The Bad Daughter(8)

“Wait,” Robin urged, feeling an unwelcome tingle of anxiety in her chest. Clearly the Valium was starting to wear off.

“What for?”

“I just thought…Could we sit here for a few minutes?”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we could talk.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Not really. I was just kind of hoping to get acclimated.”

“Acclimated,” Melanie repeated, drawing out each syllable. “Fine. I guess Dad can wait. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.” She sank back against her seat, although she left her car door open. “Okay. So…talk.”

Robin felt beads of perspiration line up across her forehead and didn’t know whether she was reacting to the heat or to her sister’s directive. The years hadn’t softened Melanie one bit. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.”

“Are you still working?”

“Yep.”

“At Tillie’s?” Tillie’s was a combination antiques-and-gifts shop located in the middle of Main Street. Melanie had worked there on and off for the last twenty years.

“Yes. At Tillie’s.” She paused. “Of course, I’ll have to take some time off now.”

“What about Dad’s office?”

“What about it?”

“Is there anyone in charge…?”

“His CFO is managing things temporarily.”

Robin waited several seconds for Melanie to volunteer more information. She didn’t. “How’s Landon?”

An impatient release of breath. “Fine,” Melanie said, managing to make the one-syllable word sound even shorter.

Robin debated asking more questions about her nephew, aware that Landon had always been a sensitive subject where Melanie was concerned. The product of a one-night stand with the captain of the high school football team when Melanie was just seventeen, Landon had been diagnosed with autism at the age of three. As far as Robin knew, his father had never contributed a dime toward supporting his son. In fact, he had moved to Colorado soon after graduation and worked as a personal trainer, then eventually bought into a moderately successful fast-food franchise. Meanwhile Melanie had been forced to abandon any hope of the modeling career she’d always dreamt of to stay in Red Bluff and look after the boy.

Even though Landon was relatively high functioning, he was also subject to wild mood swings and was for the most part silent and uncommunicative, a prisoner of his own mind. Despite living under the same roof for years, Robin couldn’t remember the last time he’d said more than two words to her or the last time he’d looked her in the eye.

Of course, having a son with autism had only increased Melanie’s anger. At the world in general. At Robin in particular.

“He must be pretty tall now.”

“Six feet, two inches.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing great. Why all the questions about Landon? He had nothing to do with what happened.”

“Of course not. I wasn’t suggesting…”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police: Landon was home with me that night. All night. Just because he’s autistic doesn’t mean he’s violent. He hasn’t had any major outbursts in years. He’s certainly not capable of anything like this. He would never hurt anyone, let alone his grandfather. Or Cassidy. For God’s sake, he loves that girl.”

“Melanie, please. I was just curious about how he’s doing. He’s my nephew.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you’ll have to remind him of that.”

Robin unfastened her seat belt. “Okay. Let’s go inside.” Safe to say I’m sufficiently acclimated. She climbed out of the car, her shoulders slumping in the oppressive heat that was rising in almost visible waves from the pavement. Or maybe her defeated posture was the result of the load of shit her sister had just dumped on her.

“Dad’s in the east wing,” Melanie said, marching past Robin through the parking lot to the front entrance of the sprawling single-story white building.

The powerful combined odors of sickness, disinfectant, and flowers hit Robin as soon as she stepped inside the hospital. The smell of suffering, she thought. Instantly she was seven years old again, holding her mother’s hand and clutching her own broken nose as they followed the doctor down the winding corridor. In the next second it was twenty years later, and she was standing beside Melanie at their mother’s bedside, watching her waste away, the color of her skin grayer than the sheets she was wrapped in. She remembered reaching for Melanie’s hand and her sister pushing her away. “Nice of you to make it back for the grand finale,” she heard Melanie say. Would she say the same thing again if their father succumbed to his wounds?

“Place looks the same,” Robin said, glancing only fleetingly at the warren of familiar corridors as they walked by the reception desk. Her cell phone rang as they were passing a sign reminding visitors that the use of cell phones was forbidden. Robin quickly removed the phone from her purse and raised it to her ear.

“What the hell’s going on?” Blake demanded, his voice filling her head. “I must have called you at least ten times last night. I called again this morning,” he continued before she could speak. “I left half a dozen messages. Why’d you turn off your phone? Why didn’t you call me back?”