Page 24 of You'll Find Out
Mara’s lips curled into a grim smile. “I would hope so,” she muttered, shaking her head pensively, “but it seems that our Angie, like the rest of the toddlers in America, prefer the products of the competition.”
“Lolly isn’t manufactured by Imagination?”
Mara shook her head again. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Shane looked upon the doll quizzically. “A damned shame,” he whispered, straightening himself to his full height. Still holding the doll tentatively, his eyes swept the apartment to rest on the wall behind the couch. His frown deepened as he recognized portrait after portrait of Angie and Peter adorning the smooth white surface. “Your husband?” he guessed, with a bitter edge to his voice.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Mara walked to the wall laden with family portraits. She rested with one knee on the couch and pointed to several of the pictures, her voice taking on the quality of a teacher. “Yes, this is Peter—with Angie, when she was about six months old. And this one, next to it, is a picture of June, her husband, Peter, and his older sister, Dena. The next picture is of Peter, Angie and me . . . Angie was about two at the time; it was just before we learned of his illness—June insisted that we have it taken. And this large portrait, here on the left, is of the entire family, including the cousins and aunts of Peter and his family. The lower, smaller shot is . . .”
Mara had been pointing to each of the photographs in turn. The fact that Shane was obviously angry spurred her onward. No matter what else happened, Shane would have to learn to accept the fact that she had been married to Peter. Nothing could change the past.
“That’s enough,” Shane nearly shouted, reaching out and capturing Mara’s arm. “I’ve seen enough of the Wilcox family history for one morning. Let’s go and find Angie. Where do you think she would be?”
Mara retrieved her hand from Shane’s grasp. “June mentioned something about taking her to the park for a miniature train ride. It’s just across the street . . .”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Don’t you think we should wait? June was really looking forward to spending the morning with her.”
“We’re going, Mara, and now. You really can’t expect me to sit here—in this shrine to your husband—and wait for his mother to bring back my child, can you?”
“No, I suppose not . . .”
“Then stop dragging your feet, and let’s go.”
Shane grabbed the few belongings that he recognized as being Angie’s and followed Mara out of the apartment and across the street to one of the well-manicured parks of Asheville. It was nearly noon, and although the day was warm the mountain breezes that cooled the city made the late August morning feel crisp and invigorating. The trains were on the far side of the park, near a small depot, and although the track wound through the lush vegetation all along the perimeter of the gardens, Mara reasoned that the most likely spot to find June and Angie was near the miniature station.
Mara heard her daughter before she actually caught a glimpse of her. Over the clacking of the wheels on the small track and the occasional blow of a whistle, Mara could hear Angie’s laughter and shouts. Both Shane and Mara stopped in their tracks when they rounded a bend in the path and could view grandmother and child. Angie was digging in a sandbox of sorts, and June was watching her over the top of a magazine as she sat on a bench in the sunshine. Angie was obviously having the time of her life, and June seemed to be enjoying the peaceful, warm morning. Mara smiled, but couldn’t help but feel a lingering sadness steal over her as she thought about June and her frail health. June so obviously enjoyed and loved Angie, and Shane didn’t hide his dislike for Peter’s mother. Mara felt her heart go out to the elderly woman who had been so kind to her. With Shane’s preoccupation with his child, and insistence that Angie become his legal daughter, June would lose that fragile link that she felt she had to her dead son. She had always thought that Angie was Peter’s daughter, and Mara knew that when the truth came out, June would be devastated to learn that Angie was Shane’s child. Would she feel betrayed, lied to? Suddenly Mara’s life seemed a complicated labyrinth of deception.
Shane’s hand tightened over hers, and after a momentary pause he walked directly toward the unsuspecting grandmother and child. Mara found her throat tightening with each step she took. After all the years of yearning for the chance to be with Shane again, she found herself dreading what she had dreamed about. When it came time for Shane to claim Angie, how would it affect June . . . Dena . . . and Angie herself? How could Mara anticipate that final confrontation with such sublime happiness and increasing dread?
June looked up from her magazine and then used it as a shield over her eyes to ward off the late summer glare from the sun. She watched Mara and Shane approach her bench, and the broad smile that had lighted her face when she recognized Mara faded as she identified the strange man walking briskly and determinedly toward her,
“Good morning, Mara,” June beckoned, noticing the lines of worry crowding Mara’s normally clear forehead.
At the mention of her mother’s name, Angie looked up from her digging and squealed with delight at the sight of Mara. “Mommy!” she chirped, running over to Mara and leaping into her arms. She clung, monkeylike, to her mother and began chattering wildly. “Grammie take me on train rides-just like the big ones in the book, and they have whistles and real smoke and . . .” her voice trailed off as she observed Shane for the first time. Her black eyes collided with her father’s and although Shane smiled, there was distrust in Angie’s stare. “Who he?” she asked pointedly, sticking out her lower lip. “Why he got Lolly and my blankie?”
One chubby arm held onto Mara’s neck, while the other reached out impatiently to claim her things. Shane handed the doll, draped in the tattered blanket, to his daughter. Importantly, Angie clutched them to her chest, all the while eyeing Shane with suspicion.
Mara had trouble finding her voice but finally managed the introduction. “Angie . . . June . . . this is Shane Kennedy, a friend of mine, and someone who’s interested in the toy company.”
“We’ve met,” June replied, taking Shane’s proffered hand with obvious disinterest.
“That we did—on the day of the funeral,” Shane agreed amiably. June’s blue eyes narrowed icily.
“I don’t like you,” Angie said, glaring at her father.
Mara gasped and turned several shades of crimson. “Angie! That’s not nice! We don’t say things like that. You apologize to Mr. Kennedy.”
The child folded her arms defiantly over her chest and stared up at Shane with obvious mistrust. “No!”
“Angie,” Mara cajoled, her patience beginning to thin. She set the girl down on the bench next to her grandmother. “Now you be nice. Mr. Kennedy is Mamma’s friend . . .”
Silence. Awkward, warm, embarrassing, uncomfortable silence. Angie turned her head so as to avoid direct eye contact with her mother, and a small smile tugged at the corners of June’s mouth. She seemed to be extracting a small sense of satisfaction at Angie’s behavior and ill manners.
Shane ignored Angie’s rejection altogether. “There’s no need for an apology, Angie,” he said, and Mara shot him an uncompromising glance. “I’ve met a lot of people that I didn’t like in my life; I just wasn’t honest enough to admit it.”
“But she shouldn’t—” Mara began, but Shane waved off her arguments.
