The Unmasking

by Emilie Richards

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about her health?” Justin was coldly furious, and it sounded through every word.

  “I did.” Her eyes flicked over his face. “ I didn’t go into detail, but she’s been fine since the last bout of pneumonia. I really didn’t think there was anything to worry you about.”

  “Lady, you shouldn’t be allowed to get close enough to people to have a simple conversation. You can’t ever be trusted to tell the truth.” He turned on his heel and reentered the emergency room, leaving her to stare helplessly after him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  STANDING IN THE doorway of Abby’s hospital room, Bethany watched Madeline walk toward her through the corridor. She had spent an uncomfortable night sleeping on a foldout chair next to Abby’s bed, and Madeline was bringing her a much needed change of clothing and some well-scrubbed toys for Abby.

  “How is she?” Madeline asked as she gave Bethany a quick hug.

  “Doing fine. The doctor was here a little earlier, and he seems to think I can take her home tomorrow or at worst the next day. She’s responded well to everything they’ve done.”

  “Is she awake?”

  “No, she’s been chattering all afternoon, and she just this minute went to sleep. I’m sorry you didn’t catch her between naps.”

  “How are you doing?’’

  “I feel like I’ve been run over by something large and ugly.”

  “I would imagine so. This was a lot to handle by yourself. I wish you’d called me last night.”

  “I wasn’t alone. Abby’s father was with me.”

  Madeline was clearly surprised at the news. “Well,” she said cautiously. “I’m glad you had some help.”

  “Yes, on one level he was a great help.” Bethany felt herself sag with the weight of her own exhaustion. “On another level? Well, I guess his behavior was to be expected.”

  “Is the man giving you problems, Beth?”

  Bethany was too tired and too depressed to invent a tactful denial. “I have had problems since the first day I met him, although most of them are of my own making. Where Justin Dumontier’s concerned, I don’t show good sense. Last night was no exception.”

  “Why don’t you drive my car back to the apartment, take a shower and catch a nap? I’ll stay with Abby.” Madeline rested her hands on Bethany’s shoulders to make her point more forcefully. “It won’t do you any good to make yourself sick.”

  “I know, but I wouldn’t feel right about leaving her. Can you just wait here while I take a quick shower? The head nurse said it would be all right.”

  “If you’re sure you won’t consider my offer.”

  “I’m sure, but thanks.” She took the canvas bag Madeline handed her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  MADELINE SETTLED HERSELF as comfortably as possible on the chair beside Abby’s bed and opened a book. Abby was sleeping peacefully. After satisfying herself that the little girl looked like her normal healthy self, Madeline tried to become engrossed in her novel, but her conversation with Bethany haunted her. Staring fixedly at the page, she didn’t notice the tall man enter the room and stand at the foot of the bed.

  “Excuse me.”

  Madeline lifted her eyes to see a stranger with Abby’s face. Coolly she examined him, not missing the expensive simple clothing, the confident way he carried himself. She understood more about Bethany’s unusual moodiness. “You’re Justin Dumontier,” she said evenly.

  “You must be a friend of Bethany’s? Are you baby-sitting so she could go back to work?”

  She was in no hurry to answer. She finished her inspection. Justin Dumontier, she decided, was a man who was used to respect and used to making decisions. He was also the man who had hurt Beth so badly years ago that the scars were still painfully obvious to those who were close to her. Although Beth had not told her any details of the previous evening’s rush to the hospital, Madeline knew that once again, this Justin Dumontier had hurt the young woman and badly.

  Champion of the underdog and loyal friend, Madeline seethed with indignation. “You say that as if she has no right to help.”

  Justin returned Madeline’s stare. “I came to see my daughter. If this is an inconvenient time, I’ll wait outside.”

  “I’ll wait with you.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Justin’s face as the determined older woman followed him into the corridor. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, Ms—”

  “Conroy. I’m Madeline Conroy, Beth’s business partner and friend and Abby’s godmother. I’m also the closest thing to a real mother that young woman has ever had.”

  Justin inclined his head in recognition. “How do you do.”

  “Right now, Mr. Dumontier, I do angry.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Conroy, I have no idea—”

  She watched the handsome face, devoid of any expression except polite interest. “Then let me fill you in. Beth hasn’t given me details, but I’m under the impression that once again, even in the middle of your daughter’s crisis, you have managed to make her miserable.”

  With surprise she detected an expression of concern. She waited for him to answer.

  “I see.”

  “I doubt if you do,” she said, forcing herself to at least sound calm. “That girl has had more to deal with in her twenty-six years than most people do in a lifetime. She’s had more misery, more heartache, more rejection than any two people I know. Maybe you should think twice before you add to her burdens.”

  Madeline, who was always outspoken, was used to her remarks causing a strong reaction in others. But nothing prepared her for the look of self-condemnation that transformed the man’s face. The swift change from self-assured professional to repentant little boy almost made her want to reassure him, but not enough to do so. Instead she turned to go back into Abby’s room to get her purse and book. When she returned he was leaning against the wall, staring at nothing.

  “I’m leaving. Tell Beth I’ll take over for her anytime. She’ll be back in a minute. She’s taking a quick shower. For the record, she hasn’t been home and certainly not at work since Abby was admitted. And if you really knew a thing about her, you would never have assumed that possibility.”

  * * *

  BETHANY LET THE needles of hot water pierce the haze of fatigue that enveloped her. There had been too many sleepless nights, too many hours spent worrying. Why did life have to be a series of problems?

  Toweling her hair, she thought, for the first time in years, about a game she had played as a little girl. She had been an only child. A lonely child. When she thought back on her years as a little girl, she remembered one image clearly. She had been just a little older than Abby was now, and she had been invited to the birthday party of a little girl who attended the church where Bethany’s neighbor sporadically took her to Sunday school.

  Bethany remembered getting dressed for the party. She had put on a pink party dress all by herself and pulled on too-small black patent slippers that pinched her feet. She had brushed her long hair until it was no longer tangled. Then she had stood by the dirty plate-glass window in her living room and waited for her mother to return.

  “I’m just going to the store, Beth,” her mother had said, and Bethany had kissed her goodbye. The little girl didn’t know that other mothers didn’t leave young children by themselves. She was used to it, and even at the age of five she knew how to take care of herself.

  But she didn’t know how to get to the party, and as the long afternoon wore on and her mother didn’t return, she knew she wasn’t going to go. Carefully she had taken off her dress and her too-small shoes and gone into the living room to turn on the television set. Much later, when her mother returned stumbling and smelling of alcohol, the little girl was engrossed in one of her favorite television shows.

  Shortly after that she developed the game. In later years, she gave herself a mental pat on the back for her own resourceful behavior. But as a ch
ild the game had been nothing more than an act of desperation. It had begun as she watched one of many reruns of a family situation comedy on television. On this show the mother and father loved each other and took care of their children. They didn’t leave them alone, and they did fun things together.

  The mother of this family kept the house clean and baked cookies. She always dressed in high heels and pretty dresses. She was never sloppy or loud. The father came home every day after work and kissed his daughter good-night when he tucked her into bed. He wasn’t gone most of the time, sailing around the world, and the family never moved from base to base, state to state. They lived in the same house, kept the same friends, and their lives were happy.

  There were many hours for Bethany, to engage in fantasy play about the family, and gradually she became a member herself. When her real mother would forget to come home, Bethany pretended that her fantasy mother was right there taking care of her. She carried on long conversations with the patient, loving woman as she found something for herself to eat.

  Even when she started school the game continued. It didn’t matter where she moved, the family always went with her. And eventually when the show was finally taken off the air, there were other television families to take their place. From each of them she gleaned information about the ways people who cared about one another acted. She discovered that not everyone lived the way she did, and she was left with the hope that one day she might live happily herself.

  So the game gave her courage. And with her courage and her big blue eyes, the little girl set out to make adults notice her. Her television families provided her with information on the proper way to behave, and with skill and natural charm the little girl put her information to work.

  And work it did. Adults loved Bethany. Teachers kept her close to their desks. The mothers of school acquaintances used her as an example for their own children. Neighbors waylaid her with candy and with conversation.

  Another kind of adult entered her life, too. Social workers, with reports of the shameful way the little girl was treated, would visit, taking endless social histories and suggesting endless sources of treatment for her mother. They were powerless to do much, because no authority who looked at Bethany could believe she was really mistreated, but their concern and advice was another step up the ladder of her own personal growth.

  Even into adolescence, when life would get too painful, Bethany would sometimes retreat into the safety and security of her make-believe families. On the night after her mother took a last in the series of one-more-for-the-road drinks and crashed her car into a telephone pole, it was to her fantasy mother that Bethany had turned for comfort. And when the funeral was over, she lifted her pixie-pointed chin and put the game behind her forever. It was no longer necessary.

  Now she stood in the hospital shower room, dressing herself in the clothes that Madeline had stuffed into the canvas bag and wished she could still indulge in an escape of some sort. But it wasn’t the arms of her fantasy mother she longed for.

  When she had combed her hair and brushed her teeth she gazed at her dejected image in the mirror one last time, squared her shoulders, stuck out her tongue and headed back to Abby’s room. Finding Justin beside the sleeping child’s bed was the last straw; she turned and headed back into the hall.

  “Bethany, wait.”

  “What do you want?” she snapped with the irritability of someone who hasn’t slept or eaten well in twenty-four hours.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I’ll just bet you do,” she exploded. “I’ll just bet you want to tell me what a schmuck you think I am and see what other guilt trips you can lay at my feet.”

  “No.”

  “I doubt you have anything to say to me I want to hear.” She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator. His hand gripped her arm, but she shook it off. “Go away, Justin.”

  The elevator door opened and she stepped inside, but he followed. The elevator was crowded, and even in her present state of mind she wasn’t up to picking a fight with him in front of so many people. Her arm shot out to push the button of the next floor, and she got off immediately, searching for the stairway.

  “Bethany, wait.” She tried to shake off the detaining arm again, but his grip was steady and firm, and he hauled her closer.

  “Go away, Justin,” she said again.

  “Not until you listen to me.”

  “I don’t want to listen to you.” She tried to shake him off again, flailing her arm uselessly.

  “Is this man bothering you, miss?” Looking up, she saw a burly security guard complete with uniform and gun, watching them.

  The question snapped her back into reality. The man was advancing on them with the suspicious look common to high-school principals, bank loan officers and dental hygienists. Deflated, she managed something in the neighborhood of a smile. “No, he’s just trying to help. We’re on our way to the coffee shop.’’

  “Thank you,” said Justin with a trace of irony, after the security guard disappeared in the other direction. He pushed the elevator button, and they waited in strained silence to take the six flights down to the coffee shop.

  “What will you have,” Justin asked formally after they settled themselves at a small table.

  “I don’t care. I’m here to listen to you, not to eat.”

  “She’ll have a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on whole wheat, with potato salad on the side and a cup of coffee with lots of milk in it,” he told the waitress.

  “You have to take care of yourself,” he said when the woman left. “You’re going to end up a patient yourself.”

  “How nice of you to be concerned. Please get on with whatever you wanted to tell me.”

  “I wanted to apologize for last night.” Justin watched Bethany’s expressive face as she struggled to stay angry. It was a fascinating display of self-control over feeling. She was managing to remain upset, but only with difficulty. He pressed his advantage. “I thought back over everything you told me about Abby and her health problems. I think you purposely downplayed some of it, but you never lied to me. I can see you were just trying to keep me from worrying.”

  “I was trying to keep you off my back.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I was trying to keep you from hassling me, Justin.” She sat back, hardening her heart. “From the day you discovered you had a daughter, you’ve criticized everything I’ve done. You’ve judged me for raising her in the French Quarter, for not having a car, for giving in too easily, for not providing adequate medical care. I was tired of being called on the carpet for doing my best. I didn’t give you a complete description of Abby’s difficulties because I knew you’d criticize my handling of those, as well.”

  “You’ve got to admit, you haven’t shown good judgment about her health. Look where she’s ended up.” The minute the words escaped his mouth he knew he had made a mistake.

  “I’ve shown the best judgment I could.” She sat stonily, watching the waitress lay flatware on her place mat. When the woman had gone, she continued. “I’ve raised that child by myself. It’s been wonderful, but it’s also been difficult. I’ve raised her on a limited income. Until recently we were lucky if we had two nickels left over after the bills were paid. Abby has always had medical attention when she’s needed it. She’s never gone without basic care. But there hasn’t been money for specialists. We’ve frequented clinics, gone to emergency rooms. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s being forced to listen to overworked, harassed emergency-room doctors.”

  Justin’s fist hit the table. “I guess that’s what makes me angriest, Bethany. You’ve done all that for no reason. I have money. Lots of it, and you know it. Yet you’ve let my daughter go without.”

  “Do you know what else she almost went without, Justin?” For the first time in her life she felt the desire for revenge. Just once she wanted to hurt him the same way he was hurting her. “She almost went without a mother. I came this close to giving
her up for adoption.”

  She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart and waved them in front of his nose. “This close, Justin, because I knew I couldn’t afford to raise her alone. That child is a gift from heaven, but Madeline Conroy gave me the gift of raising her when she offered me that apartment you detest so much. Think about it Justin. At least you’ve been given this chance to know your daughter. If it weren’t for the life-style you hate so much, you wouldn’t have been given that chance at all.” She got up from the table, almost knocking over the waitress who was bringing her sandwich.

  “Excuse me,” said the woman hesitantly.

  Bethany swept the sandwich off the plate and opened her purse, cramming it inside. “We poor folks don’t refuse a free meal.” She snapped the purse shut. “Abby probably gets out tomorrow. Please call Madeline and tell her the next time you want to see our daughter. From this point on I’m going to let Madeline coordinate your visits.” With an angry shove that sent her chair sliding under the table, she stalked out of the room.

  * * *

  MUNCHING ON THE sandwich later by Abby’s bedside, she wondered how much of her tirade had been brought on by low blood sugar and lack of sleep, and how much by genuine feeling. She was angry at Justin, and she had a right to be, but never, never should she have said those awful things to him about almost giving Abby up for adoption. She should have spared him that. Now she had utterly, irrevocably pushed him out of her life. Abby slept on, and Bethany’s sandwich was baptized with the salt of tears.

  “Do poor folks even eat wet sandwiches?” The voice at her side was low and comforting, and with a fresh cycle of sobs, she put her face against Justin’s shoulder. He was squatting with arms outstretched, and he held her gently as the healing sobs washed over her.

  “How can you be nice to me after what I said to you?”

  “You aren’t so hard to be nice to.”

  The statement precipitated another wave of tears. Finally drained, she fished around on the nightstand for a tissue and wiped eyes and nose. “I’m glad you came back.”