Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(3)

“Exactly.” Barry grins. “And you won’t find anything else like it, either.”

“How does it work?”

“We use a proprietary blend of light-refracting pigments, combined with the best masking and camouflage agents in existence.”

“And it’s nontoxic?”

“Of course,” Barry says. “We at Darling Skin Care have been the leaders in that area for quite some time.”

He points to the deputy marketing director, who produces a hand mirror emblazoned with a large D. Barry passes the mirror to Lauren, who stares into it.

“Wow,” she says. “Your guys are really, really good.”

“Thank you,” says Holly. She’s particularly practiced at keeping the edge from her voice on this one, but Lauren must catch a hint, because she stops looking in the mirror and glances over.

“Sorry,” she says, and has the grace to blush. “It’s hard to remember you’re a scientist on top of everything else.”

“It’s quite all right,” Holly says, although it’s not. This is one of the reasons she decided early on to partner with Barry—strictly in the business sense, after those first few nights—since even in this day and age there are some people who can’t seem to believe that a woman who looks like she does could also be a real, hands-on scientist. But Pixie Dust is every bit Holly’s baby, in more ways than one.

“Well,” says Barry. “If you’ll look in the folders in front of you, you’ll find a standard—”

There’s a knock on the door, and Holly’s assistant pokes her head in. “Dr. Darling, I am so sorry to interrupt, but I need you for a minute.”

Holly makes an effort not to scowl. She has a habit of running through assistants, and this one is so new Holly’s struggling to remember her name. “Can it wait?”

The assistant shakes her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Excuse me a moment, everyone,” Holly says. “I’ll be right back.” She pushes her chair out, stalks around the table. She runs through the list of what it could possibly be, stops short when she gets to the most likely. Jack. There’s one thing her assistant would interrupt her for right now, and that’s her son. His is the only call she’ll take no matter what she’s doing. But he knows what a big day today is for the company. He wouldn’t bother her unless it was an emergency. Her pulse pounds in her ears, and she hurries outside.

“What is it?” she demands. Her voice is brusquer than she’d intended, and the girl flinches.

“I’m sorry, but the caller said it was urgent.”

Barry has left the conference room too and come up behind her. His face is so worried it’s clear he’s had the same thought as Holly.

“Is Jack okay?” he asks, putting a hand on Holly’s arm.

“It’s not Jack,” the girl says, and relief rushes through Holly. She inhales deeply, aware for the first time that she’d been holding her breath.

“Then why the hell did you interrupt us?” says Barry. “If it’s not about Jack, whatever it is can wait.”

“It’s not Jack,” the girl repeats. “It’s about your daughter.”

“Her daughter? Holly doesn’t have a daughter. She has Jack. Everybody knows that,” Barry says. He glares at the girl, who looks as if she’d like nothing better than to flee. “Come on, Holly. We need to get back in there.”

But Holly’s not moving. Her limbs have grown cold. She feels sick and shaky, as if she might faint. Barry takes one look at her and wraps an arm around her for support.

“Holly?” he says. “What is it?”

For once, Holly’s iron self-control deserts her. Because the truth is, she does have a daughter, a secret clutched so tightly to her heart that no one here, not even Barry, knows about her.

“What did they say?” Holly manages to ask.

“Holly?” Barry’s looking at her, his eyebrows raised in disbelief even as he holds her up, but she can’t answer him right now.

The girl shakes her head. “Just that you should call right away. They left the number.”

Holly doesn’t need to look at the slip of paper the girl is holding. After ten years of calling that number, she knows it by heart.

“Then get them on the phone,” Barry barks. He may not know what’s going on, but the good thing about Barry is he’s always on Holly’s side. “We’ll take it in there.” He points to an unused office a few doors down from the conference room and guides Holly into it.

Once there, he paces around the small space, his large form making it feel even tinier. “I don’t understand, Holly. How could you not tell me you had a daughter? I mean, Jesus, we’re like family.”

“I’m sorry,” Holly says wearily. She’s been waiting for this call for over a decade, and now that the initial shock has passed, she’s exhausted. She wonders if all her preparation will be enough. But there’s nothing she can do now. She takes out her own phone and tries the number. It clicks straight to voicemail, so she hangs up.

“It’s just . . . I found out I was pregnant after the crash. The pregnancy was a struggle the whole way.” The truth. But not all of it.

“But how could you not tell me? Why haven’t you ever talked about her? For Christ’s sake, what’s her name?”