“Don’t be facetious.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
We glared at one another over the polished glasstop desk, each daring the other to say another word. We’d been this route before, and more than once. Xavier thought my sarcasm and sharp tongue were unbecoming, and that I should be more like Olivia; demure when his associates’ eyes lingered too long on her figure, sweet when an insult about her intelligence was flung over her head. Quiet even if she disagreed with anything he said.
I thought these expectations were asinine at the very least, bordering on deranged, so naturally I saved a great deal of my pent-up sarcasm for him.
Olivia gently cleared her throat beside me, causing me to break my stare.
“I understand the police had to be called in?” Of course that would be his greatest concern. Image, I thought, must be maintained at all times.
“The police were already there. They’d been tracking the guy for months.” I didn’t mention my reunion with Ben.
“Because he’s killed before?”
“And he cheats at craps.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously at that. “Perhaps you should be more selective about whom you date in the future.”
Yeah, I’d kinda figured that one out for myself.
“You had something to tell us, Xavier?” I said, loving the way his teeth ground together when I used his first name.
“I do. Something of grave importance.” He looked at us expectantly, almost pleasantly. Odd, I thought, if speaking of something truly grave. “It affects you, Joanna, more than Olivia.”
Also odd that he would concern himself with me at all.
“I am not your real father.”
My breath left me in a rush. “Thank God.”
Olivia squeaked next to me.
“Excuse me?”
I cleared my throat. “I said, how odd.”
“Yes, I know it must come as a shock. I only recently found out myself.” He waved, indicating an open envelope on the corner of his desk. I picked it up, studied the type on the front, noted the lack of a return address or, indeed, any identifying mark, then removed the single sheet of paper enclosed within. Sure as shit, it said I wasn’t his daughter. It wasn’t signed.
“Got more proof than this?” I asked, waving the paper in his direction.
“I think there’s proof enough.” And he wasn’t talking about the letter, which meant he wanted it to be true.
I leaned back and let the note fall to the floor.
“But, Daddy—”
“Don’t worry, Olivia, dear. I had tests done this week. You and I share the same blood.”
I wanted to say she hadn’t looked terribly worried, nor did she appear all that relieved now, but Olivia was wringing her hands and suddenly speaking fast. “But—But we’re really sisters, right?” I looked at her. “Even if only…half sisters?”
Bless her. Sweet, sensitive Olivia. She was better than the rest of us put together. I put a hand on her arm, to let her know it didn’t matter either way.
“You share the same mother, yes.”
“She has a name,” I snapped, and his head jerked, reminding me again of a bull. “Zoe.”
In the nine years since she’d disappeared, without a note or a trace, Xavier had never, to my knowledge, spoken of my mother. I imagined it would be the same with me. Ten years from now, or ten minutes, he’d have blotted my existence from his memory. I too would be a ghost, wandering the hallways of this house; another name not to be spoken by the servants, though I doubted my memory would haunt anyone.
“I know her name.” He pushed away from his desk and stood. His standard power stance. “Olivia, if you’ll excuse us now, I have some things to discuss with Joanna alone.”
She didn’t move, but bit her lower lip uncertainly and glanced again at me. I patted her hand again. Xavier’s face reddened, his nostrils widened, and that solitary brow lifted high. I waited for the snort and hoof stomp. “Olivia!”
“Yes, Daddy.” She rose.
I shot her a reassuring smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The door shut with a soft click behind her. It sounded like the report of a gunshot in the ensuing silence.
“So who is he?” I said without preamble. There was no need for pretense now.
“Who is whom?” he said, flipping open the humidor next to his desk.
“The man who fathered me,” I said. “My real father?”
He waited until his Cohiba was cut and lit, and puffed twice before his eyes found mine. “I neither know nor care.”
No, he wouldn’t. He never had. “So you’ve done it, then. Finally washed your hands of me. Gotten rid of the great embarrassment of the Archer family dynasty.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Joanna. And, remember, this was your mother’s doing, not mine.”
“But you must be so relieved,” I continued, honeyed sarcasm dripping from my voice. “No more pretense. No more stilted introductions, or uncomfortable silences at Thanksgiving. Why, you never even have to see me again.”
“That’s right,” he said, and in spite of myself I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. “Your inheritance is disavowed, obviously. I had the papers changed yesterday. I won’t support another man’s child. Olivia will receive everything.” He looked at me, the smoke rising between us, beautifully symbolic. “You are not my daughter.”
“But Xavier.” I stood too, and leaned forward on his desk, passing through the smoke. “How will it look?”
He’d already thought of that. “As far as the world is concerned you will remain my daughter. Estranged, but still mine. Understand?”
Just another possession, I thought, carelessly cast aside.
“You’ll keep your house, your car, and a small monthly allowance since my daughter seems to care for you, but the family business, the homes and investments, they all belong to Olivia, and rightfully so.”
“And the name?” I said, my voice going dead soft. “Do I get to keep the name?”
He hesitated. “It was your mother’s too.”
“One she obviously cherished.”
He stiffened. “You may leave now.”
I almost laughed at that. I had left long ago. He’d just never noticed.
“Oh, and Joanna?” His voice stopped my hand on the doorknob, and I turned. He was already seated again, angling a stream of smoke upward. He spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Stay out of Valhalla. If I hear of one more incident compromising the reputation of my property, I’ll throw you out myself.”
I used the only weapon I had left. “No wonder she left you.”
He picked up his pen and began writing again, never looking up. “She left you too.”
Well, that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? My mother had left me. Sure, she’d left Xavier and Olivia too, but they hadn’t been recovering from a life-threatening attack. They hadn’t felt it as yet one more in a string of devastating losses. They hadn’t needed her like I had.
But there was no point rehashing all that now, I told myself. My mother had walked away from her family—simple as that—and like the rest of my joyful past—not—it was behind me. So as I left Xavier’s office I imagined stomping down on the memories that voicing my mother’s name had evoked, grinding them back down with the heel of my boot into the mental grave where all my old pains rested. I was no longer that fragile-minded teen with a damaged body and a weary soul. I didn’t need or want my mother in my life anymore.
I’d just reached the foyer and was shooting imaginary bullets at Xavier’s giant portrait when I heard the snuffling. It was a faintly strangled sound, and as easily recognizable as the beating of my heart. I found Olivia standing at the large leaded windows overlooking the side lawns, her body in silhouette, her curves and curls and color mocking the severe lines of the cold glass panes. Her arms were wrapped around her core like she was holding herself together…and had been, I thought, for a long while. My heart dipped at the fragile, if stunning, picture she made, and I descended quickly into the sunken living room. I knew she heard me; her head tilted, but she didn’t turn.