The Cinderella Hour (4 page)

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. But you have to promise
me about never coming to my house. Okay?”

“I promise.” It scared her, the things he wouldn’t tell her.
Even scarier was how withdrawn he became when she asked questions he didn’t
want to answer.

There were also questions she never dared ask. Why did he
skip school for days at a time? And why, on those days, didn’t he meet her in
the forest? If he spent those days scavenging, he could show her what he had found.

And did he go to the weekend parties? And touch the girls who
wanted his touch?

Snow didn’t—quite—understand the touching the older girls
wanted. But she wanted some physical connection with Luke. She had read about
blood brothers and suggested that she and Luke become blood friends.

She made her suggestion as a dare.

“Are you afraid to cut yourself?” she asked when Luke frowned.

Afraid? Yes. But not of slashing his wrist. He had considered
bone-deep cuts to his arteries many times—and with a sense of peace. His worry
was the harm to Snow of contaminating her with even a drop of Jared’s poison,
his
poison.

“You sure you want to mingle your blood with mine?”

“Positive!”

Jared’s evil might be hereditary. But it wasn’t contagious.
She was safe, Luke decided.

The boy without hope became the blood friend of the fairytale
girl. Snow told him about imaginary worlds most children had heard of but were
foreign to him, including her favorite,
Peter Pan.

Snow would have been a perfect Wendy Darling, stitching
tattered shadows, making a home for Lost Boys. But Luke could never have been
Peter. He was a boy in appearance only, and he couldn’t wait to grow up.
Alarm-clock crocodiles and hook-handed pirates would be welcome menaces to him—trivial
threats in comparison with his sadistic father.

Snow also told Luke the truth about her life with Leigh.

The revelations worried him, Snow thought, though he wouldn’t
admit it. He didn’t like Snow’s description of Leigh’s business and wanted to
know where Snow’s parents had lived—or traveled to—during the year before Snow
was born. When she said they had never left Chicago, he looked as if there was
a significance to her answer that she was supposed to understand.

Luke was curious about Leigh’s life before she met Snow’s
father. Curious herself, Snow asked her. A three-sentence summary was all Leigh
would provide. Born in southern Illinois, she moved to Chicago at sixteen. Her
parents—and later, her mother and stepfather—had too many kids and not enough
money. They were probably relieved, she said, when they discovered she was
gone.

It saddened Snow that Leigh’s family might have been happy to
have one less mouth to feed. It explained, in a sad way, why Leigh had vowed to
never go hungry again.

Luke also wanted to know if Leigh used drugs.

“She used to drink beer and smoke cigarettes. But she doesn’t
do either anymore.
Why?
”

“No reason,” he said. But once again Snow got the impression
he knew something worrisome that she didn’t . . . and that he had no intention
of revealing it to her.

She didn’t push, was afraid to push, for fear he would withdraw.
The fear was minor compared to what she felt every time Luke missed school. Was
this the day he had chosen to walk away? Only when she rushed to the ravine and
found the jar filled with coins would her fear—on that particular day—subside.

Snow didn’t tell Luke she didn’t want him to leave Quail
Ridge. Nor did she ask him to delay his departure until she was old enough to
go with him. But she made him promise to tell her before he left.

The father who declined to feed his son also refused to
permit Luke to earn money to feed himself. There would be no summertime paper
route for Luke, and he wouldn’t be weeding neighborhood gardens or mowing
neighborhood lawns. Since Luke no longer swam, however, he had plenty of time
for chores around the house.

It would be safe, Snow decided, for her to help Luke with the
summer jobs his father wanted him to do. Jared would be at Hilltop Country Club
from dawn until dusk.

She was sure Mrs. Evans wouldn’t tell Jared that Snow was
there, once she and Luke asked her not to. Maybe she would even bake cookies
for them, and they could weed her garden in return.

Luke’s response was swift. Snow was never to come to the
house on Meadow View Drive.
Never.

Despite Luke’s chores, their summer was bliss. Working from
opposite ends of parking lots, they would scan the pavement for coins, casting
clandestine glances at each other when one was found. Cans and bottles were
similarly collected. And on one bright blue day, they walked into Quail Ridge
Bank and converted their weighty cache of coins into the airy splendor of
bills.

The best times were spent in the forest. Wonderful times, but
not cloudless ones. Luke did chin-ups on tree limbs the way he had thrown
snowballs on Christmas Day—up and down, over and over, with punishing grace.
Snow didn’t count the number of chin-ups in a row, didn’t want to. But she
would order him to “Stop it!
Please
.”

Luke would comply with a laugh. Being strong was good, he
told her. He could never be too strong. He would switch to one-handed chin-ups
then, or hang by his knees and do curls.

Summer ended with a taste of what it would be like when Luke
left town. Despite his frequent absences from Pinewood Elementary, he had managed
to advance to seventh grade at Nathan Hale Junior High two miles away.

Even the hope of glimpsing him in the hallway was gone. Snow
wanted to be at Hale. She would be—eventually. If she skipped fifth grade, she
would be in seventh when Luke was in ninth, and they would overlap for a year
at Larken High, too.

Snow’s teachers approved her plan. She was ahead of her
classmates as it was. Leigh had no problem signing off on the accelerated
curriculum without asking Snow why she was in such a rush.

Snow didn’t tell Luke they would be together in junior high.
She couldn’t bear his reply—that he would have walked away from Quail Ridge
long before she entered seventh grade.

Already Luke was walking away. He met her less often in the
forest and was remote on the days he bothered to appear.

On November first, he spoke the dreaded words.

“I’m leaving.”

No
.
“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

Because my father knows about you.
They had gotten careless over the
summer.
He
had gotten careless. And last night, with a casualness Luke
knew to be false, Jared had said, “I hear you have a friend named Snow.” Don’t
bother to deny it, his father’s tone implied. Don’t tell me she’s just a kid
who tagged behind you on warm summer days.

Luke had no idea how much his father knew about Snow and
Leigh. But Jared would have no trouble finding out everything. Like a carnivore
with a bone, he would gnaw to the marrow, devouring all that was good.

Jared would enjoy the pain it caused Luke, without regard for
anyone else who was harmed.

Luke should have left Quail Ridge last night. But he had
promised Snow he would say goodbye. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

And he needed a little time to prepare for the rest of a life
without her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Away.”

“But you’ll come back someday.”

“No I won’t, Snow. Not ever.”

“I’m coming with you!”

“You can’t.”

“I
could
.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“But we’re friends
.
”

“You’ll find new friends, Snow, and forget all about me.”

“I’ll never forget about you! I don’t
want
to.”

“You have to. Forget about me, like I’m forgetting about you.”

“Why are you being so mean?” Snow regretted the question the
instant she spoke it. Luke wasn’t mean. The accusation would hurt his feelings,
and did. “I’m sorry!”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You need to remember
that.”

What did he mean? Snow knew he wouldn’t explain, and there
were far more urgent issues. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

“No.”

“But how will I know you’re all right?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“What have I done wrong? Luke? Please tell me!”

“Nothing, Snow. Not a damned thing. It’s just time for us to
say goodbye.”

I can’t say goodbye to you, Luke. I won’t.
Her silence had no power. He was
leaving, with or without her farewell.

She didn’t want him to go. But, without knowing why, she knew
he had to. And, most of all, she wanted his journey to be safe. He was halfway
across the clearing when she realized it might not be. She could have remained
silent about the money, forcing his return to Quail Ridge, to her . . . and to
the father he loathed.

“Luke! You forgot the jar!”

Luke turned to face her, but he made no move toward the
fallen log. “The money is yours, Snow.”

“What?”

“It’s for you, in case you ever need it.”

“Why would I need it?”

Luke didn’t reply, and in a moment he was gone.

Later that night, Snow learned the answer to a question she
had never posed aloud.

The pool beneath Luke’s bedroom
was
filled with nails
and glass. More glass fell into it that night, as Luke leapt through his window
to escape the flames.

Pinewood
Veterinary Clinic

Meadow
View Drive

Quail
Ridge
, Illinois

Saturday,
October
29

5
:
45
p.m.

Present
day

“Wow.” Bea Evans, who had been on
the living room couch consulting the television listings for the evening,
sprang to her feet. “You look absolutely positively fabulous.”

Mira Larken, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, acknowledged this
with a self-deprecating smile. “I look different, Bea.”

“Absolutely positively fabulous.” The retired school nurse
made a twirling motion with her fingers. When the lilac-gowned Mira complied
with a
360
-degree turn, she added, “From
every angle.”

“Well. Thanks. Okay, so you know where I’ll be.”

“The Starlight Ballroom at the Wind Chimes Hotel. I have the
number right here.”

“I’m also taking my pager.”

“Why? You would never hear it over the gala sounds.”

“I’ve set it on vibrate.”

“Where is it?”

Mira pointed to the gown’s satin sash. The pager was thin,
the bulge scarcely visible.

But Bea was having none of it. “Hand that over, Dr. Larken.
If I need you, I’ll find you. Besides, our girl is on the mend.”

Their girl was a calico cat named Agatha. Thirty-six hours
post-op from the removal of an infected gallbladder, she was doing so well that
Mira hoped to release her at noon tomorrow.

For the moment, Agatha was indeed theirs. Bea was the best
veterinary assistant Mira had ever known. She was also the best mother.

Mira’s biological mother, Marielle, was flourishing in Palm Beach. She would have approved, as Bea had, of Mira’s Pearl Moon gown, but for a very
different reason: relief that her fashion-averse daughter was dressed
appropriately for the charity ball.

To Marielle DuMonde Larken, appearance was all.

Beatrice Evans didn’t give a hoot about appearance. Her
enthusiasm was purely for Mira. She simply hoped Mira would have a wonderful evening
out on the town.

Mira hadn’t appreciated what she had been missing in the
mother department until the nurse she had last seen during her school days at
Hilltop Elementary wandered across Meadow View Drive to welcome her—and her
in-home veterinary clinic—to Pinewood.

That was three months ago. Bea had been mothering her and the
creatures in their care ever since. And Bea was right. Agatha was on the mend.
Besides, if the calico so much as turned a whisker, Bea would be on the case.

Mira relinquished her pager to Bea’s outstretched hand. “I’m
not sure when I’ll be home.”

“Whenever Vivian is ready to come home. And not a second
before. Or after.”

There wasn’t an ounce of criticism in Bea’s remark, or in
Mira’s reply. Facts were facts. “Good point. Unless, of course, Blaine wants to stay until the very end. He might, too, since it’s a hospital event and he’s
in his final days as chief of staff. If so, Vivian will cheerfully agree. She’s
pretty happy doing whatever Blaine wants, as long they’re together.”

“Do you suppose she’ll ever thank you for introducing her to
the man of her dreams?”

“No. Nor do I want her to. It was a referral, after all, not
an introduction. And it was barely even that. Blaine already knew she
specialized in family law and was highly regarded by her colleagues. I just
confirmed what he’d essentially concluded on his own, that she would be an
excellent choice for the kind of legal advice he wanted. And matchmaking was
the farthest thing from my mind. I would never have predicted they’d fall in
love, much less within a second of laying eyes on each other.” Mira had not, in
fact, known either of the lovebirds very well—not the once-divorced
fifty-two-year-old psychiatrist
or
her twice-engaged never-married
thirty-four-year-old sister. But she was thrilled for the deliriously in love,
although no less judgmental, Vivian, and for the equally in love Blaine
Prescott, M.D. “But I’m very glad they have.”

“I know you are,” Bea said. “And don’t worry about how late
the evening may be. I’ll see you when I see you. If I get sleepy, Agatha and I
will take a nap in the guest bedroom. What would you like me to do if
you-know-who calls? I’d be delighted to give him a piece of my mind.”

“I know. But I was thinking it might be best to just let
voice mail pick up any calls. Maybe he’ll leave a message, something the police
could use if it comes to that . . . which, with luck, it won’t.”

Bea’s expression was sympathetic but stern. The man had
warned he would call again. “You
are
going to discuss this with Blaine
and Vivian.”

“Yes”—
Mother—
“I am.”

Her sister and brother-in-law’s
undivided attention was not the reason Mira had said yes to Vivian’s suggestion
that they drive downtown together. And she had initially declined . . . as, she
felt sure, Vivian had known she would.

It was one of those safe offers, like inviting someone to a
dinner party when you knew they had other plans. You got credit for the invitation
without incurring any risk that the invitee might actually appear.

It was the black-tie—not the charity—aspect of the Harvest
Moon Ball that virtually ensured Mira would say no. Dress-up for Vivian’s
sister meant jeans instead of scrubs.

For years, and with a request of anonymity, Mira had made
generous donations to the Grace Memorial Hospital benefit. This year, and
unbeknownst to her until the program for the evening’s silent auction arrived
in the mail, Blaine had added her name to the Chagall that he and Vivian were
donating. The painting, purchased in the south of France during Blaine’s first honeymoon, had no place in his marriage to Vivian.

Mira had been a little miffed that her name had been included
without her consent. But she had decided against making an issue of it. Blaine’s intentions were admirable. He had undoubtedly decided that linking her and Vivian
in print was a first step toward the real-life reconciliation he hoped to
orchestrate.

Either that, Mira mused, or the psychiatrist renowned for his
commitment to women’s mental health had developed a scholarly interest in
aberrant relationships between sisters.

Whether his motives were altruistic or academic, Blaine was going to be disappointed.

There wasn’t a previously unrecognized disorder to be
unearthed here, a deviation so profound it should be added to the psychiatric
watch list. The Larken sisters’ lives rarely intersected, rarely had, and when
they did, the contact was glancing at worst, without damage of any kind.

For the same reason, an emotional reconciliation wasn’t in
their future. She and Vivian were
not
estranged. How could they be? It
was hard to be estranged from a stranger.

If ever baby Mira had reached for her three-year-old sister,
only to be rejected, she had no memory of it—no memories whatsoever of longing
for closeness to the sister who had always been so far away.

Faraway sister. Faraway mother. Faraway father. That was Mira’s
family.
The
family of Quail Ridge. The Larkens gathered for photo ops: the
annual Christmas card portrait, Marielle’s frequent Mother of the Year honors, and
Vivian’s similarly frequent academic awards.

The ideal family pretense hadn’t bothered Mira. Not that she
had perceived it as pretense. That was the way her family was, and she was a happy
child. Besides, she had found a family of her own in the neighborhood dogs. The
enthusiastic creatures gave her the unconditional love that wasn’t available in
the Larken mansion. Mira reciprocated in kind. And, although she had no deep,
dark secrets, her canine companions provided an attentive audience for whatever
she had to say. It was to her tail-wagging friends that Mira first revealed her
joyous plans for her life. She would spend it with animals, caring for
animals—like them.

Mira hadn’t missed having a mother, until she met Bea.

She hadn’t missed having a sister, either . . . had she? If
so, she didn’t know it. And neither did Vivian.

As Blaine would eventually discover.

In the meantime, he was welcome to assume it was his addition
of her name to the donated Chagall that persuaded her to attend the Harvest
Moon Ball. Blaine didn’t need to know—even Bea didn’t know—that it was an
entirely different revelation in the auction booklet that had changed her mind.

Snow Ashley Gable was returning to Chicago.

Snow Ashley Gable. The woman who had broken Luke Kilcannon’s
heart.