Ask Mariah (23 page)

She sighed. "Now I know you're capable of lying, Mr. Sullivan. Because this scene has my mother written all over it." As Joanna left the room she couldn't help pausing in the hallway, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Grant, I told you," Caroline said.

"Sh-sh."

Then there was silence -- as damning as any words her mother could have uttered.

Sophia slipped carefully out of bed. She held her breath as Vincent turned. Then she walked to the closet and pulled out a dress, taking it into the bathroom so she wouldn't wake him.

It was just seven, and she was always an early riser, but this morning was different. This morning she had something important to do besides make eggs and toast and coffee for her family.

When she finished dressing she made her way to the kitchen and pulled the phone book out of the desk drawer. She flipped the pages until she got to the one she wanted. Her finger slid down the column of Ws until she reached
Wingate, E
. For a brief second she closed her eyes and prayed for strength and guidance. Then she picked up the phone and dialed the number. It rang several times before a woman answered.

"Hello," the woman said sleepily.

Sophia took a deep breath. "I'd like to speak to Edward Wingate."

There was a long silence. "Who is this?"

"I'd like to speak to Edward Wingate," Sophia repeated, twisting the cord between her fingers.

"And I asked who this is."

"Sophia De Luca."

A hiss of air came across the phone. Then the voice returned, sharp and dear, "Edward Wingate is dead."

Dead
? Sophia gripped the edge of the counter with her hands. Edward Wingate was dead. Her plan of action evaporated. She had known she couldn't go to the other woman, the other mother. But the father -- she might have had a chance with him. Perhaps he would have listened to her plea to find some sort of compromising peace within the situation.

"I want you to leave my daughter alone." The woman's voice jerked Sophia back to the present. "She's mine. She doesn't belong to you or to anyone else in your family. I don't know what you're trying to do to her or to me, but it stops here. Do you understand?"

How could she not? There was steel in the woman's voice. And maybe underneath it all a hint of fear, a touch of pain.

The woman didn't wait for her to answer. She simply hung up. Sophia listened to the dial tone for almost a minute before she set down the receiver.

Edward Wingate was dead
.

And Joanna Wingate didn't know that her life had been sewn from a fabric of lies -- a fabric that was slowly unraveling, pulling apart, until there would be nothing left but worthless strings that didn't go anywhere.

She had two choices. She just didn't know which one to make. She picked up the phone again and dialed the number for her sister Elena. "Meet me for coffee at Noel's," she said when Elena answered.

"Sophia, I'm not even awake yet."

"Edward Wingate is dead."

There was a pause. "How do you know that?"

"I just called him."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

The De Luca's house was similar to Michael's, the same structure, the same color paint, the same feel, Joanna thought as she sat in her car with the key still in the ignition. Her foot rested on the brake, the gear shift in drive. It was seven-thirty in the morning. Too early to drop in on anyone unannounced, but since she'd gone to bed the night before, she'd been filled with a desire to take action, to stop waiting to see what would happen next and charge ahead.

It had been surprisingly easy so far. The De Lucas' telephone number had been listed in the phone book along with their address. Now that she was here, she didn't know what to do. She could hardly walk up to the front door and ask Sophia De Luca if she was her mother or if she knew who was.

She put the gear shift into park. She wanted to know the truth, but at the same time she didn't. What if Sophia or Elena had given her up for adoption? What if Caroline had lied or stolen her from the hospital, or made some kind of a deal with one of the two women?

Did she want to know any of it? Wouldn't it be easier to go on pretending?

She was a coward. An almost thirty-year-old coward. Her birthday was only a month away. At least she thought so. Maybe it wasn't even her real birthday.

Pulling the key out of the ignition, she took another deep breath and opened the door, then shut it.

Her heart pounded. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands shook so hard she had to clamp them together. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and she hadn't even made it out of the car yet.

She'd already lost her father. Was she ready to lose her mother, too?

* * *

"Where is your mother?" Vincent demanded, flinging open the door to Tony's bedroom.

Tony grimaced against the sound of his father's loud, booming voice. He slowly opened his eyes to see his father standing beside the bed, wearing a burgundy-colored bathrobe over a pair of cotton pajamas. His face was unshaven, his white hair sticking up in sleepy cowlicks.

"Your mother," Vincent repeated, his dark eyes worried. "She's not here."

"Maybe she went to the market."

"She went to the market yesterday."

"So she forgot something, and she went again. What's the big deal?" Tony muttered as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his temple against the already pounding headache, probably the result of too many shots of tequila the night before.

"She didn't make coffee. She didn't leave a note," Vincent said.

"I'm sure she's fine."

"You -- what do you know?" Vincent said scornfully, picking up the half-empty bottle from the dresser. "You're a bum. A drunk."

The words cut to the quick, leaving sharp, painful, scarring wounds. "You know, I don't need this shit," Tony said as he got out of bed and pulled on his blue jeans from the night before. "I'll sleep on my boat from now on."

"That's right. Run away. You always run away like a scared little boy, drowning your sorrows in a bottle of booze."

"I'm not running away. I'm leaving. And who the hell do you think taught me how to drink, Papa?"

"Don't swear at me."

"Why not? You're swearing at me."

"You're my son. I'm your father. You will show respect."

"As soon as you start showing me some respect." He lifted his chin in the air, staring back at his father with anger and determination. This showdown had been coming for a long time.

"What should I respect? You have no job, no wife, no money, no house."

"Those things are important to you, not to me. I have a boat. I have a dream."

"Dreams are for children. You are a man. When are you going to start acting like one?"

"You won't consider me a man until I come to work at De Luca's. That's not going to happen."

"Maybe it's for the best. You'd probably run it into the ground."

"Yeah, I probably would. You know, maybe Mama ran away, too. Maybe she got tired of your domineering ways and that's why she's not here cooking you breakfast and pouring you coffee." Tony meant the words to hurt. He just didn't expect to see his father crumple on the bed, his anger, arrogance, and passion fading from his eyes, from his stance, from his voice.

Vincent looked defeated, an old, tired warrior who simply couldn't keep up the fight. His hand shook as he reached for the bottle of tequila on the night table and put it to his lips, taking one long shot. His action surprised Tony even more. His father had always drunk red wine by the gallon, but not tequila and not at seven thirty in the morning.

"This isn't about me at all, is it?" Tony asked.

His father shook his head. "I love her, you know. All these years, I always loved her."

"I know that."

"I don't think Sophia does."

"Don't be silly," he said, but he could see his father was being anything but silly. In fact, he was incredibly serious.

"Sophia could have married anyone. She was so pretty, so full of life when I met her. I had to marry her quickly, before anyone else had a chance. My friends were filled with jealousy that such a beautiful woman would pick me."

Tony sat down on the end of the bed. He didn't know what to say. He didn't understand his father in this mood.

"But I had to work hard during our marriage. I couldn't take time off. There were many places Sophia wanted to go. That's why she collects the music boxes, so she can bring the rest of the world to her. Sometimes Sophia ..." Vincent shook his head and took another drink of the tequila.

"She what?"

Before Vincent could answer, the doorbell rang. Vincent immediately stood up.

"Mama wouldn't ring the bell," Tony said, meeting his father's eyes.

"It's too early for visitors."

Vincent strode from the room. Tony pulled on a T-shirt and followed him down the stairs.

His father glanced through the lacy curtain that covered the window panel next to the front door.

"Who is it?" Tony asked.

His father froze for a second, then backed away from the door. "It's no one."

"It has to be someone."

"A salesman. He'll go away if we don't answer it."

"He'll go away if we answer it and tell him to go away," Tony said as he opened the door.

It wasn't a salesman. It was Joanna Wingate, dressed in white jeans and a pink sleeveless sweater. Her long hair was swept off her face with an ivory comb, emphasizing her big brown eyes -- De Luca eyes, Tony thought, feeling a shiver of uneasiness.

"I don't know if you remember me...." Joanna said, glancing from  his father to him.

"How could I forget you?"

"Is your mother here?"

"No."

"It's early to be out."

"It is early. So why are you here?"

"I want to talk to your mother."

"Why?"

She hesitated. "I'd rather just discuss it with her. Do you know when she'll be back?"

"I don't even know where she is," he admitted, crossing his arms in front of him.

"Oh. I guess I'll catch up with her later."

"Look, I don't know why you're here, but maybe it would be better if you didn't come back." Tony dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's nothing personal," he added belatedly. "It's just -- you know -- your looks."

"I think that makes it very personal," she said quietly, "I need to know who I am, Mr. De Luca, and I think either your mother or your aunt knows the answer to that question."

"What are you saying?" But he knew what she was saying. He knew what she was thinking. Because he thought it, too.

"I'm saying my looks can't be a coincidence."

"What are you talking about?"

"Skeletons in the closet."

"There are no skeletons in my family's closet. The De Lucas have no secrets." God, he sounded as arrogant as his father, but despite his impatience with his father's attitudes, the De Lucas stuck together.

"Do you think I just happen to have the same face as your sister?"

"It could happen."

"How? How could it happen?"

"A freak of nature."

"Are you calling your sister a freak, or me?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't my sister."

Joanna's brown eyes burned at his response, and Tony didn't have any trouble seeing the difference between Angela and Joanna. This woman didn't fly off the handle. She didn't hide behind sarcasm. She didn't burst into tears to gain sympathy. She was taller than Angela and tougher, too. He could see determination in every line of her face.

"I will get to the bottom of this, and if it makes you or anyone else in your family uncomfortable, that's just too damn bad," she said. "If you see your mother, tell her I'm looking for her."

"I'll do that." He shut the door. When he turned around, he saw his father standing on the stairs, gripping the railing with one hand.

"Is she gone?" Vincent asked.

"Yes. But she said she'll be back."

Vincent sank down on the stairs. "God help us."

"Do you know who she is?"

"She's a stranger, that's who she is."

"She seems to think she's related to us."

Vincent jumped to his feet, his eyes filled with new light. "I'll call the travel agent. I'll take Sophia away. Surprise her for our anniversary. We can leave tonight."

"Tonight? Uh -- " Tony thought about the party on Saturday night and knew he needed to protest. But his father's mood seemed to change with each passing second. "Why don't you wait until next week? Take some time to plan where you want to go."

"I don't have time."

"Why not?"

"Because our anniversary is tomorrow."

That was true, but he thought his father's sudden decision to leave had more to do with Joanna than with his anniversary.

"Don't try to talk me out of leaving," Vincent said. "I should have thought of this days ago. I better get dressed so I can make the arrangements."