by Jean Stone
“She doesn’t want to go back down to see you. She doesn’t want to see you until this is over.”
“Oh, Daddy,” P.J. cried. “What am I supposed to do? I need to see you. I’m going crazy here.” She stared at the chair where her father had sat the day they brought her here. She tried to picture her father, tried to feel his comfort.
“I’ll tell you what, honey,” he said. “How about you and me meeting somewhere for dinner? Maybe halfway? Your mother wouldn’t even have to know. I can talk to that man—the caretaker—what’s his name?”
“Pop. Pop Hines.”
“Maybe he’d let you take his car to meet me. What do you say? I’ll treat my best girl to a filet mignon.”
“Oh, Daddy, that would be wonderful.”
“I’m supposed to go to a Kiwanis meeting next Thursday. What if I meet you instead? Say at the Tavern Inn on Route Ten? Do you know where it is?”
“Sure, Daddy, we passed it on the way down here.”
“Great. Let’s say six o’clock. I’ll call Mr. Hines later today to work it out.”
“Oh, Daddy. Thanks. I can’t wait.” She hung up the phone, grateful there was one person in the world she could always depend on. “Daddy,” she said aloud, “thank you.”
Pop let P.J. borrow the station wagon. “I like you girls to be happy,” he said.
She pulled out of the driveway, lit a cigarette, and headed north. September had turned into October, and the leaves were changing their colors. All along the back roads of Connecticut the air glowed yellow, red, and orange. P.J. felt safe, almost happy. She couldn’t wait to see her father.
It took about an hour, but finally it was there. An old Victorian house, set back from the road. The shingle read, TAVERN INN. FINE FOOD AND SPIRITS. P.J. wheeled into the parking lot. Her father was waiting for her by the front door.
“Daddy!” she cried as she ran from the car into his open arms. That familiar, too-long-since-felt hug.
“Come on, punkin, let’s go in,” he said.
The darkness inside and the low ceilings were reminiscent of an old English pub. They were escorted to a table next to the fireplace. Harold Davies ordered a light scotch and soda for himself, a Coke for P.J.
They made small talk throughout their drinks, soup, and salad. Junior was playing first-string quarterback for the high school team. Work was very busy for her father. Her mother was heading up the church rummage sale. The waitress arrived with their steaks, and P.J. was ready to talk.
“Daddy, what can I do to make this up to you? And to Mother?”
He carefully sliced off a piece of rare meat. “Don’t worry about me, punkin. It’s your mother who’s suffering.”
“But so am I, Daddy! Doesn’t she care about that?”
“Yes, P.J., of course she cares. It’s just different for her, that’s all.” He studied his plate, then looked across the table into his daughter’s eyes. “Punkin, there’s something I have to tell you. About your mother. I know she’s been pretty hard on you all your life. It’s only because she loves you, and she’s wanted you to have a happy, secure life.”
“But, Daddy, I’m not like Mother, you know that. I want more out of life. I want some excitement. I don’t want to be forty-four years old and get through my day sipping tea and playing bridge.”
Harold Davies stared at his daughter. P.J. had never seen him look so serious. “P.J., there’s something about your mother you don’t know.”
“She hates me, right?” But the frown on her father’s face made P.J. instantly regret those words. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I didn’t mean it. What is it?”
He set down his fork and leaned across the table. “P.J., what I’m about to tell you is to go no further than right here, right now. Promise me that.”
P.J. went rigid. “You’re scaring me, Daddy.”
“Well, this is going to come as a shock to you. I need your solemn promise that you will never, under any circumstances, tell your mother what I’m about to say.”
“I promise, Daddy.” P.J. put her hands in her lap. She had lost her appetite.
Her father took a long, slow breath. The lines on his face deepened. “Punkin, before the war, before I met your mother, she had a boyfriend named Joe.” P.J. listened. She didn’t dare say a word. “Your mother was young—she was only seventeen. The war broke out, and Joe was shipped overseas.” He took a mouthful of baked potato. P.J. wanted to jump off her chair. What was this leading up to? Come on, Daddy, say it!
“Not long after Joe left, your mother discovered she was pregnant.”
P.J. was numb. What? Her mother was pregnant? Her mind raced. Pregnant with her? Was her father trying to tell her he wasn’t her real father? No, it couldn’t be. He said the war had just started. She wasn’t born until afterward.…
“Joe was killed in the Pacific. Your mother was sent to live with her aunt in New Hampshire. She had the baby—a boy—and gave it up for adoption. No one, except her parents and her aunt, knew. Except, of course, when she told me.”
P.J. already knew the answer to her question, but she asked it anyway. “Daddy, is this true?”
“Yes, punkin, it’s true. And your mother would kill me if she knew I told you.”
P.J. stared into the candle that flickered soundlessly on the table. God. This was incredible. Her mother had had a baby. Out of wedlock. She’d given it up for adoption. P.J. felt sick. Her mother didn’t hate her. Her mother hated herself. P.J. looked at her father. “But, Daddy, is this why—”
Her father interrupted her, nodding his head. “This is why she wants you to get married so badly. She wasn’t able to. The father of her baby had died. She has suffered all these years with the guilt, and with wondering what ever happened to that child she had. She wanted to spare you that.”
P.J. stared back into the candle. “My God, Daddy, I don’t believe this.”
“I know, punkin. But I had to tell you. I had to help you understand why she’s reacted so strongly about this. Why she is so angry with you. She feels like history has repeated itself. She feels like it’s her fault.”
Suddenly P.J. felt cheated. “So I’ve been lied to all these years.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I have a half-brother somewhere in the world, and I’m not even supposed to know about him. That’s the same as being lied to. All these years she’s pushed and pushed me to be like her, to live up to her image. Ha! Some image! It turns out she’s no better than me.”
“P.J., she never tried to make you feel she was better than you.”
“Well, she did, Daddy. Sure she did. All those times I didn’t quite measure up. All those times I wasn’t quite good enough, that I couldn’t be what she wanted me to be. It was like I wasn’t good enough for her. Not as good as her. This stinks.”
“P.J., please. I didn’t tell you to upset you. I told you in the hopes you might understand your mother a little better.”
“Oh, Daddy, I don’t know what to think.” P.J. started to cry. Her own mother! God, her mother had been pregnant and not married. Was this why she’d always told P.J. her looks were a curse? Was this why her own mother never did anything to make herself as beautiful as she could be? Had she gone through the kind of hurt P.J. was going through now? And, God, why hadn’t she trusted P.J. enough to have told her? Why didn’t she love her enough to have told her?
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” Her father’s words were soft, gentle.
P.J. shook her head. “No, Daddy,” she said. “I’m glad you did.” She looked at him, at the worried look on his face. How hard this must have been to tell her now. “Daddy?” P.J. asked. “Did you know about this when you married her?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, and P.J. saw huge tears form in his eyes. “But I loved her, punkin. I still do.”
“Oh, Daddy,” P.J. cried softly, “will any man ever love me the way you love Mother?”
CHAPTER 9
Jess
As September faded into October, Jess finally began to accept that Richard was gone. If he had really loved her, no amount of money in the world would have kept them apart. She had lost him; she had lost her mother. All she had left was Father—who never really cared about her. Jess took comfort from only one thing: the baby inside her. Alone at night in the darkness of her room, Jess silently spoke to the baby, sharing her loneliness, telling it over and over that he or she would be adopted by loving parents and never have to be alone.
Around the others, Jess tried to be cheerful. P.J. and Susan were both quiet and serious lately; Ginny was the only one who seemed to be handling things, though Jess often wondered how much of it was an act.
It was Jess’s night to clear the table. After the others left the dining room, Jess stacked the dirty plates and headed toward the kitchen. The sound of voices made her stop at the door. Mrs. Hines and Miss Taylor were talking.
“Are you sure you left the money on the counter?” Jess heard Miss Taylor say.
“Twenty dollars,” Mrs. Hines answered. “Same as I do every Thursday night. I’m telling you, one of them girls took it.”
Jess gripped the plates and held her breath.
“I cannot believe one of my girls is a thief.”
“It’s not the first time either. Same thing happened a few weeks ago. I thought I was confused, but now I knows different. That money was out then, too, and it was stolen.”
Jess thought about her ring. She’d decided she must have lost it. Was it possible it had been stolen? By one of the girls? Who?
“Well,” Miss Taylor continued behind the closed door, “maybe you’d better find another way of getting the egg man his money.”
“I say we should get to the bottom of this right away. Corner the thief and make her pay it back.”
“No,” Miss Taylor said. “The girls have enough problems. If you really believe the money was stolen, then just be more careful next time.” The woman’s footsteps headed for the dining room. Jess quickly rattled the plates and pushed open the door.
“Oh, Jess!” Miss Taylor exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were right there.”
“Just cleaning up.” Jess brushed past the woman and deposited the plates on the counter.
She went back to her room after cleaning up and slowly emptied the contents of her jewelry box onto the bed. She rifled through the things. Her emerald-and-diamond ring was not there, there was no doubt about it. She’d taken it off so many weeks ago when her fingers began to swell that she’d almost forgotten about it. But it was missing. Just as she’d thought that day she came back from New York. It was gone.
Another thought flashed through her mind: money. When she’d gone to New York, Jess remembered thinking she’d had more cash than she did. She took her wallet out now. How much money had she spent? There were the magazines for Ginny, and, of course, the train ticket … the material for her sewing, and a few dollars at the county fair. Jess counted her cash. She’d bought some personal things too. Cold cream, liquid soap for hand-washing her silk things, shampoo—not a great deal in all. But what she had spent, combined with what little cash she had left in her wallet, didn’t add up. Jess couldn’t be sure, but she’d swear she was missing money. Maybe even a hundred dollars. Whoever had taken Mrs. Hines’s money probably had stolen from Jess too. Only one name came to mind: Ginny. And in order to get her ring back, Jess knew she’d have to prove it.
The following morning Jess took her geography and history books downstairs. Susan had said they’d review the chapters today, so they’d be ready when the state tutor came to test the girls next week.
In the living room Ginny was sprawled out across the sofa, jiggling her leg and doodling configurations of “L.A.” in a spiral bound notebook.
“It won’t be much longer before you’re there,” Jess commented.
“Sure. You bet.”
Jess clutched the books in her arms. She didn’t know if what she was about to do would work, but it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try if it meant she could get her mother’s ring back.
“How are you going to afford to live out there? You know. I mean, until you make it as an actress?”
Ginny shrugged. “There are ways, kid. There are ways.”
Jess bit her lip, hoping Ginny wouldn’t notice her edginess. “Pop says it’s easier to make money when you know you’ve already got some put aside.”
“What the hell does he know? He’s an old man who mows a lawn for a living.”
Jess forced a laugh. “That may be how you see him, but Pop has lots of money.” She bit her lip again. “I’ve seen it.”
“Sure. What’s he got? Twenty dollars? Fifty? Wow. Some stash.”
Jess crossed the room and sat in the chair facing Ginny. “Hundreds, actually. Probably more.”
“Did he show you his bankbook?”
“No. Pop doesn’t believe in banks. He keeps it in an old coffee canister over the refrigerator. He showed me one day. He’s real proud of it.”
Ginny rolled onto her side. “He’d better be careful, keeping all that cash around.”
Jess dug her fingernails into the geography book. “Why? It’s not like he ever leaves Larchwood.” Except on Friday mornings, when he takes Mrs. Hines into town, she wanted to add, but knew that Ginny had been there long enough to know that too. All Jess had to do now was hope Ginny had taken the bait. It was hard to tell by the disinterested look on her face.
Susan came into the living room, and they began to review for the test.
On Friday morning Jess told Susan she wasn’t feeling well. She waited to see the station wagon pull out of the driveway, then she quietly sneaked across the yard and climbed the wooden steps of the garage up to the Hineses’ apartment.
She took the big skeleton key from over the doorjamb and let herself in. Autumn light filtered through the plastic lace curtains; dust specks twinkled in its path. Jess sat on the vinyl-covered Early American sofa and waited. She didn’t know if Ginny would come; she didn’t know what she’d say to her if she did. She only knew she wanted her ring back, and this seemed the best way. If she told Miss Taylor her thoughts about Ginny, Ginny would be thrown out of Larchwood for sure. And Jess didn’t want to be responsible for that.
She didn’t have to wait long. Only a few minutes after Jess had entered the apartment, the door handle jiggled. Jess felt her entire body tense. What if it was Pop and Mrs. Hines? How would she explain being here? She obviously wasn’t sewing … she was just sitting here.…
The door creaked open.
Ginny
Incredible. The hired hands didn’t even lock their door. Ginny stepped inside, then stopped short. Somebody was sitting on the sofa, silhouetted against the sun.
“Hello, Ginny.”
Ginny’s head snapped. Christ, it was Jess. “What the fuck …?”
“Did you come looking for something?”
Ginny tossed the hair from her face. “Yeah. Pop. I was looking for Pop.”
“I don’t think so.”
Ginny raised her eyebrows and remained frozen in place.
“I think you came looking for his money.”
Her heart started to pound. “You’re an asshole.”
“No, I’m not. You came to steal Pop’s money. The same way you stole my ring.”
Pressure squeezed against her throat. “You’re fucking crazy.” She backed out of the door.
“I don’t want to have to tell Miss Taylor,” Jess said.
Ginny stopped. Defensive, she thought. Be defensive. Cover your ass. “Tell her what? That I came to visit Pop? Big fucking deal.”
“No, Ginny. That you came to steal his money. The money I told you about. The same way you stole my ring and my hundred dollars. The same way you stole the money Mrs. Hines left for the egg man.”
She knew she should leave. Ginny stared down Jess. She was just a kid, but she knew Jess would find the balls to turn her in. People tended to get balls when something th
ey wanted was at stake. And the kid wanted her ring. Maybe she should just hand it over.
“I know you did it, Ginny.”
Fuck her. Why should she hand it over? That ring was her ticket out of here. Her ticket to L.A. She clenched her jaw and willed her heart to stop pounding.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d have to leave right away. Head to Boston. Find Vinnie. He’d know where to fence it.…
“Ginny, do you need the money that badly?”
She laughed. “What do you know about money? You’ve never needed a dime in your life. Daddy has seen to that.”
Jess nodded, and Ginny didn’t miss the tears spilling down the kid’s cheeks. “If it’s the money you need, I’ll give you some. But, please, give me back my ring. It was my mother’s.…”
Christ.
“Let’s say I did have the ring. Not that I do. But let’s say I did. So I give it back to you. What’s stopping you from telling Miss T. anyway, and getting my ass kicked out of here?”
Jess lowered her eyes. “I guess you’d have to trust me.”
Ginny laughed. “Hey, forget it, man. I don’t even have your fucking ring.”
“How much do you need, Ginny? A few thousand? Ten? Twenty? Would that help?”
“What is this? You think I’ve got your ring, and I’m holding it for ransom?”
“Ginny, I care about the ring. A lot. And I really want it back. But I care about you too. I don’t want to see you get thrown out of here before your baby’s born. Where would you go? Where would you have the baby?”
Ginny felt a stabbing ache in her breast. She leaned against the door. The kid was right. If she left here, she’d probably wind up having the baby in a crash pad somewhere. Vinnie would probably take a cut from the ring, and what she’d end up with wouldn’t be enough to live off for a month, never mind get her mother out to L.A. with her and start their new life. She looked at the tiny figure on the sofa. Fuck, she thought. Fuck.
“I’ll give you the money anyway, Ginny. No strings. Enough to set you and your mother up in a nice place in L.A. Enough to last you until you can get on your feet. Think of it as my way of getting back at my father for what he’s done to me.”
