. Then she folded the cloth and wiped the mirror clean.

Angie suspected that she was being conned out of her bad mood by her mother. And although she wanted to continue to whine, she was impressed with her mother’s attempts to entertain her. Never had her mother let her touch any of the cleaning supplies. Her enthusiasm was slightly subdued, but she reached a chubby hand out toward the clear glass bottle half-filled with blue liquid. “Will Mrs. Reardon really let me?”

Angie asked as she dashed into the bedroom, and after a quick sneaking look at her mother, sprayed a healthy spot of foam on the expensive satin quilt. The look on the child’s face was one of expectant defiance.

“Angie Wilcox! What do you think you’re doing?”

Mara sputtered as she attempted to wipe up the mess on the quilt. “You can’t play with this, unless you play with it the right way, with Mrs. Reardon’s help! And, never, never spray the furniture or the bedspread again!”

Mara admonished her daughter as she furiously wiped at the stain on the quilt. Giving up, she pulled the bedspread from the bed and threw it in a crumpled heap near the laundry hamper.

“You know better!”

Mara reprimanded through tight lips, as she guided Angie out of the room and toward the staircase.

Angie paused under a solemn portrait of Peter’s grandfather and looked into her room. Mara nearly ran over her. “I think I stay up here,”

the child mused. “Lolly needs a bath and I give her one.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,”

Mara retorted quickly after following the train of the little girl’s thoughts. Mara’s thin patience was fraying, and she was barely able to hold onto her anger. “If you intend to play with that glass spray, you do it with Mrs. Reardon.”

Angie puckered her lips for a moment, seeming to hesitate, but decided against arguing with her mother any further. Clutching the dear bottle of spray as if she were afraid someone might take it from her, she grabbed her tattered blanket and followed Mara down the stairs.

Mrs. Reardon had the vacuum cleaner roaring in the den.

The machine went quiet when Mara popped her head into one of her favorite rooms in the house.

It was large and comfortable with an informal brick fireplace and knotty pine walls.

The varnish had yellowed and aged to give the room a warm, homey look, and the plaid sofa and leather recliner were a welcome relief from the other, more formal furnishings of the house.

Large, leafy green plants grew well in this room with its paned windows and view of the gardens to the rear of the grounds.

When Mara came home from work to relax and unwind, it was always in this room.

It was always casual and warm, and some of her fondest memories included reading to Angie in the den, or sitting on the couch with her child and building with blocks.

“I’ve got to go now,”

Mara called to the plump, middle-aged woman with the broad smile and crisp, floral apron. Mrs. Reardon looked up from plumping the pillows on the couch as Mara continued. “Angie’s already bathed and had breakfast. And, oh, I gave her a bottle of glass cleaner. She wanted to help you clean the house,”

Mara lied a little sheepishly.

“So I see!”

Mrs. Reardon laughed, exposing gold crowns over her molars. Mara spun around to see Angie studiously spraying an antique silver coffee service.

“Please, Angie, be careful,”

Mara pleaded, and kissed the chubby child on the forehead. Turning to Mrs. Reardon, she hoisted the strap of her purse over her shoulder and picked up her briefcase. “I should be in the office all day, if you need me. And June will be back here by early . . . or at the very latest . . . mid-afternoon.”

“Fine . . . fine . . . I’m going to be here all day,”

Mrs. Reardon agreed distractedly as she wrapped the cord from the vacuum cleaner neatly around her broad forearm. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Mara felt as tightly coiled as a spring as she opened the back door and hurried past the flowering shrubs to her car.

Was it her too vivid imagination, or did she hear the shatter of broken glass just as she was stepping into the car? After waiting a couple of extra minutes, knowing that Mrs.

Reardon would come out of the house if indeed a calamity had ensued, she started the car.

Thankfully, Mrs.

Reardon had handled whatever catastrophe had occurred.

With a sigh of relief, Mara wound her way past the dozen or so oak trees that were giving merciful shade to the driveway and inched the car onto the highway.

Trying to make up for lost time, she pushed the throttle to the floor and began speeding toward the city limits of Asheville.

The drive was hot and dusty, and by the time Mara parked in her favorite spot under the building, she felt drained. Why did she dread this board meeting so? An uneasy feeling akin to dread had steadily knotted her stomach.

“You’re late,”

Shane snapped as Mara entered her office. He was leaning against the windowsill, his hands supporting him by propping his long frame against the sill. He looked starched and fresh in his lightweight tan suit and ivory linen shirt. A navy tie, just a shade lighter than his eyes, was staunchly in place. In comparison to Shane’s crisp, unruffled look, Mara felt completely wilted.

“I know I’m late.”

“The meeting starts in less than ten minutes!”

“I know . . . I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you can say?”

Mara tossed her purse into the closet and put her briefcase down with a thud. “Don’t start with me, okay?”

He stood up and straightened his suit. His dark eyes observed her and noted that her usually impeccable appearance was more than a little disheveled. Shane preferred her this way; she seemed so much more vulnerable, so much younger, more as he remembered her, but still he was disturbed. It wasn’t like her.

“Bad morning?”

he guessed, his dark brows furrowing as he walked toward her.

“It could have been better.”

She straightened the neatly typed pages of the proposal and counted to make sure that there were enough copies. She avoided his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

he asked, echoing the question she had asked of Angie only a half hour before.

“Nothing . . . everything . . . I’m not sure.”

“It’s Angie, isn’t it? I think you should tell me about it.”

“Let’s just forget it until the meeting is over, okay?”

He pulled the reports out of her hands and forced her head upward in order that she meet his gaze squarely. “What’s bothering you?”

he asked crisply, and his fingers strayed across her arms and throat.

“Shane, don’t.”

The soft blue silk of her dress brushed against her skin, and through the light fabric, Mara could feel the inviting warmth of Shane’s large hands, coaxing her . . . massaging her . . . caressing her . . .

“Look, Mara, if something’s wrong with Angie, I think I have a right to know—”

The door flew open. Startled and embarrassed, Mara shrank from Shane’s tempting embrace. She felt her face begin to burn guiltily.

“Oh,”

Dena said, her curious eyebrows arching. Had she just stumbled onto something important? “I . . . I didn’t mean to disturb you . . .”

she began, stepping backward while her green eyes took in the intimate scene.

“You didn’t,”

Shane replied curtly with a polite, but slightly irritated smile. “We were just on our way to the boardroom. Is everything ready?”

“Yes . . . that’s what I came to tell you. Other than Cousin Arnie . . . everyone is waiting.”

The look of confusion and incomprehension never left her perfect face, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes puzzled over Shane’s features.

For one heart-stopping instant Mara read the expression on Dena’s face. She knows, Mara thought. Dear God, Dena knows that Shane is Angie’s father! Surprisingly fast, Mara’s composure and common sense took over. If Dena knew about Angie’s paternity, she would have already made good use of it, unless she intended to use the information to embarrass Mara at the board meeting! Mara felt her insides churn. Never had she dreaded a board meeting more, but she managed a feeble grin.

“Good.”

If only she could hide the blush that still burned on her cheeks. “Let’s go!”

Armed with Shane’s proposal, all fifteen copies, and as much confidence as she was able to muster, Mara led Shane and Dena down the stark white hallways into the elegant and slightly overstated boardroom.

Already the captain’s chairs around the shining walnut table were, for the most part, occupied. Although a paddle fan circulated lazily over the crowd, a thin cloud of hazy cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and the whispered chatter that had buzzed only minutes before stopped as Mara entered the room and took her place at the head of the table. Her stomach lurched perceptively as she placed a strained smile on her face and looked into the eyes of all of the relatives of her late husband, most of whom she hadn’t seen since the day of the funeral.

As Mara’s eyes swept the interested but cautious faces lining the table, they locked with June’s pale blue gaze. Dressed in burdensome black, which had become her only public attire since Peter’s death, the older woman smiled tightly at her daughter-in-law and fidgeted with the single strand of natural pearls at her neck. Dena slid into a chair next to her mother, and the contrast between mother and daughter was shocking. Dena seemed devastatingly youthful and glowing with health. Her thick red hair, secured against the nape of her neck, curled softly at her neckline, the understated but elegant ivory silk dress enhanced her slim figure, and the discreet but expensive jewelry sparkled against her flawless skin. It all seemed to give Dena just the right touch of class that made her appear more beautiful than usual.

After informal introductions were made and coffee was offered to all of the board members, Mara called the meeting to order. Somehow she was able to speak, although she felt a painful constriction in her chest. The nervous glances and grim smiles on the faces of Peter’s family didn’t ease any of her discomfort. Did they all know? Was it possible that they could tell that Shane was Angie’s father? Did they think her an impostor—a pretender to the crown? She knew that her restless thoughts bordered on paranoia, but still they plagued her. How in God’s name was she going to get out of this? Sooner or later all of the family, June and Dena included, would know that Shane was the father of Peter’s child. What would happen? And why, when everything appeared so useless, did she try so vainly to hold Imagination together? It seemed inevitable that, when the truth was learned, the family would contest Peter’s will and a horrible, ugly lawsuit would ensue.

Mara wasn’t really worried for herself; she knew that she could be as strong as she had to be. But what about Angie, and June? The press would have a field day with the story. How could Mara protect her child and her frail mother-in-law? Was it possible?

A few of the essentials for the board meeting, such as a treasurer’s report and a lengthy reading of the minutes of the previous meeting, were accomplished as quickly as possible. Finally, her composure outwardly calm, Mara announced the purpose of the meeting, explaining in detail the financial woes of the toy company, and passed out the typewritten reports to each of the board members.

Shane rose to confront the members of the Wilcox family. He looked exactly like what he was: young, tough, and confident. His smile, slightly crooked, seemed genuine, and his dark eyes took in every person in the room at once. He spoke distinctly, cross-referencing his speech with notes from the typewritten pages. After explaining the reasons that Delta Electronics was interested in Imagination and summarizing the contents of his proposal, he smiled confidently at the nervous pairs of eyes that watched him. The fan turned quietly overhead, soft strains of piped-in music melted in the background, the pages rustled as they were turned, and only an occasional cough or click of a lighter disturbed Shane’s even monologue.

Mara noticed that the jute-colored open-weave draperies swayed with the movement of air, and that a few of Peter’s relatives shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. But for the most part the board seemed to be uniformly concentrating on Shane; he had everyone’s attention.

Mara listened and watched the effect of Shane’s speech on the members sitting at the table. Some seemed absolutely convinced that Shane knew exactly what he was doing, to the extent that Cousin Arnie even nodded his bald head in agreement with Shane’s more elaborate points. A few others were dubious, and the caution in their eyes was an open invitation to questions. And several, at least it seemed from their blank expressions, didn’t know quite what to think.

Shane’s speech was short and concise. When finished, he tapped the report loudly on the table, closed it, and sat down. “Now,”

he concluded, taking a long drink from the coffee cup that had been sitting, untouched, in front of him, “does anyone have any questions?”

For a stagnant second there was only silence, and then it seemed as if everyone began to talk at once. Shane smiled to himself in amusement, but Mara’s stomach quivered in worried anticipation. Finally, the boardroom quieted.

“Are you trying to tell me . . . I mean, us,”

Peter’s cousin, Sarah, began after crushing out her cigarette, “that unless we take you, er, Delta Electronics up on their offer, Imagination Toys will . . . will go bankrupt?”

Fear showed in Sarah’s ice-blue eyes and her voice was strained with her feelings of incredulity. Never in her thirty-four years had she considered herself being anything but wealthy.

“That’s being a little overdramatic,”

Shane observed with a good-natured smile that was meant to ease Sarah. “But it’s obvious from the last financial statements Imagination Toys has provided me that the company is in trouble—serious trouble.”

“Hogwash!”

Peter’s aunt Mimi declared, opening her gloved palms in a gracious gesture of explanation. “Imagination is just suffering a little because of the economy, you know, the recession or whatever those buffoons in Washington want to call it.”