A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (21 page)

The girl nodded and arranged a few magazines within Gloria’s reach. “I’ll be in the kitchen preparing dinner if you need me. Don’t forget about the bell.” Yes, the bell. Apparently, one of
Elissa’s aunts had used a bell to summon assistance when cancer consumed her to the point where she could no longer raise her voice. It sounded so…debilitating, but Gloria must admit, it did make it easier on her vocal chords. Not that she’d been calling the girl every few minutes, because she hadn’t, but it was comforting to know someone was here—in case.

Elissa had lugged a beat-up black suitcase and red
duffel bag up the stairs three weeks ago and settled into the spare bedroom. Gloria no longer required her to wear a uniform, black slacks and a white top would do, and after the first three days, invited the girl to dine with her. What was the point of eating in separate rooms when the dining room table seated ten and nine seats remained empty? At night, Elissa retired to her room to read her homework assignments and Gloria flicked through channels, attempting to find a movie that did not involve someone dying. That was a difficult, if not impossible, task, unless one wanted to resort to half -our sitcoms that tested one’s patience. A few days after the girl moved in, Gloria switched off the television and opened a book. She hadn’t read an actual book in years, but word by word she became engrossed in the fictional lives of the people between the pages. As long as someone didn’t die, she could read and enjoy the book. If there was a hint of death or illness, she slammed it shut and at times, tossed it across the room.

Other than a few extra naps, Gloria felt the same as she had the afternoon she learned of the diagnosis.
Cancer. Terminal. Death. Six months. One year
. Of course, she refused to attend the meetings and support groups that would enlighten her on what to expect. What was the point, so she could cross off every symptom that cropped up until her page was filled and death was the only unchecked box? No, she would not succumb to that, would not even read an article in the paper pertaining to cancer of any sort. She would live her life until the end, when the blasted cancer finally caught up with her.

What a grand plan, but how would she actually accomplish this
living
life, and what exactly did that mean? She’d spent the majority of her years waiting for the next event, the next season, the next moment when she might actually be happy. It had never happened. The posturing, organizing, and anticipating had only disappointed her in the end. And why was that? Why, why, why?

The damnable truth snuck out of her subconscious, settled in her brain, and refused to leave. Her dissatisfaction with life, people, and relationships, had been a result of trusting others to deliver her happiness. What a horrible, irresponsible mistake. It had created unrest, anger, and a self-loathing that she’d masked with pills and booze. But in the end, here she was, all alone, with nothing but a stranger to care for her and
bankloads of assets.

“Would you care for a cup of hibiscus tea?”

Elissa stood before her, concern pinching her lovely face. A few months ago, Gloria would not have admitted the girl’s beauty, would have forced her to wear dowdy uniforms and clunky shoes. She’d done that with Greta, but the woman’s beauty had shone through. Gloria squinted, took in the girl’s cheap slacks, ill-fitting blouse.
The haves and the have-nots.
As she studied the girl, an idea burst through her, bold, strong, powerful. Even six months was enough time to make a difference in a person’s life if she started today. Right now. Christine might not need her, but Elissa Cerdi did. Gloria threw back the afghan and stood. “I’ll take a tea; you have one, too. And put a little Crown Royal in mine.”

“I’m fine, Mrs.
Blacksworth, I don’t need anything.”

“Yes, you do,” Gloria said, studying her from top to bottom. “You need a lot, and I’m going to help you get it.”

The girl looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

Gloria smiled, a real smile, filled with genuine humor and a wisp of good will. “I know you don’t, but you will. We don’t have much time,” she paused, “who knows when I’ll be too weak or too ill to think straight. But today, right now, I’m fine.”

Elissa didn’t look convinced by Gloria’s words. Maybe she thought the cancer had spread to her employer’s brain and rendered her incapable of logical thought. Anyone who knew Gloria might agree, but for once in too many years, she was absolutely lucid, and it was exhilarating. “We’re going to change your life.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come.” Gloria moved toward the staircase and motioned the girl to follow. “I have closets filled with more clothes than I’ll ever wear in this lifetime or the next.” She proceeded up the stairs, talking as she went. “I’m smaller than you are but I wear my clothing loose, so that will make up for the difference. And I know you must be thinking you don’t want to wear a fifty-some-year-old woman’s clothing, but I can assure you, they’re the latest designs and the simple lines are stunning at any age.” She threw a smile over her shoulder as she entered the master bedroom. “You’ll see.”

“Mrs.
Blacksworth,” the girl followed her into the bedroom and said in a quiet voice, “I don’t know about this.”

“What’s not to know?” Gloria slid open the closet and revealed a color-coded wardrobe complete with scarves, belts, and shoes. “The key to feeling good about oneself is the ability to look
one’s best at all times.” She rifled through the peach section of the closet, a renewed energy pumping through her. This girl needed her help and Gloria desperately needed to be needed.

“Let’s try this blouse, and if the slacks are too short, we’ll order the proper size.” She pulled out a peach silk blouse and cream-colored slacks. “The changing room is through that door.” She pointed to her left and handed the clothes to her. “Peach is a very good color for you with your dark hair and fair skin.”

Elissa opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and finished with a respectful “Thank you.”

Gloria sat in a chair and waited. The girl needed a haircut; she had too much hair, and curls were so bothersome and unruly.
And what about makeup? While she did wear a bit, it was so faint as to appear nonexistent. She shook her head and sighed. Christine had been the same way. Maybe it had more to do with the current generation and less to do with the individual. Sloppiness was rampant and the idea of relaxation extended from hair to clothes to lifestyle to attitude. If a person possessed a thimbleful of ambition, she could be president of a major corporation. And then some.

Perhaps Franco could fit Elissa in today and work his magic on the girl’s hair. If Gloria called
, he’d make it happen, even if he had to bump someone else from her slot. That’s what money could do and Elissa Cerdi would reap the benefit of Gloria’s power. Nails, makeup application, maybe even a few pointers on how to walk into a room to gain notice, or use body language to get a point across without opening one’s mouth. Oh, yes, Gloria had years of expertise and before she left this earth, she would gift it to Elissa. They would need to discuss the girl’s choice of profession as well. While it was endearing that she’d chosen nursing, she really ought to consider something less demanding…more…profitable. Finance would be a good choice; a person could depend on numbers. Gloria would even consider calling that good-for-nothing brother-in-law of hers and asking him to give the girl an internship while she finished college with a job offer to follow. Of course, she’d be very firm about the “off limits” policy. If that lecher looked at Elissa twice, she’d see that he had a sexual harassment suit slapped on his dirty hands. Gloria would be long gone by the time Elissa joined Blacksworth & Company, but her threat to take down Harry Blacksworth would live on and instill just enough worry to keep him away from the girl.

What was taking so long?
“Elissa? Is everything all right?”

Seconds later, the dressing room door inched open and Elissa reappeared in Gloria’s peach blouse and cream slacks. The slacks were indeed too short, but the fit was decent. The blouse hugged the girl’s breasts and created a small opening that revealed a scrap of tanned flesh, enough to make a man interested, but not too much to send the wrong message. Despite the less-than-perfect fit, the girl exuded an air of elegance and style that would escalate with the proper size and tailoring. “Well? What do you think?”

Elissa bit her lip, glanced about the room, arms at her side, and finally settled her gaze on Gloria. “I appreciate your generosity, but I can’t do this, Mrs. Blacksworth.”

“Why
, of course you can. I want you to have the clothes. We can have the pants tailored.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not right.”

Why couldn’t she simply accept the gift and say “thank you”? Why did there have to be a discussion about it? What on this earth was there to discuss? Didn’t she know Gloria Blacksworth was not in the habit of helping others? She should be honored and yet she stood there as though she were miserable, as though she did not
want
what Gloria was offering. “What’s the problem?” Dammit, what
was
the problem?

“I don’t want your clothes, Mrs.
Blacksworth. I have my own.”

Indeed.
Most likely department store closeouts or hand-me-downs. “You don’t have clothes like these. That’s silk you’re wearing, and the pants are linen. Don’t they feel wonderful? Don’t they make
you
feel wonderful?” The girl looked away and didn’t answer. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, we’ll head into town tomorrow and you can pick out a few outfits.”

“I’m not taking your clothes or your offer.” Her words fell out as though she’d been insulted, which was ridiculous.

“You don’t want to look better? You like looking like a ragamuffin with that long curly hair that goes every which way even when you try to tie it back? And slacks that are almost threadbare?” Gloria huffed her annoyance. This was why she never tried to help the less fortunate. They were always so ungrateful. “I’m offering you a chance you’ll never have again. I can dress you, fix your hair and makeup, maybe even convince you to get out of health care and into finance.” She paused, her gaze narrowed and steady. “If you let me, I can give you the world.”

“Thank you.” Gloria smiled. The girl was no fool; she knew a good thing when it
stared her in the face. “But I’m not interested.”

“
Not interested?
How could you not be interested? Why, anyone would be honored to have me shower attention on them.”

Elissa
Cerdi advanced on her and stopped when she was a foot away. Her eyes flashed with sadness and disappointment. “I do appreciate your generosity, Mrs. Blacksworth, but you should appreciate my right to say no. I’m happy with my life, who I am, and where I’m headed. I don’t want you offering me clothes or makeovers as though I’m not good enough as I am. And don’t try to talk me out of my nursing career. It’s
my
life and it’s what I want to do.”

“But why wouldn’t you want to better yourself if you had the chance?” Could she really not see Gloria only wanted to help her?

The girl’s voice turned soft, gentle. “Because a bag of clothes and a haircut isn’t going to gain me the world or make things any easier. Life is tough and all we have is each other. I
want
to stay and help you make the most of your time left, but if you can’t respect my right to make my own choices, then maybe you should find someone else.”

“Have the kids ever seen Niagara Falls?” Harry had been thinking about a short trip with Greta and the kids. Three days tops, separate rooms with adjoining doors, so Greta could sneak in to see him for an hour or two once the kids were asleep.

“No, they haven’t even been to the ocean.”

“You’re kidding. Damn, every kid’s got to stick their feet in the ocean, smell the air,
taste the saltwater.” Harry turned on his side to face Greta. “They’ve really never dipped their toes in the Atlantic Ocean?”

“Never.”

“Hmm. Have you?” She shrugged and didn’t answer. Something was going on with her. The sex had been great, as usual, but the connection had been off, like leaving garlic out of a pasta dish. He noticed because, like garlic, the connection with Greta when they were in bed was important to him. He sure as hell hadn’t ever thought about a connection with any of his other bed partners that didn’t have to do with physical pleasure, and if he had, he would have shut it down fast. Greta was different; he wanted that connection with her and when he didn’t feel it, he wanted to know why. “Hey, are you going to answer me?”

“What was the question?”

Harry reached out and cupped her chin. “Look at me.” She lifted her head slowly, met his gaze. Those blue eyes sparkled with tears and misery. “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

She shook her head and sniffed. “It’s nothing.”

When a woman said
nothing
with a bucket of tears in her eyes, it was always something. “Greta, talk to me. Did your mother bitch you out again for coming here? Just let me set her straight. I know she hates my guts and I could care less, but she’s not going to demean you.”

A tear slipped, then another and another. She swiped a hand across her eyes and said in a voice above a whisper, “It’s not my mother.”

“Okay, it’s not your mother. Are you going to make me guess who’s causing the grief, because unless you give me a hint, I’m riding blind here.”

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Three attempts later, she managed a small, “It’s about us.”

Crap.
A comment like that was never good, with or without tears. Harry slid his hand from her chin and cleared his throat. “What about us?” He zeroed in on her, waited. Again, she opened her mouth to air and no sound. “Just say it, dammit.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. “Did you say pregnant?” She gave him a half nod. More tears spilled, accompanied by sound, great waves of sobbing, pulling him in, sucking him under with that single, dreaded word. He’d fought against it his whole life, and except for that one time at seventeen, he’d never gotten caught. And now here he was, trapped by sweet, innocent Greta. Except maybe she wasn’t so sweet and innocent; maybe it had all been part of a scheme to snatch him and tie him down. More cunning women had tried, but he’d been duped by Greta’s wholesomeness, her insistence that she didn’t care about his money or his name. She only cared about him. Right, him and his sperm. Harry threw back the covers and grabbed a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. He tossed Greta her robe and said, “Put something on; I can’t think when you’re naked.” And that said it all. Common sense left him when she was close and naked, her heat inviting him to take, touch, kiss. “How the hell did this happen if I used a condom every damn time?”

“It wasn’t every time, Harry,” she said to his back. “Remember the shower?
And the kitchen?”

Hell
, yeah, he remembered. “Shit.” He bounded off the bed, as if he could revert the pregnancy by creating distance between them. Harry paced the room, raking his fingers through his hair, and cursing his own lack of control. Condoms were of no value if you didn’t use them. “Are you sure?”

She swiped at her eyes and said in a pinched voice, “Of course, I’m sure.”

“Okay, just asking.” Now what? “Did you see a doctor?”

“Not yet.” She’d tied the robe so tight she’d need a pair of scissors to cut it off. “It’s too early.”

“Oh. When is the…uh….when’s the date?” He could not bring himself to say
baby
.

“I won’t know for certain until I see the doctor, but I think early spring.” With that, she grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes passed and just when Harry began to wonder if she was going to hole
up in there all night, the door opened and Greta appeared, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. His gaze darted to her belly and then back to her face. The scowl she gave him said she’d caught him looking and didn’t appreciate it. Well, too bad. It was his kid in there and he’d look as much and as often as he damn well pleased.

“I have to go,” she announced as though she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him that would change their lives forever. Greta slipped into her sandals and gathered her purse.

“You can’t leave now. We have to talk about this.” Was he the only one here using common sense? That was scary.

“What’s to talk about? I told you I was pregnant because you have a right to know, but that’s it. I’m not asking for your opinion or your help.”

“What does that mean?” He tore across the room in four steps, halted when he was an arm’s length away. “If you think you’re going to tell me you’re carrying my baby and then just waltz out of here, you can think again. That’s my kid, too, Greta.”

“Harry, think about what you’re saying. You don’t want to be a father.”

“That’s not really the issue now, is it?” How many men actually wanted to be a father until they were one? He’d lost that opportunity once and he would not lose it again. “You aren’t,” he paused, ran a hand through his hair and said, “You aren’t thinking about getting rid of it, are you?”

“Of course not.”

He let out a long sigh. “I know this was never in our playbook, but I do want to be part of this baby’s life.” Harry settled his hands on her shoulders, met her gaze. “And yours.” The truth swirled around him; he wanted Greta in his life, needed her there, and maybe this was the way to do it. “We’ll go to the justice of the peace and have a small ceremony, just a witness and the kids.” He brushed his lips against hers. “What do you say?”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Harry traced her lips. “We’ll get Lizzie a new dress and Arnold can take pictures with my phone, and—”

“I’m still married.”

Those words were as shocking as her pregnancy admission earlier. Greta was still married?

“What do you mean you’re still married?” Harry tried to process what she’d just said. She looked away, which meant either she didn’t want to tell him or she was about to manufacture a lie.

“We never divorced.” Her voice dipped, evened, and he could tell she was miles away in her other life with her husband. “We did file but then he moved away and we never carried it through.” She cleared her throat, pushed on. “My mother is very much against divorce and I figured as long as he kept our agreement, what was the point of making it legal.”

“And what was the agreement?”

“He would stay away from the kids and I wouldn’t ask for child support or alimony…or anything.”

Anger seeped through him, slow, steady,
hot. “That’s not what you told me. You said their father paid child support when he could be found.” Who would have thought that the only woman he’d ever trusted would be the one to betray him with lies?

She looked away. “That wasn’t true. I didn’t want you getting involved.”

“Do you realize how screwed up this is?” And people called him messed up? This was nuts. “What did you tell the kids? Dad’s on the moon for the next twenty years so he can’t see you, but we’re still married?” She didn’t like that; he could tell by the way she pinched her lips and sipped in air like there wasn’t enough in the room for both of them.

“He calls every six weeks, tells them he misses them and wishes he could be home, but duty to country keeps him away.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” This was like a script for a bad movie. “Let me guess. CIA? Special Ops? What is it? Some superhero-type bullshit he saw in the theater?”

She dipped her head. “Something
like that.”

“This is ridiculous.” Harry swore under his breath and paced the room. Was Greta a whack job disguised as a normal person? Who would believe this kind of crap?
Of course. Kids. They were the victims and it pissed him off. “Please tell me you did not conjure this up, because if you did that is the sickest—”

“I didn’t,” she spat out. “But he wouldn’t leave unless he could take a superhero image with him.” She dragged her gaze to his and swiped at her eyes.
Tears. Were they supposed to replace his anger with compassion? Understanding? What about the damn kids? Who had thought of them?

“So you let him create a story that will live in Arnold and Lizzie’s brain for the rest of their lives? And you think just because he told them he’s doing something
noble, that will make up for his absence? You think it will fix things?” He was nine again, waiting for his father to show up for his swim meet.
I can’t, Harry. I’m expecting a call about a merger. Big stuff.
And again at thirteen, the soccer tournament where Harry scored the only goal.
Wish I could have been there, boy, but I was being honored at the country club. Can’t very well skip my own party now, can I? They expect me to give a speech.
And finally, senior year.
Charlie said he’d take you to see a college or two. I’m sure you don’t want your dad hanging around when you can have your brother with you.
But Harry had wanted his dad to hang around. He’d wanted that precious time so badly he stayed awake at night thinking about it until it was all he thought about. He wanted to belong to someone, somewhere, and maybe that’s how he’d gotten his girlfriend pregnant at seventeen.

“I’m trying to give them a normal life.”

Harry rounded on her. “Normal? You think it’s normal to let a kid think his dad is Superman? That’s messed up, Greta.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle as though she could shut out his words. Nice try. She’d need a suit of armor to shut out what he had to say. “What’s his name?”

She hesitated, then asked, “Why?”

Harry shrugged. He was not going to divulge his game plan, though he didn’t really have a game plan yet. But he would. Count on that. “I want to meet him, have a little conversation.”

“No.”

“What? Did you say no?”

She stared at him, an open challenge. “I’m not giving you his name.”

“You can either give me his name, or I’ll hire a private investigator to find him.” Why was she protecting the idiot? “You know I’ll do it, Greta.”

Apparently she did, because she deflated right in front of him; lips and eyes sank, shoulders slouched. “Lars,” she said. “Lars Servensen.”

“Good.” Now he had a name to go with the man. He could funnel his anger into finding this guy so he didn’t have to think about the bigger problem
: Greta had lied to him. The one person he trusted could not be trusted. “Do you have an address?”

She nodded. “Why do you want to see him? What difference does any of this make?”

“I can’t marry you until you divorce him, and I am going to marry you.” There, let her try to get out of that one. This time, with this baby, he would do the right thing.

“Are you crazy?” She faced him, hands on hips, displeasure coating her face. “I can’t marry you.”

“Why not?” Why the hell not?”

The laugh that escaped her was not filled with humor. “You’re not the marrying kind, Harry. If you were, you would have been married by now.”

Good point. “And the baby? Is this going to be one of those one potato, two potato, hopping between houses?”

She ignored the question and threw him one of her own. “Can you picture taking a baby and a diaper bag on a date?
Or a crib in the next room while you’re pleasuring your ladies?” Greta sighed her disgust. “I don’t think so.”

“What if I want to be a bigger part of its life?”

“Listen to yourself.” Her voice softened. “You’re in shock. The Harry Blacksworth I know would be planning an escape route, not talking about being a bigger part of a baby’s life.”

She was giving him a way out, nice and neat, no strings. Oh, there would be child support, but so what? He could pay for ten children, plus college, and everything in between. All he had to do was stroke a check and walk away. But he couldn’t. Dammit, he couldn’t do it. At seventeen, his old man had stripped him of the opportunity to be a father, and then the mess with Gloria and the possibility that his blood might be running through Christine’s veins. But now, here he was again, holding the “father” card, but this time he could do something about it. He knew nothing about being a father, but who the hell really did? If “qualified” individuals were the only ones to have a kid, the population would decrease by seventy percent. This was about a chance to do the right thing
, to redeem his sorry soul, if that were possible. And while he was a New Age kind of guy, he still possessed a few old school values—knock up a woman, you marry her.

“We’re going to get married,” Harry said. “Don’t even try to argue.” He ignored her blue stare and pinched lips. “But first I have to find your husband and convince him to get a divorce.”