Sleeping Beauty by Judith Michael Page A

didn’t have anything to do with her. Dad, you’ve got to believe me. She’s a child! And I’ve got a wife and a child of my own; how could I do that to them? But how do I prove it if my own father doesn’t believe me?”
    Ethan was silent.
    â€œIn fact, I did try to be friends with her.” Vince spun the globe again. “A few times I tried to talk to her, draw her out, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. It hurt me, you know. It wasn’t that she was so warm and outgoing with everyone else—we all know she wasn’t; in fact, she was damned rude to us most of the time—but I made a special effort to be friendly, to let her know she had an uncle who cared about her. I did admire her, you know; she had so many fine qualities, really fine qualities. Admirable. But she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. She must have had something against me even then—this was at least a couple of years ago—and whatever it was she stored it up for a long time; why else would she pull a stunt like this? Christ, why would she accuse me, when I’d tried the hardest of anyoneto be her friend? I suppose she needed extra attention—poor kid, she really must have been miserable, with nobody liking her or wanting her around, and she must have known she brought it all on herself by being so unpleasant—but why pick on me? We haven’t exchanged more than a couple dozen words in all these years. What did I do to her? What did I do to you, Dad, that you don’t believe me? Here’s a kid I barely knew, who was almost never around—she was off in that clearing in the forest or in her room—and out of the blue she makes up this damned crazy story, and when nobody believes her, she runs away, and then you don’t believe me!” He sat on the edge of a chair near Ethan’s desk, gripping his hands. “It’s a nightmare.”
    â€œWhat clearing in the forest?” Ethan asked.
    â€œWhat? Oh, some place she had; Marian told her not to go there, but she did. She always did what she wanted, no matter what anyone said. Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, Dad. As far as I could tell, she always did exactly what she wanted. Of course she’s a remarkable girl and quite capable of taking care of herself, but she won’t bend for anybody. Nobody ever forced her, you know; nobody could make her do a damned thing she didn’t feel like doing.”
    Ethan scowled. How well had he known Anne? She was fifteen; he was sixty-seven. She was a schoolgirl, just beginning her life; he was closer to the end of his, already making plans to cut back as head of the company he had built and spend more time in his mountain paradise. How well could he know her? He admired her spirit and her strength, and enjoyed her sharp tongue, but how well did he understand her?
    Vince went on, his voice picking up strength. “I haven’t wanted to say this; I hoped I could avoid it—it’s not the kind of thing you want to say about any young girl, much less one in your own family—but, knowing her as well as we do, why do we assume she’s innocent at all, or has been for a long time? How do we know what she does, whom she meets, when she runs off after dinner, and on weekends? I’m not saying she’s not a good girl—I’d never criticize her;she’s my niece and a lovable kid and I care deeply for her—but there are a lot of kids running around these days with nobody watching, and she probably got herself in too deep with some of them. I’d lay odds she got herself pregnant and panicked and looked for somebody to blame . . . and for some reason she picked me. I’m not saying that’s exactly what happened, of course—how can we ever know, since she wouldn’t talk to us even when we all begged her to?—but, with all the wild kids around these days, it’s as good a guess