Tides of the Heart (31 page)

Lisa smiled. “Yeah, well, I get that from Ginny. What about you? Did you always wonder?”

“Sometimes. I remember watching my brother, and I knew he and I were so different. He was so … straight-laced. I liked to be around people. I liked to paint. My birth mother was an artist, did you know that?”

Lisa shook her head. “I know that she died. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. At least I got to know her, though.”

They ate in silence for a few moments.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? We probably were in bassinets next to one another,” Phillip said.

“I thought you looked familiar,” Lisa said with a smile.

Phillip returned the smile and took another bite. This time he did not look away.

“You have incredible green eyes,” Lisa said.

“From my mother,” he answered.

“I feel bad for Melanie,” Lisa went on. “I mean, if she really is Jess’s daughter, I bet she’d want to know.”

“I wanted to confront Mr. Bradley. But Jess doesn’t want me to.”

“What about Melanie?”

“What about her?”

“Maybe we should confront her. Maybe if the two of us went, she’d be more responsive.”

“What if she doesn’t know she was adopted?”

“Maybe it’s time she was told.”

Phillip chewed slowly and considered Lisa’s idea. Jess would probably be appalled. And he couldn’t be certain, but such action seemed a lot like a breach of attorney-client privilege. But Lisa seemed determined. And he had to admit it would be nice to spend more time with her. Maybe there was a way he could come up with the right words to talk to Melanie—words that would not breach Jess’s confidence. Maybe he could do it without being direct, and at least learn if she knew that the man who posed as her brother was really her father, and the man she called “Dad” was really her grandfather. If any of it were true. Maybe he could do it. If he were half the lawyer he pretended to be to himself.

“We could go to the school,” he said to Lisa now. “Jess saw her there.”

“Oh, yes!” Lisa exclaimed. “Let’s go tomorrow, before Jess can leave.”

She returned to her salad, and he to his sandwich, his thoughts spinning with what the right words to say to Melanie would be, and how he could prove to Lisa Andrews that he was a brilliant attorney, after all. He wondered if she would give him a standing ovation.

Ginny sat on the wide veranda at Mayfield House next to Dick Bradley, and tried to ignore Morticia, who kept swishing past them, cruising the front lawn as if she were the
grass inspector checking for slugs. Jess had said she wanted to lie down; Lisa had gone into town, and there was nothing better to do. She decided she might as well spend a few minutes with the old man. Maybe she could dig up some more of her old man-enticing wiles and pry some information out of him about this kid called Melanie. Maybe Jess no longer cared, but she did. She’d always hated a script where the plot had no real ending.

“So you won’t be leaving today after all,” Dick said, tapping a copy of the
Vineyard Gazette
on his knee.

“There was room on the ferry for people, but no cars,” she replied.

“Hmph. Damn ferry. They changed their reservation system last year and have the tourists all in an uproar.”

“I don’t care about the ferry. I’m flying.”

“Do you have a flight yet?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t think that’s going to be any easier.”

“Christ, can’t they decide if they want tourists here or not?”

Dick laughed and picked up a plate that sat beside him on the floor. It was layered with cookies—big, round, gooey-looking cookies. “Have one,” he said. “Millie Johnson made them this morning.”

“Millie Johnson? Isn’t she the one who made the clam chowder at the picnic?”

“The very same.”

“Don’t tell me,” Ginny said. “She’s a widow lady with designs on you.”

Dick laughed. “Hardly! She’s a married woman whose husband got laid off and she cooks homemade soup for a couple of restaurants and sells her cookies all over town.”

Ginny laughed in return.

“Besides,” he said, “who’d want an old man like me?”

“You’re not so old.”

“I’m a grandfather! And I’ll be seventy next year.”

“So you’re sixty-nine. My last husband wasn’t much younger than that.”

“What happened to him?”

Ginny picked up a cookie and tried not to smile. “He dropped dead,” she said. There was silence for a moment, then both of them laughed.

“See?” Dick said. “Who’d want an old man like me?”

Ginny decided not to tell him that Jake, the old man, had been the best thing in her life, that he had plenty of life left in him himself and would still have if he hadn’t dropped dead. She decided not to tell him because she decided he wouldn’t understand. Instead, she thought about her mission. She tucked her swollen feet under her on the newly painted Adirondack chair and tried to look fascinated by his every move.
Flirting
, she thought,
is so much easier when you’re young. And thin.
“You’re not so old,” she said. “Besides, didn’t you say you have a daughter who’s only twenty-nine?”

Out on the lawn, Morticia stopped strutting. She moved to the stairs and came up on the veranda.

Dick nodded. “Late-in-life baby for my wife, God rest her soul.”

“Not so late today,” Ginny said, ignoring Morticia. “Lots of women are having babies in their forties.”

Dick shifted on his chair, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. His eyes darted to his daughter, then back to Ginny. “My wife was dead by the time she was forty-five,” he said.

So
, Ginny thought. His kids had been young. She cast a quick glance at the woman who had probably raised Jess’s baby … maybe as if she were her own. Was this the motivation behind it all? Was she pissed because she’d had to raise a kid she’d somehow just learned was really Jess and Richard’s?

“Thank God for my kids,” Dick continued. “After my wife died, they kept me going.”

“And this inn,” Ginny said. “I’m sure this was quite a burden.”

“Oh, we didn’t own it then. I just worked for old Mrs. Adams. She left it to me when she died.”

So it was true. The two hundred thousand had not bought Mayfield House. But it had helped pay to get Melanie from greedy Miss Taylor. With a little help from Dr. Larribee. And probably that sleazeball Bud Wilson.

“We all worked for the old biddy,” Morticia spoke up. “She left it to all of us.”

“Right,” Dick added. “Well, Karin here is the only one who still cares about it. Melanie and Richard both have their careers.…” His eyes drifted from the porch onto the lawn. He tapped the paper again. “He comes back tomorrow,” he suddenly said. “I need to remember to have him help me with the gutters.”

“What did you say?” Ginny asked.

“I said my son Richard is coming back tomorrow. He’s been up in Boston.…”

“Oh, shit,” Ginny said, standing up quickly. “That reminds me, I’d better check with the airlines about a flight back to L.A.” There would be plenty of time to flirt with the old guy later, if it wound up to be necessary at all.

She quickly left the veranda and raced up the stairs to room number seven, looking for Jess.

“What’s the damn difference?” Ginny asked Jess. “We have to stay until tomorrow anyway. Even if Melanie doesn’t know, even if you decide you don’t want her to know, at least you’ll find out the truth once and for all.”

Jess rolled from her back onto her side and faced Ginny. She wondered why everything was always so clear-cut to her friend, as though she had been spared any pain in her life. “I thought you’d understand,” she said quietly. “It hurts too much, Ginny. I am going to be grateful for all I have and not interfere in anyone else’s life.”

“You didn’t feel that way five years ago when you wanted the reunion.”

She closed her eyes. “Maybe I have finally learned something from that. Susan’s son never wanted to meet her; Phillip got to meet P.J. only to have her die; and of the four of us, you … well, you’re the only one who had a happy ending. Maybe I’ve decided that twenty-five percent of happiness is not worth seventy-five percent pain.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ginny said.

“Yes, well, perhaps I am.”

For a moment, Ginny said nothing. Jess opened her eyes
to see if she was still in the room. She was. She was standing by the window, looking down on the lawn.

“So because you’re too damn sensitive,” Ginny said, “you’re going to let Morticia win.”

“Stop calling her that, Ginny. Her name is Karin.”

“Karin, Schmarin. Is that what’s scaring you into leaving?”

“Karin has nothing to do with it. She’s not scaring me at all. It’s obvious she sent the letter and left me that message, but she hasn’t done or said anything since we’ve been here.”

“Well, I think she’s a fruitcake.”

“And I think what she is, is a lonely, troubled woman.”

“Collecting that pathetic sea glass,” Ginny continued. “Doesn’t it bother you to think that she’s the one who ended up raising Melanie when Dick’s wife kicked the bucket? Doesn’t it bother you that she’s had such an influence over your kid’s life?”

“Melanie seems fine, Ginny. She has a lovely daughter and a respectable job. If Karin raised her, maybe she didn’t do such a bad job.”

“Bullshit. She’s a fruitcake. How come she never got married?”

“Maybe she was too busy taking care of my daughter.”

“Well, why the big turnaround? Why is she blowing the whistle on her family now?”

Jess rolled back onto her back and stared at the canopy. “Oh, God, Ginny, I don’t know. I’m only sorry I ever started this again.”

Ginny walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. “You’re forgetting one thing, Jess.”

She closed her eyes again. “What?”

“You didn’t start it.”

“I could have ignored the letter and the call.”

“What about Richard? Can you ignore him?”

Richard.
The pain crept in around the corners of her eyes. An image of Melanie and Sarah on the playground
came into her mind. A picture of young Richard—young, seventeen-year-old Richard—followed.

“Maybe you’re afraid to see him,” Ginny continued. “Maybe you’re afraid you’ll spit in his eyes, not that he wouldn’t deserve it. You say you’ve learned a lot about pain, Jess. Well, I don’t think you’ve even begun to learn it. You can’t learn about pain until you feel it. Until, down to your bones, you feel it.”

“I think I’ve felt quite enough in my lifetime.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Until Jake dropped dead.” She paused a moment, her voice cracking a little. “Use Maura as an excuse if you want, but at least try to be honest with yourself.”

Jess sighed and looked at her friend. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe she was simply afraid of feeling any more pain.

“If you don’t face this now, kid, you’ll always wonder,” Ginny said, then rose from the bed. “And I think you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. But it’s up to you. I’m going to take a walk downtown, buy some tacky souvenirs, and try to think of a way to convince my daughter not to give that scumbag stepson of mine a rotten cent.” She headed for the door, then turned back. “Think about what I said, Jess. Life has no guarantees against pain. But as long as we’re here, kid, we might as well grab whatever happiness we can.”

What she needed to do was call Maura. Jess had not checked on the kids since she’d come to the Vineyard; it would be perfectly normal for her to call, say hello, and make sure they were okay. Her daughter would not think it strange. Her daughter would not read into the call that Jess was trying to ground herself once again, that she was trying to reassure herself that her life was fine without another daughter, and that anything else would simply be more
complications—complications she and her family did not need. Hearing Maura’s voice would do that for her.

First, however, she placed a call to her shop, where Carlo told her everything was fine, to enjoy herself, not to hurry back.

Then she hung up and dialed again.

Travis answered the phone.

“Hi, honey,” Jess said, then a quick churn of her stomach reminded her that was how Melanie had addressed Sarah.
Hi, honey
, was what she had said to the sweet little girl with her leg in a cast. “It’s Mom.”

“Hey, Mom. What’s happening? You having a good time?”

“Yes, dear. Martha’s Vineyard is lovely. How are you doing? How’s Maura?”

“We’re okay. I’ve been working my tail off. I don’t think I’ll be a landscaper in my next career. Too hard.”

Jess laughed. “You’ve never been afraid of a little hard work.” Of all her children, Travis was the one who did not take their financial comfort for granted.

“I never had to rake bark chips before. When are you coming home?”

She tugged at the phone cord. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Well, no rush on this end. Maura’s not here half the time, and I’m teaching myself to cook.”

An imaginary picture of a teenage-boy-ravaged kitchen flashed into her mind. “Cook?” she asked, trying not to sound too alarmed. “What are you cooking?”

“Chicken.”

“Make sure you wash it well.”