Bad to the Bone

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Stop it!”

  Pru put her hand over her mouth, shocked that the words had come out. Except, they hadn’t.

  “Stop it right now!” It was Mom, barreling up the little aisle with her hair flying, eyes on fire, finger pointed at Mr. Phillips. “How dare you do this? How dare you shame that child because yours didn’t win a middle school competition?”

  The audience rumbled, maybe in support, maybe in shock. But Pru still couldn’t breathe or think or make sense of anything.

  Trace was her father?

  And suddenly, she could make sense of everything.

  “I’m merely pointing out a discrepancy and demanding a disqualification.” Mr. Phillips’s voice was cool and calm, despite the growing chaos around him.

  Mom climbed the steps to the stage. “You are merely scarring a child for the rest of her life, making a mockery of this process, and establishing that you are, without a doubt, cruel, heartless, and pathetic.”

  Someone actually clapped. Probably Gramma Finnie. But Pru felt herself hit the chair as she sat down with a thud, staring at the floorboards in front of her.

  Trace was her father.

  And no one had thought it was important enough to tell her.

  “Are you denying the facts, Ms. Kilcannon?” Mr. Phillips’s voice was so loud, it was like someone had turned the volume on the PA system up to deafening. “Are you going to stand here and lie like your daughter? Like her convicted-felon father?”

  “Why would you do this now?” Mom asked in a harsh whisper.

  “I’d have done it privately but my wife just informed me that she has unassailable proof that you and Mr. Bancroft were intimate the night before he committed a murder. While he was on the run from an accusation of rape, I might add.”

  Pru didn’t move. She couldn’t look up as seconds of silence ticked by and the whole entire auditorium seemed to hold its breath.

  “Is he or is he not your daughter’s biological father, Dr. Kilcannon?”

  Pru looked up as Mom reached her, seeing everything she needed to know on her mother’s face.

  “Pru, come on.”

  “Come on?” Pru demanded, her eyes filling with hot tears. “Come on?” She turned, looking from one side of the stage to the other, seeing nothing but a sea of faces, all of them staring at her. David and Josh, and Corinne. There was her grandfather, already in the aisle and coming closer, followed by Gramma Finnie.

  She turned to stare at Mom, who looked as stricken as Pru felt.

  “How could you?” Pru rasped. But she didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t wait for Mom to tell Mr. Phillips he was right. She didn’t have to.

  She pushed past her mother and ran to the edge of the stage, easily jumping down and lunging for the fire exit door. She shoved it open and ran as far and fast as she could, sobbing the entire way.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Molly spotted her instantly, tearing through the school parking lot, her dark hair flying as she sprinted away.

  Her heart. Her poor, broken, little child’s heart. Molly’s own heart shattered over and over again every time she remembered the look on Pru’s face when that monster vomited out words that had needed to be said tenderly and gracefully.

  Pru had to be devastated.

  As the wind screamed in her ears, Molly could really only hear her mother’s voice.

  You’re only as happy as your least-happy child.

  Then Molly simply couldn’t be any unhappier. She saw Pru slowing down, gasping for air, bent over. It gave Molly enough time to catch up and thank God that her car was twenty feet away. They had to get out of there.

  “Pru!”

  She didn’t even look up, still doubled over, her narrow shoulders rising and falling with sobs.

  “Honey, we have to talk.”

  Finally, she straightened as Molly ran closer. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

  Catching her breath, Molly slowed her step and tried not to throw herself at Pru for a hug and a plea for forgiveness.

  “He’s my father.” It wasn’t a question.

  Molly nodded, which only made Pru’s eyes close as she gave a soft grunt.

  “I wanted to tell you.”

  Those eyes popped open. “Then why didn’t you? Like ten years ago, Mom!”

  “I planned on it.”

  “Right. On our trip to the Outer Banks that never happened.”

  “Trace showed up at the front door, Pru. Everything changed.”

  Pru stumbled backward, shock hitting her all over again. “You let him into my life and made me like him…and…” She swiped tears from her face. “Where is he?”

  Oh God. Only in that moment did Molly realize that not only had that pompous jerk ripped Pru’s heart out with a public announcement, he’d also stolen any chance of Molly honoring Trace’s last request. And now, poor Pru had to face one more heartbreak. Her father had left without even saying goodbye.

  She couldn’t tell her. At the sound of voices, Molly glanced toward the school and saw people drifting out of the auditorium. She couldn’t tell her here, anyway. They needed to be alone, home, holding each other.

  “Can you get in the car, Pru? I’m parked right over there. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Pru snorted, wiping her nose and keeping her angry gaze on Molly. “Where is he, Mom?”

  She swallowed. “He’s gone, honey. He…left.”

  “What? Where? When is he coming back? When can I see him?”

  “I don’t think he is coming back.”

  “Mom!” Pru nearly sobbed. “I just found him! I waited my whole life to have a father, and I spent three weeks with him and didn’t know it was him, and…he’s gone? Why? Why would he leave me?”

  “He didn’t leave you, Pru. He left…us.”

  “Why?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I saw him this morning and he just said he’d made someone a promise and he had to leave. He left Meatball.”

  “He left Meatball?” She reached for Molly’s shoulders. “Something must be so wrong with him!”

  How like Pru to worry about him. It folded her bruised heart in half again. “I don’t know what happened. He wouldn’t tell me. He left. He wanted me to promise…”

  “What?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “Mom, what?”

  “He wanted me to never tell you the truth. Ever.” At Pru’s crestfallen face, Molly reached for her. “Because he loves you,” she insisted, getting a scoffing laugh in response. “He does, honey. And he was absolutely certain that you’d be ashamed of him and devastated to know your father killed a man.”

  “By accident! And he served his time. And, Mom, he’s a really good guy.”

  Each word slashed Molly’s heart and left a permanent scar. Why did he have to leave and not hear his daughter defend him? Why didn’t he believe in his own worth? “He wasn’t sure you’d feel that way, honey. I’ve wanted to tell you since the day he showed up, but every day, he stopped me. He didn’t want to lose your respect or friendship. He was sure you’d hate him.”

  “My own father?” Pru dropped her head, finally not fighting Molly as she wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I did treat him like crap in the beginning.”

  “This is not your fault, Pru.”

  “He must have known this was going to happen,” Pru said. “He had to have known.”

  Molly eased back to look at her. “No. He would never have left you to endure this without him if he’d known.”

  “But Corinne knew,” Pru said. “She called me a cheater on stage before her dad ever showed up. How could she know? How could they know what I didn’t?”

  Molly closed her eyes as a piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “Corinne’s mother was there the night…she saw me leave a party with Trace.”

  “The unassailable proof that blowhard guy has?”

  Molly nodded. “I bet she’s known for a long time.”

  “And was waiting fo
r the perfect moment to wreck my life,” Pru said dryly, looking over Molly’s shoulder. “Oh boy. Here comes the cavalry.”

  Molly turned to see Dad walking toward them slowly as he held Gramma Finnie’s arm and made sure she didn’t trip on the uneven asphalt. Wordlessly, Molly walked with Pru to meet them halfway.

  Gramma Finnie reached for Pru. “My little lass,” she whispered into a hug.

  Dad looked from one to the other, his blue eyes full of pain. “I’m sorry, Pru.”

  “You didn’t do anything, Grandpa.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Molly said. “The blame for this mess lands squarely on my shoulders. I sat on a secret way too long.”

  “You know what the Irish say.” Gramma tightened her grip around Pru. “Three people can keep a secret as long as two of them are dead.”

  “Only two knew this one, and that was my mistake. Pru should have been the third.”

  “No, Molls,” Dad said softly. “It was mine.”

  All three of them glanced at him, one face looking more confused than the next.

  “I knew. I knew from the day he came to town. In fact, I knew his name when Pru was not even two and Annie met his mother.”

  “Grannie met his mother?” Pru’s voice rose in shock, and Molly’s head grew light and dizzy.

  “You knew…when you invited him to Waterford?” she asked her father. “When he showed up with Meatball? You’ve known all this time, Dad?”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said simply. “I met him and instantly knew when he said his name that he was the boy your mother had told me had died. After she thought he died, Molly, that’s when she told me. Not a moment before.”

  “You’ve known all these years?” Somehow, it was more comforting than a betrayal, which she didn’t understand. But her dad knew, he’d accepted, and he’d brought Trace to her.

  “When I met him, I felt the man had a right to know he has a daughter. That was very important to your mother, honey. She believed that with her heart and soul, but obviously, she stopped thinking it was a possibility when she was told he was dead.”

  “Who told Grannie that?” Pru asked.

  “His mother,” Molly answered. “She wanted to save you shame, too.”

  “I wish somebody had asked me what I wanted,” Pru said.

  “You’re right, Pru.” Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “We were all too protective. But when I met him, I thought I’d give him a chance, and I knew he and Molly would know the right thing to do, as parents.”

  Parents. She’d never been part of that equation before. She hadn’t known how badly she longed for it until right now.

  More people peppered the parking lot, many of them staring at the grouping of Kilcannons deep in conversation. Automatically, Molly moved closer to Pru. “We should go. We should all get home and talk about this.”

  “No,” Pru said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go home. I want…” She took a breath. “I’m going to ride with Gramma Finnie and Grandpa.”

  The rejection hurt, but Molly tried to understand how mad Pru must be. They would help her. They would ease her pain. “Okay. I’ll be at my Waterford office. Come and find me when you’re ready.”

  Inching back, Pru looked away, like it might be a long time before she was ready. “Sure.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with painful tears. She struggled not to cry, cursing herself and blaming herself and hurting so hard she could barely breathe. “’Kay,” she managed.

  Pru turned to her grandfather, who put his arm around her and guided her to the van, glancing over his shoulder with an encouraging look to Molly. Gramma Finnie held back and took Molly’s hand in her weathered palms.

  “What time can’t solve, God will fix, lassie.”

  Molly smiled at the predictable and welcome reassurance, but she was pretty sure that no matter what time solved or God fixed, at least three people had been wrecked by it.

  * * *

  Just wade through that shit, Wally would say. It may be a little uncomfortable, but it’s the only way.

  Up to his eyeballs in “wading,” Trace turned the page of the fifth or sixth journal, riveted to the words written by a broken woman who hadn’t a clue how to be a mother. Terrified that nature would be stronger than nurture, she’d chosen guilt and fear, instead of love and guidance.

  In other words, she’d spent years warning Trace that he was like his father in the hope that he wouldn’t be. Why hadn’t he seen that?

  Because until he’d seen Molly with Pru, he hadn’t known what a mother should be. His mother hadn’t known, either, based on her desperate journal entries that were as much a cry for help as anything he’d heard during the dark nights in Huttonsville. He’d been too young and self-involved to see that, but reading these diaries, it was like a weight lifted with every new entry.

  His head whipped up at the sound of a car pulling up to the little house. What the hell? Had Phillips come back? Or Molly? A car door banged closed. Then another. Who was here?

  Whoever it was, they couldn’t get in and he wouldn’t go out. Staying low and out of the line of visibility of the front window, which was open an inch, he made his way over to sneak a look outside without being seen.

  And he almost moaned at the sight.

  There, climbing out of the big Waterford Farm van was Daniel Kilcannon, Gramma Finnie, and Pru. They gathered in a group, talking too quietly for him to hear through the small opening.

  Suddenly, Pru stepped away and held something up. “But I have a key, Grandpa. I can go in.”

  “No, you can’t go into someone’s home without permission.”

  “Not someone. My father.”

  Trace sucked in air like a fresh punch had collided with his gut. Molly, how could you?

  “He’s gone,” Pru said. “Ditched us all without a goodbye. Why can’t I go in and get what’s rightfully mine?”

  “What makes those journals yours, lass?”

  “They were written by my other grandmother!” she fired back. “If he left them, they’re mine. Heck, this whole house could be mine. And it’s all I’ve got, Gramma. It’s the last piece of him.”

  And that piece of him shattered like crystal on concrete.

  She felt that way? She wanted something of…his?

  Turning, he looked at the books spread across the floor where he’d been sitting for hours. After the long walk home, he’d collapsed in a fitful sleep. When he woke, something made him take that box out of the closet and start to read.

  And now that same something had Pru. A desire for answers, no doubt. Answers that child deserved but he was too scared to give. Shame, that old companion he knew so well, slithered up his belly and wrapped around his throat, strangling him.

  “I can’t let you go in there, Pru.” Daniel put a hand on her shoulder, his look stern and steady, as unwavering as that moral compass the man used to guide his family in everything. He wouldn’t even let her use a key to enter an empty house.

  “Grandpa, please.” Her voice grew soft and cracked. “I fixed that house for him. I…” She looked up to the roof, her lower lip quivering. “I helped him.”

  Helped him in so many ways, she had no idea.

  “If I had known this was where you wanted to go, I wouldn’t have driven you, Pru,” Daniel said. “You need to get back in the car so we can leave. Your mother’s waiting for you.”

  Pru didn’t look convinced, her delicate features fixed in an expression of frustration and determination. She looked like…him. In that moment, Trace saw a glimmer of himself in her.

  Hadn’t Molly shown him how to be a better parent? Hadn’t Wally told him to wade into whatever he had to and get through it? Hadn’t Pru taught him what it meant to be a father?

  “I need to know more!” Pru insisted. “I need to know who he really is, and what I come from, and why he left.”

  He owed his Umproo so much more than running away.

  Gramma Finnie put her arm around Pru. “Your mother needs
you, lass. She’s hurting for you.”

  So much hurt. He’d caused that. And he had to undo it.

  “Gramma, I want to…”

  Trace didn’t hear the rest, only the blood thumping in his head as he made his way to the front door. He stood there for a moment, closed his eyes, and said the closest thing he knew to a prayer.

  Let me be worthy of her.

  As he opened the door, she was climbing into the back of the van.

  “Pru.”

  He saw her little frame freeze as he took one step closer.

  “Prudence Anne Kilcannon…Bancroft.” He whispered the last word, letting it fall out like the olive branch he was offering.

  Very slowly, she inched back out of the van. He was aware that the other two people watched, but his gaze was solidly on his daughter, who finally turned and looked at him. He saw her swallow, breathe, and, he swore, he saw her forgive. Just like that.

  “That’s Umproo to you,” she said softly.

  He wanted to cry. Wanted to drop his head back and weep with wonder that someone, somewhere had blessed him with this child. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Instead, he reached his arms out to her, and she came right to him, slowly at first, then she rushed closer. Without hesitation, she let him hug her, stroke her hair, and feel her cry for him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his throat thick with emotions he hadn’t even known were possible. “I’m so sorry for not telling you. For leaving. For hurting you. I’m sorry.”

  She eased back. “Please don’t leave us.”

  Us. Both of them. His family. He pulled her in again, and over her head, he met the gazes of her grandfather and great-grandmother, both of them holding back as they stood next to the open doors of the van.

  Which reminded him of last night and how tentative his grip on security really was.

  “Something happened,” he said to all of them, easing Pru away. “Last night, when I got home, a woman was waiting for me and…she came on pretty strong. I tried to leave, but her husband showed up.”