The President's Daughter (17 page)

Waylon moved closer and sat on Jude’s feet as he had a habit of doing. Absently Jude petted the dog and wondered where all this would end.

How could she now tell Dina that which she’d hidden from her all these years?

Oh, Jude had always known she should tell her— had to tell her someday. And she’d meant to do that. Someday.

Of course, Dina had to know the truth. Deserved to know the truth. There had just never been a right time, a right way, to tell her.

It had all happened so fast. . . .

After Blythe’s death, there had been that hasty visit from Miles, offering a new birth certificate naming Jude as Dina’s birth mother, in order to protect the baby from anyone who might have gotten wind of Blythe’s relationship with Graham. No one, Miles had cautioned Jude,
no one
must ever know of Dina’s true identity.

At the time it had seemed like a good idea, and it had been nothing for Miles to secure such a document. The only discussion concerned who to name as the father. Miles had offered to supply a phony identity, but Jude felt the baby deserved a real flesh-and-blood father, even one she would never know.

Jude had known just the man to call on.

Frank McDermott had been Jude’s friend since grade school. At one point they’d been high school sweethearts, but always more than that. Together they’d spent long summer nights sitting on Jude’s back porch talking about what they would do after graduation. With a combination of scholarships and loans Jude would be realizing a dream and heading east to attend college. Frank had just gotten his draft notice—a gloomy prospect in those days when young American boys were being loaded onto planes and flown into a jungle a half a world away. On those nights when the world was so full of possibilities, neither of them could have imagined that Frank would spend the next few hellish years in a cage as a prisoner of war and that the injuries he received there would end his life before he reached the age of thirty.

So when Jude came to Frank with a story about how she’d gotten pregnant by one of her professors—the only story she could come up with—and said that she needed a name to place on the child’s birth certificate, Frank had gladly offered the use of his. As he knew that death was close, the thought of leaving behind a child that bore his name, even though he hadn’t fathered her himself, had brought Frank a great deal of peace. The navy chaplain had performed a simple ceremony right there in Frank’s hospital room, and in the blink of an eye Jude Bradley had become Jude McDermott. She brought the baby to the hospital for Frank to see, and the photos she had taken during that visit were framed and still stood in a place of honor on the table in Jude’s front hallway.

How could Jude now tell Dina that the brave young man who so proudly held her in those pictures had been only a kindhearted friend from the past? That the daddy a very young Dina had talked to in heaven when, as a child, she finished her evening prayers had been no more related to her than any one of their neighbors?

Wasn’t it Shakespeare who had said something about lies being tangled webs? And once you were in the web, Jude knew, struggling only made the threads pull tighter.

Well, she sighed, there was no point in struggling at this late date. She could no longer avoid the inevitable. Now all she had to do was figure out how—and when—to tell Dina the truth.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Mom?” Dina called from the front door. “Are you here?”

“Out back, Dina.”

“I brought you some soup,” Dina announced as she tucked the container into the refrigerator. “Chicken soup.”

“What’s the occasion?” Jude came inside.

“Well, I thought with you being sick, you could use a little something. I won’t even try to pass it off as homemade, though. I picked it up at Elena’s on my way through town.”

“Oh, I see. You called me at the library and Mary told you that I had called in sick.” Jude nodded her head.

“No, Simon Keller told me.”

Jude froze. “Where did you see Simon Keller?”

“He came to see me today.” Dina grinned, the words fairly bubbling out. It was clear that she was more than a little pleased.

“Why?” Jude asked sharply.

“Why?” Dina’s eyes widened. “A great-looking man comes to see me, and my mother asks
why
? Thanks a lot, Mom.”

Jude still stood in the same spot inside the kitchen door.

“He came to ask me out to dinner on—” Dina stopped to study her mother’s stricken face. “Mom, are you all right?”

“Dina, don’t go out with him,” Jude said softly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dina then asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jude brushed her aside. “I guess I’m just thinking you don’t really know him. You know how I’ve always warned you about strangers.”

“And when I was nine and ten years old I needed to be warned. I’m almost thirty now. Do you think I still need you to remind me to be selective? To be careful? To not talk to strangers?”

Dina’s fisted hands rested on her hips.

“I’m sorry, Dina. . . .” Jude’s hand rose to her face. And suddenly Simon Keller was the least of her problems.

How do I tell her? She’ll turn from me, and never turn
back. How could she ever forgive me for lying to her all
these years? Why didn’t I tell her sooner?

Waylon whined at the front door. Jude turned her back on Dina and gathered the dog’s leash from the back door.

“I’ll take him, Mom,” Dina said softly. “You obviously don’t feel well.”

“I can—” Jude protested.

“So can I. Go curl up on the sofa with that book you started reading over the weekend. We’ll only be a few minutes.”

Dina snapped the leash on the basset’s collar and opened the door. “We’ll be right back.”

Jude watched from the living room window as Waylon stopped to sniff an early dandelion, and tried to screw up her courage to tell Dina everything she’d spent a lifetime keeping secret. Telling Dina the truth was going to change everything—the last thing Jude wanted at this stage of her life. There were plenty of other things that could happen to you once you hit your mid-fifties. Arthritis. Osteoporosis. Sagging jaw-lines and drooping body parts. You name it, the middle-aged woman was going to have to deal with it, in one form or another, sooner or later. Of course, the market was flooded with remedies, the health food stores stocked with herbal treatments, for many of the woes of aging. But there was no cure—natural or otherwise—for losing the love and trust of your child.

“Damn Simon Keller anyway,” Jude grumbled, “for bringing this to my doorstep.”

What difference would it make if she kept her secret for a little longer? What was the worst thing that could happen?

Most of the houses in the neighborhood were closed and dark. As she wandered toward the end of the block with the basset, Dina took note of the fact that there seemed to be more and more FOR SALE signs on the street these days as the older residents moved in with their kids or into retirement homes. Of course, a nice neighborhood like this, with the lovely park across the street, had been popular with young families for years. . . .

Though it is sad to see some of the older folks leave,
Dina thought as she paused in front of the Petersons’ house at the end of the block. No surprise, of course, everyone had been expecting it, since old Mr. Peterson died last year. Too big a house for one person, the widow had said when she announced her plan to move to Ocean Pines to live with her sister. The house would be snapped up in no time, Dina reflected as she stood on the corner. Needs work but has that great yard, and Mr. Peterson always did keep up with the mechanics.

Dina crossed the street and looked back to the Peterson property as Waylon sniffed the calling cards left behind by the other neighborhood dogs. In the light from the street lamp she could see the thick frame of the grape arbor that surrounded the rear portion of the corner property. Jude had recalled only days before that the spring Mr. Peterson had planted the first of his grapevines was the year that Jude had moved to Henderson to take the job as librarian. Dina had been a shy toddler with dark ringlets, Jude had told her, and it seemed like only yesterday that both Dina and the grapevines had stood on spindly legs. . . .

Tugging on the leash, Dina followed Waylon along the edge of the park, then started back across the street again, lost in thought and oblivious to the dark van that crept from the shadows of the parking lot, its lights off. It gained speed as it stealthily approached, so Dina failed to see the vehicle until it was almost upon her. Leaping for the sidewalk, jerking on Waylon’s chain to pull him along with her, Dina found herself scrambling onto the Turners’ lawn as—incredibly—the van jumped the curb and appeared to almost be following her before heading back to the street and disappearing around the corner.

Terrified, heart pumping way too fast, Dina crouched behind the Turners’ hedge and tried to catch her breath, a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Clinging to a confused Waylon and trembling all over, she remained in the shelter of the boxwood till the gasping stopped. But as she sought to stand, she heard the hum of an engine idling nearby. On her hands and knees, a tight grip on Waylon lest he slip through the hedge and into view, Dina crawled to the end of the hedge to peer out at the street.

The minivan lurked several houses down from where Dina and Waylon hid. It must have gone around the block and circled back, she thought as she watched its slow but steady prowl. Holding tightly to the dog’s leash, Dina leaned forward hoping to catch a glimpse of the license plate as the vehicle passed, but something—mud perhaps?—smeared the plate. Nor could she get a good look at the driver, whose face was hidden in the dark and further obscured by a hat pulled low over the forehead.

The van made one more reconnaissance, then finally turned right at the stop sign as if heading for town. A long ten minutes later, convinced that the van was not coming back, Dina emerged from the hedge and ran past the six houses to her mother’s. Rushing through the front door, she slammed it behind her and leaned back against it, blood swirling in her ears. Snapping off the hall light to cast the foyer in darkness, still shaking, she attempted to gather her wits.

“Dina, my God . . .” Jude flew in from the living room.

Dina ran into the kitchen, removed the cordless phone from its handset, and dialed the number for the local police.

“Someone tried to run me down,” Dina panted, pointing to the darkened street. “Can you believe it? Someone deliberately tried to hit me!”

For the first time in Jude McDermott’s life, she fainted.

Tom Burton, who’d been on the Henderson police force for nearly as long as Jude had been the town’s librarian, pulled into the driveway even before her pulse had had a chance to return to normal. Dina unlocked the door and stood on the porch while he walked across the lawn.

“Dispatcher said you had a car accident, Dina?” Tom asked quietly.

“No, not an accident. Someone tried to run me down.”

“
Tried
to run you down?” The officer frowned.

“A van—a minivan—came out of nowhere and tried to run me over when I was out walking Waylon.”

“When you say ‘came out of nowhere’ ”—he removed his hat and ran his hand through graying hair— “what exactly do you mean?”

“I mean that I never saw it until it was almost on top of me. It came down the street with its lights off and waited until I got midway across, then accelerated, and tried to hit me.”

“Maybe the driver was distracted and he didn’t see you.” Tom was still frowning.

“It chased me up onto the damned sidewalk. It was not a matter of driver error. That van followed me, then came back around, not once but twice. It was like a shark circling the block.”

“Maybe the driver wanted to see if he’d hit you. Maybe he was coming back to see if you needed help.”

“He was coming back to see if he could finish me off.” Dina’s patience was nearing exhaustion.

“Tom?” Jude called from the doorway.

“You see this, Jude?” Tom asked.

“No. I was in the house. But if Dina said the van deliberately tried to hit her, you can believe that it did.”

“Dina, why would anyone want to hurt you? You haven’t an enemy in this world.”

“Apparently I’ve got at least one.”

The words chilled Jude to her soul, even as Dina spoke them aloud.

“Look, I’ll make a report, and I’ll talk to the other guys on duty tonight to see if anyone saw a . . . you didn’t happen to notice the color, did you? Or the make?”

“No, it was too dark. The only streetlight is around the corner by Peterson’s. The middle of the block isn’t well lit. It happened so quickly, and I’m afraid I was daydreaming and not paying attention. I didn’t notice the van until the last minute. But hell”—Dina stood with her hands on her hips—“there’s never any traffic out here after nine or nine-thirty at night.”

“Get a look at the driver?”

She shook her head. “Only to see that he or she was wearing a hat, like a rain hat with a brim. That’s all I could see.”

“Not much to go on.” He finished making his notes, then stuck his pen back into his notebook. “Doesn’t make much sense—”

“That van jumped the curb right there in front of the Turners’ house.” Dina was starting to lose her temper. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Dina led the police officer, her mother, and the dog down the street.

“There. Look right there.” Dina pointed to the ground. “You can see the tire marks right there on the sidewalk.”

“Hmmmph.” Tom dropped down onto one knee and with his flashlight followed the dark tracks. “Looks like it came right on up here, then backed up off the curb.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you. Someone tried to run me over.”

“And no thoughts on who? Or why?”

“No.”

Jude shivered as the night breeze picked up, heralding a storm.

“I’ll stop back in the morning and take some pictures of the tracks, just for the record.” Tom straightened up. “And like I said, I’ll ask around and see if anyone saw an unfamiliar van around town tonight. But you know how it is with those minivans: half the young families in Henderson have ’em. Hell, my son just bought one for his wife to drive the kids around in . . .” Tom said as the small group started back toward Jude’s house.

He paused at the foot of Jude’s walk, then asked, “How ’bout if I check out the backyard before I leave? Just to make sure . . .”

“I’d appreciate that, Tom.” Jude nodded and stood in the halo of the porch light until he came back around.

“No sign of anything, but I’ll be by on and off for the rest of the night to keep an eye on things for you so that you can sleep in peace.” He tucked his flashlight under his arm. “And I’ll let the next shift know to do the same. Dina, I’ll have someone out by your place for the rest of the night.”

“We appreciate that. Thank you.”

“If you think of anything—anyone with any reason to want to scare you—give us a call.”

“I sure will. Thanks again for coming out.”

The car left, and Jude, weary with the knowledge that the moment of truth had come, led her daughter by the hand into the living room. There was no question in Jude’s mind that the driver of the van was somehow connected to the past. Why, after all these years?

“Simon Keller,” Jude muttered. “Someone must have followed Simon Keller. He was here earlier today . . . and dear God, there had been a van across the street, by the park. . . .”

“Mom, what are you talking about? What has this to do with Simon?”

“Dina, there’s something we need to talk about. . . .”

Dina’s heart began to thump. The only time she had ever heard that touch of uncertainty in her mother’s voice was the day that Jude had called to tell her that she had cancer. Her own earlier near miss was shoved into the back of her mind, for the time forgotten.

Please, God, not again.

“Oh, hell, there’s no easy way to do this. Dina, there’s something I need to tell you. Something we need to talk about. I know that I should have said something long before this, but—”

“It’s back, isn’t it?” Dina’s eyes welled with tears.

“What?” Jude asked.

“The cancer. It’s come back.”

“Oh, no, no, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

“You are?” Dina lowered her face to her hands and burst into tears.