Your sisters are adjusting to the news about their father, Amy—you’d be proud of them. Now I need to know you’re alive before I have to tell them you have been on the run and may be dead. I don’t want to be hurting your family that way. Call me; I know you’ve got the number.
Reality said he had to tell the sisters soon. Tracey and Marsh would be back in town today, Daniel would be meeting Tracey for the first time tomorrow, and Monday the public would be streaming into the gallery if Marie got up the courage to open for the day. Tracey and Marie needed at least one more day to adjust to the huge news about their father before Luke pulled up the past and made it a living thing for them again. But putting it off longer than Sunday night was simply too much of a risk. Luke carried the gear out to his personal car and locked it in the trunk.
The mailman was late this morning.
Marie could see the reporters and cameramen staking out space on the sidewalk below the apartment. They came and went from the deli and the corner store, but otherwise they mingled and talked among themselves or stopped people passing by to do spot interviews. Twice she’d been spotted as she looked down from the new window, and flashbulbs had gone off like fireworks below, as if a photo could be gotten at such a steep angle through a windowpane that was catching the sunlight.
Opening the gallery was not even a consideration today. Marie left it closed and dark and thought about trying to find an accommodation with the press to get them to call it a day, but her courage had deserted her. She didn’t want to face more reporters. Connor had been good for her yesterday, making even that unreal day of the news conference workable. But he wasn’t around today, the gallery was closed and would stay closed, and she was effectively hiding, waiting for her sister Tracey, who should be back sometime in the next hour.
Marie retreated to the spare-bedroom studio. She’d already spent two hours this morning on the phone talking with friends about the events of the last few days on top of three hours on the phone last night; she was talked out. She’d scratched out a list of things to do in the next month with the money, from changes at the gallery to art auctions she wanted to go see. It was numbing to consider further what she should do.
Find Mandy, fix up the gallery, collect a few personal works of art, figure out who is going to remain safe friends in the future, and get on with things…. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was what she had.
God, it’s day two. Tell me this gets easier soon. The depression had been weighing on her since she woke. I’m sure You’ll help me figure out what to do with the money and the pressure that’s come with it, but I wonder if it was such a good thing to learn my mother had a many-year affair with a married man. I’m ashamed for the family we were rather than the family I’d always created in my child’s-eye view of our lives. It was easier with the fantasy than to learn the reality. I don’t know what to do with that hurt at my mom and the father who didn’t want to acknowledge me as his child. All those prayers growing up that my mom would marry so I could have a dad; all those painful days being raised by my aunt as other kids had moms and dads to be there for birthdays and holidays. This has brought it all back, and those memories are fresh and the pain still raw.
Marie picked up one of her new brushes to prep a blank canvas. She couldn’t change any of it; she could only try to find some peace to live with it. And it wasn’t going to be an easy adjustment.
Her new cousin wasn’t such a bad thing. She really liked Daniel and the way he’d handled this. Dinner last night had been filled with stories and laughter, and she thought his personal art collection first-rate. They’d found topics of conversation that were comfortable ground, and she felt a bit easier at the idea of picking up the phone now to hear him on the other end of the line. She thought Tracey would like him too. They’d spend the day with him tomorrow, and he’d promised to have the letters and photos he had of their mother available for them to take home.
It bothered her that Daniel didn’t believe in God, but he’d been kind about it when she’d wanted to discuss one of the gifts she hoped to give to her church and how best it could be given. They had had very different lives growing up, and it was going to take a while to feel like she knew him well enough to understand him. But she was trying, and Daniel had met her more than partway, having been remarkably open in his conversation last night about his family and his relationship with his uncle.
And Connor—Marie knew she would have eventually met him through his connection with Marsh, but she doubted under different circumstances Connor would have chosen to spend his day off with her so soon after they first met. She had yet to spend an hour with him where it felt like she was being herself—the money, the situation, the pure shock of all the adjustments had left him seeing some convoluted form of who she really was. Even so, the friendship that had formed over the course of those hours felt like something solid. She could trust him to be what he seemed, and that mattered.
The doorbell screeched. She walked back into the kitchen and to the nook where the security monitor had been installed. It looked like a deliveryman waiting outside her apartment entrance, but then reporters could get disguised as about anyone. And if she opened the door she was just asking for microphones to push her way and cameras to go off. She thought about ignoring the doorbell, but it would be rude if it was a legitimate delivery.
She hesitated and then pushed the button Connor had shown her. “Bryce, I’m going to get a delivery at the street door.”
“Thanks. Go ahead. I’ll be around there.”
She released the button and realized she’d just informed security for the first time of her movements. She wondered how long, if ever, it would take before the absolute strangeness of that wore off. She might have been told Tom Bryce would be around to keep hassles down around the gallery, but it didn’t seem to change his plans having the gallery closed rather than open. He simply shifted his attention to watching out for her at the flat.
She pushed a bill to use as a delivery tip into her pocket and walked down the main staircase. Bryce would probably be standing next to the delivery guy, having already confirmed the package was safe before she got the new locks on the door undone, but at this point that kind of attention was fine with her. She didn’t want unpleasant surprises.
She pushed open the door.
“I’ve got a package for Marie Griffin.”
“Yes, that’s me.” She signed the form on the clipboard where indicated. There were flashbulbs going off and shouted questions from the reporters that she did her best to ignore. She thanked the deliveryman who looked ready to bolt with the tip. She got a good hold on the box and took a step back inside, letting the door close and giving her back some breathing room. Tom Bryce standing between her and the reporters helped—none were likely to want to challenge passing that man to get close to her—but still her heart raced with the panic of all those cameras. All for a delivery box. She regretted hoping for another scandal to appear somewhere in town if only to distract the tabloid press and give them some other story to chase.
She looked at the package. She hadn’t been expecting anything today. In the upper-left corner of the box where the return address would normally be were the initials of Connor Black, written in a strong, confident hand.
She sat down right where she was on the stairs and opened the box.
A turtle.
A real, live, moving, breathing turtle.
She tugged out the card in the corner of the box, and her smile blossomed. My advice—you should take life slow for a while. Connor.
She turned the card to see what he had written along the side. No need to go too slow though. What’s your private, private phone number?
Her laughter echoed in the stairway.
She looked at the turtle. “I’m going to name you Oscar. I have no idea if you are a girl or a guy and I don’t really care because I don’t like turtles, but you’ll do.”
She carried her new company upstairs.
“I’
m going to paint and think, and when I’m no longer in a tongue-tied mess, call him. What do you think of that?”
The turtle didn’t move.
“Maybe waiting an hour from the time of the delivery would be long enough to convey I’m following his advice and taking it slow?”
The turtle still didn’t move.
“You are alive, Oscar?”
She thought she saw one eye close for a moment.
Catatonic or in shock from the delivery guy moving the box around this way and that; either way, the turtle was having the same kind of week she was having. Marie gently set the box on the coffee table and decided it would take a turtle-care book to tell her what she was supposed to do next. Since Oscar didn’t look like he’d be a climber, she thought it best to let him sleep.
She returned to the studio, but this time she caught herself humming as she picked up the brush to resume her preparation work for a canvas.
“Marie?”
“Back in the studio, Tracey.”
She grabbed a rag to quickly wipe her hands. She met her sister just inside the living room, the guy behind her taking a couple blinks before she realized it was Marsh with a good start on a beard.
She was swept into a hug by her sister. “A name for Dad, a new cousin, money, you gave a news conference … I only left you alone for like four days and everything happens.”
Marie laughed as she returned the hug. “Sorry about that.”
Tracey leaned back and studied her face. “You look … happy.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“I figured you would be mad at Mom.”
Having a clinical psychologist as a sister had its disadvantages. “I am, but it’s a hard emotion to settle. So I’m just thinking about other things first.”
“That works. Since it’s now paid for, I’m staying in school for my PhD. What’s your first money thought?”
“Buying Oscar turtle food.”
Tracey blinked.
“I’ll explain that later,” Marie offered.
“Yes, I think you should. What’s he like, our new cousin?” Tracey asked, moving to slip off her scarf and jacket.
“Nice, kind, a gentleman but I think touched, just a smidgen, with a bit of rogue.”
Tracey glanced up from pulling off her boots, her grin quick. “Single child, responsible son, with humor and that ‘going to do what he thinks best’ habit already woven into the DNA?”
Marie laughed. “That was my first, second, and third impressions.”
“I’m already going to love him.”
Marie turned to their guest. “Marsh, can I get you some coffee? You can stay awhile?” He had yet to remove his jacket, and she wasn’t sure how to read how things had gone for them this week.
“I told Connor I’d track him down at three. I would love that coffee.” His voice was near a baritone, and with the beard starting he looked a lot more rough than usual. She’d always thought he’d looked like a particularly dangerous man and today was giving even more of that impression. That he had a soft heart under all those layers was a simple fact Tracey had known from the earliest days.
Marie moved around the kitchen counter to start the coffee. “I gather the skiing was a good time?”
Marsh laid his jacket over a chair. “The snow was perfect; a nice powder. Tracey only took a few dramatic spills, thankfully. Your sister was trying to give me a heart attack a few times and laughing as she did it.”
Marie smiled, remembering past trips with her sister. “I can believe it.”
“I’m getting much better on skis,” Tracey defended. She stepped back and into Marsh, who seemed to have grown accustomed to the habit, for he’d braced his feet apart. Tracey leaned against him while his arms settled comfortably around her. Marsh had a good six inches and nine years on her sister, but the two looked more like a couple every time Marie saw them together. She checked Tracey’s ring finger just to make sure she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring; her sister’s happiness had a different quality to it now. “How did you two get past the reporters downstairs?”
“I called Bryce when we were getting close, and he arranged a delivery van to move in a large display board into the side entrance of the gallery. That blocked the sidewalk so we could walk up and into the gallery without being reached by the reporters,” Marsh replied. “You look tired, Marie. I’m sorry we were so far away when this news came.”
“I admit it’s been a long couple days.” She smiled at him. “I’m surviving. I met your partner.”
“Connor told me. I hope he was on his best behavior.”
She looked up and saw a distinct twinkle in the guy’s eyes. “He’s not quite the gentleman you are, but he tried,” Marie replied, smiling softly. “His grandfather likes me too.”
“Peter was by … that explains a few things.” He nodded toward the hall. “I noticed the new doors.”
“New doors, windows, locks, it was an incredibly long list. Tracey, before I forget. There’re new keys to everything. I left yours on your dresser.”
“Thanks. I promised Marsh I’d show him that new landscape we got in; can you give us ten minutes?”
“Sure.”
Tracey tugged his hands. “A few minutes of art, then coffee, and you’ll still make it on time to meet Connor.”
Marsh smiled. “Marie, she’s starting to harass me about the fact I like to be on time. I don’t think my trait is rubbing off on her like you had hoped.”
Marie laughed. “I noticed.” The phone ringing interrupted. “Tell Bryce he’s welcome to come have some coffee too.” She went to answer the summons.
Connor shoved aside his gym bag and extra tennis shoes to make room at the bottom of his closet for snow boots and ski gear. Marsh renting equipment when Connor had a closetful hadn’t made sense. He pushed the closet door closed and it stayed closed, and Connor decided it was neat enough to do. His partner was in an odd mood. Connor had picked up on it within minutes of his arrival. And he wasn’t certain what to do about it.
Marsh was out on the small balcony looking over the traffic the next street over and the parking lot below; the apartment wasn’t known for its view. He held a mug of steaming coffee in his hands rather than the cigarette Connor had wondered if he’d see. His partner had busted smoking two years ago, but on stressful days it would show again if life turned bad enough.
“So what’s your read on their new cousin?” Marsh asked.
Connor leaned against the brick of the building, the day cold without a jacket. “I’ve known Daniel a long time; he’s a straight shooter.”
“He’s going to be carrying a lot of influence over the two of them in the next few years. Not only the money, but everything they now relearn about their pasts.”
“He’s doing his best to protect them from trouble rather than walk them into more of it.”
“Maybe.”
Connor studied his partner. “What’s got you so out of sorts?”
“Tracey didn’t particularly take the news about her dad well. She’s put on a pretty bright exterior for Marie, but it’s not been taken as good news.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Yeah.” Marsh studied the bottom of his mug and straightened. “They’re spending tomorrow with Daniel.”
“Marie mentioned it,” Connor replied.
“Richer than two oil-well cats, and before I gave her the ring.”
So that was the problem.… Connor wished there was an answer. “You can’t turn back time.”
“So we’ll spend the rest of our lives defending the charge I married her for her money.”
“You could not ask her.”
“I might as well slit my own throat.” Marsh smiled grimly. “Don’t fall in love, Connor. It’s not worth it. And what is the deal with that turtle?”
“I’m moving; I couldn’t exactly put it in storage.”
“You’ve had that thing since you were a rookie. You just don’t give away yo
ur only pet and not have people worry about you.”
“It was a turtle, Marsh, not a dog. And I figure if she didn’t want it the worst that would happen is that I’d have him back. The last thing I needed was to end up with two turtles.”
“A turtle. You couldn’t think of something like roses?”
Connor took the point but bit back a smile. “Marsh, she’s already got all the roses you can dream of, trust me on that.” He pushed away from the wall. “You want to hear the full story on Amy?”
Marsh sighed. “I think I’d better. Tracey cries for hours about her dad; tell her the truth about her sister and I don’t think she’ll talk to me again.…”
Chapter Eight
DANIEL SMILED at the younger sister sitting across from him at the table. “Have you settled on what you think yet, Tracey?” He’d been aware that her study of him had been going on throughout their Sunday lunch together, and he was curious as to its reason.
Tracey was more petite than Marie, her face noticeably younger, the brown eyes and the ash blonde hair she had cut to frame her face echoing a strong resemblance to her sister. Daniel liked this sister too; he liked her smile, her laughter, the way she could easily tease Marie out of feeling nervous, and he liked the fact she enjoyed talking casually about so many topics that he got a lot of information about his cousins just by tagging along with the flow. But the study was getting unnerving.
She rested her chin on her hand and studied him some more. “You played band in high school, junior year, trumpet, I think.”
He felt embarrassment start. “Of all the things you could have remembered, that one I could have done without.…”
“I had a crush on a high school football player; I was not even in junior high yet, but I went to all the games. You marched in those neat rows in those neat uniforms. I really do rarely forget a face, Daniel. But you had me stumped for a while.”
The Witness Page 11
