Celebration
Page 42
“The other part, having to do with the trust fund that will revert to you if Trinity dies or isn’t found in time to take possession of her trust, is not something I want to think about today. I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I have a tee time in thirty minutes.”
Sarabess was speechless. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’m leaving. I don’t want any part of upsetting that young woman’s life for your own selfish desires.”
Sarabess started to cry. “Please, Rif, don’t leave. I . . . I’m not doing this for me. You may be right—it may too late—but I won’t know if I don’t try. I just want to find her. I won’t invade her life if it looks like I . . . if . . . she isn’t interested. I thought that Jake,” she said, referring to Rif’s son and law partner, “might do the search. He used to play with Trinity when they were little children. Emily used to watch them from the sunroom. She was so envious.”
A linen handkerchief found its way to her eyes. It all sounded good to her ears. It should—she’d rehearsed this little speech for hours in front of the mirror.
Rifkin sighed wearily. “It always comes back to Emily, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it always comes back to Emily. You can’t expect me to turn thirty years off and on like you’d turn off a light switch. I made a mistake. I want to try and make it right.” That sounds good, too, Sarabess thought smugly.
“Jesus, Sarabess, you didn’t just make a mistake, you made the Queen Mother of all mistakes. Now you want the child you threw away back. I’m sorry, it just doesn’t work that way. On top of that, it’s too late.”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t throw Trinity away. I . . . What I did was pay the Hendersons to take care of her. I couldn’t do it. I was fighting for Emily’s life. Trinity had a roof over her head, good food, adequate medical care. If she was neglected, as you say, it was only by me and my husband. I will concede the point that the child needed a mother, and that’s where I failed her. If she . . . If I had brought her here to the big house, she would have been raised by servants. At least with the Hendersons she had a normal life. She wanted for nothing, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
Sarabess had said these words so often, they sounded truthful to her ears. She struggled to cry. She whipped the handkerchief past her eyelashes as she watched Rifkin carefully. She needed him.
“Too bad you couldn’t pay the Hendersons to love her. When are you going to factor in Trinity’s trust fund?”
‘The fund has nothing to do with this. The Hendersons did love Trinity in their own way. They are plain, hardworking people. They’re not demonstrative. That doesn’t mean they didn’t love Trinity. They raised her for fifteen years. There was feeling there. Even as sick as he was, and living with that woman, Harold told me they were heartbroken when Trinity ran away. Harold would never have lied about something like that.”
Rifkin watched the little brown bird as she dived into the fern with a piece of string in her beak. Preparing her nest for her young. That’s how it’s supposed to be, he thought. Even the birds know about motherhood. “Were you brokenhearted, Sarabess? Did Trinity’s running away affect you in any way?”
He was just saying words, words he’d said hundreds of times. It was a game, pure and simple.
Sarabess drew a deep breath as she fingered her pearls. “No. It barely registered. I was still mourning Emily. Nothing registered. Nothing.” Such a lie, she thought.
“I have to leave now, or I’ll miss my tee time.”
“Well, a tee time is certainly important. Even I understand that. Run along, Rifkin. Enjoy your golf game,” Sarabess said, in an icy voice.
Rifkin refused to be baited. He waved as he descended the steps. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Sarabess wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she bit down on her bottom lip instead. Her eyes filled again. Everything Rif had said was true. Tomorrow she would think about everything he’d just said. Everything she’d been thinking about for the past fifteen years. Tomorrow. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t.
Today was Emily’s day. Today she had to go to the cemetery to talk to Emily.
Tomorrow was another day. Rif would come around; he always did.
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Copyright © 1999, 2009 by First Draft, Inc.
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-0842-2
First Kensington Hardcover Printing: March 1999
First Zebra Mass-Market Printing: January 2000