Ask Mariah Read online

  "If I were a great dad, Lily never would have gone over that fence in the first place."

  "You can't blame yourself. Lily has a mind of her own."

  "I should have known better. A fence to Lily is like a beacon in the night. She simply can't resist seeing what's on the other side."

  "Some day that curiosity will probably take her to the top of whatever field she chooses to go into."

  "So you're saying it's a good thing," he queried.

  "It could be," she said with a small smile.

  "You're an optimist, aren't you?"

  "I try."

  "And you probably like to make people feel better."

  "If I can."

  "Then how about a kiss for the hero of the hour?" he asked with a grin.

  "I thought we were keeping our distance."

  "A simple kiss between friends. What could happen?"

  What could happen? The question begged to be answered one hundred different ways, but Joanna could only make one reply. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his mouth in a way that made a mockery of the word "friends." In fact, this simple kiss made a mockery of every other kiss she'd ever given or received. There was more passion, more feeling, more love than ever before.

  "How was that for a simple kiss?" she asked, pleased that he looked just as bemused as she felt.

  "Not bad."

  "I feel as if I've known you forever."

  "Me, too."

  "It's a little scary."

  "Terrifying."

  Joanna took a step back. "I guess I'll head up to the attic."

  "I'll finish in the basement." He paused. "Joanna, I don't think you should kiss any of your other men friends that way "

  "Why not?"

  "They might get the wrong idea. They might think you want more than just a kiss."

  "But you didn't get the wrong idea."

  "Me? No, of course not. I know exactly what you want," he said with a gleam in his eye.

  "You do?"

  "Yes, but my children are coloring in the dining room."

  "And if they weren't?"

  "You wouldn't be standing up right now."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The rest of the evening sped by. Joanna sorted through the boxes in the attic, setting aside journals, newspaper clippings, and photos in one pile; old clothes and anything that fell into the category of "stuff" in another.

  The upstairs bedrooms didn't warrant much more than a quick search, as three of them didn't appear to have been used in quite some time. Even Ruby Mae's bedroom was bereft of the attic's clutter of sentiment. It seemed as if she had locked the past away long before her actual death.

  Lily and Rose had a grand time playing dress up, but by seven o'clock they were clamoring for dinner. Because Michael still seemed to be enthralled with studying the beams that supported the house, Joanna made a pizza and soda run and called her mother to tell her she'd be late.

  Caroline seemed resigned to spending yet another evening alone. Maybe if she spent enough time alone, she'd find someone else to do things with. After all, she couldn't spend the next twenty years of her life entertaining her mother. But she still felt bad, which made her order extra cheese on the pizza. Guilt always made her hungry.

  When she returned to the house, Michael and the girls had lit candles and cleared off the kitchen table. As they picnicked on pizza, Joanna felt as if they were a family. It would be so easy to let herself forget Angela, even though she knew the other three could never forget.

  "Tell me about your mother," she said impulsively. "What was her favorite food?"

  "Spaghetti," the twins chorused.

  She smiled at Michael. "I should have predicted that."

  Michael didn't smile back. "Joanna, don't."

  "I'm curious about her." She turned her attention to Lily. "What was your favorite game to play with your mother?"

  "Dress up."

  Rose agreed. "Sometimes Mama would let us wear her high heels and her jewelry, and we'd put on makeup and pretend we were going to a party."

  "She trained them well," Michael said with disgust.

  "Daddy didn't like it," Lily said to Joanna, obviously irritated with her father's comment. "Mama said we were the prettiest girls in the world."

  Maybe she should end the discussion. Michael was growing more uncomfortable with each question, and the girls seemed to be taking sides against him. Somehow Angela had built a wall between the girls and their father. Her death had made the wall even bigger.

  "Mama was fun," Rose said with a hint of sadness in her voice. "She laughed all the time -- well, most of the time. Sometimes she cried." Rose darted a look at her father, then slid her chair closer to Joanna.

  Michael suddenly stood up. "I'm going to take a few more measurements outside."

  "We can change the subject," she suggested.

  "Why? I'm sure the girls would love to tell you about their mother and our fights and about how mean I was to Angela." He started to say more, then bit down on his lip, turned on his heel, and slammed out the back door.

  "Daddy's mad," Lily observed. "Mama always made him mad."

  Joanna stood up, torn between going after Michael and staying with the girls. Even if she went to him, she didn't know what she would say. None of this was any of her business.

  "Let's go into the living room, girls. I cleaned up in there, so you two can lie on the couch, and I'll tell you a story while we wait for your father to finish."

  "Okay."

  She carried two candles into the living room and set them down on the coffee table. Then she sat on the couch, the girls settling in on either side of her, resting their little heads against her arms. She loved the feel of their hair against her skin, the scent of their bubble gum shampoo right under her nose, the pressure of their soft, cuddly bodies against hers. For a moment she felt very much like a mother, and it touched her deeply.

  She loved these girls. It had happened so fast. A look, a smile, a laugh, and her loneliness had fled. Lily and Rose had brought her back to life in four short days, reminding her of what it was like to love someone.

  And their father... Michael reminded her of what it was like to want someone, to be so acutely aware of another's presence that the simplest glance, the briefest touch, the smallest smile, touched off a deep, compelling need to come together.

  "Tell us again about when Ruby Mae first came to the city," Lily said, interrupting her thoughts. "I like the part where she dyes her hair blond."

  "Okay, but don't get any ideas about dyeing your own hair."

  Lily tilted her head so she could smile at Joanna. "Mama colored her hair once. She put a pink stripe right down the middle. Daddy yelled at her." Lily's smile disappeared at the memory.

  They were right back where they'd been in the kitchen. Joanna knew she couldn't let the conversation go on without interjecting her own thoughts. "Sometimes people disagree. It doesn't mean they don't love each other."

  "I'm glad you and Daddy don't fight," Rose said. "I used to get scared when Mama locked herself in the bathroom. We could hear her crying, but she wouldn't come out. Once I tried to push some Kleenex under the door for her, but I don't think she saw it."

  Rose's sadly matter-of-fact words tugged at Joanna's heart. She could see the girls standing by the door, scared that their mother was crying, not knowing what to do, how to help her. She found herself getting angry with Angela for not realizing how her behavior was affecting her children. And where had Michael been when his wife was in tears?

  "Sometimes Daddy would ask her to come out. He'd say he was sorry, but she never came out until he left," Lily said, answering Joanna's silent question.

  Joanna hugged the girls, wanting them to feel secure with her, not scared or worried, just safe. "Even though your mom and dad fought with each other, they also loved each other and they loved you. Sometimes you two argue over something you both want, but that doesn't change the fact that you're sisters and that you lov
e each other."

  "If Daddy loved Mommy, he wouldn't have made her go away," Lily said sadly.

  "Are you sure he made her go away?" Joanna sensed they were nearing the big promise that the girls had made.

  "Mama said so," Rose replied. "She made us promise not to -- "

  "Rose, you almost told her," Lily interrupted.

  Rose's lips trembled as she fought with herself. Her determination not to break her promise finally won out, "I'm sorry, Joanna, but I can't tell you,"

  "That's all right, honey. You just have to remember that sometimes secrets can hurt people."

  "But no one is getting hurt," Lily said.

  "Don't you think it hurts your father's feelings when you don't talk to him? He climbed down the cliff to save you from getting hurt, Lily. You couldn't even say thank you."

  "I -- I wanted to."

  "Sometimes Daddy does look really sad," Rose said as Lily rubbed her eyes.

  Joanna softened at the look of remorse on Lily's face, but she couldn't let the little girl off the hook. Michael might be resigned to their behavior, but she wasn't. "I think your father deserves more from you than silence. He needs to know about the promise you made to your mother."

  "But he's the one we can't tell, because if he knew then he'd get mad, and Mama could never come back. She said so," Lily replied.

  "As long as Daddy doesn't know about the other man, she can still come back," Rose added, not realizing she'd given something away.

  Another man? Had Angela been having an affair?

  She remembered the girls telling her about a man with a mustache. Had they promised to keep the affair a secret? What mother would ask such a thing of her children, to involve two innocent little girls in her own deception?

  Joanna disliked Angela more and more. Everything she'd heard about the woman pointed to Angela being spoiled, selfish, and immature. And it annoyed the hell out of her that she had to look like such a person.

  Silently she counted to ten, knowing that the girls adored their mother despite her shortcomings, and it certainly wasn't up to Joanna to criticize, especially a woman who was no longer around to defend herself. Whatever Angela's faults, she had certainly inspired a sense of loyalty in the twins. Angela must have had something going for her. Maybe someday Joanna would be able to figure out what that was.

  "Do you want to hear about Ruby Mae now?" she asked, playing with Lily's hair.

  The girls nodded, obviously pleased by the change in subject.

  "Ruby Mae was born Rebecca Margaret Blakesdale, and she came to San Francisco in 1920, the beginning of a time in our history that was called the Roaring Twenties."

  "Were there lions then?" Lily asked.

  She laughed, forgetting how literal they were. "No lions, but the people who lived then loved to party. Ruby Mae was one of them. She was eight years old when she came to San Francisco, the only daughter of a widowed gold digger. Ruby Mae loved music and she loved to dance."

  Ten minutes later the girls fell fast asleep when Joanna got to the part about how Ruby Mae had decided to become a dancer in a saloon. It was a good place to stop, since Joanna would have to do some heavy editing of Ruby Mae's story to make it acceptable for the girls.

  She rested her head against the couch. She felt so comfortable in this house, solid ground under her feet, the yard outside, the waves of the ocean audible through the open windows, the sound of crickets in the garden. This wasn't just a house. It was a home, or it could be with the right owners, with the right family in it.

  Family. It was easier to think about Ruby Mae and her mysterious life than to consider the mystery going on in her own life. Although she had considerable imagination, she had also inherited a sense of logic from her father, and deep down she knew she was missing some vital piece of information.

  She thought about what Michael had said earlier, about Elena, Sophia's sister. Maybe she should talk to her. But what would she say?

  She turned her head and saw Michael watching her from the doorway, bathed in the light of the burning candles. She couldn't see his eyes, or even his expression, but she could feel his presence as strongly as if she were touching him. It had been that way since the very beginning. She had finally found the missing part of herself.

  But what had he found? A woman who looked like his wife. Was he seeing Angela even now as Joanna sat with his children tucked into her body, as she held his daughters as if she were their mother?

  She wanted him to say something. Her body tensed with each passing second of silence.

  Finally he walked slowly into the room. He sat down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, his gaze intent on her face.

  "Do you want to go now?" Joanna asked.

  "In a few minutes. Let them sleep."

  "Michael -- " she began, then stopped, because she didn't know what to say.

  "It's all right, Joanna. I still know who you are."

  She drew in a quick breath as she met his perceptive gaze. "You must have seen the kids like this with your wife a hundred times."

  "It isn't the same."

  As in better or worse? She wasn't sure she could accept either answer.

  Michael's expression softened as he gazed at his children. "Little angels," he said in a quiet voice, "So sweet and innocent, and a whole world out there waiting for them to be whatever they want to be. I envy them that. I'd like nothing more than to start over with a clean slate."

  "I don't think any of us can do that. We are our pasts."

  "Now you sound like a historian." He paused. "What else did you find out about Ruby Mae today?"

  "Lots," she said with an enthusiastic smile. "Ruby Mae had an ongoing affair with a very respectable and very married city councilman. In fact, she got pregnant. She wanted to keep the baby, but she couldn't raise her in a whorehouse. She really loved this guy for some reason that I can't quite fathom, especially since he convinced her to give the baby away." Her voice faltered, trying not to think there was any connection between this story and her own life. "Anyway, that's what she did. Someone found out and tried to blackmail both her and the councilman. That someone died in the fire that burned down her house, which supposedly killed her."

  "But didn't."

  "No, it was a setup. Her lover bought her this house, and she lived the rest of her life in seclusion. He used to come to her whenever he could. She loved him to the end, until he died. It was so sad. She lost her baby and she never really had him, not totally." Joanna ended her story with a sniff.

  "You must cry at sappy movies," he said teasingly.

  She made a face. "I do. Those telephone commercials really get to me, too. The ones where everyone has been separated over the years and they finally reunite. I just don't understand how Ruby Mae could have given up her child for that man. How could she love a man more than her baby?"

  Michael glanced at his own children, protectively wrapped in Joanna's arms. "I don't know. I could never give up my children. But maybe Ruby Mae thought the child would be better off with someone else."

  "Someone who wasn't her family? I don't understand that. Family is everything. My parents took such pride in our family, even though we were small, just the three of us. My father always told me to hold my head up high, because I was a Wingate. There was a lot of security in knowing who I was and taking pride in it." She paused. "Anyway, changing the subject ..."

  "Please."

  "Have you spoken to your client yet? Do you think she'll want to restore this house?"

  "She wasn't in. I left a message at her hotel."

  "The girls really love this place. Maybe you should buy it."

  "Me?" He laughed. "I don't think so."

  "Why not? It would be perfect for you and the girls."

  "I couldn't afford a house like this, not on my own. Besides, we have a perfectly fine house, which by the way once belonged to the De Lucas."

  "I didn't know that."

  "Sophia and Vincent gave us the house. They
always treated me like their son." Michael stared into the candlelight. "Even before I married Angela, Sophia used to come to my basketball games, and Vincent taught me how to cook. I always admired their closeness. I wanted to have that with Angela and the girls. Now Angela is gone, and there's a huge wall between me and my daughters."

  "They'll come around, Michael. They love you. They're just confused. They want their mother back, and somehow you're in the way. When they're older they'll understand that Angela's death was an accident and had nothing to do with you."

  "I want to believe that, but their silence is killing me. When Angela died, I didn't just lose her, I lost them, too. I want them back," he said gruffly. "I want my kids back."

  "Oh, Michael, I'm sorry."

  "They're getting attached to you, Joanna."

  "Does that worry you?"

  "A little, but sometimes we have to take love where we find it -- if we're lucky enough to find it. The De Lucas weren't my parents, but they gave me what I needed."

  "Is it all right for me to love Lily and Rose then?" she asked.

  He stared at her. "Yes."

  She gazed back at him, not having the courage to ask if it was all right for her to love him, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sophia opened the bottom drawer of her armoire and dug through the layers of underwear, bras, and slips until her fingers touched the soft velvet pouch. Only one other person knew about the pouch -- her younger sister, Elena. Elena had refused to keep it at her house. In fact, she had wanted her to throw it away, but Sophia couldn't do that.

  Slowly she pulled it out and loosened the white silk cords that held it together. Inside was a soft pile of tissue paper and several strands of brown baby hair, curled contentedly in their innocence. She smiled, feeling the insistent push of tears behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  Next to the curl was a tiny photograph of a baby girl. The baby's eyes were wide open, dark brown and inquisitive. Her tiny hands, still in fists, covered her ears as if she couldn't stand the noise of the real world. Or maybe she just couldn't stand hearing her mother say good-bye to her.

  The front door slammed, and Sophia jumped. She couldn't let Vincent see what was in her hand. She tried to hide it as she heard the hurrying rush of steps on the stairs. She had barely touched the drawer when her bedroom door opened.