All That Lies Broken (Ashmore's Folly Book 2)

by Forrest, Lindsey

  But not for economic reasons. Not because their mother was a rich woman.

  Meg broke into his thoughts. “You don’t have anything against adopted kids, do you?”

  Julie as a new infant, listening for his voice…. “Of course not.”

  “Good,” said Meg. “Because I’m adopted too.”

  ~•~

  Here it was, then. Her agenda. Finally out in the open.

  In the midst of his shock, as she clapped her hands to her mouth – a false gesture if ever he’d seen one – he recognized her strategy. She had engineered it all. She had had her little checklist of topics – career, age, background, money – all leading up to this moment. She had meant all along to confront him.

  “Oh! I am such a blabbermouth! Forget I said that!”

  She wasn’t shocked, and she wasn’t sorry. She had a properly remorseful look on her face, but her eyes were shrewd and watchful.

  She knew. No. Impossible. She couldn’t know. If he was certain of one thing, it was that neither Laura nor St. Bride had ever revealed her true parentage.

  No pretending not to understand. They had gone beyond subterfuge. “How do you know this?”

  She didn’t answer, but merely continued to look at him.

  “You and I both know your mother didn’t tell you. How do you know?”

  Whatever she had been expecting – a show of disbelief, an outraged denial – he wasn’t giving it to her. Her eyes fell.

  “How did you find out about this?” Richard repeated. She wanted to tell him; she was going to tell him. She wasn’t going to play games with him any longer.

  He saw her take a deep breath. “I found out from my dad.”

  After St. Bride’s hostility? “I don’t believe you. How did you find out?”

  Meg said stubbornly, “I told you. I found out from my dad.”

  He stood up, needing the release of movement. Action helped him to focus. She was fishing. She was looking to fill in the gaps in the story, trade tit for tat.

  So what didn’t she know?

  “Do you want to know about it?” she asked.

  Margaret Mary St. Bride was in for a rude surprise if she expected to worm anything out of him.

  He turned around and looked at her. “What do you know?”

  That took her aback for a moment, to be challenged. She didn’t know how to handle someone getting in her face. Her voice lost a little of her bravado. “If I tell, will you promise not to tell my mom? That I know, I mean?”

  Richard said coolly – too quickly becoming his stance with her – “If you’re adopted, as you say – and I am not accepting that – then she knows all about it.”

  Meg just gave him a look. “Of course she knows.” Her tone dripped with scorn for his obtuseness. “But she doesn’t know I know, and you,” she pointed a finger at him, “you can’t tell her. It would break her heart if she found out.”

  He said nothing.

  His silence agitated her. “Look, Mom has had a really bad time, okay? She took what happened to Dad really hard, lots harder than she lets on. Please don’t tell her. Please. She’s always made such a deal about stuff – I mean, when I was little, I used to ask her about when she was expecting me, and when I was born, and was I a good baby, and did I sleep all night, stuff like that, and she’d always tell me. She’d be really upset if she found out I know she made it all up.”

  But Laura hadn’t had to make anything up. She’d been with Francie; she had probably witnessed Meg’s birth.

  “Listen, if I tell you, will you promise not to tell her?”

  “Look here.” Direct was the only way to deal with her. Subtlety was lost on her. “I’m not making deals with you. Either tell me, or keep quiet, but stop – playing – games.”

  Her chin started to stick out stubbornly. Richard said sharply, “Stop that right now.”

  She sat there in smoldering silence. Then, “Is this one of your strategies?”

  “Yes. It’s the strategy of either tell me or keep your mouth shut.”

  That ought to be blunt enough to penetrate even her hard little head. She stared at him – if this weren’t so serious, he would have laughed at her assumption that they were evenly matched – and he stared right back, not giving her an inch.

  He would have given anything for a cigarette just then.

  Her eyes shifted away. “I was born before Mom and Dad got married.”

  “That happens.”

  Meg swallowed. “I found out when I was ten. I heard Dad saying to Mom how they should do something special for their tenth anniversary, and I said, wait, how can it be the tenth when I’m already ten? Then Dad got mad and said I shouldn’t listen in on other people’s conversations, and Mom looked weird and said she had to tell me something.”

  Here it was, at last, the cover story. He wondered how many times over the years Laura had been forced to explain her wedding date.

  “She said how she and Dad met and fell in love, and she ran away from home to be with him, and then I came along, and they didn’t get married right away even though Dad wanted to because she felt like marriage was only a piece of paper.”

  Had the St. Bride family actually bought that?

  “Then Mom said how I shouldn’t think about doing the same thing and not getting married first was really unfair to the baby – that’s me – and it was really a stupid idea.”

  “I agree.”

  “Except,” Meg’s voice dropped, and he had to strain to listen over the sound of the falling water, “it wasn’t true. Mom was covering up for—” She glanced up at him. “Want to guess?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Francesca.” She said the name as other people might have said Satan. “That’s my birth mother, you know. Francesca. She got pregnant with me, and she wasn’t married, so Mom and Dad got married and they adopted me.”

  He grew still. Did she really know all that she was pretending to know? She thought that he wouldn’t know who her birth mother was – either a devastating commentary on his character, that he’d impregnated so many women that he wouldn’t know which one had given birth to her, or a genuine ignorance of her entire parentage. “Why do you call her Francesca?”

  Meg shrugged. “Dunno. That’s how my dad always said her name. Francesca. He didn’t like her much. I heard,” she leaned forward, a co-conspirator, “she was a major B. You know what a B is, right?”

  Wrong week to give up smoking. “I can guess.”

  “You knew her, right? Since you knew Mom and all. Was she a B?”

  Poor little Francie. What had she done to St. Bride to earn this? “No. She wasn’t.”

  “Well, I heard she was. I heard she was a real slut too.”

  This, from someone who looked small enough to still play with dolls, rubbed him the wrong way. “She was not a slut.”

  “Oh, really?” Meg looked contemptuous. “Well, she didn’t even know who got her pregnant, how slutty is that? He’s not on my birth certificate.”

  He settled back. Meg did not know all she thought she did, that was clear. It was also clear that dear old Dad had said far too much to his daughter. “Have you seen it?”

  Even if St. Bride had been seized by the desire to tell all – and that went against everything he knew of the man – surely he wouldn’t have shown Meg the original birth certificate. That would have done nothing but whet her appetite, and that was something that St. Bride the control freak would never have permitted.

  So how had she found out?

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it lots of times. It has Mom’s and Dad’s names on it.” Meg hugged her knees to her chest. “You get a new one when you get adopted.”

  As Tom had thought. “So how do you know about your original birth certificate?”

  The wheels spun visibly in her head. “I saw it.”

  Now she was definitely lying. St. Bride had surely locked up that birth certificate where it would never see the light of day, except—

  Meg had St.
Bride’s password.

  He said, “From what I know of Francie – and that is what we called her – I’m sure she knew who your real father was. She must have had a good reason for not listing him.”

  Her head jerked up, and he saw fury in her eyes.

  “He’s not my real father! Dad was my real father! I don’t care who this guy was. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t stick around long enough to get involved. Don’t you ever call him my real father.”

  The message, now delivered. You are nothing to me. Get it?

  He got it, all right.

  Beneath his sense that they were playing an out-of-control chess game, Richard Ashmore felt a dull loss. She was loud, cheeky, and infuriating beyond belief; she was also smart and funny and loyal. She was devoted to her mother and her dance. She had a sense of herself and where she was going in life. They might have dealt well with each other as father and daughter.

  He had never been loud or insolent; he was cool rationality to her heat and passion. But he understood her, and she understood him, far better than he and Julie ever had.

  He said, “You’re right. He was your father in every way that counts.”

  As he had always been Julie’s father. That sore spot, seldom touched and mostly ignored, now ached. He and St. Bride had more in common than he liked. They had shared the same experience, of being father to a child not of their blood.

  “And Mom’s my real mother.” Meg eyed him. “I don’t even remember Francesca. She went away when I was little. She sure wasn’t interested in being a mom to me.”

  He asked bluntly, “Why are you telling me this?”

  He wouldn’t think of himself as her father. She’d made it clear that the man who had sired her was nothing more than – he thought grimly – a sperm donor.

  It had been one thing to say it to Lucy. It wounded deeply, unexpectedly, here in Margaret Ashmore’s special garden, to hear her granddaughter tell him that he had no place in her life. His contribution had been limited to a forbidden burst of pleasure on a forgotten Saturday many years before.

  Meg looked at him calmly.

  “I thought you should know,” she said. “My mother is a real special person. I mean, she was just a teenager – gosh, she was only a few years older than I am right now – and she took me on. She’s really good to me. I mean, we fight and all, and she won’t let me do stuff, but I know she’s always there for me. I know she loves me more than anything. And I don’t want anyone to upset her or—” she fixed her stare on him— “break her heart, you know? You’ve got to be good to her.”

  She sounded sincere. He decided to respond in kind. He wasn’t going to be anything to her, ever, but this, at least, he could do right for Meg. He’d done nothing else for her on this earth; he could at least reassure her of his intentions about her mother.

  “I will do my best,” he said. “People do hurt each other, Meg – that’s part of being human. But you have my word that I will try always to watch out for her. She has always been very dear to me. I care about her very deeply.” He paused. “The same way you do. We want the same thing, for her to be happy. We’re on the same side here.”

  Meg pondered that, her gaze dropping. “And you’re not after her money?”

  “No.” Richard made his voice firm. “Not at all. I give you my word on that.”

  She was silent again – more silent and still than he had seen her so far. At last, she held out her hand. “Shake on it.”

  They shook on it. It was not enough. It was never going to be enough. But on a morning when Richard Ashmore learned what he had lost all those years before, it would have to do.

  ~•~

  The second Meg St. Bride laid eyes on her cousin, talking to her mother, she knew two things.

  Julie Ashmore knew who and what she was.

  And Julie hated her guts.

  So, what was that about?

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Meg knew certain things about herself. She was funny. She was friendly. People liked her. No one ever hated her, even that girl in her ballet class who had said that Meg was nothing more than a spoiled rotten TFB. She had set out to win that girl over, showing up on time, working harder than anyone else, and giving credit generously to her classmates. One of the best moments of her life had been when that girl – Cindy – had said, “I got you all wrong. Want to be friends?”

  Cindy was now her truest friend for life. Their online names said it all – TFB and TFB-BFF.

  But Julie – oh, no, Julie did not want to be friends.

  Pity, because at first glance Julie was everything she longed to be. Willowy. Elegant. Tall. Life really was unfair. Julie played the piano and the harp, so why did she have to be the tall one? Couldn’t a few of those inches float Meg’s way?

  But – possessed of the two coldest eyes she’d ever seen. Ever colder than Richard Ashmore’s.

  Jeez, these Ashmores! What was Mom thinking!

  Well, she’d have to keep her opinion to herself, for sure, and work this scene. Because her mother, who had just gotten up – bathrobe over that ooh-la-la nightgown, like it took a genius to figure out what that was for – was staring at her and Richard Ashmore with outright alarm.

  “Where have you been?” Laura asked immediately.

  Don’t worry, Mom. Just a friendly little chat. Before Meg could say anything, Richard was crossing the kitchen to where Laura stood, fixing a cup of tea.

  “How are you this morning?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t sharp now. It was – oh, she hoped that someday some good-looking guy said good morning to her like that. And looked at her that way too, like she was the sun and the stars combined. “Did you get enough sleep?”

  Laura nodded, but the look of unease on her face wasn’t dissipating. “I got up, and Meg wasn’t – where did you go?”

  “Just for a walk, Mom.” Meg walked up to her cousin and stuck out her hand. “You’re Julie! Hi, I’m Meg. I came to visit my mom.”

  Advice from her father. He’d always said to disarm people by offering to shake hands. You make the first move, he’d said, as he’d neatly scooped up her queen. They’ll take your hand automatically, but it will be on your terms. You’ll have the advantage.

  Dad was exactly right. Julie hated her – oh, boy, those eyes, flying to her father, were full of a stunned panic – but she took Meg’s hand as if she couldn’t quite help herself.

  “I don’t – what—” Julie was casting a confused look at her father. “Uh, I didn’t know you were – uh, when – where—”

  “Oh.” Meg assumed a chatty tone and a casual stance beside her – second position, arms at rest. She’d act natural, like there was nothing weird about their parents pretending they weren’t having sex. “It was just a spur of the moment thing, you know? I’ve really been missing my mom, so I hopped a plane to come see her. It’s great to finally meet you. Wow, I didn’t know you were going to a lock-in, or I’d have come earlier so I could go with you and we could get to know each other and be best friends and all.”

  Julie looked as if she wanted to choke.

  So maybe she was pouring it on a little thick. Served Julie right for sending that email. She’d practically gone into sugar shock after she’d read it.

  “So did your power go out too?”

  “Power?” Julie repeated.

  Oh, boy. This one was none too sharp, not like him, or maybe she was in shock from the vibrations emanating from the parental units. Meg sneaked a look and saw that Julie was just standing there, immobilized, still staring, arms hanging down gracelessly at her side. Get a grip. So they’re doing it. BFD. Guy like that, he’s had tons of girlfriends. Just look at him.

  “Yeah, the power went out at Mom’s house, so Richard invited us over for the night—”

  If Julie bought that, she was too stupid to live.

  But Julie wasn’t paying attention to her.

  If she hadn’t been watching Julie, she never would have seen that second when her cousin’
s expression changed, from sheer panic to a certain startled awareness. Meg followed her line of sight right over to their parents and wrinkled her brow. What the—? Nothing weird, not that she could see. Richard Ashmore was leaning casually against the far counter, cold blue eyes now warm and gentle, and Laura was standing a couple of feet away, her hand held out to him.

  She had something small and black in her hand.

  Meg tuned in.

  “— I found it the other morning,” Laura was saying. “Out on the back terrace. I was going to ask you about it, but I guess I just put it in my pocket and forgot. It’s not yours?”

  Richard took it and turned it over.

  “No, it’s not mine.” Meg’s hyper-sensitive antenna picked up Julie’s intake of breath. “Looks like a memory card for a digital camera or recorder. Mine takes a different size card. Sure you didn’t drop it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Laura accepted it back from him. “I didn’t think I had a card with such a big capacity. Oh, well, maybe I forgot. I’ll check it when I get back and see what’s on it.”

  She stuck it back in her pocket.

  Oh, no, now this Meg was definitely not imagining. That memory card had Julie transfixed. Was it hers? If it was, why didn’t she just speak up and say something?

  Because you don’t want anyone to know what’s on it, do you, coz?

  It was important to Julie. That made it important to her too.

  She had to get her hands on it and take a look.

  She got her chance sooner than she anticipated. Richard and Laura were talking, he still with that gentleness he certainly hadn’t shown Meg – he needed to get some work done at his office, and she wanted to get back to Edwards Lake, but they’d all go out for pancakes first so that Julie and Meg could get acquainted, and Laura should go upstairs and get ready. He would call and make her an appointment with his internist so that she could get in early and get a prescription.

  “That’s not necessary,” said Laura.

  “Yes, it is,” and Meg wasn’t deceived by the mildness of his voice.

  What a dictator this guy was. He sounded like Dad. My way or the highway, get it?

  She waited with interest to see how her mother reacted. For a few seconds, Laura and Richard stared each other down, a battle of wills taking place right there in front of their eyes, and then Laura looked down. The way she’d given into Dad sometimes, just to avoid an argument. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I’m going to go take a shower. Give me ten minutes.”