You’ll Find Out

Chapter 8 #2

She smiled sweetly, as if she had solved all of the problems, and her third husband patted her knowingly on her arm.

Sarah ignored Aunt Mimi. “But how can that be—that Imagination is in trouble? I thought that the company was worth . . . several million!”

Sarah nervously played with her lighter, rotating it end on end as she asked her worried questions.

Mara’s tightly controlled voice interrupted Shane’s response. “Of course the company is worth quite a bit, Sarah. But for the past several years, the profits have been falling off, and in order to keep Imagination on its feet, we need an input of more capital into the treasury.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy,”

Sarah’s brother Rich argued, “but I really don’t like the idea of someone other than the family putting up more funds for Imagination. This has been a Wilcox family venture for generations, and I think we should try and work out our problems among ourselves . . . no offense, you understand.”

Once again the room buzzed with whispered chatter, all seeming to agree with Rich’s impassioned speech. It was Mara’s turn to speak. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Rich,”

she said with a genuine smile. Rich positively beamed; he was so proud of himself. “Now,”

Mara continued graciously, “who would like to make the investment? Delta Electronics is willing to put up half a million dollars . . .” Mara’s cobalt eyes skimmed the faces, and most of the eyes upon her avoided her gaze.

The room became hushed, and Mara felt that her point had been driven home. No one in the family was willing to put that much money into the failing toy company. Reluctantly, the family was coming to grips with the uncomfortable financial situation and the fact that Shane’s offer was nearly a last-ditch effort.

It was Dena’s slow, sultry speech that caught Mara’s attention and started the creeping sense of dread that began crawling up her spine. Throughout the meeting, Dena’s eyes had been narrowing on Shane, reassessing him, scrutinizing him, and now it was the redhead’s move.

“Mara’s right, of course,”

Dena patronized sweetly as she looked from one to the other of the tense faces that lined the table. “Not one of us can afford to put up that kind of money for Imagination, can we? And it’s my guess that even combined, the coffers of the Wilcox family couldn’t scramble together half a million dollars.”

Her smile melted to a determined frown. “And why is that?” Dena asked rhetorically. Silence. Shane’s eyes had blackened and Mara felt the rush of color to her face, but other than the nervous click of Sarah’s lighter, there was no noise. Dena answered her own question. “The answer is simple—for the last three quarters, ever since Peter’s death, Imagination Toys hasn’t paid any of us one thin dime in dividends! And whose fault is that?”

“You know the reasons for that, Dena. We discussed them last year, and the board approved my decision to withhold the dividends,”

Mara retorted through clenched teeth. She was conscious of the eyes of Peter’s family looking at her, some with empathy, others with accusation. “We all agreed that it would be better to try and turn the company around, rather than bleed it dry with dividends.”

“A lot of good it did,”

Dena snorted, and Cousin Rich smiled in agreement.

Dena tossed her auburn curls, unconvinced by Mara’s argument, using the board room as center stage for her simmering dispute with her sister-in-law. Shane’s black eyes never left the redhead’s arrogantly beautiful face. Dena voiced her opinion. “I guess I just don’t understand: if the company is such a burden, why don’t we just sell it . . . all of it.”

She shrugged her thin shoulders theatrically. “From what I understand, Mr. Kennedy offered to buy it out, completely.”

An audible gasp escaped from around the table. “Why weren’t we notified?”

“I never heard that!”

“What’s going on here, anyway?” Little catch phrases echoed and ricocheted around the small, enclosed room, and several pairs of eyes looked at Mara with unconcealed disbelief.

Mara felt Shane stiffen beside her, but she put a restraining hand on his coat sleeve. An act, she was sure, that everyone in the room noticed and questioned.

“Just a minute!”

June’s cold voice cracked through the air. She gripped the table severely, her knuckles white, and rose with difficulty. “Don’t all of you go blaming Mara . . . and Dena, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

She cut her daughter down with an icy gaze. “The reason that Mara didn’t consider Mr. Kennedy’s original proposal to buy out the company is that I sug-gested otherwise.”

June’s proud chin rose a regal inch. “Imagination Toys has been a tradition with the Wilcox family for generations, as Rich so magnanimously pointed out earlier.”

The color in Rich’s round face drained. “Just because things aren’t going exactly our way doesn’t mean that we should throw in the towel.”

June’s piercing blue eyes moved from one of her husband’s relatives to the next in cool, commanding appraisal. There was no question as to who was the matriarch of the family.

“Actually, I do agree with Rich.”

Her eyes, now more kind, rested upon her nephew. “I wish that there was some way that we could avoid asking for outside help to save the company . . . but . . . it appears that we don’t have much of a choice. Either we accept Mr. Kennedy’s proposal, and I believe it is fair to both parties, or we scale down Imagination from a national toy company to a purely Southeastern endeavor.”

Again, the hushed, excited whispers.

June lowered herself into her chair, clearly drained from the ordeal. Dena pursed her lips together petulantly and refused to look in Mara’s direction. The rest of the family mumbled and grumbled among themselves. Aunt Mimi appeared positively flabbergasted, Cousin Sarah, appalled and nervous, and Cousin Rich, deflated.

After a few more direct questions about the proposal, the family was satisfied and voted, albeit somewhat reluctantly, to sell treasury shares in the corporation to Shane and accept a loan from Delta Electronics. It was a long, stifling affair, and nearly two o’clock in the afternoon by the time all of the details were ironed out.

Much later, when all of the board members had gone, having taken a little time to talk with Shane and voice their opinions, doubts, and hopes for the future of the toy company, Mara felt completely drained and worn out. If the morning with Angie had gone poorly, the board meeting was a total, unnerving free-for-all. It was over, and the battle had turned in her favor, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was all worth the effort.

“Let’s go to lunch,”

Shane suggested, once they were alone in Mara’s office.

“I’m not hungry,”

Mara declined, running her fingers through the thick tangle of her blond hair. “I’ve got a million things to do anyway.”

“You should eat something.”

She waved her hand in the air dismissively and placed a tight smile on her face. “No, thanks, I’ll just have a cup of coffee—really, my stomach’s too tied in knots to think about food.”

Shane ignored her protests and reached in the closet for her purse. “Well, I’m going out for lunch, and the least you could do is keep me company . . . come on, it’ll do you good.”

“But I’ve got a ton of work to do.”

“We all do, but nothing much gets accomplished on an empty stomach.”

“All right,”

she agreed wearily, too tired of battling board members to argue any further.

* * *

Shane had been right, of course, and the fresh seafood salad that she had ordered had brightened her mood incredibly. He had been considerate, almost loving, and insisted that they talk about anything other than the company. Mara actually found herself relaxing for the first time that day, and though usually not her custom during a working day, she had indulged herself in a glass of cold Chablis.

The headiness of the wine on her tired body had just begun to tingle her spine when Shane’s light mood vanished. He finished his drink, ordered a cup of coffee, and stared into the dark depths of the liquid, as if seeking answers for his life. His frown was commanding, and for a moment he uncharacteristically avoided Mara’s gaze.

“I’m going to Atlanta tonight, for the weekend,”

he began, swirling the coffee in the cup before taking a sip. “I’d like you and Angie to come with me.”

Mara ignored the direct invitation. “But I thought you would be here for another week.”

Shane smiled grimly at his own black thoughts. “I will, but unfortunately there’s some business in Atlanta that can’t wait. I’ll be there until Monday afternoon.”

The invitation lay open between them, if only Mara had the strength and trust to accept it. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“I take it that you haven’t told June about my relationship with Angie?”

Black eyes delved into her.

“No . . . not yet . . .”

Shane’s fist thudded down on the table, scattering the silverware and spilling the water glasses.

“Why the hell not?”

he demanded.

“You know why not.”

“I’ve heard all your reasons, Mara, and they are nothing more than overblown excuses!”

“But Angie . . .”

“She would be better off knowing that I’m her real father and that I love her!”

“But . . . June . . .”

“This may surprise you, Mara, but I don’t give a damn about June, or any other member of that circus you call a family. I saw them all this afternoon. Any one of them would be glad to sell if they thought they could make a dime out of it.”

“No!”

“Open your eyes, Mara. The longer you wait, the more difficult it is going to be.”

He drew his head closer to hers and whispered hoarsely across the table. “And if you have any ridiculous notions that I might not insist that Angie become legally mine, you can guess again.”

Mara felt her fingers shaking, but fortunately her voice was strong and didn’t betray her turbulent inner emotions.

“You know that I have no intention of betraying you, and I have tried to talk to June, I really have.”

“But?”

he snorted, prompting her.

“It’s been difficult.”

“You’re making it difficult!”

“You know that June hasn’t been well . . . certainly you could see in the meeting today what a strain she’s been under.”

“That, Mara, was a show of strength, not weakness.”

“I’m not talking about control of the company, Shane,

I’m talking about physical well-being. You don’t have to be a doctor to see that the woman is ill!”

Mara stated emphatically, her blue eyes flashing with anger.

“In my opinion, June Wilcox is as strong as she wants to be. The way she handled that meeting today is proof enough for me. If she’s ill, it’s probably psychosomatic!”

“You’re blinded by your own selfish interests!”

Mara charged.

“Is it selfish to want what is rightfully mine?”

“You’ll get it, Shane, I promise you.”

“When, Mara? When?”

Mara let her head fall into the heel of her hand, and she rubbed her throbbing temples to ease the headache that had badgered her all day. “I don’t know,”

she said quietly. “I honestly don’t know. Can’t you please be patient, just a little while longer?”

Her blue eyes regarded him through the thick sheen of her lashes. They pleaded with him, and begged him to understand. “It won’t be long,” she whispered.

Thinking it was one of the most difficult things he had ever done, Shane forced himself to ignore the heartbreaking look of promise in her Dresden eyes. “You’ve got one more week,”

he replied in a clipped, well-modulated voice. Was he always in control, Mara wondered, was he always so intense? Was she wrong in denying him his child, if only for another week?

“You’re being selfish,”

she murmured.

A hollow laugh was her answer. “No, sweetheart, if I’ve made a mistake, it’s that I haven’t been selfish enough! But, believe me, all that has changed. I only want what is rightfully mine. Angie is my daughter, Mara, and I intend to have her! Soon!”

“And you will.”

A grim smile played over his face as he called for the check and paid the bill. They walked in silence back to the building, both wrapped in their own desperate thoughts. Why must it be so difficult, Mara asked herself. Wasn’t there an easy solution to the happiness that they both wanted?

Shane left that evening with only a crisp good-bye. He was polite but formal, and although Mara felt a need to reach out to him, to touch him, she remained stoic behind her desk, wondering how they would ever be able to solve their dilemma and become a family. Even the smile that she tried to flash at him failed and fell into a flat, tremblingly dismal line that barely curved upward at the corners.

She waited, and listened to his retreating footsteps as they echoed down the long corridor outside her office. Never had she felt more alone, and never had she felt so hollow and empty.

The drive home in the car was hot and dusty.

Even the summer wildflowers seemed to droop along the roadside in the oppressive humidity, and by the time she got home, Mara was damp with perspiration.

The giant oaks lining the drive, with their shimmering silver-green leaves reflecting the late summer sun, were a welcome relief to Mara’s tired eyes.

After a long day at the office, the aggravating board meeting, and the fight with Shane, it was all Mara could do to concentrate on her driving while squinting at the relentless afternoon sun.

Now, as she slid the Renault into its usual spot near the garage, she lifted her sunglasses from her nose and wiped away the beads of perspiration that had collected on her cheeks.

She paused for one more soul-searching minute in the hot car, her hands still lightly gripping the steering wheel.

Was Shane right? Had she avoided the subject of Angie with June in a subconscious attempt to avoid the pain that she might cause Peter’s mother?

Was she only making excuses, not only to Shane, but also to herself? And was it even possible to tell June about Shane right now and get the truth off her chest?

How would her mother-in-law take the news, especially now when Shane had just become a partial owner in Imagination?

The hot sun finally forced Mara to get out of the car and face her mother-in-law.

Seeing no alternative to coming right out and telling June the truth, Mara steeled herself for what she knew would be a mental ordeal.

Opening the door from the back porch, a cool blast of air from the central air-conditioning revived her and evaporated the clinging dampness from her dress.

“Mommy?”

a high-pitched voice called. “That you?”

Excited feet hurried toward Mara, and Angie rounded the corner, nearly colliding with her mother.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was your day?”

Mara asked, her tired face breaking into a grin at the sight of her child.

Angie lifted her small shoulders in a childish imitation of adult indifference.

“Did Grammie let you go swimming in the wading pool?”

Mara asked, bending down to lift the child and noticing that beneath the light pink T-shirt, Angie was wearing her bathing suit.

“That’s right . . . and the kitties, too!”

Angie agreed, with a wide, mischievous grin.

“Oh, no,”

Mara groaned as June, chuckling, hurried into the kitchen to allay any of Mara’s fears.

“They’re all right now. Don’t you worry.”

“But the kittens,”

Mara gasped, envisioning the entire scene vividly in her mind, “they’re so small . . .I don’t think they even have all of their eyes open.”

“Believe it or not, they can swim . . . at least for a few minutes,”

June laughed. “However,”

she stated on a more sober note, “Southpaw was absolutely beside herself, and against her better judgment she jumped into the pool and dragged the bedraggled things to safety.”

“Oh, Angie,”

Mara sighed, “we never . . . never, ever put the kitties in the water. They don’t like it.”

Mara’s voice was grave.

“They need a bath,”

Angie explained, innocence lighting up her round face.

“Southpaw will take care of that . . .”

and then noticing that Angie did, for the first time, understand that she had made a terrible mistake, and that tears began to well in the child’s eyes, Mara abruptly changed the subject. “What’s this?”

she asked, poking at a brownish smudge on Angie’s cheek.

“Grammie and me made brownies today,”

Angie announced importantly.

“Did you?”

Mara smiled fondly at her child and kissed Angie’s tousled blond curls. “And are they any good?”

“Better’n you make!”

“That’s because Grammie has a special recipe,”

Mara replied with a laugh as she set the child back onto the floor. Suddenly Mara felt that all of her cares and worries had melted. She was in her home, with her adorable child, and the problems of the office seemed distant and unnecessary. Angie, wily child that she was, instinctively knew from her mother’s expression that the crisis concerning the cats was over, so she contented herself in the den off of the kitchen and played with her plastic building blocks.

“That’s a switch,”

June observed, looking over the top of her reading glasses to watch her granddaughter.

“What is?”

Mara opened the refrigerator door and extracted a pitcher.

“For once Angie is playing with a toy from Imagination. That doesn’t happen often,”

the older woman mused thoughtfully.

“No, it doesn’t,”

Mara agreed, pouring herself a tall glass of iced tea and offering one to her mother-in-law. “Unfortunately, Angie is a shining example of the kids in America today, when it comes to choosing toys. Why is that? What’s wrong with our line?”

Mara asked herself, furrows once again creasing her brow.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up all of the worries of the office again,”

June apologized. She took off the orange apron that she had been wearing over her black knit suit and folded it neatly before placing it back into a drawer. It occurred to Mara, as she studied her mother-in-law over the rim of her glass, that June looked much better than she had earlier in the day. None of the strain or physical weakness that had been so evident at the board meeting was apparent. And, other than the light wrinkles around her eyes, a slightly pale complexion, and a whiteness around her lips, the older woman appeared healthier than she had in months. For just a few short hours to have passed, the transformation was almost impossible. Could Shane possibly be right? Was her mother-in-law’s health only a convenient excuse, a psychosomatic act, a weapon that June could turn off and on, to use when she needed it?

Mara had known June for over four years. Although it was evident that the woman wielded her power over her family like a brandished sword, Mara found it impossible to believe that June would knowingly try to deceive anyone, family included.

“How did it go—with Angie?”

Mara asked in what she hoped would sound like an off-the-cuff manner.

“Oh, fine. Just fine,”

June replied. She took a seat at one of the café chairs near the kitchen table and an irritated look settled on her face. “If I were only able to handle the rest of my family as easily as I can Angie, life would be a lot simpler, let me tell you!”

The corners of her mouth pulled into a disgusted frown.

“You’re referring to the board meeting?”

Mara surmised as she settled into a chair opposite June, near the broad bay window of the kitchen nook.

June smiled wistfully. “You know me so well,”

she whispered. Do I, Mara wondered, do I know you at all? Once again June’s agitation lit her face, and she played her fingers over the rim of her tea glass.

“Honestly,”

June sputtered angrily. “That Rich, what a spoiled cur he’s become . . . and pompous to boot! Where does he get such a ‘holier than thou’ attitude? Certainly not from Mimi, his mother!”

June rolled her eyes heavenward in a supplicating gesture. “And then there’s Dena. What can I say about her? She’s my own daughter, but I swear, she doesn’t have a lick of sense in that gorgeous head of hers!” Pale, watery eyes accosted Mara. “I hope the meeting wasn’t too rough on you. The family can be vicious if they all decide to band together.”

“The meeting went just fine,”

Mara lied, and wondered if June could see through her plastic smile.

“Good! Now, let’s just hope we can bring the toy company out of its slump!”

“June,”

Mara began, looking into the den and noticing that Angie was playing with the doll house, out of earshot. Mara anxiously fingered a spot on the tablecloth and her insides began to knot in dread. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

June’s spine stiffened, or was it Mara’s imagination?

“It’s . . . it’s about Shane . . .”

June clamped her mouth shut, and in the same tone of voice that had effectively controlled the board meeting, she cut Mara off. “I think we’ve discussed Mr. Kennedy and his proposal to buy a portion of Imagination long enough, don’t you?”

June rose from the table with regal grace, as if to add physical emphasis to her words.

“It’s not about the company.”

The words were spoken quietly, but they seemed to sizzle, hanging in the air.

June set her lips in a tight line and reached for her purse. “I have to go, and it’s not that I’m not interested in what you have to say about Mr. Kennedy, but, well”—her slender shoulders drooped with the weight of her words—“I’m just not that fond of the man.”

June noted the pained expression in Mara’s eyes, and two points of color stained her cheeks. In all truth, June loved the young woman sitting at the maple table with the checkered cloth as if she were her own daughter. “Perhaps I’m not being fair,”

June sighed. “But ever since that day that he came bursting in here . . . demanding to see you . . . I don’t know.” Her voice caught for a moment, and it was a hoarse whisper, barely controlled when she continued. “You know the day I mean, the day that Peter was buried.”

Mara nodded and swallowed her tears of grief for the older woman’s pain.

“I’ve had trouble accepting him,”

June explained.

“He’s trying to help Imagination.”

“I know that . . . and, well, I suppose that when I don’t resent it, I do appreciate it. Really I do, in my own way.”

She took a deep breath, hesitating. “But there’s something about him, I don’t exactly know how to put my finger on it, but I just don’t trust the man.”

“Then why did you give your consent to let him invest in Imagination?”

Mara asked, stupefied. June’s pale blue eyes hardened to ice, and she seemed to talk in circles—never confronting the real crux of the problem.

“Oh,”

June continued determinedly, “don’t get me wrong! I don’t think he’s fool enough to try and manipulate the company for his own interests entirely. He’s too smart for that. But,”

she waved a suspicious finger in the air knowingly, “I’ve seen his kind before, and his ruthlessness is something that I don’t like, and I can’t trust.”

“I don’t know what you mean,”

Mara said simply.

“Oh, child.”

June’s eyes closed for a second. “I’m just asking that you be careful with him. It’s not hard for me, or anyone else, to see that you’re falling in love with him. And I’m giving you my unrequested, and probably unwanted, advice. That man . . . he’s dangerous. Treacherous to women.”

June’s blue eyes, from her imperial position standing over Mara, impaled Mara to the back of the kitchen chair. “Don’t let him hurt you . . . or Angie. That’s all I’m asking.”

Mara was stunned. June’s theatric performance seemed to be exactly that—an act. Yet she played the part with all the vitality of a woman who’s experienced the pain and anger of betrayal.

Mara had fully intended to confide in June that Shane was indeed Angie’s natural father, but the contempt and disdain that June bore against him stilled Mara’s tongue. Without being forthright, June had let Mara know in no uncertain terms that she disliked Shane Kennedy and considered him a threat to everything that she loved, including Angie!

As Mara watched June’s sky-blue Lincoln Continental purr down the driveway, she wondered how she would ever be able to summon enough courage to tell the older woman that Angie was Shane’s daughter.