“I didn’t ask you here to try to insinuate myself into your life, Ginger. We both know nothing I do or say can change the way you feel about Delores and Jerome.”
“So why did you want to see me?”
“I wanted you to hear about the woman who gave birth to you from someone who knew her.” Such an easy lie because it was wrapped in truth, a truth he hadn’t realized until that very moment. And so much easier to say than his own plea for forgiveness.
“What possible difference could it make now?” Ginger asked.
“None, I suppose. It’s just something I feel I owe her. And it’s something you have a right to know.”
“Wait a minute.” Rachel held up her hand, the Gucci watch flashing in the sunlight coming through the window. “Are you saying you gave—” Rachel looked at Ginger. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Ginger,” Jessie supplied.
“That you and Ginger’s mother gave her up for adoption?” She shook her head in wonderment. “This just keeps getting better and better. Well, now we know why you brought her here. You want to apologize for screwing up her life so you can die with a clear conscience. But why me?”
Ginger turned on her. “What makes you think my life is screwed up?”
“Are you saying it isn’t?”
“If it is, it’s no more screwed up than yours.”
Rachel bristled. “My life is fine. As a matter of fact, it’s never been better.”
Ginger purposely studied Rachel. “What happened to your wedding ring? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have happened very long ago. There’s still a mark on your finger. Was it your idea? A case of like father like daughter?”
Rachel exposed herself in her fury. “You don’t know the first thing about—”
Christina’s eyes widened at the bruising exchange. She’d perched on the edge of her chair, giving no clear clue whether she was fascinated by the people around her or ready to flee from them.
Jessie sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He’d anticipated fireworks, not the Fourth of July, and certainly not directed at each other instead of him. God, he had missed so much with these women. How had he let himself become such a coward? The justifications he’d used seemed so insignificant in hindsight that they no longer offered so much as an emotional handhold.
“If what Ginger says is true, I’m sorry, Rachel,” Jessie offered. “I hope you can work things out—if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is none of your business.” She turned on Ginger. “Or yours either.” She reached for her purse. “I was an idiot to have come here.”
Ginger put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
Rachel hesitated and then yielded. Several seconds passed in an electrically charged silence. “You had no idea you were adopted?”
“Not until I got the letter to come here.”
“Wow,” Christina said, speaking up for the first time. “That must have been a killer.”
Jessie looked at his youngest daughter. In the twenty-three years since Carmen had convinced him that his irregular appearances in Christina’s life were hurting, not helping her, child psychologists had made his calculated disappearance from her life an emotional crime. There was no way now that he could make her understand or believe that he’d abandoned her out of love.
“And you, Christina? What did you come here to find out? What questions do you have for me?” The pain in his hip shot to his side, settling under his ribs and burrowing in. This was something new. And frightening in its force. Yesterday he wouldn’t have cared. Today, cruelly, time had become important again.
Christina hesitated, frowned, started to speak, and then stopped. Finally, in a rush, she said, “I thought you were dead. My mother told me you were dead. Why would you let her do that?”
“I was sixty-two years old, and in the middle of an ugly lawsuit that I eventually lost that bankrupted me again. When your mother moved
“So why did you want to see me?”
“I wanted you to hear about the woman who gave birth to you from someone who knew her.” Such an easy lie because it was wrapped in truth, a truth he hadn’t realized until that very moment. And so much easier to say than his own plea for forgiveness.
“What possible difference could it make now?” Ginger asked.
“None, I suppose. It’s just something I feel I owe her. And it’s something you have a right to know.”
“Wait a minute.” Rachel held up her hand, the Gucci watch flashing in the sunlight coming through the window. “Are you saying you gave—” Rachel looked at Ginger. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Ginger,” Jessie supplied.
“That you and Ginger’s mother gave her up for adoption?” She shook her head in wonderment. “This just keeps getting better and better. Well, now we know why you brought her here. You want to apologize for screwing up her life so you can die with a clear conscience. But why me?”
Ginger turned on her. “What makes you think my life is screwed up?”
“Are you saying it isn’t?”
“If it is, it’s no more screwed up than yours.”
Rachel bristled. “My life is fine. As a matter of fact, it’s never been better.”
Ginger purposely studied Rachel. “What happened to your wedding ring? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have happened very long ago. There’s still a mark on your finger. Was it your idea? A case of like father like daughter?”
Rachel exposed herself in her fury. “You don’t know the first thing about—”
Christina’s eyes widened at the bruising exchange. She’d perched on the edge of her chair, giving no clear clue whether she was fascinated by the people around her or ready to flee from them.
Jessie sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He’d anticipated fireworks, not the Fourth of July, and certainly not directed at each other instead of him. God, he had missed so much with these women. How had he let himself become such a coward? The justifications he’d used seemed so insignificant in hindsight that they no longer offered so much as an emotional handhold.
“If what Ginger says is true, I’m sorry, Rachel,” Jessie offered. “I hope you can work things out—if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is none of your business.” She turned on Ginger. “Or yours either.” She reached for her purse. “I was an idiot to have come here.”
Ginger put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
Rachel hesitated and then yielded. Several seconds passed in an electrically charged silence. “You had no idea you were adopted?”
“Not until I got the letter to come here.”
“Wow,” Christina said, speaking up for the first time. “That must have been a killer.”
Jessie looked at his youngest daughter. In the twenty-three years since Carmen had convinced him that his irregular appearances in Christina’s life were hurting, not helping her, child psychologists had made his calculated disappearance from her life an emotional crime. There was no way now that he could make her understand or believe that he’d abandoned her out of love.
“And you, Christina? What did you come here to find out? What questions do you have for me?” The pain in his hip shot to his side, settling under his ribs and burrowing in. This was something new. And frightening in its force. Yesterday he wouldn’t have cared. Today, cruelly, time had become important again.
Christina hesitated, frowned, started to speak, and then stopped. Finally, in a rush, she said, “I thought you were dead. My mother told me you were dead. Why would you let her do that?”
“I was sixty-two years old, and in the middle of an ugly lawsuit that I eventually lost that bankrupted me again. When your mother moved
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