With shaky fingers she reached for the music box she had taken off her dresser and placed on the middle of her bed. She sat cross-legged on the quilt, dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, the clothes she had put on when she returned home earlier that day.
Joanna turned the music box over again. The glittering gold inscription on the bottom brought tears to her eyes. To my daughter, with love.
Her father had given her the music box. She'd assumed he'd had it engraved. She'd noticed the tiny initials before, the letters S.D., but believed they belonged to the maker of the box. Now they stood for so much more. S.D. -- Sophia De Luca. There was only one reason Sophia De Luca would have given her a music box. Sophia was her mother.
"Joanna?" Caroline knocked on the closed door. "Are you all right? You've been in there for hours."
Joanna wrapped her arms around her waist. She couldn't answer. She couldn't breathe. Her entire body ached with disillusionment, anger, bitterness.
All these years they had lied to her. She wasn't their daughter. She wasn't a Wingate. She wasn't of French or German descent, but Italian. She was a De Luca.
Oh, God! How could she be?
Tears poured out of her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, onto the bedspread, onto the music box -- silent tears that couldn't begin to release the depth of her pain. She wanted to scream in agony. The sounds rumbled in her throat, threatening to break free. She swallowed them back, trying to maintain control.
She twisted the key to the music box, starting the melody. The music only heightened her agony. The tones that once seemed so reassuring, loving, and safe now mocked her innocence.
"Joanna, I'm worried about you. Open up this door," her mother commanded.
The knob turned, but Joanna had locked the door.
How could she look into her mother's face? Not her real mother, but her adoptive mother. Caroline hadn't labored, hadn't given birth to her. Caroline was an imposter, a liar, a pretender.
The words choked the breath out of her. Her eyes filled again with tears at what she had lost. A small baby taken out of her mother's arms and given to a stranger. A stranger! A woman with blond hair and blue eyes. A woman who liked to jog, who hated to cook, and thought gardening was for men who spoke foreign languages.
All the differences between Joanna and her mother raced through Joanna's mind. All the times her friends had commented on how different she and Caroline were. How many lies had her mother told over the years? Thousands? Millions? Had every word been a lie?
And her father -- the man she'd held in her arms as he'd taken his last breath -- he'd lied, too.
That hurt the most. Her father had always seemed so sincere, loving, honest. His arms had been warm, his shoulders comforting. But all that time he'd known that he wasn't her real father, that her mother wasn't her real mother, that they were playing a game of pretend.
She wondered how it had come about, and her anger grew to encompass the De Lucas. How could Sophia and her husband have given her away?
She was their child. They'd kept their other children. Why not her? Had they not loved her enough to want to raise her? She hadn't thought the pain could get worse, but it did. She felt angry, confused, betrayed, and so alone. So very much alone.
"Joanna, let me in," her mother called, desperation in her voice. "Please, I want to talk to you. I want to know you're all right. I love you." Her voice broke.
Joanna's heart grew harder. "Liar," she whispered.
"If you don't come out I'll break down this door, Joanna. I swear I will."
Joanna slid off the bed. She didn't open the door to her bedroom, but instead walked over to her closet and pulled out a black dress. With her heart pounding and her fingers shaking, it took her a few clumsy minutes to change clothes, but she was finally ready.
When she opened the door her mother practically fell into the room.
Caroline's eyes looked wild and panicked, like a hunted animal that sensed there was no escape. "Joanna, are you all right? Good grief -- you're all dressed up. Where are you going?"
"I'm going to a party," She said coldly.
"A party?"
"That's right. You see, my parents -- my real parents -- are celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary tonight. I think I should be there, don't you?"
Caroline's face turned white. "My God, what are you talking about?"
"Don't try to lie. Mother -- I mean Caroline. It's over. The game is over,"
Her mother put a hand to her heart. "Joanna, don't do this. I can't lose you."
"You never had me. I'm not your child. I'm not a Wingate. I'm a De Luca. How could you?" she demanded. "All these years you lied to me,"
"All right, we adopted you," Caroline confessed, her words coming out in a rush. "It was never a game. We raised you as if you were our own child. We loved you every day of your life. We gave you everything."
"Everything but the truth. Why not just tell me?"
"I didn't want to lose you," she repeated.
"How could you have lost me when I was five years old, when I was ten, when I was twelve? You had complete control over me. You must have kept the secret for another reason. What was it? Shame?"
"I was never ashamed of you. I was ashamed of me," Caroline cried. "I was ashamed that I couldn't have a child of my own when everyone else could. I wasn't a whole woman. I couldn't hold my head up straight. I couldn't talk to the other women about pregnancy and labor and getting up at three in the morning."
"Oh, please. Having a child isn't everything."
"It was then, Joanna. A woman was nothing without a child. As the years passed I felt more and more like a failure. I didn't want to get up in the morning. I didn't want to see anyone. Your father finally moved us to the city so he wouldn't have to keep explaining why I wouldn't entertain, why I didn't want to go to the Fourth of July block party and watch everyone else with their children."
She paused, her desperate eyes pleading with Joanna to understand. "Then we got you, and everything was right again. I had a baby. I was a mother. We were a family. I didn't want it to end. I never wanted to feel empty and alone again. Your father said no one would ever have to know. So no one did."
Caroline reached out a hand to her, but Joanna couldn't bear the touch. She was too confused, too upset. "How can I believe anything you say when I know that you lied about the most basic truth of all?" She turned and strode briskly toward the door.
"Don't go," Caroline begged, following her. "Stay and we'll talk. I'll tell you everything I know."
"It's too little, too late," she said as she reached the door. "I want to see my real mother and my real father. I want to ask them why they gave me up."
"Joanna, you can't burst into the middle of their party."
"Like hell I can't."
* * *
Michael held hands with Rose and Lily as they walked into the banquet room. The heavy scent of perfume, the make-up, the glittering candles and flowers, and background music added up to a party atmosphere. He hadn't gone five feet before each of his girls was snatched up by a loving relative and kissed soundly on both cheeks.
Then it was his turn.
"Michael, you adorable man." Angela's aunt Carlotta cupped his face with her hands. "Why haven't I seen you lately?"
"I've been busy with work," he replied as she kissed him on the cheek.
"And those babies, those adorable babies, where are they?"
Michael looked around. Lily and Rose had quickly ditched him to play with their cousins. He smiled at the same time Aunt Carlotta muttered in disgust, "Why, they've wrapped old Milton up like a Christmas tree. Linda, look what your children have done."
Linda sent her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Frank was supposed to be watching the kids. I'll tell them to take the streamers off Uncle Milton."
"I'll tell them myself."
"She hates me," Linda told him. "No doubt she'll give Frank an earful before the night is over."
"No doubt," he agreed
.
"I can't imagine how Uncle Milton sleeps through all the commotion," she said as they watched Carlotta chastise the children.
"Valium. He takes it like vitamins. He says it relaxes him."
"Any more relaxed and he'll be dead."
"So we've got a crowd here. I thought dinner was for immediate family."
"Immediate in this family is just about everyone. I just hope Sophia and Vincent actually show up."
"What are you talking about?"
"Vincent spent last night here at the restaurant. He and Sophia are fighting."
His uneasiness returned. "What are they fighting about?"
"I don't know, but Vincent wanted to take Sophia out of town for the weekend, and she wouldn't go. Tony thought it might have something to do with that woman."
"Joanna?"
"Yes. Do you know what's going on?"
"Not exactly, but I have a suspicion."
"Is it going to ruin my party, Michael?" she asked with worried eyes.
"It might ruin more than your party," he said somberly.
"She's not coming here tonight, is she?"
"I did mention the party, but no, she's not coming. This isn't the time or the place for family revelations."
"Thank God. I've worked hard on this party, and I want it to be perfect. It's tough trying to fit into this family. Sophia and Vincent are saints, at least in my husband's eyes, and I always come up short."
"That's not true. And you shouldn't want to be Sophia. You're you. Why do you have to be the same?"
"Because Frank wants what his father has," she said somewhat hopelessly. "I just don't know how I can spend the rest of my life trying to please someone who's never going to be pleased."
Her words disturbed Michael, but before he could say anything, the door behind them opened, and Uncle Louis rushed in, waving his arms. "Quiet everyone. They just pulled into the parking lot."
Someone dimmed the lights. The chatter dropped to a whisper as everyone waited in anticipation.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"What are we doing here?" Sophia demanded as Charles stopped the car in the De Luca's parking lot. "I thought we were having dinner at Stars."
"Frank called while you were getting your coat," Elena said. "He wanted Vincent to stop by for a second."
Sophia looked at her sister in irritation. "There's always something. I'll wait here."
"No, let's go in. It might take a few minutes. We can have a drink at the bar," Elena said.
"I don't feel like seeing everyone tonight," she replied. In fact, she didn't want to go to dinner at all. Vincent hadn't said a word since he'd come home that afternoon. He'd dressed in silence, his face permanently grooved in a deep scowl. She saw absolutely no reason to celebrate forty happy years when they were anything but happy.
"Come on," Elena said. "I know you're in a bad mood, but we're going to change that."
"Oh, leave her be," Vincent said. "If she wants to stay in the car, let her stay in the car."
"I'm not staying in the car," Sophia said, just to be contrary.
"Fine, then come in."
"I will."
Elena sighed. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"
They got out of the car and entered the restaurant through the back door and into the busy kitchen. "Where's Frankie?" Vincent demanded of his nephew Rico.
"In the banquet room. We're having a problem with the party in there," Rico said.
Sophia turned toward the bar, but Elena grabbed her arm. "Let's see what the problem is."
"I don't care what the problem is."
"Well, I do."
"Why?"
Elena pulled her toward the hallway, following in the men's footsteps. "Because I'm curious."
"You're crazy."
As Vincent reached for the door handle, Sophia felt the sudden urge to run. It was too quiet, too dark. Her sister was acting strange and so was Charles, hanging back with smiles on their faces.
Vincent pushed open the door.
The flash of light blinded her.
The loud screams of "Surprise!" deafened her.
Sophia couldn't move.
Vincent looked into her eyes.
She stared back.
They both turned toward the crowd, to their friends and family, to the people who loved them, respected them, idolized them. She wanted to run away. She wanted to wake up and find out it was all a dream. But it wasn't a dream. It was a party for her and Vincent, celebrating their marriage, their vows, their promises, so many of which had been broken.
Vincent held out his hand to her. His gaze met hers in a silent plea. His honor meant more to him than anything. Without it, he would be nothing.
She took his hand and forced a smile. She could get through this. She could pretend -- because compared to everything that had come before, this pretense was easy. Everyone she loved was in this room. Tony, Frank, Linda, Michael, her sisters, cousins, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews.
After a few minutes they found themselves at the front of the room. Frank asked for attention. He came over and kissed his mother on the cheek, then his father.
"Congratulations," he said. He took two glasses of champagne from the nearby waiter and handed one to each of them. "I'd like to propose a toast -- to the two most wonderful parents on this earth, who inspire us daily with their love and selfless generosity."
She swayed, his words cutting deeply through her deceit. How could she let her son go on talking about her and Vincent as if they were saints, when they had sinned more than anyone in the room? Vincent held on to her arm as if he, too, felt shaky. For the first time in a long while, she felt as if they were supporting each other. Perhaps that was the only way they could get through this.
"To you." Frank raised his glass.
She barely tasted the champagne. Then Tony stepped forward, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Congratulations Mama, Papa, you're the best."
They weren't the best. They were the worst.
She took another sip as the crowd did likewise.
Then Michael stepped forward. Oh, God, it wasn't over yet. She wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide until everyone went away.
Michael cleared his throat. "I know Angela would have had something witty to say about this big event, but since I don't have the De Luca gift for words, let me just say that the girls and I really appreciate this family, especially you and Vincent," he said to Sophia. "For shining the light so we could find our way out of the darkness."
She felt tears gather in her eyes. "Say something," Louis shouted.
"Speech," someone insisted.
"Thank you -- all of you," Vincent said slowly. "This is wonderful. I'm speechless."
"Tell us how you did it," Marlena suggested.
Sophia looked at her nineteen-year-old niece and saw only innocence in her eyes, an innocence she could not take away.
Marlena persisted. "Tell us how you lasted forty years together when I can't keep a boyfriend for six months."
The crowd laughed at Marlena's comment, and Sophia smiled weakly. How had they stayed together? Out of fear, selfishness, pride?
"It takes love and forgiveness," Vincent said, contradicting her thoughts. "Remembering that family is everything."
Family -- how often he used that word. How much he demanded of his family, and how little he gave in return. She felt anger pushing past her fear. Family hadn't meant anything thirty years ago.
"Sophia, aren't you going to say anything?" Linda asked.
Her throat tightened. She looked out at the crowd, at Linda and Frank, Tony and Michael, her sisters, all waiting expectantly for her words of wisdom and sage advice, for the lies that had always fallen so easily from her lips. She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't speak one more untruth.
"I -- I don't know what to say," she stuttered, wondering if she really had the courage to speak what was in her heart.
"Don't you?" a voice called from the doorway.
She turned in surprise, as did the rest of the family. Although some of the guests muttered Angela's name in haunted disbelief, she knew this woman was not Angela. Her long, dark hair fell wildly down her back; her dark eyes burned with proud fire.
She was a De Luca. And her name was Joanna.
"Don't you have something to say to me -- Mother?"
The crowd gasped at her word.
Vincent's hand tightened around Sophia's. "No," he implored.
Joanna would not be stopped. She walked through the crowd like a queen. They parted for her, fascinated, captivated, horrified.
Joanna didn't look at anyone else, not at Michael or the girls. Her gaze remained fixed on Sophia.
Finally she stopped just a few feet away.
No one spoke for a long moment.
"I do have something to say," she said finally, meeting her daughter's gaze. She could not let that challenge go unanswered.
"No, you don't." Vincent tried to pull her away, but Sophia stood straight and tall.
"You are my daughter," she said to Joanna. She heard more gasps of horror, murmurings of "It couldn't be true."
"Go on," Joanna said.
"Sophia, no," Vincent said again.
She ignored him. This time Joanna's needs had to come first. "Twenty-nine years ago I checked into the hospital under the name of another woman -- Caroline Wingate. I gave birth to a little girl. After she was born I gave her away."
Joanna took in a deep breath, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Why? Why did you give me away?" she asked, agony running through her voice.
"Because I had to," she murmured, seeing the pain in her daughter's eyes, a pain echoed in her own heart. "If I didn't give you up, I would lose my husband and my boys."
"I don't understand. Why would you lose them?"
For the first time, Joanna looked at Vincent. Sophia followed her gaze. Vincent's profile was etched in stone, every muscle in his body tight from the tension, the disgrace, the dishonor. He wouldn't look at them. He wouldn't look at anyone.
Ask Mariah Page 24
