She gave me a look, then popped her eyeglasses open with a snap of the wrist and settled them on her nose. A deep breath, a moment of hesitation—she licked her lips.
Angling the paper to catch the light, she stared at it for what seemed an eternity. A softness settled over her features, reminding me how pretty she really was when the stress left and only love remained. “Where?”
“Bethany gave that to me the night we met. Was your sister the other one in that photo?”
Mona took a moment, fussing with her glasses as she took them off, folded them, then stuffed them in a hidden fold in her robe. Finally, she looked at me, her face open, a sadness there. “We were twins. This was her favorite picture.” A faraway look gripped her as if she’d walked back in time.
“Twins?” The twins Flash couldn’t find. “Sara Pickford was your mother.”
“Yes.” Mona’s life had been built on secrets—secrets that had sheltered us both.
“I’m sorry.” I squeezed her hand. “And your sister?”
“She’s not well. Hasn’t been for a very long time. Something happened. Something bad. When we were just kids, almost thirteen. You heard part of the story.”
“She’s alive?” I whispered.
She reached an arm out, hovering it over my shoulders until I nodded, then she laid it across me, holding me gently.
“Does Father know?” I settled back into her warmth.
“Of course. He was there for part of it.”
And so she began, the story of her life, my life, and how we came to be. “I want to get through this part quickly. I don’t want to talk about it, so no questions, okay?”
Typical Mona. I shook my head—I’m sure she felt my response.
“One night, my sister and I were walking down the dirt road to our farm. It was dark. It’s funny, but through the years I’ve tried to remember why we were out late, but I can’t—the reason is gone. I don’t even know if it was for a good reason. It really should’ve been for a good reason, not for no reason at all.” She choked to a halt. “It had to be for a reason.”
The hidden wail of pain in her voice sent chills through me—she wasn’t talking about being out after dark anymore.
“There was a boy. Even though he was a few years older, we knew him from school and his father owned the ranch we lived on. I was a fighter, even then. He hit me with a rock, then held me down while he raped me. All I remember is my sister screaming and screaming. She never stopped screaming. Not ever…not really.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Mom, I never knew.”
She stroked my hand, seeking comfort and giving it. The power of connection, where skin and hearts touch. “I know, honey. Mothers don’t share their pain with their children.”
“I’m not a child.”
“And pain has come calling.” Mona shivered once, the whisper of horror brushing by her.
“What happened to your sister?”
Mona drew me tighter. “She couldn’t deal with what had happened. It’s as if something broke inside of her that day. She was never the same. Nothing was ever the same.”
“You knew the boy. Why didn’t he go to jail?”
“We had no money. His father owned our farm, our home. My father had everything invested in the ranch and was paying it off slowly.” She stopped as her voice hitched.
“So, he bartered your virtue and your sister’s sanity for the ranch?” Anger and then forgiveness filtered into the tight places, the hidden places in my heart. Anger toward my grandfather. Forgiveness for my mother.
“Every night as I fell asleep, my last thought was that he could still be out there. How many other girls?” Her voice cracked. “But Dr. Dean sent him away, so that was something—he couldn’t hurt my sister again.”
“Or you.”
She ignored me. “I heard he’d come back from time to time, but I was gone by then. I didn’t know where he went or why, and I didn’t care.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Whenever he haunted my dreams, I asked God to kill him.”
“A powerless child with no champion, of course you did.”
“And he found your sister at the asylum.”
She looked at me, confused. “How did you know?”
“The ridge?”
“Oh, yes, right.” She pulled the pillows tighter, enveloping us both. “My sister loved the animals. The horses calmed her. When Stuart would come back to town, he’d ride around with his father to see the sick animals.”
“And the past came rushing back.”
“My sister started babbling to everyone, making no sense about a ghost from the past who visited her at night.”
“But you believed her.”
“Not at first. She’d really left us. The doctors said she’d retreated because the real world was too painful. But, slowly, I realized something was happening, something real. So, after a visit, I stayed. And I saw him. He was leaving my sister’s room, zipping up his pants like he hadn’t a care in the world.” She shivered.
I rubbed her hand between mine. “It’s over now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“The past can always hurt you. It’s our job not to let it.” Those words went far beyond Mona’s story—that subtext was easy to read.
I mulled on her intent as I listened. “You had a knife?”
“Yes. I was afraid someone might hear it if I shot him.”
Premeditation. My mother was a warrior.
“I followed him to the stables and buried it in his chest. I don’t know how I did it. I was wild—the memories, the fear, the pain. And knowing he was raping my sister every night like he had the right. I snapped.”
“I’m so sorry.” Words failed. What could I say to ease the pain? There was nothing. It was what it was.
“Your father helped me pull him into that shallow grave.” She stared out at the lights of the Strip; her hand tightened around mine. “That’s why we couldn’t prosecute or do anything like that. I cut off that solution. Stupid, really. Now, this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This was my fault.”
“You didn’t know he was looking for you or that he’d become a killer. Hell, you thought he was dead and you’d buried the past along with him.”
“If I’d made a different choice…”
I could see how much this tortured her.
“We all make the best choices we can with the information we have, in the time we’re given.”
“I know.” Her voice was filled with I-told-you-so. “But it’s so hard to forgive yourself.”
She was singing my song. “Your sister?”
“We moved her. We couldn’t tell anyone. Maybe we should have and none of this would have happened. We were scared. Your father’s career was just taking off. You were in Vegas and on the cusp of becoming the beautiful, powerful woman you are. Had all this come to light…”
“I understand. You made the best decision you could at the time you made it. Only thing you did wrong was not making sure the asshole was dead.”
“We were in such a hurry. There was blood everywhere. It was dark.”
“Mother, it’s okay. Really, everything is okay now.”
“Are you sure?” Her question extended beyond the topic at hand.
“Completely.”
“I never abandoned you,” she whispered under the hurt. “I just couldn’t tell you.”
She could’ve; she knew that. But, again, she made the best choice in an impossible situation.
“If you’d stayed with me, if I’d let you, the same thing would have happened to you. A whorehouse isn’t a safe place for a beautiful young woman. I couldn’t let that happen…not ever.”
I hadn’t thought about that. At fifteen, all I knew was her house was my home. Now, in the bright light of perspective, things looked different. “I know.” I didn’t want to talk about me, or us. I had to either push Mona from my life or accept she had done the best she could, which she had. Were her decisions perfect? Hardly. Was life perfect? Never. Could I
live without her? Impossible.
Human frailty, hard to accept and hard to forgive. Especially your own.
“Who put your sister in the asylum?”
“She needed help and understanding, and even with that, she had a questionable path to recovery. She didn’t make it. My father couldn’t cope. The farm was a bad place for her, but he couldn’t leave.”
“So, he sent her away.”
Mona’s hand shook as she plucked at a thread on one of the pillows. “We were told it was best.”
“What did you think?”
“Honey, I was only just barely fourteen then, and a girl at that. I wasn’t allowed to think.”
That punched every button I had, but venting to my mother couldn’t fix stupid—stupidities of the past, stupid that still existed today. “Everybody should have a voice, Mom.”
“She was most at peace around me. When they sent her away, she was like a wild animal.” A tear trickled down Mona’s face, catching the light. A neon pink slash.
“And you?”
“It was like carving out the center of my heart.” That explained a lot about my mother. Sometimes her actions could be unforgivable, but her motivations were generally selfless—and that made it all forgivable.
She’d given up her sister.
And then she’d given up me.
Both because she had to. Choices came with a price.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s in an institution…an asylum…in Minnesota.”
“Which you pay for.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
“What happened to you?”
Mona drew in a ragged breath. I got the sense this next part hurt almost as much. “My parents, they couldn’t forgive me. I was the strong one. I should’ve protected my sister. They told me that so many times… They couldn’t forgive me so I couldn’t forgive myself.”
“They blamed you?” My voice rose on a tidal wave of indignation.
“My sister was their favorite, their golden child. The weaker ones usually are. They couldn’t deal with their own fault, their own pain. Of course, I didn’t understand that until much later. At the time, I felt they hated me, that I reminded them of what they’d lost, and I’d been the one who had taken her from them.”
“So, you ran.”
“At fourteen, I was on my own in Vegas. I changed my name and built a life.”
I knew the rest of the story, or as much as I needed. “But you visited your sister; that’s how you knew he’d come back.”
“Dora Bates would call me and tell me when my parents had been there so I could time my trips to avoid them. They didn’t come often. Dora had the room across from my sister’s.”
And the story fell into place.
Mona drew herself up—the pain of the past weighed less after the telling.
“And your niece?”
“She was born in Minnesota. I wasn’t there.” Mona stared out at the lights, the Vegas magic—a place where fantasy reigned and reality receded. “My mother took the baby.”
“Why prostitution?” A question I’d always wanted to ask her.
“I didn’t deserve any better. I was guilty, you see…”
“Of what?” Again, my voice rose.
She shushed me and gave a quick glance over her shoulder toward the private area of the apartment where her babies slumbered. Then she turned big eyes on me and pulled the edges of her robe together to cover her legs. “I was the one who survived.”
I could only imagine how she felt and had no doubt that fell woefully short.
The window beckoned, and for a moment I paused, drinking in the hope and promise in the blinking lights. My father and I often stood here, shoulder to shoulder, solving the problems of the day. But today’s Pandora’s Box of problems might not have any solutions…other than hope, left in the bottom.
“Aren’t you going to ask my sister’s name?” Mona flicked a glance my way.
“No, I already know it.” The girl had said she liked my name. “It’s Lucky, Lucky Bean.”
“Anyone who underestimates you—”
“—is on the right track.”
“That wasn’t her real name, of course. She was christened Bethany Grace, but she preferred her nickname.”
My heart cracked open. Every time my mother called to me or said my name, she remembered her sister. “Where did O’Toole come from? Fiorelli is your family name, right?”
Mona nodded and gave a tight laugh. “You’re not going to like it.”
“What else is new? Come on, tell me. No more secrets.”
Mother brightened a bit. If I didn’t know for real, I would strongly suspect she took glee in causing me a bit of consternation…okay, a lot of consternation. I braced for impact—I mean, this one was personal—the derivation of a moniker I wore like a second skin.
“Peter O’Toole.” Mona actually flinched when she said it, cowering back enough to trigger my kinder instincts.
She rushed on, her words piling on themselves like a flood behind a dam. “He was so dashing and handsome as Lawrence of Arabia.” If she’d been standing, she would’ve swooned.
Okay, now she was milking it.
“I was named after an actor?” I let my voice rise in mock indignation. Drama was in my toolbox as well. After all, it was my birthright and probably etched into my DNA. They say that very terrifying experiences can actually alter your DNA.
Mona changed mine on a daily basis. And who said I wasn’t evolving? “And not just any actor. He may have been dashing, Mother, but he was an asshole.”
Mona quieted. Her light lessened as the darkness filtered back in. “Seems to me we need a bit of both to get through life, don’t you think?” she said in a tiny voice.
I hated it when Mona spouted smart. I liked her better when she was a pain in the ass.
But an actor! I shook my head. If Mona was good for anything, it was for surprises—at least she was consistent.
The men, either sensing we’d had our talk or simply tired of waiting, joined us. My father handed me a much-needed libation—he’d forgone the Champagne and poured me three fingers of Scotch, desecrating it with one lone ice cube. My father took his normal place at the window, this time his back to the lights. Squash took the only other spot—the place beside me on the couch.
“What do you have to add to all of this?” I asked the lawyer. “What happened when push came to shove in Reno?”
“Your mother’s off any hook they might have tried to hang her on—the guy she allegedly attempted to kill is dead. No witnesses. No admission. We’re good.”
“I figured. And Bethany? Where is she?”
“I left her in Reno with family friends. We’re working out the details on the ranch ownership. She’s going to sell it. Cornell is an expensive program. She’ll be back in a week or two. I think she wanted to let Mona process everything, then maybe they could go see her mother.”
Mona nodded when I gave her a questioning glance.
Family. Yes, it was definitely the Fifth Ring of Purgatory, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m sure Bethany can keep her farm. Her family can find a way to fund her educational expenses.” At my father’s smile, I raised my glass. “After all. What is family for?”
Squash joined in the laughter.
It felt good. I felt good, like somehow banishing my mother’s demons had fixed the bad between us. “And Poppy?”
“You were right, Latham had hoodwinked her. He told her to shave the letters in the horse’s coat. She thought it was a game to lure a bad parent out of hiding so her daughter could find her. Bethany had told her just enough of her story, for Poppy to swallow the lure.”
“She’s lucky he didn’t kill her.”
“Both the girls are,” my mother added, her voice hard with experience.
Silence stretched as we each dealt with the horror of the could-have-beens.
“Hell of a birthday for y
ou,” my father said, apparently settled on a happier topic.
“Your birthday,” Squash said. It wasn’t a question—he knew it as well as I did—but mischief sparked in his eyes.
Before I could backpedal, my phoned dinged, rescuing me.
A message from Chantal.
When might you come home? Christophe is asking for you, and I could use some time at school to practice for my exams.
I smiled. Family.
On my way.
I looked at my parents. Lifting their worry had restored them, even though Mona looked way behind on sleep. As if that thought awakened them, the babies’ wails filled the air and Mona’s face fell.
“Albert?” she asked.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he handed her his drink and went to fetch the rest of his family.
“Mother, are you ever going to give those girls names?”
“Yes, I think I might have a couple in mind.” She gave me an enigmatic smile.
I didn’t take the bait. Instead, I tapped Squash on the thigh. “Come on, I need a ride home. Duty calls, and I never leave the party with anyone other than the person who brought me.”
Christophe launched himself into my arms—the pain almost dropped me to my knees, but the joy chased it away. Chantal flew by me with a wave as she headed out the door. And I was home. Something about letting go of the past, making peace with it had opened my future wide with possibilities.
The boy and I cooked and played, and read...and read. He had a bath and we read some more. We’d fallen asleep in my bed in a sea of books.
Jean-Charles found us that way.
Something awakened me. A sound? Sensing his presence? I opened one eye and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. Weary but filled with the day, he looked at us with such love.
Oh, I hoped his mother didn’t put herself between us.
He saw that I was awake and brushed his lips over mine. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” He lifted Christophe, who moaned, then smiled, and fell right back to sleep on his father’s shoulder.
“I’d take a bullet to the other shoulder to sleep like that,” I whispered as I watched him carry the boy out of the room.
When he returned, I opened my arms, inviting him to join me.
Lucky Ride (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series Book 8) Page 32
