Chapter 9
Shane didn’t return. After a long, lonely weekend of soul-searching, Mara was disappointed when he called late Monday afternoon and informed her that his business would keep him in Atlanta until Wednesday or Thursday. The conversation was stilted and the unasked question hung between them on the telephone wires, spreading the distance between them into impossible miles. Shane didn’t have to ask. Mara could feel the tension and knew that he hoped for her to tell him that she had made the break with Peter’s family and told them about Angie. Mara couldn’t.
The week stretched before her. At home she would find herself thinking of Shane, wondering where he was and what he was doing. It didn’t help that Angie chattered nonstop about him and asked when he would be back—or had he gone forever, like Daddy.
For some reason Mara felt as if her relationship with her mother-in-law was deteriorating. The strain of their conversation about Shane seemed to have pushed the two women further apart. Although June was still enchanted with Angie, Mara sensed that the easy familiarity that she had shared with her mother-in-law was gone, most likely forever.
Then why was it that Mara found it impossible to summon the strength to quietly tell June that Shane was Angie’s natural father and to explain the delicate situation to the older woman. Surely she would understand. The awkward set of circumstances in which they all found themselves entrapped wasn’t Mara’s fault, was it? Why, then, the guilt? Why did Mara still carry the burden of June’s happiness and health upon her shoulders? The questions besieged her nights and disrupted her days.
It was Thursday when Mara noticed how on edge she had become. When Shane hadn’t arrived in Asheville the day before, Mara was more than disappointed, she was downright scared. Vivid memories of the past assailed her; pictures of his jet winging into the night across the Atlantic to a troubled and strife-filled nation, the dull ache that had converged upon her when she had learned from his father of Shane’s brutal death, the nausea of morning sickness combined with the pain in knowing that she would never see the father of her unborn child, and finally the joy and suspicion of betrayal that had assailed her upon his return. If he didn’t come back to her, she wondered if she would have the mental tenacity to continue living. Fortunately, she had Angie. If Shane chose to turn his back on her again, there was always her child . . . his child to warm her days.
“You’re being maudlin,” she chastised herself aloud. “It’s the heat that has finally got you down.” She rummaged in her top drawer for her favorite pen and mentally cursed herself when she noticed that her fingers were trembling. “Damn! If those repairmen don’t get here soon to fix the air-conditioning . . .”
“You’ll what?” Dena asked, walking uninvited into Mara’s office.
“Oh, I don’t know, but they’ve promised to be here all week . . .” Mara looked up from her desk drawer and met the redhead’s gaze. A dark prickle of apprehension darted up her spine as she noticed the catty smile on Dena’s features. “Didn’t you leave earlier today?” Mara asked, straightening and leveling her gaze at Dena.
The smile broadened. “That’s right,” Dena acquiesced and dropped herself onto the couch.
“And you’re back?” Mara prodded, noticing that the clock on the wall indicated that it was nearly seven. “Why?”
“I called at the house. Mother said that you were working late, so I thought I’d drop by for a chat.” Again the slightly vulgar smile.
“A chat?” Unlikely, Mara thought, and twirled the pen nervously. “What about?”
“Angie!”
Mara froze. The pen stopped twirling and dropped to the desktop.
“What about Angie?” Mara asked hoarsely. Was Angie hurt . . . or worse? What had happened? Mara’s throat went dry before she realized that not even Dena would derive satisfaction from the child’s pain. And that was the feeling that was written all over Dena’s fine-boned features: satisfaction.
“Well,” Dena mused, looking at the ceiling as if lost in thought. Idly she rubbed a corner of her mouth, drawing out the suspense. Dena loved theatrics and she was playing her role well. “It’s really not just about Angie . . . actually it involves Shane as well.”
Mara swallowed back the apprehension that threatened to overtake her. “What about Shane?” she asked calmly.
“I’ve been noticing the way that he acts when he’s around the child.”
“And?”
“Possessive is the word that seems to describe his actions.” Dena nodded to herself before her dark green eyes flashed to Mara. “Yes, he’s very possessive, I’d say.”
“He thinks a great deal of Angie.”
“I’ll just bet he does!” Dena said sarcastically. Her polished lips curled into a self-satisfied smile.
“Dena,” Mara said, her breath catching in her throat. She knew what was coming from the fiery woman, but Mara tried to stem some of the vehemence by appearing in command and in control of the situation. She drew herself up to her full height and, despite the heat, smoothed her dress and hoped to appear cool as she crossed round to the front of the desk and leaned against it. “Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me what you wanted to tell me. Then we can both go home.”
“Why does Shane seem so possessive about Peter’s kid?”
“I told you. He loves Angie.”
“Hmph! Shane Kennedy doesn’t strike me as the kind of man that would be fascinated by children.”
It was Mara’s turn to smile. “I think you’re wrong on that one. Despite his hard business tactics, Shane’s a very caring man.”
“You should know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, don’t play naive with me, Mara. I know you better than that! The dumb virgin routine seems to work on my mother, but it doesn’t wash with me! As a matter of fact, it makes me sick!” Her last words were spoken with such a vehemence that Mara was slightly taken aback. Did Dena actually hate her that much? Why?
Mara’s face tightened. She thought about telling Dena the flat-out, no-holds-barred truth, but she hesitated slightly. It would be better to tell June first. Her voice seemed frail, and she knew that drops of perspiration were beading on her forehead, but she forced herself to tell Dena a portion of the truth. Dena deserved that much. No matter how much Dena disliked Mara, she was Peter’s sister and entitled to the truth.
“It’s true. Shane cares for Angie very much—”
“And you, too,” Dena snapped. “I’d be a fool if I couldn’t see the way that he looks at you.” A sadness seemed to sweep over Dena’s features for a minute, and her voice lowered. “He . . . he looks at you as if he doesn’t ever want to stop.” She bit at her lip and some of the satisfaction and spunk seemed to have drained out of her.
“He’s asked me to marry him. He wants to adopt Angie.”
Mara’s surprise announcement seemed to startle her.
“Sudden, isn’t it?” Dena asked, her eyes calculating.
“A little . . . I guess . . .”
“I wonder what all the board members would think about this. First you coerce them into approving sale of stock to Shane Kennedy, and then, quick as a bunny, you marry the guy, giving you, Shane, and Angie’s trust control of Imagination. Convenient, wouldn’t you say . . . too convenient!” Dena’s green eyes blazed with accusation.
“Oh, no, Dena that’s not the way it is . . .”
“Then what way is it? I’m only telling you what it looks like—a hasty marriage of convenience to get control of Imagination!”
“I’ve known Shane for years . . .” Mara attempted to explain, feeling her weight sag a little against the desk. Dena sensed her advantage and unfolded her long, jean-clad legs to stand up and face her sister-in-law.
“I just bet you did . . . I’ll also bet that you’ve been seeing him on the side for years.”
“What do you mean?” Mara said quietly, the meaning of Dena’s words all too clear.
“I mean that I think you and Shane are having an affair, and . . .” Mara began to protest, but Dena shook her red curls and with a look that could turn flesh to stone, continued with her accusations. “I think you’ve been with him for years, long before Peter died.”
Dena had come up to face Mara . . . so close that Mara could taste the heady scent of Dena’s cologne as she licked her lips.
“You think I was unfaithful to Peter?” Mara said, shocked at the cold sound of the words as they stung the air.
“Weren’t you?” As far as Dena was concerned, the question, spit with such passion, was purely rhetorical.
“Of course not!” Mara argued, her small fists clenched in frustration. “I . . . I thought that Shane was dead!”
“So you say,” Dena goaded.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not for a minute!”
Mara took the time to close her eyes for just a second, long enough to steady herself and get control of her tattered emotions. She shook her palms and her head in the same dismissive gesture.
“Look, Dena. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. While Peter was alive, I was faithful to him. I know it and Peter knew it. What you thought then, or think now, doesn’t matter.” Mara could feel the hot stain of color on her cheeks, but she swore to herself that no matter how catty Dena became, Mara would control the situation and confrontation. If they were going to spar verbally, Mara was not going to lose her dignity nor her self-esteem.
Dena stepped back to put some room between herself and her sister-in-law. She knew the determined glint in Mara’s cold, blue eyes was a sign that Mara’s back was up against the wall. She only hoped that she hadn’t pushed Peter’s wife too far. Her purpose was to glean information, not to anger Mara. Dena knew her sister-in-law well enough to realize that if pushed too far, Mara would end this conversation and Dena would never again have the chance to find out if her suspicions were correct.
“All right, all right,” Dena murmured, falling into a nearby chair and idly chewing on her fingernail. She averted her green eyes away from Mara’s direct gaze and seemed to concentrate on the hem of her mint green plaid blouse. “I’m sorry . . . I had forgotten that you thought Shane was dead.” Her eyes, when they lifted, were shining with pooled tears. Suddenly she looked older than her thirty-seven years.
Mara felt the play of emotions pull at her heartstrings, but she stood, unmoving, behind the desk. If she knew anything at all about Dena, it was that her sister-in-law knew well the art of drama. Were the tears a real sign of distress, or merely a prop in Dena’s theatrical show?
“Perhaps . . . perhaps I’m wrong. But when I see Shane with Angie . . . the way that he seems to adore her,” Dena stopped for a minute. “And it goes both ways. Angie seems to love him, a feeling that she never had for Peter.”
“That’s not true—”
“Don’t lie to me, Mara! I can see it!”
Mara felt herself wavering with pity for Dena, and she damned herself for her own soft-hearted weakness. Dena had turned on Mara so many times in the past that Mara shouldn’t ever trust her, and she knew it. But the way that her sister-in-law was slumped in the chair, swayed Mara’s resolve, and against her better judgment, she decided to give Dena one more chance.
As the words were out of her mouth, Mara knew that she was making a mistake. “Okay, Dena . . . what is it, exactly, that you’re trying to say?” Mara asked quietly.
Dena dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from the desk. “Oh, Mara,” she sighed with genuine despair. “I know that I’ve been just awful to you sometimes. And I know it’s not your fault that Dad left most of Imagination to Peter. But it all seems so unfair sometimes!”
“I know.”
“No, no, you don’t. No one could!” Dena asserted, her anger and frustration mounting. “Maybe all this . . . it wouldn’t have been all so important, but it seems wrong to me!”
“What does?”
“The way things turned out! First you had Peter, and whether you were smart enough to know it or not, my brother worshipped the ground that you walked on!”
A lump in Mara’s throat began to swell.
“And,” Dena continued, “I was foolish enough to think, to hope, that Bruce would feel the same way about me.” Her voice quivered. “Or at least that someone would.”
“Oh, Dena . . .”
“No, don’t interrupt!” Dena cried, gathering strength. The heat in the room seemed to rise a few degrees. “And now, now Shane Kennedy comes along, on the pretense of investing in the company, and falls compliantly into your open arms! And not only that, but he loves you, Mara. God, how he loves you!” Dena pointed out, her small face twisting with the pain of thirty-seven unfulfilled, unloved, vanished years. “And . . . and he even wants Angie.” Dena sighed. “Do you know how incredible that is?” She looked up at Mara and let the torture in her face go unsuppressed. “It all seems so incredible . . . such a storybook romance. It’s almost as if . . .” her voice faded.
“As if what?” Mara asked, sucking in her breath.
“As if Angie were his child, for God’s sake,” Dena whispered.
The silence was electrifying, and the heat in the small, enclosed room pounded relentlessly against Mara’s temples. Several times she attempted to respond to Dena’s insinuation, and several times she failed, choking on a denial of the truth. Dena slumped in the chair, her face flushed, and her expectant green eyes the only sign that she wanted a response from Mara. The gaze silently pleaded with Mara for the truth.
Mara reached for her purse and tucked the small, leather bag under her arm. Finally, when the shock of the question had worn thin, Mara looked at Dena and smiled sadly. “You’re right, Dena. Angie is Shane’s child. I was pregnant with her and before I could reach him to tell him the news, I found out that he was dead. lt’s . . . it’s a long story, and in the long run the only thing that matters to you is that I married your brother.”
“But Peter? Did he know?”
“That the child belonged to another man?” Mara closed her eyes tightly and fought back the tears that began to well every time she remembered those long, desperate days and the feeling of despair that caught hold of her when she thought Shane was gone. It was Peter, young, supple, and strong, who had helped her get over her loss and find a reason for living in the fact that she was carrying Shane’s child. “Yes,” Mara whispered huskily. “Peter knew, and I believe that in his own way, he cared for and loved Angie.”
“But . . . how could you? How could he . . .”
Mara shook her head and silenced her sister-in-law. Unwilling tears began to slide down her cheeks. “You have to remember that we, both Peter and I, thought that Shane was dead.”
After a thoughtful silence, Dena asked the question that was uppermost on her mind. “What about Mother? Are you going to tell her?” It was more of a demand than a question.
“Of course.” Once again Mara was apprehensive.
“When?” Dena demanded.
“I don’t know . . . soon, I hope.”
“Would you ever have told her if I hadn’t put two and two together and realized that Angie was Shane’s kid?” Dena asked, her usual air of sarcasm falling neatly back into place. She got up from the chair, reached in the pocket of her jeans for her keys, and stood, waiting insolently, leaning against the door.
Mara’s tone was icy. The very least she expected from Dena was a little compassion after hearing the truth. “I planned on telling her by the end of the week.”
“Give me a break!” Dena said with a mirthless laugh. “I bet you planned on marrying Shane before you told Mother the whole sorry story, and then I doubt you would have had the backbone to be honest.”
Mara winced at Dena’s sharp words. “You’re right,” she allowed calmly, “I was hesitant to tell June about Angie.” Dena smiled wickedly. “But not for the reasons you think. Have you ever taken the time or consideration to talk to your mother and ask her about her health? She’s ill.”
“Oh, come off it, Mara. Don’t give me any of your feeble excuses! You didn’t tell mother because you’re afraid of her and what she can do to you. Without the Wilcox wealth, honey, you and that kid are practically paupers!” Dena sneered.
Mara rose above the taunts of Dena’s insults. “Your mother isn’t well, Dena. I’ve tried to convince her to make an appointment with Dr. Bernard, but so far I’m sure she hasn’t seen him.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Dena exploded. “What you and I are talking about is the fact that you have lied to my entire family by passing off your kid as an heir to the Wilcox fortune!” Dena accused viciously. She pointed a long, bejeweled finger at Mara and shook the keys that she had wrapped in her palm to add emphasis to her belabored point. A thin smile of victory curled her lips, and unconsciously her tongue wet her lips. Never in her wildest imaginings had she expected Mara to give her an out-and-out full-blown confession. Green eyes glinted with triumph at the thought!
“No. I never intended to—”
“Oh, yeah, I know,” Dena interrupted icily. “Your intentions were honorable. Well, just try and explain all that to the board. All of the family is involved here, and we’ve all been deceived. The board is going to be in an uproar, and you can bet that they will find some legal loophole to contest Peter’s will! What you’ve done is considered fraud!”
Mara’s initial shock at Dena’s impassioned speech had faded and boiling anger and indignation took over. Her thin, worn patience gave way. “Are you threatening me?” she challenged.
“You bet I am!”
“Why?”
“Because I want it, Mara. I want it all! It’s my birthright. Imagination Toys is in my blood—”
“In your blood?” Mara managed with a laugh. “Are you kidding? You were willing to sell the entire company to the first interested buyer. Don’t try to convince me of your loyalty.”
Dena’s grin spread slowly over her face. “Oh, but that was before I was sure that Angie wasn’t Peter’s child. Before, it was only conjecture—now, I know the facts!”
“And you plan on using ‘the facts’ against me, is that it?”
Dena’s face froze in an overdramatized affront. She looked positively stricken, but just for the moment. “Against you—heavens, no.” Once again the evil grin. “For me—yes!”
“How?” Mara asked, wondering why she was even listening to her sister-in-law. Clearly, Dena was obsessed with gaining control of Imagination.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Dena asked, her eyes narrowing. “Years! All the time that we were growing up, I lived with the obvious fact that Peter was Father’s favorite child. And then, when Dad died, his will was another slap in my face! He gave me less than a quarter of the estate, while Peter got it all! That wasn’t bad enough, though. The topper came when Peter died young and his wife, a woman not even related to the family, inherited the bulk of the company along with the house. Do you know how angry I was? How unfair it all was? Of course not! No one could.” Dena’s lips drew back tightly, white against the even row of her teeth.
For the first time in over four years, Mara saw her sister-in-law clearly. And despite Dena’s threats and power plays, Mara felt a rush of pity for the obsessed woman. “Dena,” she suggested gently, “have you ever talked this over with someone professionally?”
“What do you mean?” Dena asked, but she guessed Mara’s unspoken thoughts.
“I mean . . . I think that you should talk your feelings over with a psychiatrist.”
“Wouldn’t you just love that, though?” Dena sneered, as if the idea was totally absurd. She shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe how transparent you can be sometimes. I don’t need psychiatric help, and Mother doesn’t need a doctor, so you can just quit dreaming up excuses to have us both committed, because it won’t work!”
“I never—” Mara gasped.
“Oh, sure you did, Mara. You’re just like me, only you won’t admit it. You and I have been locking horns over the control of Imagination for years, and now I have the upper hand because, unless you give up all of your interest in Imagination and step down as president, I’m going to let this sordid little story of Angie’s dubious paternity leak out to the papers. I think the social editor and maybe the financial editor would find it incredibly amusing.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me!” Dena cocked her head and looked at the ceiling as if lost in thought. “How does this headline grab you,” she mused, “ ‘Local socialite uses child for control of toy company, or better yet, Imagination toys in shambles: Paternity of child heir in question.’”
“I know that you might find this hard to believe,” Mara replied, her chin inching upward defiantly, “but I’m not really concerned what the newspapers might make of the story.”
“But, think of your social standing in Asheville.”
“I told you, I really don’t care about anything like that,” Mara repeated. She had heard enough of Dena’s threats and accusations. She clutched her purse tightly in the well of her arm and moved closer to Dena and the doorway. “I’m leaving, now, Dena,” Mara stated calmly. “If you want to stay here any longer, it’s fine with me, but I’m not going to stay and argue uselessly with you. We’re getting nowhere, and I’m tired of wasting my time. You’ve heard my side of the story, and you can do with it what you want. Obviously, I can’t stop you. But I really do think that you should take your mother’s feelings into consideration. I . . . I wasn’t joking when I told you that I think she’s seriously ill, and I’m worried about her.”
“Why do you care so much about Mother?” Dena asked with renewed suspicion.
Mara sighed. “Because June has been very good to me and she loves Angie very much.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dena inquired with a smirk of disbelief cast on her face. “Then the least you could have done, once Peter was gone, was be honest with her and let her know that the child she has prized as her only grandchild was fathered by another man! Instead you hid behind a lie, Mara!”
“That may be,” Mara granted wistfully. She sighed to herself and somehow managed a feeble smile. “But I never expected to see Shane again.”
“So what? The kid was his, whether he was alive or dead!”
“Look, Dena, I’m not denying any of that. What I’m asking from you is that you please don’t say or do anything that might upset your mother. I’m going to try and persuade her to see Dr. Bernard, and once I know that she’s not seriously ill, then I promise, I’ll tell her all of the truth.”
Mara didn’t wait for Dena’s response. She started walking down the long corridor to the elevator shaft and snapped off the lights to the offices of Imagination. As the darkness closed in on her she heard Dena’s well-modulated Southern drawl echoing in the hallway behind her. “You’re copping out, dear sister-in-law,” it accused, and then, just as the elevator door opened and Mara stepped into its gaping interior, she heard Dena’s high-pitched, pleased laughter. An involuntary shudder skittered down Mara’s spine at the sound. Just how desperate, how obsessed, how neurotic was the scheming redhead?