The Bad Daughter(93)

“It gets easier,” Brenda said, leaning toward her. “You’ll see. A few more weeks and this place’ll feel just like home.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


The doorbell rang at just after six o’clock that evening.

“Pizza’s here,” Melanie called from the kitchen. “Can somebody please answer the door?”

“I’ll get it.” Robin finished setting the last place at the dining room table and walked into the hallway. Cassidy and Blake were watching TV in the living room, and Robin gave a little wave when she passed by. She heard Landon’s bedroom door open and his footsteps on the stairs as she opened the front door, unprepared for what she would see. “Oh, my God.”

“Robin,” said the woman on the other side of the threshold. “It’s been a long time. You’re looking well. May I come in?”

Robin stepped back to allow the woman to enter. She glanced over her shoulder at Landon, who stood watching from the foot of the stairs.

“What’s happening with that pizza?” Melanie called, coming out of the kitchen, then stopping dead in her tracks. “Holy shit.”

The woman’s shoulders stiffened at the profanity. “Melanie,” she said. “My goodness. You girls haven’t changed a bit.”

“You sure have,” Melanie said. “What’s with the hair?”

Robin shot her sister a look of disapproval, although she’d been thinking the same thing. The woman’s hair, once black and luxurious, was now stringy and gray. It hung in uncombed strands halfway down her back. Her dress was a shapeless beige sack, her feet bare in her worn Birkenstocks. She looked like the stereotype of an aging hippie, a throwback to a time that was never as simple or loving as it had once seemed.

“What are you doing here?” Melanie asked.

“Where else would I be?”

“Wherever you’ve been for the last decade, I guess.”

“Is the pizza here?” Blake asked, joining them in the hall. “Oh, sorry.” He looked toward the gray-haired woman. “Who’s this?”

“Blake,” Robin said, “this is Holly Bishop.” She took a long, deep breath. “Tara’s mother.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” The woman burst into tears. “My poor baby.” She flung herself into Robin’s arms, sobbing on her shoulder. “How could this happen?”

Robin’s arms inched reluctantly around the woman’s thickening waist. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bishop.”

“Took you long enough to get here,” Melanie said, her voice cold. “It’s been almost two weeks since Tara died.”

“I just found out.” Holly Bishop pulled out of Robin’s embrace. “I left Oregon as soon as I heard.”

Robin couldn’t help noticing that the woman’s eyes were dry despite the sobs that had racked her body only seconds earlier.

“I live in a pretty isolated area. We don’t have TVs or personal computers.”

“So how did you find out?”

“Reverend Sampson, our leader. He told me.”

“Your leader has a computer?” Robin asked.

“Yes, of course. An old one. Someone has to be aware of what’s happening in the world. He relays all pertinent information.”

“To his flock,” Melanie said.

“To his followers, yes,” Holly corrected. “He heard about the shootings and came to me. He remembered that I used to live in Red Bluff, that I still had family here.”

“And figured out that your granddaughter would be coming into a lot of money that might allow him to upgrade his equipment,” Melanie said. “A godsend, you might say.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” Robin asked.

“I came to see Cassidy. That poor child.” Holly’s voice quivered, but once again there were no actual tears.

“What’s going on?”

Robin turned to see Cassidy standing in the living room doorway.

“Hello,” Cassidy said to the woman.

“Oh, my,” Holly said. “Is this my precious baby?”

“Who are you?”

Holly crossed both hands over her heart. “I’m your grandmother, darling.”

“My grandmother?”

“Your mother’s mother,” Holly explained, inching toward her.

“The one who disowned her after she married Dylan,” Melanie clarified.

Holly came to an abrupt halt. Her mouth opened, but it was several seconds before any sounds emerged. “Well, I didn’t approve of her marriage, that’s true,” she sputtered, “but I never actually disowned her.”

“You didn’t talk to her. You didn’t help her,” Robin said.

“She didn’t want my help.”

“You ran off with a cult—”

“It’s not a cult, dear. It’s a religious order.”

“Really? What church?”

“Well, it’s not an actual church, but—”

“But you joined it anyway. And you ran off, left Tara to fend for herself.”

“It was what she wanted.”