“Regina, you do not have to—” Micki began, but Regina seemed determined to have her say.
“You were very patient with and kind to me while your father was so very ill, even though you were nearly out of your mind with worry yourself. I have not forgotten that and I never will.” Regina paused, as if uncertain how to continue, and then, with a light shrug of her elegant shoulders, she plunged on forcefully. “I love your father very much, I always have. Yes, really,” she vowed as Micki’s brows rose again. “The only explanation, or excuse, I have for my previous behavior is his neglect of me—due solely to business pressures, I admit—after our marriage and my selfish reaction to that neglect.”
“Regina, please—”
“No, Micki, let me finish,” Regina insisted. “When we married, your father was a very handsome and charming man, as indeed he still is, and I wanted to be the only important thing in his life, even to the exclusion of an eleven-year-old child.”
“I remember,” Micki inserted, then felt petty at Regina’s wince. And yet, she defended herself silently, she
did
remember, painfully.
“Yes, of course you remember,” Regina went on doggedly. “That’s why I must say all this, clear the air between us.” Again she paused, wet her lips nervously. “From the time I was fourteen I was aware of my attraction to the opposite sex and I used that attraction to punish your father. It was foolish and immature, I know, but I realize now that at the time I
was
foolish and immature. I—I had to almost lose Bruce before I woke up to my own stupidity.” She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again her lashes glistened with teardrops.
For several long moments the two women stared at each other. Micki’s eyes, carefully veiled, revealed nothing of what she was feeling. Regina’s eyes held mute appeal. Slowly, as if gathering strength, Regina drew a deep breath.
“And now, about that incident six years ago,” Regina said softly.
No! No!
A voice screamed inside Micki’s head. What came out of her parched lips was a strangled whisper.
“No, Regina. I do not want to talk about that.”
Regina’s eyes flickered with alarm and her tone dropped to a murmur of self-reproachment.
“Oh, God, it still hurts you.” One pale hand was extended, as if in supplication. “Oh, my dear, I had no idea the pain went so deep. How can you ever forgive me?”
Micki was saved from answering by the sound of her father’s strong, impatient call from the bottom of the stairway.
“What in the world are you two women doing up there?” His tone took on a mock petulant edge. “I’m getting very lonely down here all by myself.”
Regina’s head snapped around to the bedroom’s open doorway, then swung back to Micki.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please believe that. I— I—” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “We better go down. Leave the unpacking, I’ll help you with it later.”
Forcing her stiff facial muscles into relaxation, Micki left the room, and Regina’s line of conversation, gratefully, silently determined that that particular subject would not be brought up again during her visit.
Surprisingly, or maybe not too surprisingly, with the air between the two women somewhat cleared, the evening passed pleasantly.
During dinner Micki brought her father and Regina up to date on her activities, saving the most important detail for last. They had carried their coffee into the living room and as Micki sipped at her creamy brew with a contented sigh, the only indication she gave as to the import of her news was an added sparkle in her usually bright blue eyes.
“Oh, by the way,” Micki drawled diffidently. “Just before I left the shop for this vacation I was informed I was being promoted to head buyer.”
A short silence followed her casually tossed statement, a silence that revealed to Micki exactly how aware her father and Regina were of the importance of her announcement.
After leaving the small college, where she had been studying business merchandising, so precipitously only six weeks into her second year, Micki had considered herself fortunate in acquiring the job of salesclerk in a very exclusive ladies’ boutique, which was located in the lobby of one of the largest, most prestigious hotels in Wilmington. It was not the job of salesclerk that excited Micki, but the knowledge that the boutique was just one of a large chain of similar shops that ranged along the entire East Coast. When she had been interviewed for the job by the shop’s manager, a tall, slim woman in her mid-forties, Micki had been informed that due to the size of the independently owned chain, the chance for advancement was excellent for anyone who did not object to relocating. Micki had been quick to assure the somewhat aristocratic woman that she had no objections at all to relocating, as Wilmington was not her hometown.
It had taken time and much hard work on Micki’s part, but eventually the promotions did come and for the last eighteen months she had been assistant buyer for the Wilmington shop. And now—could it have been only yesterday?—this latest promotion.
“Micki, that’s wonderful!” her father exclaimed, jumping out of his chair to come across the room and bestow a huge hug on her. “Congratulations.”
“And you haven’t heard the best part yet,” Micki gasped laughingly when he’d released his crushing hold. “The position is for the Atlantic City store.”
“Atlantic City?” Bruce repeated softly, then he nearly shouted. “Honey, that means you can move home.”
Still laughing, Micki nodded her head. Totally absorbed in each other, both Micki and her father had completely forgotten Regina. In the old days Regina would have made her presence known forcefully, now the voice that penetrated their euphoria was soft, hesitant.
“May I add my congratulations to your father’s, Micki?”
“Oh, Regina, I’m sorry,” Micki murmured contritely. “Of course you may.”
“Yes, darling,” Bruce inserted, one arm encircling his wife’s waist to draw her close. “Of course you may. We’re a family.” He paused an instant before adding, “Aren’t we?”
A quick glance of understanding and truce passed between the two women.
“Yes, Dad,” Micki agreed firmly. “We are a family.”
Regina’s black eyes spoke eloquently of her relief and thanks and Micki was amazed at the feeling of peace that washed over her. For the most part the fourteen years of her father’s second marriage had been turbulent and Micki greeted the cessation of hostilities with a silent prayer of thanks. Still, she didn’t want to strain the ties of this newfound accord, so she tacked on with equal firmness, “But I’ll be looking for my own apartment.”
“In Atlantic City?”
Bruce and Regina spoke in astonished unison and Micki fully understood the reason for their astonishment. It was a well-known fact that living accommodations in Atlantic City were almost as hard to find as brontosaurus teeth since the influx of the big hotels with their gambling casinos. The added fact that the shop Micki would be working in was located in one of those hotels lent a sprinkling of spice to her excitement. Now she hastened to correct their impression.
“No, not in Atlantic City, here in Ocean City. Atlantic City’s such a short run up the coast I doubt it will take me any longer to get to work from here than it did in the early morning crush in Wilmington.”
“The way I understand it,” Bruce said quietly, “there are already quite a few people that are employed by the hotels making their home here.” He hesitated, his eyes mirroring his sadness. “But why do you want to look for an apartment? Why can’t you stay here at home?”
“Oh, Dad.” Micki smiled weakly. “I’ve been on my own for almost six years now. I’m used to having my own place. I’ve got an apartment full of furniture and things I’ve acquired over those six years.” Her smile deepened, became impish. “But I have made arrangements to have my stuff packed and sent here in the interim—if you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Bruce echoed. “Of course we don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Regina seconded her husband’s words.
“Oh, sure.” Micki’s laughter rippled through the comfortable room. “But wait until you have all my stuff dumped onto your doorstep. You may wish you’d given a very firm no.”
Regina made fresh coffee and the three of them settled around the kitchen table to make plans and discuss the pros and cons of various areas in which Micki might be interested in apartment hunting. During the course of the discussion the section of the city in which Cindy and Benny lived came up and at the mention of the young couple’s name the topic of the conversation veered to them.
“I haven’t seen either of them since they made final settlement on the house,” Bruce told Micki. “But Cindy did call me at the office after they’d moved in, to again thank me for finding the property for them and inform me that they were absolutely thrilled with it.” He grinned broadly. “Those last words are an exact quote from Cindy.”
“Sounds so much like her I can almost hear her voice,” Micki grinned back. Her father owned a flourishing real estate business and it pleased her to know Cindy had gone to him when she was ready to buy a home. “It will be wonderful to see Cindy and Benny again.”
“Did they know you were coming home?” Regina asked. “And that you’ll be staying?”
Micki was shaking her head before Regina had finished speaking. “No, I wanted to surprise them,” Micki answered. Then her eyes shifted to rest lovingly on her father. “Besides which, I wanted my first evening at home to be free of interruptions.”
The answering look of love in her father’s eyes and the understanding smile on Regina’s lips deepened the feeling of well-being inside Micki. Stifling a yawn behind her hand, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.
“I’m going to have a shower then go to bed.” Another yawn was unsuccessfully hidden. When Regina moved to get up, Micki shook her head at her. “You don’t have to come up, Regina. I can finish my unpacking in the morning.” After kissing her father lightly on the cheek, she wished them both a good night and swung out of the room.
Alone in her bedroom Micki stood still just inside the door and let her eyes roam slowly over familiar things. Everything was the same as she’d left it. Even the paint on the walls, though fresh, was the same bright daffodil yellow as it had always been. When her eyes touched the double, leather-bound picture frame sitting on the night-stand by the bed, they stopped. Her gaze unwavering, Micki walked across the room and picked up the frame.
The picture on one side was an enlargement of a snapshot that had been taken on the front: lawn. Three figures stood under a mimosa tree. Micki’s mother was turned slightly from the camera as she smiled up at her husband, and between them Micki, at age six, her favorite doll clutched in her arms, grinned impishly at the camera. The picture had been snapped by a close friend of her mother’s the summer before her mother’s death in a fiery highway accident.
Micki blinked over hot tears before shifting her gaze to the other side of the frame. It had been years since she’d really looked at the studio portrait of her mother and now, remembering her father’s words when she arrived, she studied the color shot carefully before lifting her eyes to her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror opposite the bed. Yes, the well-defined features were very similar: a slim, straight nose; high, though not prominent, cheekbones; softly rounded chin, although Micki’s did have a more determined cast. If the color in the photo was true, they shared the same bright blue eyes and fair skin tone. But her mother’s hair, worn long and smooth at the time, was a gleaming auburn with deep red highlights, whereas Micki’s, which she wore short in an attempt to control her loose, unruly curls, was a dark chestnut. Yes, there were similarities, but her mother had been beautiful, and in Micki’s own opinion, she was not
With a brief, what-does-it-matter shrug, Micki replaced the frame, then stood eyeing her suitcases dispassionately. Sighing softly, she flicked the clasps of the largest case and opened the valise. Do it now, she told herself firmly, or everything will be crushed beyond wearing.
Micki kicked off her sandals and moved silently over the plush carpeting as she placed her clothes in the closet and dresser drawers. When the bags were empty, Micki placed them against the wall beside the bedroom door for storage in the large hall closet in the morning, then turned back to the room, a tiny smile of satisfaction tugging at her lips. Everything about the room satisfied her.
Her father had given her carte blanche in decorating it when she was sixteen, and now, nine years later, everything about the room still pleased her. Micki’s eyes sparkled as they skimmed the white wicker bed headboard, chair, low table, and clothes hamper. A stroke of genius that, she thought smugly. Who would have thought, nine years ago, that wicker would become so popular, not to mention expensive.
Humming softly she slipped out of her white denim slacks and pulled her blue-and-white striped shirt over her head. Her lacy bra and filmy bikini briefs followed her slacks and shirt into the hamper. She put on a terry robe, pulled the belt tight, scooped up a short, sheer nightie, and made for the bathroom for a quick shower.
Micki was patting her five-foot-two frame dry when she heard her father and Regina come up the stairs and go into their room. Gritting her teeth, she mentally clamped a lid on the flash of remembered pain and resentment the sound of their bedroom door closing sent through her. Always that sound, by the very intimate connotations it conjured, had had the power to hurt her, make her feel cut off from her father, bereft. Now she pushed those feelings away. You’re a full-grown woman, she told herself sternly, with a full, rich life of your own. Go to bed, go to sleep, what’s done is done and can’t be changed. Forget it.
Minutes after she’d returned to her room, there was a soft tap on her door. Thinking it was her father coming to wish her a second good night, Micki called, “Come in,” without hesitation, then wished she hadn’t when she saw it was Regina. Fearing a repeat of their earlier conversation, Micki tried to forestall the older woman.
“Whatever it is, Regina”—Micki faked a huge yawn— “could it wait until morning? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”