Page 52 of You'll Find Out
“Too much, Mara,” he hurled back at her as he rose from his position in front of her expansive desk. He whirled toward the door and began to leave, but Mara’s soft voice stopped him.
“Shane, wait . . .” she commanded, rising from her chair and reaching for him.
He spun on his heel to face her, but refused to capture her extended hand. All of the anger and pent-up rage of four years of frustration showed on the bladed contours of his masculine face as he stood before her. His dark eyes narrowed, almost wicked in their arrogance, and he looked down at her with his lips curling in undisguised contempt “I’ve waited, Mara. God, how I’ve waited. And I won’t,I can’twait any longer! It seems as if you’ve made your choice!”
He left her standing helpless in the middle of the room, and he didn’t turn back to face her. No “goodbye,” no “I’m sorry,” no. “I’ll understand,” and no “I love you.” Nothing but a helpless, empty feeling that crept into her heart.
“Mrs. Wilcox . . . Mrs. Wilcox?” Lynda was inquiring through the intercom on Mara’s desk. “Did you want me to come in for that dictation now? Mrs. Wilcox?” Lynda’s voice brought Mara crashing back to reality.
“Yes, Lynda . . . but, make it in about five minutes, okay?” Mara asked into the black receiver. She needed a few minutes to gather her poise.
“You’re the boss,” Lynda quipped back lightheartedly.
Mara lifted her finger from the intercom and let the hot, fresh tears run unrestricted down her face. She was tired, not only from lack of sleep, but with worry. And she was frustrated, caught in the middle of a situation she couldn’t control, torn with concern for a woman whose own family cared little for her, and in love with a man she didn’t entirely understand. Mara let the bitter tears run unchecked, if only for a moment. “I’m not going to lose, Shane,” she murmured to herself as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the tissue. “I absolutely refuse to lose to you . . . or to June. Somehow, I swear, we’re going to find our way out of this!”
“Pardon me?” Lynda asked, standing in the doorway. Color washed over her face as she noticed that her employer had been crying. “Oh . . . well . . . if you want to do this . . . later . . . I’ll come back,” Lynda stammered, backing out of the office. Mara took command of the situation.
“It’s all right, Lynda. Come in. I’ve got quite a lot of correspondence to get out before we go home tonight.” Mara smiled sincerely at the young girl as Lynda took a seat near the corner of the desk and poised her pencil in readiness over her stenographer’s tablet. With as much authority and poise as she could pull together, Mara began the dictation, and was relieved to see that Lynda’s embarrassment faded. Somehow, Mara promised herself, she would get through this day and straighten out the problems she faced. It couldn’t be impossible, she reasoned, her spine stiffening at the thought of the challenge. It was going to work!
With her new confidence neatly in place, Mara finished work at the office for the weekend. It was the first Friday in many that she was able to leave by five o’clock. Although the traffic in downtown Asheville was snarled and the evening was slightly warm, Mara refused to have her spirits deflated. Rather than use the air-conditioning in the car, Mara rolled down her window and listened to the sounds of the busy city. A few horns blared impatiently, an occasional motorist mouthed a stream of invectives, but for the most part, even in the height of rush hour, the feeling in the air was of calm equanimity. It was as if, by finally deciding to somehow solve her own problems, Mara had begun to defeat them. When she finally maneuvered her car out of the city limits, and the tree-lined streets broke from suburbia into the quiet of the mountain countryside, Mara pushed her sandaled foot more heavily on the accelerator and let the sporty car race toward home. The wind whipped and twisted her hair, the radio played lighthearted, soothing music, and soon she would be able to spend a quiet, warm summer weekend with Angie. She smiled at the thought of a picnic near the river.
As for June, Mara had convinced herself that she could deal with the older woman gently and fairly. Her plan was simple: it was time that she took the bull by the horns and began handling her own life. Whether June agreed or not, Mara was going to call Dr. Bernard and request a complete physical for her mother-in-law. And then, if June was strong enough, Mara would tell her the truth of Angie’s identity. If June’s health prevented a forthright confession, Mara would find a gentler way to break the news.
With her spirits soaring higher than the tops of the ancient oaks that welcomed her home, she hurried into the house and called out her usual greeting. “Angie . . . June, I’m home.”
But the house sounded incredibly empty. No running footsteps or laughing chatter warned of Angie’s arrival. The television had been turned off, and there was no noise in the house except for the regular ticking of the great old clock and the smooth hum of the air conditioner. Mara’s voice echoed back to her, and though she tried to ignore it, a small tremor of anxiety taunted her. The house didn’tfeelright. “Angie?” Mara called a little louder.
The house was immaculately clean, evidence that Mrs. Reardon had been working earlier in the day. And the grass was freshly cut, Mara noted, her eyes scanning the lawn. Mr. Staples, the gardener, had worked outdoors. June’s sky-blue Lincoln was parked in its usual spot in the garage. But the house was empty. Mara checked all the rooms—Angie’s bed was freshly made. Hadn’t she napped? Still, no sign of grandmother and child.
Rather than panic, Mara went back downstairs to the kitchen. Perhaps June left a note. Maybe someone came and took them for a drive . . . or a walk. Unlikely. No note. The only evidence that anyone had been in the deserted house since Mrs. Reardon had been in was a tiny, neat pile of dishes in the sink.
Mara, with real dread beginning to take hold of her, walked out onto the porch, and noted, with a slight sense of relief, that Southpaw and her family were snoozing in the late afternoon sun. But there was no sight or sound of Angie.
“Mara, is that you?” June’s familiar voice called out as the screen door scraped against the boards of the porch. Mara nearly jumped at the sound, but was relieved when she saw June propped up on the yellow chaise lounge in a shaded portion of the broad expanse of porch. Sunlight, filtered through the chestnut tree in the back yard, cast moving shadows over June’s delicate features.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Mara asked with a laugh as she approached the older woman and noted the open magazine that had dropped to the floor.
“Well, I must have dozed off,” June apologized and attempted to stretch. She grimaced in pain as her cramped muscles refused to straighten. “I was reading this article on floral arrangements, and I guess my lack of sleep caught up with me,” she admitted with a sheepish frown. She tugged the reading glasses off of her nose and tucked them into her purse.
“It’s been a long day for everyone,” Mara agreed, her eyes skimming the hedge where Angie sometimes hid. The sun was still bright, and she was forced to squint. “Where’s Angie?”
June stiffened, and her eyes snapped with fear. “What?” she asked. “I thought she was with you . . .”
“But I’ve been at work,” Mara reminded her, wondering if her mother-in-law’s tired mind was beginning to play tricks on her. “I left her with you . . . this morning.”
“I know, I know,” June snapped almost hysterically as she looked from Mara to the back yard, and back to Mara. She wrung her thin hands nervously. Mara swallowed the dread that was rising in her throat as June began to speak. “But I thought . . . I mean, that man told me that the three of you were going out somewhere. . . to the park or something . . . for the afternoon.”
“What?” Mara gasped, and then controlled herself when she saw her own fear reflected in June’s pale eyes. “What man?” she tried not to look desperate as she grasped the older woman’s arm.
“Shane Kennedy!”
“He was here?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” June retorted. “He was here, earlier . . . around two-thirty, I think.” Nervous, trembling fingers were toying with the strand of pearls at her neck. “It was just before Angie’s nap.” A fast calculation indicated to Mara that Shane must have come to the estate directly after the argument in the office. “And he told me that the three of you were going to take the afternoon off and go see some sort of jazz festival in the park . . . or something like that. I honestly don’t remember,” she sighed, filled with hatred for Shane and self-remorse that she hadn’t stood up to him and kept the child. June’s stern eyes impaled Mara. “He lied to me, didn’t he? He deliberately tricked me into giving him the child!”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Mara answered as honestly as she could, hoping that the fear that was beginning to take hold of her wasn’t being conveyed to her mother-in-law.
June slumped back onto the plump, yellow pillows of the chaise. “I didn’t want to let her go, you know,” she admitted in a tight voice. “I wanted to call you, but he insisted that you had already left the office and were probably waiting for him at the park. It was a lie, wasn’t it?”
