Birthday Girls (40 page)

She needed to pay attention and she needed to remember it all. Taking notes atop the camel was impossible; it was up to her senses to etch every detail into her memory, until there was no more room in her brain for anything
else—no thoughts of Abigail, no thoughts of Edmund. Slowly it was beginning to work.

Every so often the guide turned back and smiled a white-toothed, white-against-black smile. Kris nodded and clutched the reins. They continued their plod. One-two, three-four. One-two, three-four.

Thirty minutes into their ride a cramp flashed through her leg. Quickly, awkwardly, she hoisted her butt, trying to twist her body from the carrier, trying to unbend her knee. Pain gripped her calf. Suddenly she slipped to one side and inadvertently kicked the beast in his side.

He reared back his head and broke into a trot.

Kris lost her balance. She heard herself scream as her body reeled. She grasped at the air, trying to regain control of the reins. Then, in an instant, she felt herself falling …

Jibber, jibber!
her guide shouted back to her. In a flash he turned his camel and headed back to save her, but it was too late. The reins dug into her palms and then she let go and thumped to the desert floor.

The room
was hot; the sheets were crisp. Since her kindly guide had brought her in here, Kris had been at a total loss for communication. She’d tried to explain the pain in her side, then surrendered to the people in charge. They didn’t seem too concerned; they smiled a lot and chattered to one another in words that made sense only to them. But for Kris, there had been nothing to do but close her eyes.

At last the pain had subsided. And now there was something cool on her stomach.

She blinked and saw a man in a white coat bending over her, studying her stomach.

He smiled. “You are awake.”

Thankfully, finally, someone spoke English.

“I fell off a camel. I can’t believe I fell off a camel.”

“Yes, ma’am. You are very lucky though.”

It was then that she realized he held a small apparatus below her waist, below her hip bones.

“No broken bones. From what you indicated about the pain in your side I suspected a pelvic fracture. But the ultrasound says you’re fine.” He smiled. Everyone here, she realized, smiled. “But I’m sure there’s something more that concerns you, and I am pleased to reassure you there is no problem.”

Kris was confused. “No problem?”

“None. By the looks of the ultrasound, your baby is going to be fine.”

Maddie
had wasted nearly a week trying to muster the courage to tell Sophie she was going back to
Our World—Our World
, and Parker.

Today, she’d decided, was the day. She’d tell her just before she left for Windsor-on-Hudson, just before her first official duty as Vice President, Creative Director.

Then tomorrow, if she remembered, she was scheduled for that damn MRI. The fact that she’d not fainted again in seven days should have proved there was nothing “major” wrong. But the doctor would not let her off the magnetic-resonance hook.

She dressed in one of her “new Maddie” outfits, took a last glance in the mirror, then let her eyes survey her room: the bedroom of her youth, where she had dreamed her dreams and cried her tears. She wondered where they would live once she and Parker remarried. They couldn’t stay here, not considering the way Sophie obviously felt about Parker now, the man she’d once proclaimed was “good for Maddie,” the man she’d once said “brought out the spirit” in her. No, they couldn’t live here. But Sophie was getting
older, and she couldn’t stay here alone … 
stop
, Maddie commanded herself.
Do what you have to do. Right now. Today
.

Quickly, she picked up a collection of childhood pictures of Abigail that she’d gathered for “ammunition”—at Parker’s suggestion—guaranteed to touch Edmund’s heart and get him to agree. Then she left her room and went downstairs, sure to find Sophie in the kitchen.

It didn’t
go well.

As Maddie steered her car toward Windsor-on-Hudson on this sunny day that hinted at spring, she tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, that Sophie would get over it, that change was part of life. But her mother’s words were haunting.

“You’re going to give up a perfectly good career for that … man?” she’d asked, without a shout or hysterics, but with a simple flat note of disdain. Her final words had been, “I’m disappointed for you, Madeline. I’d hoped you’d learned your lesson.”

It would have been easier if her mother had screamed at her. It would have been easier if she’d hollered and yelled and given Maddie a reason to fight back, to defend her decision, to defend the father of her sons.

I’m disappointed for you, Madeline
. Not
in
you, but
for
you.

Can you trust him?
Cody had asked.

Could she? she wondered now, as the gates for the estate came into view. Could she really trust Parker? When she’d fainted on Thanksgiving, Parker had not whisked her off to the emergency room; he’d left her to go be with Sharlene. And would Parker have been as understanding as Cody if she’d ever told him things between them couldn’t work out?

She turned into the driveway and turned off her
thoughts. There was work to do. Here. Today. And Parker would be elated, and
Our World
would take on new life, and everything would be fine.

“My father
isn’t seeing visitors.”

“Please,” Maddie pleaded with Abigail’s stepdaughter—Sondra, that was her name—who answered the door, who Maddie recognized from the memorial service. Her baby, Kris said, had been born. “Tell him it’s Maddie Daniels. I was a friend of your mother … your stepmother’s.”

Sondra closed the door and disappeared, leaving Maddie alone on the stairs to the grand estate, feeling much like an Avon lady awaiting a Skin-So-Soft order. She clutched the backpack that held the long-ago Abigail photos and reminded herself she had a right to be here.

When the door opened again Abigail’s husband stood there, looking pale, gaunt, and as though he’d not had much sleep in the three months since his wife had killed herself. Or done whatever she’d done with herself.

“Edmund,” she said, “I don’t know if you remember me …”

“Of course, Maddie. It was so nice of you to come to the service. Please,” he said, and stepped away from the doorway. “Come in.”

Maddie crossed the threshold and said a silent prayer of thanks that Parker had been right, that she could gain entrance where no one else could.

The house
was quiet with the hollowness of death. No fresh flowers stood in splendor in the grand foyer; no sense of—people—lingered in the air.

“The servants are gone except for a few,” Edmund apologized. “But I could have Sondra make us some tea.”

“No,” Maddie answered, looking around at the emptiness. “No thank you.”

“Would you be comfortable in my study?”

She followed him into the small paneled room where she remembered Abigail’s grandfather once sat, where Abigail’s grandfather had … 
Oh, God
, Maddie thought, as Kris flashed into her mind. Kris. Abigail’s grandfather. A chill crept through her and she quickly sat down on the leather sofa.

She fussed with her backpack and then folded her hands on her knees. “Has there been any news?”

“About my wife?” He shook his head. “No. Sometimes I think the police have harassed me because they’d prefer a sensational story. Money and murder equal front page headlines. Which ultimately means exposure for them, and a chance for the big time. Movie rights. The inside story. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Maddie nodded, and suddenly realized she did not know how to broach the subject of the photo spread without Edmund thinking she wanted her cut of the sensationalism.
You can do it
, came Parker’s words.
I need you
.

“So what you brings you here? A condolence call?”

Maddie smiled. “Well, I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Edmund nodded. “I’m fine. My daughter, Sondra …”

“She’s living here?”

“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair and gave a small smile. “With her baby. A boy.”

“How nice for you.”

Closing his eyes, Edmund said quietly, “These have been challenging times for us.” He paused for a moment, opened his eyes again, and tried to smile. “But we’re working through it. And the baby is a positive delight.”

She nodded, because she had no idea what to say.

“Have you seen Kris?” he asked suddenly.

“Kris? No,” she replied. “There was a message on my machine. I guess she’s in Khartoum. Doing research.”

Edmund did not respond. Maddie could not tell how much he cared. If at all.

She forced herself to refocus on her mission. “It seems so odd that Abigail isn’t here. I mean, we didn’t see each other for so many years, but I always knew she was
here
 …”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know where to go next. She didn’t know how to get to the point.
I need you
, Parker’s words echoed.
I need you
 …

“I have a lot to be grateful for,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for Abigail’s encouragement, I would never have taken risks.” The lie sprang to her lips before she realized it. Edmund was looking directly into her eyes; he apparently believed what Maddie was saying, which gave her the strength to go on. “Even when we were kids,” she continued with only the slightest guilt, “Abigail encouraged my photography. The other kids laughed at it. But not her.” It hadn’t, of course, been Abigail who’d encouraged her at all. It had been Kris. Kris had encouraged them all. Maddie pretended she was talking about Kris, not Abigail. It helped the words flow more smoothly. It would help her reach her goal. Parker, after all, needed her.

Twisting her hands, Maddie adjusted the hem of her skirt. “Abigail would be pleased to know I’m going back to my heart. I’m going back to work at the magazine I started with my husband.
Our World
. Maybe you know it?”

“Of course. I’ve always enjoyed it. Especially the international photos.” He moved forward on his chair. A shadow seemed to move across his eyes, a veil across his face, almost as if he knew that she was about to ask a favor. A favor, of a man who had been through so much.

Her eyes darted quickly around the room. Her heart grew heavy with remorse. Here she sat, in this wonderful home where people had once called her a friend. Here she
sat, in the house where so many birthday wishes had been made, about to exploit the woman who, in her own off-center way, had cared. A woman who, like Maddie, had lost her father at a young age. Maddie blinked now and realized she’d never thought of that before: that Abigail had been an orphan. That she’d not even had a Sophie to call Mother, as trying as that sometimes was. No father, no mother. Abigail had only had a grandfather and a housekeeper. And yet she’d never let any of them see her pain; she’d never let any of them think her life was anything but perfect. She wondered if Abigail, too, had cried at night, wishing that just once more she could hold her father’s hand.

And then Maddie knew she could not do it. She could not use her influence to intrude on Edmund’s grief. She owed that much to Abigail. She owed that much to Betty Ann, who had believed in the strength of their friendship and had never wanted it to fade.

She dug into her bag and pulled out the large envelope. “I didn’t come here about me, though,” she said, pushing the envelope across the desk toward him. “I was going through some old things and came across these pictures of Abigail. I thought you might like to have them.”

Then she stood up. “I guess I’d better be going.”

“Thank you for these,” Edmund said. “And thank you for coming.”

He began to rise when Maddie stopped him. “There’s no need to show me out,” she said gently. “I’ve known the way for almost forty years.”

With a parting nod she left, feeling she’d done the right thing by Abigail, but not knowing how she was ever going to tell Parker that she couldn’t do as he’d asked.

Kris was
over the ocean again, flying west, back to New York, back to a future in which she had no idea what lav ahead.

She reclined the seat and stared out the window.

A baby.

Her baby.

“You’re about ten weeks along,” the doctor had said. “No morning sickness?”

“No,” she’d answered. No sickness at all.

It had taken her several days to decide to return. Several days of sitting in her room, watching the Nile and smiling.

Folding her arms across her lap now, Kris closed her eyes and wondered what Edmund would think, and if she would tell him at all.

“You wimped
out,” Parker said, a steady, controlled tone in his voice.

“I didn’t ‘wimp out,’ Parker. The man is in mourning. He’s been hounded by the press and harassed by the police. This simply isn’t a good time. Surely there are other grand estates we can pick from …”

“No one whose mistress has mysteriously died.”

Maddie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Parker, what’s going on?
Our World
isn’t about mysteriously dead mistresses …”