This was pointless. What was she thinking anyway? She was the daughter of Edward and Caroline Wingate, and it was just a crazy coincidence that she happened to look like Angela Ashton.
Closing the book, she set it back on the shelf. As she walked by the desk, the lingering scent of smoke filled her senses, almost as if her father were standing in the room with her, smoking his cigar. But it didn't really smell like his cigars; it smelled like the lingering trace of a fire in the fireplace. But the fireplace was stone cold. She glanced over at the desk and saw a layer of thin black dust.
She cast a quick glance toward the door. It was closed. With a feeling of incredible dread, she walked over to the desk and ran her finger through the dust, Then she pulled the wastebasket out from under the desk. Inside was a pile of newspapers and black ashes. Her mother had burned something.
Joanna looked for the manila envelope she'd seen earlier. It was gone from the desk. Sinking down in the chair, she stared at the ashes. What on earth was her mother hiding?
* * *
The next morning Caroline strolled into the offices of Grant Sullivan, attorney at law, her handbag clutched in front of her like a shield. In terse tones she gave her name to the receptionist. She didn't want to be here, but she had no choice. Since she had seen the photo of Angela Ashton, she had been struck with terror, the same terror she'd felt when Edward had been diagnosed with cancer and she knew it would only be a matter of months before she lost him. She could not lose Joanna -- not now.
"He's just finishing a phone call, Mrs. Wingate," the receptionist said. "Would you like some coffee while you wait?"
"No, thank you."
She sat down on the white leather couch. As she looked around the plush offices, she was reminded of how far Grant Sullivan had come. She had worked as his receptionist thirty-six years earlier. In those days he'd offered her a typewriter and a scratched desk. Now his reception area was filled with plush chairs, glass tables, ornate vases, and silk flowers.
Grant had certainly done well for himself. Although she'd socialized with him over the years, only he and Edward had conducted actual business, so she hadn't really been aware of his success. Now she felt a burst of renewed confidence. Grant was a smart man. He would know what to do.
"He'll see you now," the receptionist said.
She stood up and walked into the inner office. Grant stepped out from around his large desk. He was a rather short man, not many inches taller than herself, with golden blond hair, the color of which surely came out of a bottle, sparkling green eyes and a deep tan.
"Caroline, it's good to see you."
"Thanks for letting me barge in on you like this."
"I'm always available for you. Have a seat."
She sat down in the chair in front of his desk, nervous about what she should say. She didn't know how much Grant knew. What if he didn't know anything? What if by telling him, she was jeopardizing the very secret she wanted to protect?
"How have you been?" Grant asked, resuming his seat. "I didn't get to talk to you much after the service. The house was so crowded,"
"Edward had a lot of friends. It was nice to see so many people there."
"He was a great guy, right down to the end. I've never seen such courage. He had a lot of heart."
"Yes." She hadn't come here to reminisce about a man they had both loved. She had come here for answers, and she wouldn't leave without them.
"How's Joanna?" Grant asked, distracting her again.
"Keeping busy. She's teaching first grade this summer."
"No kidding? I thought she was Ivy League all the way."
"It's just to fill in the time, take her mind off things. She'll go back to Stanford in the fall." Caroline wondered how long they would have to exchange pleasantries before she could tell him why she was here.
"I still can't believe Edward is gone. So fast," Grant added. "We were the same age, you know. And he was always in such great shape, except for the cigars, of course."
"He couldn't give those up."
Grant smiled encouragingly at Caroline. "What can I do for you? Do you have questions about the trust, the will, investments?" He sat back in his chair and waited for her answer.
"No. You explained all that to me after he died." She glanced over at his locked filing cabinets, wondering if the information she feared was there, wondering if he would give it to her.
"Caroline? What's wrong?" he pressed, his tone more somber now.
She met his concerned eyes. "I wondered if Edward ever spoke to you about -- about an arrangement that he made many years ago involving Joanna."
Grant's smile faded. "Why do you ask?"
"Because Joanna recently met someone. Apparently she looks like this man's wife. I saw a photograph, and the woman could have been Joanna's sister -- if Joanna had a sister, which of course she doesn't."
Grant picked up a pen on his desk and twirled it between his fingers. He was silent for a long moment, then he looked at her through concerned eyes. "Do you know the name of this woman?"
"I believe her name was Angela Ashton. But that would be her married name. I think Joanna said her maiden name was De Luca."
"De Luca. I see. Has Joanna met this Angela?"
"No. Angela is dead."
"Really?" He looked somewhat relieved for some strange reason.
"Yes, she died a year ago."
"If she's dead, then it doesn't matter that Joanna looks like her, does it?"
Caroline scooted to the edge of her seat. "She's dead, but she has children, and a husband, and presumably a mother and a father."
Grant's expression wavered slightly. "That's true. What does Joanna think?"
"She has a lot of questions. You know how she is, Grant. She's a digger. She loves to sink her teeth into a good mystery and dig, dig, dig until she finds out what really happened. That's why she's such a good historian. She never accepts anything at face value." Caroline paused. "She asked me if we gave up a child after her. Apparently this woman is or was a couple of years younger than her."
"I'm sure you told her that was ridiculous."
"Of course, but she's worrying about it. Grant. I don't know what to do. Edward would have known. But he's not here," she said with a growing sense of panic. "What I want to know -- what I need to know is if she starts digging, is she going to find out anything?"
Grant tossed the pen down on the desk. "For your sake, Caroline, I hope not."
"You know, don't you?" she asked.
Grant sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Edward asked me for advice. He didn't take it."
"What was your advice?" She changed her mind as soon as she asked the question. "Never mind, I don't want to know. I need your help. Grant. I need you to help me protect Edward's secret. You will, won't you?"
"Edward was my best friend."
"Is that a yes?"
"What exactly are you asking me to do, Caroline?"
"I want to know if there is anything in writing."
"I believe everything was in Edward's possession. I have no idea what he did with it."
Caroline let out a breath of relief. It must have all been in the manila envelope, and that was gone now. "That's okay then. I've taken care of that. I wasn't sure if you had any copies."
"No. Quite frankly, I didn't want any."
"Good. I won't take up any more of your time then. Thank you, Grant. I appreciate your help."
She reached out to shake his hand. Grant took her hand, but didn't let it go. His eyes became intensely serious. "There were always two sides to this secret, Caroline. You may be able to control one, but I'm not so sure about the other."
"There are privacy laws."
"They don't always work. It depends on how badly someone wants to invade your privacy, how much they want what you have. And the way Edward did things -- well, let's just say that the law is not on your side."
"I won't let anyone take Joanna away from me."
"
The decision may not be yours to make."
"Who else would make it?" she asked.
"Joanna."
Her confidence fled with that one word. Joanna. Her daughter who loved history, who had always wanted to know who her ancestors were, where they came from, what they did for a living. Somehow or other she had to get Joanna away from the Ashtons before it was too late.
* * *
"Today we're going to talk about who we are," Joanna said to the children, who were sitting at their tables, tired from recess, full from lunch, and for the moment blessedly quiet. "On the piece of paper in front of you, I want you to draw me a picture of your family."
Lance Tyler raised his hand. "Do I have to draw my sister? I hate her."
The kids laughed. Joanna sent him a scolding look. "She's part of your family, so you have to include her."
"Oh, man."
"You can also include your grandparents if you want," Joanna added. "And tonight I want you to go home and ask your parents where your ancestors came from."
Billy Dutton interrupted. "You mean like if they were from Mars? Because I think my brother is an alien."
"Your brother is not an alien, and your family is not from Mars." She tried to hide a smile. She loved these kids with their crazy ideas and their wide-open minds, so eager to learn about everything in their world, even if it meant aliens descending from a distant planet. "Tomorrow, when you come into school, we'll look at the globe and figure out where all of our ancestors came from. We might find out that some of us were related hundreds of years ago."
As she said the words Joanna couldn't help looking at Rose and Lily. They stared straight back at her, as if they still believed she was their mother. Maybe she was something to them, something distant and in the past, a fifth cousin. At least then it would make sense.
"Okay, start on your pictures," she said. "We only have a few minutes before the bell rings."
Nora Garvey stopped in the doorway, motioning to Joanna to come over.
"What's up?" Joanna asked.
"I can't make aerobics tonight. My mother-in-law is in the hospital."
"I hope it's not serious."
"She had a minor heart attack, but I think she'll be all right."
"Thank goodness."
"By the way, your mother called earlier. I took a message."
"Thank you."
"Is she okay with this job?"
"Not really. But she's distracted with something else at the moment." Joanna glanced over at the children, who were involved in their pictures. She stepped into the hall, just outside the door, so they couldn't be overheard. "My mother started going through my dad's things, and she practically jumped out of her skin when I tried to help."
"Why?"
"I have no idea, but she did not want me to look in one of the envelopes on the desk. And get this -- last night I found no envelope, only ashes in the wastebasket."
Nora's eyes widened. "How strange. What do you think was in the envelope?"
"Beats me, I never considered the fact that there might be a side to my parents' marriage that I didn't know about."
"You think your father was having an affair?"
"What else would be so personal that she would hide it from me? We've always been close."
Nora shrugged. "Heck if I know. By the way, how are the Ashton twins doing? Still calling you Mama?"
"Yes, and that's another thing. Not only do I find out that my father had some big secret, I also discover that all these years I had a double living on the other side of town." She took a breath, saying aloud what had been going through her mind since she'd met the twins. "What if the two things are connected? What if your mother had an affair with an Italian guy. And your father didn't know."
Could her father have been someone other than Edward Wingate? The thought hurt deeply. Surely he wouldn't have lied to her all these years. They had spent so much time talking in the last few weeks of his life. He would have said something if there was anything to be said. Unless he hadn't known. "I'd hate to think my dad wasn't my dad."
"I'm probably wrong. Sorry, I have a big imagination."
"I should get back to class."
"What are your kids working on?"
"Family pictures."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "Am I spotting a theme here?"
"I think children should understand where they come from, their roots." Joanna smiled at Nora's skeptical expression. "Okay, I'm a little obsessed at the moment with family ties."
"Joanna, even if your mother or father turned out to be someone different, you'd still be you."
As Nora walked away Joanna thought about her words. You'd still be you. But would she?
* * *
Michael glanced at his watch. Damn. He better move if he wanted to pick up the girls on time.
Helen buzzed him on the intercom. He reached for the receiver. "Yes?"
"Your mother-in-law is on line one."
"Thanks." He punched the button on the phone. "Hi, Sophia."
"Michael, hello." She sounded a bit nervous.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. No." She added a laugh, but it didn't sound quite sincere. "I was just thinking about how hard you're working and how difficult it must be taking off at three o'clock to get the girls, when I'm really not that busy. I thought maybe I could pick them up for you."
"Sure. That would be great." Then he remembered, "Uh, Sophia. Maybe that's not a good idea."
There was silence on her end of the phone. Then Sophia spoke. "I'll be fine."
"You haven't seen her."
"I want to."
So that was the reason behind her unexpected offer. Michael hesitated. "I do have some work to finish."
"Then I'll pick up the girls and we'll spend the afternoon together. We'll have dinner at the restaurant. They can help Vincent and Louis in the kitchen. Just come whenever; it doesn't matter how late. I can even take the girls home and put them to bed if you have something else to do."
"Thanks, Sophia. You're incredibly generous, as always."
"Don't work too hard, Michael. I worry about you, you know."
He did know. She worried about him more than his own mother. "I appreciate the concern, Sophia, but I'm fine."
"You're trying to do too much. I want to help you more."
"Well, picking up the girls is a big help."
He hung up the phone with mixed feelings. He couldn't prevent Sophia from meeting Joanna, but he didn't think the meeting would go well.
"Michael?" Helen opened the door to his office, holding a bouquet of red and white roses mixed with baby's breath. "I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They're lovely."
He sent her a blank look. "I'm glad you like them, but I didn't send them."
Her smile faded. "I called Joey, and he didn't send them. I just assumed it was you, thanking me for the overtime I've been putting in."
"I do appreciate that, but it looks like you have a secret admirer."
Helen stared down at the flowers. Then she walked over to the wastebasket by Michael's desk and dumped them in the can.
"You don't like roses?" Michael asked.
"I don't like Tony."
"Tony? Why would you think they're from him?"
"Because he doesn't take no for an answer. He's a spoiled, immature guy who thinks he should get whatever he wants. But he can't get me anymore. Not with roses or chocolates or anything." Although her words were bursting with confidence, they ended on a sobbing note, and suddenly Helen sank into the chair in front of Michael's desk and began to cry.
Michael stared at her in bewilderment. He seemed to be surrounded by crazy females these days. "Uh, Helen." He pulled a tissue out of his desk drawer and tossed it across the desk. "Here."
She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry." She sniffed. "I just don't need this right now."
"Need what?"
"Tony. I wish he hadn't come back."
"I'm sure he won't stay long." Michael wanted to c
omfort her, but his words had the opposite effect.
"I'm sure he won't," she replied with bitterness and anger. "God forbid he should stay in one city with one woman."
"That's just Tony, Helen. You can't change him into somebody else, no matter how hard you try."
"I know that. But I've loved him for so long, since the seventh grade."
"Really?" Michael was a bit surprised. Although Helen and Tony had dated off and on for years, they'd never seemed passionately in love, more friends than anything. But he knew they'd been lovers, and in the months before Tony left, they'd spent lots of time together. Still, he'd never been able to see them together forever. Of course, he'd never been able to see Tony with anyone on a long-term basis. Commitment was not something Tony did well.
"When Tony left I thought I would die, it hurt so bad," Helen continued. "We'd gotten so close. I thought he was on the verge of proposing, not leaving."
"I know it hurt, but you found someone else, Helen. Someone who can give you what you need,"
"Yes, and Joey is a great guy. He's solid and loving and he wants a family just like I do, and a house and a dog and the whole thing. But -- "
"But?"
"He's not Tony," she said in anguish. "What if I'm making a mistake? What if I'm marrying the wrong guy just so I can be married?"
Michael didn't know what to say. Hadn't he done the same thing by marrying Angela when she was barely out of high school, when he was still in his twenties and didn't know a damn thing about life? But he had wanted a family. He had wanted what Sophia and Vincent De Luca had, a loving relationship, a commitment, children. He had wanted forever. He'd gotten eight years and a hell of a lot of pain along the way.
As Michael studied Helen's face -- the torment in her eyes, the streaks of tears across her cheeks -- he wondered if she was making a mistake. If Tony could affect her like this, how much did she love Joey?
"You think I'm terrible, don't you?" she said.
"I think you're confused."
"I want to do the right thing."
"You will."
"I wish I had your confidence. And I wish to hell I wasn't attracted to the absolutely wrong person in the world for me."
Ask Mariah Page 11
