by Delia Parr
Ginger crossed the room and opened the closet door. The shelf was empty now, except for a few old sweaters. Most of the hangers were bare. Lily’s favorite scent, however, still clung to the old chenille bathrobe she had worn on her last visit. Ginger saw the robe on the floor in the back corner of the closet and got down on her knees to reach it and put it back onto a hanger. When she lifted the robe and saw the two missing backpacks hidden underneath, she gently tucked the edges of the bathrobe back around them.
Tears fell, and her heart ached for her grandson. With her chin to her chest, she closed her eyes and folded her hands in prayer. “Father, help us. Guide Tyler and me today and give us the words to help our daughter. Touch Lily’s heart so she will once again embrace You as the source of all love so she may be a good and loving mother.” She paused. Her throat tightened with longing. “Please comfort Vincent. Ease the hurt he’s endured and bring him joy today as he is reunited with his mother. Amen.”
She held very still, loving Him and trusting Him to make this a day of fulfillment, a day when promises would be kept and faith would be renewed and a little boy’s broken heart would begin to heal.
Monday was getting worse by the hour. Vincent was late for school. Repair work on the bridge crossing the Delaware River limited westbound traffic to a single lane instead of three which cost more precious time. A tractor-trailer had jackknifed on I-95, the access road to Philadelphia International Airport, creating a snarl of bumper-to-bumper traffic that had Ginger checking her watch every few minutes.
Tyler finally pulled up to Lily’s airline terminal and stopped at the curb. “If you hop out here, you can still meet Lily when she gets beyond the security checkpoint. I’ll park the car and meet you where we waited for her last time. That way you both won’t have to waste time trying to find me or the car.”
Ginger kissed his cheek and hurried from the car into the terminal. Fortunately, she and Tyler had met each of their three children at the airport so often, she knew her way around pretty well. She avoided the escalator. Too many people. Taking the stairs like a marathon runner, she made it halfway up the flight before she stopped. With her heart pumping furiously and her leg muscles screaming, she bent at the waist and gasped for air. She deliberately avoided looking at the people passing her on the escalator.
“Slow down. You’re going to kill yourself,” she muttered to herself. When her heart no longer felt as if it was going to rip through her chest and spin into orbit, she made her way, slowly, to the top of the stairs. While most of the crowd headed right to join others already in line to go through security, she veered left to the area where she would wait with others for arriving passengers.
She was almost there when she saw her daughter arrive and stop to scan the area looking for her parents. “Lily! I’m here. Over here!”
Lily turned to face her mother, but instead of rushing forward, she stood in place and waited for Ginger to come to her. As she closed the distance between them, Ginger saw that her daughter had changed a great deal since her marriage. The transplanted, Midwestern, all-American girl had been transformed into a Northeastern blueblood.
Instead of wearing her naturally curly hair long and loose, she had had her hair straightened and added fashionable henna highlights. She wore a Capri pantsuit in pale lemon that fit her as though it had been tailor-made to cling to every curve, and the gold choker necklace lying against her throat was a simple, but elegant and very expensive touch.
When Ginger got close enough for a hug, she noted the makeup that concealed Lily’s freckles was understated, yet almost professionally applied. She held her daughter close and inhaled a new, more sophisticated scent. “Sorry we’re late, sweetie. Traffic was outrageous. Daddy’s still parking the car.” She stepped back and looked at her daughter. “You’re looking very Boston,” she teased. “What? No tan? I thought you said you’d been in St. Thomas for a week.”
Lily laughed. “No more tanning for me. The sun causes skin cancer, Mom, not to mention wrinkles.”
Ginger shrugged. “Seems like everything we used to do causes all sorts of problems we didn’t anticipate. I told Daddy we’d wait for him in Granny Alley.”
Lily furrowed her brow. “Where?”
Ginger led her away from the crowd to a long corridor that connected the terminal with one of the parking garages. Rows of rocking chairs, separated at intervals by large potted trees and plants, lined either side of the corridor. The secluded area was ideal for travelers who had a lot of time between connecting flights, needed a quiet place to soothe an overtired child or a place to wait for arriving passengers. “Daddy and I call this Granny Alley. I guess it’s the rocking chairs. We’ve spent a lot of hours here,” she explained. “Looks like we almost have the place to ourselves today,” she noted. Other than an elderly gentleman they passed who had fallen asleep in his rocker, the rest of the rocking chairs were empty.
Ginger pointed to two rockers at the end closest to the crossroads where this corridor and others met just before the security area. “If we sit here, Daddy won’t be able to get by us.”
Lily sat down, checked her watch and laid her clutch bag on her lap.
“Did you check any luggage?” Ginger asked as she sat down, too.
“No.”
Lily’s tone of voice suggested she thought the idea was ludicrous, and Ginger stopped rocking for a moment, then resumed. “We weren’t sure if you were going to stay the night and go back with Vincent tomorrow or…We were hoping you might stay longer….”
With her feet planted flat on the ground and her back rigid, Lily held very still. The rocker never moved an inch. “Mom, I don’t have much time here.”
Relief that Lily was anxious to take Vincent back to Boston helped to ease Ginger’s disappointment. She stopped rocking and put her hand on Lily’s shoulder. “I know, sweetie. It’s all right. We can all get together later, after Vincent’s all settled in with you and Paul. I’ve been so worried about you since we talked, wondering how Paul’s parents reacted when you told them about Vincent and how supportive Paul would be—”
“Mother and Father Taft are wonderful to me,” Lily murmured. She toyed with her wedding ring set and smiled. “Paul is the kind of man I’ve always dreamed about. He’s loving and supportive….” She trembled and drew in a long breath. “This hasn’t been an easy time for me.”
“No, I suppose not,” Ginger said gently. The anguish in her daughter’s voice replenished the hope that the caring daughter she had raised had not totally disappeared and that Lily and Paul would provide a loving home for Vincent, who would also gain another set of doting grandparents. “It hasn’t been easy for Vincent, either,” she offered and bit back the urge to tell her daughter about the sacrifices she and Tyler had had to make over the summer.
“He’s missed you.”
Lily closed her eyes for a moment. “I miss him, too. I—I love him so much. That’s why this is so hard. I loved him enough to keep him as a baby, and now I…I have to love him enough to let him go.”
Ginger bolted forward in her seat. “‘Let him go’? Did you say ‘let him go’?”
Lily’s dark eyes flashed. “Yes, Mom. I did.”
Ginger’s heart pounded in her ears, and she gripped the arms of the rocker with both hands. “Just exactly what do you mean? Go where?” she demanded. As her mind struggled against all the possibilities, she gave them voice when Lily did not answer. “Vincent is only eight years old. He can’t go anywhere by himself. Is he going to some sort of boarding school? Is that what you mean? Or are you going to let him go to live with his father, not that any of us, including Vincent, know who his father is?”
Breathing hard, she stared at her daughter, but Lily met Ginger’s gaze and held her ground. “I don’t expect you to understand—”
“Understand what?”
“I didn’t tell Paul’s parents about Vincent because as wonderful as they are, they would never accept him…or me. Vincent is illegitimate. I was an
unwed mother. That’s not…acceptable. Not in their world.”
Ginger snorted. “And this is the world you’re choosing for yourself as Paul’s wife? A world where there is no forgiveness or understanding? A world where a mother would deny her own flesh and blood? Her own son? For what? Tell me, Lily. Is it the status? The money? Or both?”
Lily’s gaze narrowed. “Frankly, Mom, it’s both. There. Satisfied now? I am. I’m not denying my son. I’m protecting him and his future. Paul and I intend to support him, of course. When he’s older, Vincent will be able to attend the best of colleges, with no loans to repay or without trying to hold down a couple of part-time jobs just to have enough to get by until he can graduate. He’ll have opportunities and choices I never had until I met Paul,” she snapped, venting such bitterness Ginger could scarcely believe this was her own daughter.
Lily paused to take a deep breath. “I want Vincent to go with you and Dad. Will you let him live with you? Permanently? Or will I have to make…other arrangements for him?”
Ginger had protective instincts of her own, and they rose full force to stiffen her backbone and every muscle in her body. “Don’t bother making other arrangements. Of course I want him to stay with us. He’s our grandson, and I don’t even want to think about where else you might send him. But you have to talk to Daddy, too. This is not a decision I can make without him.”
Lily searched the crowd, checked her watch again and stood up. “Daddy’s nowhere in sight. I wish I could stay longer to wait for him, but I have to leave now or I’ll miss my flight.”
Ginger bolted to her feet so fast she set the rocker in motion behind her. “You have another flight to catch? Now?”
She stiffened when Lily embraced her. “Please try to understand. This is really best for all of us.”
Ginger pulled away. “This is best? No. I can’t believe that. I don’t believe that. If Paul won’t stand up against his parents for you, then he’s not my idea of a good husband. And he shouldn’t be yours, either,” she pleaded. “Forget the flight. Wait for Daddy and come home with us. We can talk this through. Maybe…maybe Vincent should just stay with us a while longer to give you a little more time—”
Lily shook her head and placed one of her hands over her stomach. “Vincent’s not the only child I’m protecting, Mom. I’ve tried to raise one child on my own. I can’t do it again, and I won’t risk this baby’s future any more than I’d risk Vincent’s. Please don’t hate me,” she whispered, turned and walked away.
Ginger froze in place and watched her daughter leave. Flabbergasted from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she felt as if she was outside of her own body watching a nightmare that had exploded into reality. She could not cry. She could not move a muscle. Until she saw her daughter slide her purse onto the conveyor belt at the security checkpoint.
“Lily!” Her cry erupted like a whisper, and she charged forward, only to be stopped hard by a pair of security officers.
“Ma’am, you can’t go through here. Not without a boarding pass or ticket.”
Frantic, she struggled against strong arms and watched Lily fade into the crowd. “Lily! That’s my daughter! I need to see my daughter,” she cried.
“Ma’am, if you don’t settle down—”
“Ginger? What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
She turned and burrowed into Tyler’s embrace. Weeping uncontrollably, she clung to his shirt with her fists. “Lily’s gone. Lily’s gone,” she cried.
Her heart was broken by her daughter’s decision, and each sad beat of her heart hungered for reconciliation and understanding.
Her spirit was crushed beneath the weight of so many unanswered prayers, and she struggled with the vision of her own broken dreams for her own future with Tyler as they headed into retirement.
And her soul shook at the thought of telling Vincent that his mother had no room in her new life for him.
Chapter Ten
Ten days had passed since Julia and Augusta Radcliffe had emerged as the primary suspects responsible for Steve’s death. Barbara sat with John in an office with Detective Sanger in Philadelphia at ten o’clock in the morning feeling as if she had been yanked into the worst of all possible reality television shows. Both girls were juveniles, but their names had leaked to a media ravenous for details and prepared for breaking news in the case.
Whether the camp of vans and cameras and audio equipment set up by the local, national network, and cable television and radio media in Center City was bigger than the compounds created by the reporters in the print media was hard to tell, but the chaos reminded her that one of the greatest blessings in her life was living in a small town like Welleswood.
Like the legendary circle of wagons that protected migrating families moving West, lifelong friends and neighbors linked together to create a loyal chain around Barbara and John and the twins to protect their privacy. Local police, including a host of auxiliary officers normally called upon as reinforcements for special events, used a variety of methods to keep reporters on the periphery of the town limits. Barbara refrained from having any interest in how far the boundary between legal and illegal methods had been stretched. Instead, she needed all of her resources this morning to focus on Lydia Sanger.
Dwarfed by a mound of folders and stacks of papers on her desk, the petite, African-American detective described the impressive work she had done on the case so far. “I know you’re anxious for us to make an arrest, and I wanted to see you today to reassure you both that we’re working very hard to make sure our case is rock-solid before we do. We’re not going to let the media direct our investigation or force our hand.” Her voice was deep, especially for a woman who barely topped five feet. “But I’ll be honest with you. This is not going to be an easy case to resolve, which is another reason I wanted to meet with you.”
John took hold of Barbara’s hand; she held on tight. “The media?” he asked.
“That’s only one component,” Lydia Sanger admitted.
“I don’t expect the media circus to abate any time soon, but the last thing we need right now is to have a trial by media, especially now that the family has hired Spencer Crawford to represent the girls.”
Barbara looked at her husband. From the quizzical look on his face, he was as unfamiliar with the name as she was, and Barbara offered her own blank look to the detective.
“You two obviously don’t watch much television, especially the legal coverage of trials.”
John shook his head. “We haven’t in the past and to be frank, we’ve been afraid to turn on the television, let alone the radio, since Steve’s death. Between the bottom screen news banners the stations use now, regardless of the program in progress, and the ‘breaking news’ reports, we don’t need to see or hear anything that would make losing Steve any more difficult than it already is, for us and for the twins. Our lawyer has handled the reporters’ inquiries for us, and we have no desire to be somebody’s idea of entertainment.”
The detective’s soft gaze met Barbara’s. “I understand. Completely. For the time being I think it’s wise to keep out of the media glare, although there may be a point where I might suggest we need to have you conduct a news conference or two. It would be controlled and well-orchestrated, of course, and—”
“I don’t think I can answer any questions or make any statements, especially to reporters,” Barbara insisted.
“And I hope you won’t have to, but we may have no other choice. Crawford is an excellent defense attorney with a well-earned reputation for using and manipulating the media, and you need to be prepared for that.”
John sat up a little straighter. “We’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
Barbara swallowed hard and nodded her agreement.
“And so will I,” the detective promised. She set aside several folders and crossed her hands atop her desk. “This case is about your son, Steve. He’s the victim here. One of my most important jobs during the course of the investigation will
be to keep the focus on Steve and make sure we arrest the right person or persons who are responsible for his death. Crawford, on the other hand, will try to deflect the media attention away from his clients and raise questions about the investigation or the criminal justice system in general, or Steve himself.”
The knot in Barbara’s stomach hurt so badly she could scarcely breathe. “Steve didn’t do anything wrong, and it’s not fair to make it seem like he did,” she argued.
“A good defense attorney like Crawford will do what he has to do to protect his clients. Now let me tell you what we know so far. The girls have denied that there was any personal connection between Steve, the girls, or their parents, but we need to be sure.”
Barbara stiffened. She braced herself to hear the woeful tale of the two miserable urban lives that had tragically intersected with Steve’s, convinced there was no connection at all.
The detective read from notes she had prepared. “Mom is a pharmacist. Dad is a retired Coast Guard officer and commandant of one of the yacht clubs at the shore. These days, he does private consulting work. No record of any connection between him and Steve’s firm. The two girls are their only children. Apparently, all four of them are active in their church. The eldest sister, Augusta, is seventeen. She’s a senior at Hale Regional High School, which is in Ocean County, just north of Cape May. She’s vice president of her class, secretary of the National Honor Society, and a Merit Scholarship winner who applied very early for admission to the Coast Guard Academy and was accepted. Julia is fifteen, a sophomore at the same school and ranks first in her class. She’s all-South Jersey in two sports, soccer and softball, and she—”
“Enough!” John spat out the words. “I’ve heard enough.”
Barbara eased her hand free, even as her mind struggled to absorb the information she had been given—information which exploded every profile she had created in her mind for the people responsible for taking Steve’s life. “I’ve never heard of these people,” she managed.
