Life and Other Inconveniences(26)

The truth was, I never got to know April very well before she died. Afterward, it was difficult to sympathize with someone who’d abandoned her child, especially when my child had been stolen from me. I knew depression was a legitimate illness; it was simply hard to imagine committing suicide when one had an eight-year-old.

I hadn’t. I’d wanted to and I hadn’t.

Once I had custody of Emma, Paul became quite the authority on raising children, when look how his had turned out. That didn’t stop him from lecturing me on what Emma needed, a child I had never asked to care for, a child they were more than happy to let me take. The advice, as if I needed parenting guidance. Hadn’t I been Sheppard’s mother, after all? And then there was the pain, their grief, dripping out of them for all the world to see. You aren’t the only ones who’ve ever lost a child! I wanted to scream. At least mine didn’t throw away her life!

But, of course, those things went unsaid. Clark wanted me to take Emma; Paul’s wife—what was her name?—had that horrible Lou Gehrig’s disease and was wasting away, the poor thing. She, at least, hadn’t been hateful. Naive and poorly educated, but that was hardly her fault.

“We gonna stand here all day?” Paul asked.

“Emma?” I asked. “Would you care to freshen up? I’ve put you in your father’s old room, the one overlooking the wisteria bower.”

“I’m fine,” she said. We eyed each other a moment, and I kept my face neutral. So did she. Where was that drink?

“Is it strange to be back?” Donelle asked.

“It’s like I never left,” she said.

“Sorry to hear that,” Paul said.

Shayla or whatever her name was finally brought me a martini. I sipped it and suppressed a sigh. No lemon. Young people today and their ridiculous drinks. I’d have to speak to her later.

“Just to remind you again, Genevieve,” Emma said quietly, “I don’t want you speaking to Riley about any possible inheritance.”

Donelle sputtered. I ignored her.

“Of course not. That would be entirely too crass,” I said.

“I wanted to be clear,” Emma said. She stared at me, and there was something very different about her. A hardness. No, a strength. Oh, she might despise me for showing her the door all those years ago, but she had been too soft, too easily manipulated back then. Too much like her father. If she hadn’t been, she never would’ve gotten pregnant in the first place.

Sometimes, a firm kick in the pants is what someone needs, whether they know it or not.

Riley came downstairs again, wearing a cheap knit black dress that was far too short. At least she had tried. I’d take her shopping. She was a London, and she should look like one. We’d visit the headquarters and she could have her pick from the showroom, Beverly Jane be damned. Riley’s hair was brushed and gleaming, and my fingers itched to pull it back into a bun. She had a lovely neck.

“Mom, you should see my bathroom,” she said. Then she laughed. “Oh, wait, I guess you have! I love the tub. It’s huge. And there’s a shower and the closet is practically bigger than my room at home. The bed is the size of a boat.” She cut a glance at her grandfather. “Not that I need a bigger bed, Pop. You know I love mine.”

He smiled the faintest bit, and I gathered there was a story attached to the bed. I imagined he’d made it for her, carving it like Joseph making a cradle for the baby Jesus, since martyrdom did seem to run in their side of the family.

“I’m glad you like it, dear,” I said. “I’ll give you a full tour of the house tomorrow, so you can appreciate its history.”

Emma was quiet, looking at me. I drank more of my lemon-free martini. Thank God for gin. “Tell me about yourself, Riley,” I said.

“Well,” she answered blithely, “I’m the bastard child of a teen mother, as you know.”

Donelle snorted; Emma and Paul smiled. Personally, I was not amused. “Do go on.”

“I’ll be a senior this fall, I’m an honors student, I play soccer and like to read.”

“We have a library here. Just down the center hall on the left.”

“Cool. Tell me about yourself, um . . . Genevieve.”

How utterly refreshing! A child—a teenager, no less—asking an adult about herself! “I’m the founder and CEO of a design company, as I hope you know.”

“Retired CEO,” Donelle said. I cut her a look.

“I definitely do know,” said Riley. “All my friends love your stuff.”

As they should. “I also like to read, and I graduated summa cum laude from both Foxcroft Academy and Barnard. Are you planning to attend college, dear?”

“I am. I’m hoping to go to Notre Dame.”

A pity. If she had the grades to get into Notre Dame, she could get into an Ivy League school. “Have you been raised Catholic, then?”

“Mm-hm.”

I suppressed a sigh. A deliberate slap in my face, of course. Emma had not been raised Catholic. She’d been nothing till she got here, though her mother had been “technically Catholic.” I had taken Emma to the United Methodist church every Sunday she’d lived with me.

“Are we ever gonna eat?” Paul said.

“How gracious of you to ask, Paul. Of course. Please, into the dining room. Helga made us something very special.” What that was, I couldn’t remember, though I knew I’d given her very specific instructions. Ah, well, it was sure to be an unpleasant evening, whatever was being served.