Into the Dark (21 page)

“Cut the shit. I’m not a kid anymore. I know all your tricks. You’re wasting your breath. What do you want?”

Surprise flickered across Claire’s face, and then her expression relaxed into her normal look of mild disgust where Emilie was concerned. “I should have known. You haven’t learned anything from your mistakes.”

“I’ve learned plenty. What are you here for?”

“Have you spoken to the reporter—Rachel Hunter?”

“No. She keeps calling, but I haven’t bothered to answer. Why?”

“Because she wants to interview you for your side of the story.”

“From the hostage ordeal? No thanks.”

“From your
childhood
.” Claire’s upper lip curled. “Why you left home, what happened to cause you to be with your guidance counselor.”

“So she wants to know your dirty little secret?” Emilie choked out a bitter laugh. “She’s smart enough to wonder why a high school kid hooked up with her guidance counselor and ran off. At least she realizes there are two sides to every story.”

“She realizes there’s money in it,” Claire snapped, all pretense of civility gone. “Your stepfather is a well-known attorney, and I’m among Portland’s social elite. A scandal like that would make headlines I don’t need.”

Naturally her mother assumed even her dirty laundry was worth special attention.

“Well, maybe it’s time you faced the consequences of your actions. After all, my leaving didn’t faze you.”

“Your leaving was a blessing. I didn’t have to worry about your moping around the house or pretending I gave a damn.”

“You give yourself too much credit, Mother. I always knew you were pretending.”

“For once in your life, think of someone other than yourself.” Claire pulled an envelope out of her bag. “This could ruin Sam.”

“How? He never did anything wrong. I have no reason to hurt Sam.” She wanted to tell her mother about Sam’s call, but Sam didn’t deserve the wrath of Claire over Emilie’s pride.

“He’ll still be attached to the story, Emilie. This could damage his business.”

“And your pocketbook, not to mention your precious social status.” Emilie pointed to the envelope. “What’s that?”

“A certified check for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” Claire tossed it across the desk. “You keep your mouth shut, the money’s yours.”

Red spots danced in Emilie’s vision. The numbers on the check loomed large, mocking her anger. Sam was worth millions, but he never would have condoned Claire’s actions. She’d come up with this scheme on her own. How had she managed to secure the money without Sam knowing? Did he just allow her to run rampant through their finances now? That was probably easier than listening to her bitch about being neglected all the time.

“Get out.” Emilie finally managed to speak.

“What?”

Emilie balled up the check in her fist and tossed it across the desk at her mother. It smacked her nose and fell into her lap. Claire stared back in shock.

“You threw away a quarter of a million dollars.”

“You’ve thrown away a hell of a lot more than money, Claire.”

“At least the last sixteen years of my life have been pleasant. Can you say the same? How’s dear Evan, anyway?”

“Off somewhere with another stupid, young girl. And my life has been infinitely happier without you in it.”

“Even in the psycho ward?”

“Especially so. You get the good drugs there.”

“You’re as foolish as ever, child.”

“And you’re older and even more self-absorbed, Mother. Now get out of my office before I have security remove you.”

Claire’s entire face turned puce. “How dare you speak to me that way, you ungrateful little—”

“I’m ungrateful?” Emilie rose from her chair and leaned across the desk, bringing her face within an inch of Claire’s. “You lied to me. I thought my father didn’t want me.”

“I did what was best for you.”

“Bullshit. You did what was best for Claire, like always. You lied to
Mémé
and
Grand-père
. And when you were finally caught, you manipulated my father into not seeing me. I was only two. He and I could have had a relationship.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emilie could see the entire staff of the bank watching. She didn’t give a damn. Her business with Claire would be finished today.

“Nothing has ever been good enough for you.” Emilie’s anger swelled with every word. “You had two parents who adored you and gave you everything they could. Wasn’t enough. You had a husband who loved you and wanted to spend his life with you—again, not enough. You tossed his love away like garbage. You had a daughter who just wanted affection, a little girl who didn’t care about your faults and cruelty. Yet you resented her very existence. You’ll never be satisfied, Claire. No matter how much plastic surgery you get or how much of Sam’s money you spend, you’ll always be a bitter, old shrew.”

Emilie stood to her full height and looked down at her mother. “One last time: get out before I call security. And don’t attempt to contact me again. My life is better without you, and despite whatever may have happened since I left Portland, getting away from you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

She walked to the door and pulled it open with a flourish. “Have a nice life, Claire. May you live to be a bitter, lonely old hag surrounded by the money you so love.”

Shocked into silence, Claire strode out of the office. Emilie followed closely behind, ignoring the stares of her coworkers. Claire stopped short at the entrance and faced Emilie.

“You deserve what happened to you,” she hissed. “The Taker should have corrected my mistake.”

“What’s that, Mother? Giving birth to me?”

“Yes. You never should have been born. You ruined everything.”

Emilie waited for the expected rush of pain and the resulting tears, but instead she felt only pity for her mother. “No, Claire,
you
did.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Your black soul ruined your own life. Maybe one day you’ll be able to hold yourself accountable.”

Claire stepped back as though she’d been slapped. Her expression morphed from stunned to calculating. “Very well, then. If you want to know the real truth about your father, you’ll contact me before I leave town tomorrow. I’m staying at the Hilton.”

“I know enough about him. The rest I can learn on my own.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know
nothing
. Nothing at all.”

She disappeared out the double doors, leaving Emilie’s head swimming. Had that just been a last ditch attempt to get into her head, or was there more to the story?

“Well, well.” Lisa’s snide voice cut through the heavy silence. “That was like an episode of
All My Children
. Thanks for the afternoon entertainment, Emilie.

“I can’t imagine how humiliated you must feel, growing up so unloved and then having your mother curse you in front of all your coworkers.”

Emilie gripped the door handle. Pain shot through her clenched jaw. “Lisa, if you don’t have anything better to do than eavesdrop, why don’t you take the rest of the day off without pay?”

Lisa started to argue, but Jeremy cut her off. “That’s enough–everyone back to work. Lisa, go home. Em, are you all right? Do you need anything?”

“Just some air.”

Emilie pushed the door open and stepped out into the afternoon heat. She took a deep breath. The smell of cigarette smoke assaulted her. She turned toward the direction of the scent. At the end of the block, her mother leaned against a rented Cadillac, a plume of smoke surrounding her.

“Thought you’d come out here,” Claire drawled. “Curiosity got the best of you, huh?”

“I hoped you’d be gone.”

“Just giving you one last chance.”

“For what? To hear more of your lies?”

“Oh, I assure you, this is the truth.” Claire waited for a group of businessmen to pass by and then walked to the trunk of her car. She dug through its contents and pulled out a manila envelope. “It’s right here. Your birth certificate says it all.”

“What?”

“God, you’re dense. You haven’t figured it out by now?”

“That you’re a manipulative bitch? Yeah, I got it.”

“Nice way to speak to your mother.” Claire glanced around. She wouldn’t want to make a scene on the street.

“You get what you give.”

“Do you really think I left Mark because I didn’t want to stay in that town?”

“It wasn’t big enough for you. Not enough social status.”

“Coos Bay is a small town. Mark worked for the biggest C.P.A. firm. He would have done well for himself. I would have been a big fish in a little pond.”

“Right. The only person you’re capable of loving is yourself.”

“That’s because of you. Being with Mark was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Until I came along. I get it.”

“No, you don’t, you stupid girl.”

“Then what?” Emilie exploded. Passersby scurried away, and squawking pigeons flew out of the adjacent alley. “What don’t I get? Because it’s pretty clear to me that you didn’t want to be a mother. You blame me for your decision to lie to everyone.”

Claire stalked around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”

Emilie yanked the passenger door open and plopped into the seat. She was tempted to spit in her mother’s face. But she wanted to hear the truth.

“I blame you for existing.” Claire balled her fist and pounded it on the steering wheel. “You weren’t supposed to happen. Not with him.”

“What?”

“Mark isn’t your biological father.”

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

“It’s true.” Claire flung the envelope at her. “It’s all on record.”

“There’s no way you could have known that without Mark knowing too…” Emilie’s well of anger bottomed out, sinking into her turning stomach until her strength deflated.

“I knew when I got pregnant it couldn’t be his. We hadn’t had sex in over a month. But I had one night out while he was working late—one drunken mistake—and then you showed up.”

“Mark would have known I couldn’t be his.” Emilie clung to a futile hope.

“Not if I didn’t tell him when I got pregnant. I was farther along when I left than I said I was,” Claire said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “He thought I’d miscarried, and Mother and Dad had no idea. It was simple.”

“So that’s why you hated me.” Emilie sagged into the seat. “It all makes sense now. Why didn’t you just get an abortion?”

“A what?” Claire’s mouth dropped open. She put her hand over her black heart. “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“And yet you had no problem making my life miserable.”

“Mark and I were supposed to have our own babies and be together for the rest of our lives.” Claire’s screech rang through the car. “But you were the punishment for one stupid mistake.”

“Why did you leave? You could have convinced him I was his.”

“Mark wasn’t stupid. He would have figured it out. And you can’t exactly fake a premature birth. I didn’t have any choice.”

“You could have told the truth, begged for a second chance. Tried to do the right thing for once in your pathetic life.” Emilie’s chest hurt from fighting back a sob.

“And have Mark look at me like a piece of trash? That wasn’t going to happen. It was better if he believed I was broken. That way…that way I could leave knowing he still loved me, that he still believed in us.”

“That way you didn’t have to suffer any consequences. All about Claire, as usual.”

“I suffered plenty,” Claire yelled. “Every time I looked at you I was reminded of my mistake and what I lost. And then Mark shows up and thinks you’re his. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

“You’re despicable.” Emilie couldn’t listen any more. “Even now, more than thirty years later, you still blame an innocent child for your stupidity. Why admit the truth after all this time?”

“Because I was tired of being the only one who knew.” Claire smoothed her dress and took a deep breath. “Someone else should share the burden.”

“Just the answer I expected. Goodbye, Mother.” Emilie shoved open the door and lurched toward the bank. She refused to let Claire see her break down.

“I wish I’d gone against God and gotten rid of you,” Claire shouted in one last attempt to win. “You ruined my life.” She stood beside the Cadillac, a fresh cigarette dangling from her mouth.

She paused at WestOne’s entrance and looked back at her mother. Beneath the bright Nevada sun, her thick makeup slowly melting, she looked every bit as haggard as she was on the inside.

“Likewise, Mother. Likewise.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A shout came from inside the house, followed by a series of rapid bangs. Nathan’s footsteps were feather-light on the recently repaired front steps. Despite the humming of an overworked air conditioner, an upstairs window had been opened. Male voices argued over a blaring radio.

The front door was unlocked. Nathan inched it open. What the hell was he doing here, especially by himself? He should know better than to attempt something like this alone. Things would likely end up worse than before.

A burly man in paint-splattered jeans and a sweaty red T-shirt ambled down the staircase. He paused on the last step, gripping a heavy blade.

“Can I help you?”

Shit. “Yeah, I’m looking for Sean Madigan.”

“Who’re you? Building inspector?” He held up the circular saw he was carrying. “Cause I can assure you we got all the permits.”

“I’m his son.”

The man wiped his brow and squinted. “I see it now. You look like him.”

“Is he here?”

“Upstairs. Redoing a bathroom. Head on up. Second door on the right.”

Nathan waited until the man had disappeared and then began to climb the steps. Since his time in the tunnels, Angel’s words had weighed heavily on his mind. Would approaching his father make any difference? Could he be persuaded to forgive Nathan, or did he want to go on pretending like nothing was wrong?

He reached the top of the stairs. Old, busted tiles were strewn outside the bathroom door, resting on paint-stained drop cloths. He heard Sean’s voice, a deep tone that had once represented comfort and safety but now only induced nervous tension.