The Spiral Path (10 page)

"That's
your decision. I just didn't want you not to hear he was ill until ... until it
was too late."

Rainey
sighed. "It was always too late for me and my grandparents. They think I'm
the bad seed. In two days, I have to be in New Mexico to begin shooting, and
I'm up to my ears in last-minute crises. What would be the point of visiting?
Will I have a touching deathbed reconciliation with my grandfather?"

"Not
likely. That sort of thing is more Hollywood than real life. But ... I think you
should probably come, because if you don't and he dies, you'll almost certainly
regret not doing it. Your grandparents had all of the warmth of frozen cod, but
they weren't evil. In their way, they did the best they knew how."

"Damn
you, Val," Rainey said, voice unsteady. "I'll bet you're lethal when
you argue a case in court. Very well, I'll come--I can work on the trip so it
won't cost me too much time. But you have to let me stay with you. I'm going to
need a friendly face if I'm visiting the grandparents."

"You
know you're always welcome here, Rainey. I'll pick you up at the airport."

"No
need--I'll call a car service." Rainey's voice lightened. "At least
I'll be able to see you and Kate and maybe Rachel, so there are
compensations."

"See
you soon, then." Val hung up the phone. It would be nice to have her
friend in Baltimore, but this was the wrong reason.

Rainey should have
been working on her laptop computer as the hired town car carried her directly
to the suburban hospital where her grandfather was being treated, but her
concentration evaporated as soon as her plane landed. Her mind kept going to
the first time she'd flown into Baltimore, when she was six years old.

After
Clementine's spectacular rise and tragic death, it was the Marlowes who'd
inherited her illegitimate daughter, father unknown and legal name Rainbow.
Rainey had been put on the plane in Los Angeles as an unescorted child, and a
warm-voiced flight attendant looked after her during the long flight.

The
trip took her from summer to winter both physically and metaphorically. Icy
February winds shook the jetway as the attendant led her into the terminal, but
far colder were the expressions of the Marlowes as they collected the
granddaughter they'd never met. Clutching a white teddy bear, Rainey stared at
her grandparents, not quite believing that she now belonged to these people.
Both were lean and erect, with lines of permanent disapproval marking their
faces.

"She
has red hair, like her mother," William said with a frown.

"Not
quite as red. That's something," his wife replied. "She doesn't look
much like Clementine. Such a skinny little thing. I wonder who her father
was."

Rainey's
eyes filled with tears as she hugged her bear tighter. A sign of affection from
one of the Marlowes would have won her heart forever, but all she got was a
terse, "Come along, child. We'll take you home now." Virginia glanced
at her husband. "I can't call her by that outlandish name her mother gave
her."

And
she hadn't. For as long as she lived with them, Rainey had been you or
her
to
her grandparents. Her first weeks in Baltimore, she cried herself to sleep
every night.

As
an adult, she'd come to respect their fairness. They wanted her no more than
she wanted them, but they had been conscientious. She'd been well-fed and
well-clothed and never physically abused even when she was in her rebellious
high school years. And luckily, they'd enrolled her in the local Quaker school,
where she would get a good education with the moral grounding they thought she
needed.

At
Friends' School Rainey met the girls who had become her true family. She spent
more of her waking hours with Val and Kate and Rachel and Laurel than she did
with her grandparents. Slowly she'd learned to play, to laugh with her friends,
and to confide in Julia Corsi, Kate's unflappable mother, when she needed
womanly advice.

Like
Clementine, she'd flown far and fast as soon as she was old enough. Her
grandparents had undoubtedly been relieved. She occasionally sent brief notes
with changes of address and phone numbers so they could contact her if they
wished, but they hadn't wished. Nor had they sent felicitations on her
marriage. Prescient, perhaps.

The
only time she'd seen them since moving to California was the year before when
she'd come to Baltimore for Kate's second wedding. Feeling that she should make
an effort, she'd visited her grandparents. They greeted her with stiff surprise
and no sign of pleasure. She left after a polite but uncomfortable half hour,
wondering why she had bothered to come.

It
was almost dark when the town car pulled up in front of the Greater Baltimore
Medical Center, a sprawling complex of buildings surrounded by hills and trees.
Rainey remembered it well. She'd visited the emergency room regularly after
falling from trees, being whacked by a lacrosse stick, and similar
misadventures. She'd been a sore trial to grandparents who'd planned on a
peaceful retirement.

The
hospital was a maze, but Rainey found her way to her grandfather's room with
only a few missteps. She paused in the doorway. William Marlowe lay still as a
waxwork, only the beeping monitors showing signs of life. Virginia sat next to
him, eyes closed and face drawn with fatigue, but still erect in her chair.

How
had William and Virginia Marlowe created a daughter as vital and flamboyant as
Clementine? Once when Rainey was eleven and exploring the attic on a wet day,
she found an old photo of her mother singing in a church choir as a teenager.
Even in a choir robe, Clementine's red hair and voluptuous body had made her
more sinner than saint. Rainey took the photo and hid it in her treasure box.
She had it still.

"Gram?"
Rainey asked quietly.

Virginia
opened her eyes, startled. "What are
you
doing here?"

"My
friend Val Covington called when she heard about Grandfather's accident."
Rainey studied his long face, almost as white as the pillows. Even sleeping,
his expression was inflexible. "How is he doing?"

Her
grandmother shrugged. "He's still alive." Her flat tone couldn't
quite disguise her despair.

Rainey
felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Her grandparents' relationship had been so
deeply private that she'd half assumed they stayed together from propriety and
habit, but there was real grief in Virginia's eyes. "Does he know where he
is?"

"He
knows I'm here, but not much more, I think." Virginia twisted her hands
together with uncharacteristic nervousness.

"Then
come down to the cafeteria with me. I just landed and need a meal, and I'll bet
you haven't been eating much since his accident."

Virginia
glanced at her husband, on the verge of protest. Then she sighed. "I
suppose you're right. I must keep up my strength."

She
stood, inches taller than her granddaughter. Together they walked out of the
room and down the hall. Word must have spread that Raine Marlowe had arrived
because a cluster of nurses and aides had gathered at the departmental desk,
but no one approached or asked for an autograph. Rainey was grateful for their
tact.

All
she could face eating was vegetable soup and crackers, but she was glad that
her grandmother got a hearty plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. The woman
looked far too thin. Though they'd never been close, their relationship had
been less strained than the one between Rainey and her grandfather. Seeing
Virginia so vulnerable brought out an unexpected protective streak

She
waited until her grandmother pushed away her meal half uneaten before asking,
"What happened, exactly? And what do the doctors have to say?"

Virginia's
mouth twisted bitterly. "He was on his way to play golf when his car was
hit by a drunk driver. At nine o'clock in the morning!"

"How
bad were his injuries?"

"He
has lacerations and broken bones, with a collapsed lung and a head
injury."

"Is
the head injury serious?"

"A
concussion. Not too bad." Virginia's hands locked around her cup of tea.
"But when they gave him a CAT scan to look at the skull injuries, they
found an inoperable brain aneurysm that could rupture at any tine."

"I
... see. But an aneurysm could also hold for a long time, couldn't it?
Years?"

"William's
doctor seems to consider it unlikely in this case. His attitude is that I
should prepare myself for the worst."

Rainey
frowned. It might not be a doctor's place to offer false hope, but neither
should he make patents feel doomed. Life was uncertain, and hope could be
healing. "Have you gotten a second opinion?"

"There
hasn't been time to think of such things."

Rainey
thought of a New York surgeon friend. He owed her a favor. "Would you mind
if I called in a neurosurgeon that I know?"

Virginia
shrugged, not agreeing, but not denying.

"I'll
call him then."

"I
hear you're getting divorced from that movie star husband of yours."

Rainey
winced. "Yes. It's uncontested, so there won't be any lurid
headlines."

"Hollywood
actors shouldn't be allowed to marry. Especially not to each other. Drinking,
drugs, orgies." Virginia shook her head grimly. "Though I suppose
that's what you're used to."

Biting
back anger, Rainey said, "Kenzie is British, and they tend to be less
crazy than American stars. Neither of us do drugs or drink more than socially.
Once at a party I stumbled into what would probably be considered an orgy. I
left." On that subject, she couldn't speak for Kenzie, though if she had
to guess, she'd say that orgies weren't his style. "We're people, not
stereotypes."

"No
drugs?" Her grandmother looked disbelieving.

"My
mother died of an overdose. I've never so much as smoked marijuana."

"If
that's true, you're wise." Virginia swallowed the last of her tea. "I
have to get back to William."

"Is
there anything I can do, Gram?"

Her
grandmother shrugged again. "We've gotten along without you very well. We
don't need anything now."

Stung,
Rainey blurted out, "Why do you both dislike me so much? I tried so hard
not to be a burden. To ... to make you proud of me for my grades and school
activities. But no matter how well I did, I still knew you didn't want me. Was
it because you thought the sins of the mother should be visited on the child?"

For
the first time, her grandmother's gaze focused on her. "We didn't dislike
you, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to blame you for Clementine's behavior.
But it's true we didn't want you with us. We both felt too old to cope with a
child." She hesitated, then added painfully, "You were a reminder of
the worst failure of our lives."

Startled
by the candid answer, Rainey asked hesitantly, "Clementine?"

Virginia
nodded. "She was born late, after we'd given up hope of having a child.
She ... she was like a flame, all burning life, and just as impossible to handle.
We tried so hard to raise her as she needed, but we failed. When she left
college to join a rock band, I knew she was doomed. Maybe not right away, but
eventually."

Rainey
swallowed, her throat tight. "That self-destructive streak was part of
her, I think. I doubt anyone could have cured it."

"It's
the duty of parents to raise their children right!" Anguish showed in the
faded blue eyes. "But we didn't, and she died not even thirty years
old."

Rainey
had never seen such powerful emotion in her grandmother. On the verge of tears,
she asked, "Why didn't you show me how much you cared about her? She was
my mother. We ... we could have mourned together."

"You
looked just enough like Clementine to be painful, yet you were also a little
stranger, with traits that were totally alien. And so we failed again."