Betrayals

Forty

Mai was sitting up in her bed in a guest room at the Eliza Blackburn House. Despite her bruises and stitches, she looked mischievous and every bit the kid Jared couldn’t live without. His mother, horrified by what had happened, had come down from Nova Scotia and insisted on spelling him, although he’d refused to leave Mai’s bedside in those first crucial, terrifying hours after Rebecca had pulled her from the water. Now, ten days later, the doctors had told him Mai could travel soon, and he could take her home.

Home…was that still San Francisco for her?

“You’ve got to tell Granddad to cut it out,” she said. “He’s sent me flowers, balloons, a singing telegram-and now the nurses say he’s sending them flowers and balloons to make sure they’re taking good care of me. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Has he told you that you don’t have to pay back the money you swiped?”

“No…”

“Then I wouldn’t complain if I were you.”

Mai decided a prudent change of subject was in order. “Have you heard from Rebecca Blackburn?”

Jared shook his head. He’d gotten used to single parenthood and knew he couldn’t leave Mai, but he’d have gone to France with Rebecca and Quentin if he could have. R.J.-he thought about her all the time. She hadn’t come back to Boston after Annette’s death. Shattered by the events of the past days, Quentin had brought his mother’s body home and buried her in a quiet ceremony. His wife was sticking by him. Jared had offered to provide moral support for his cousin in any way he could, short of giving up Mai, but that, Jane assured him, wasn’t on the docket.

With the guidance of a psychologist, as soon as she was well enough, Jared had told Mai everything. She took it all in stride. The therapist explained that given Mai’s interest in Amerasians and the Vietnam War-the fall of Saigon, in particular-she knew more about what went on there than most. “It’s been in the back of her mind for a long time that your name on her papers doesn’t mean a lot,” the therapist had said. “She’s aware you’re uncomfortable about talking about her mother or what really happened in Vietnam. Jared, she knows people got out with false papers. She knows what life was like for so many beautiful young Vietnamese women like Tam. She’s not a baby you need to shelter. Give her some credit.”

He was trying.

Mai took her box of Godiva chocolates-courtesy of Maureen Sloan-off her night table and picked out the fattest one she could find. “You’re still in love with Rebecca, aren’t you?”

Jared grabbed the box of chocolates from her. Naturally she’d taken all the semisweet ones. “Stay out of my love life, kid.”

“Why? You meddle in mine.”

“You’re fourteen and I’m pushing forty.”

She popped the chocolate in her mouth. “Time you got married, Dad.”

It was the first time she’d called him Dad since he’d told her about Quentin and Tam.

She caught his expression. Chocolaty saliva dribbled out of the corners of her mouth, and she suddenly looked very frightened. “You’re still my dad, right? No matter what?”

“Mai…yes. I’m your dad. Forever.”

He swept her into his arms and held her.

For the first time since her husband’s death twenty-six years earlier, Jenny O’Keefe Blackburn came to Boston. First she visited her husband’s grave at Mt. Auburn Cemetery. Then she visited her father-in-law in his “hidden” Beacon Hill garden. His head was still bandaged, but he was doing just fine, sitting at a small wrought-iron table.

“Someone should have knocked you on the head a long time ago,” Jenny said, smiling as she set a pot of pink geraniums on the brick courtyard. “I remember you consider cut flowers a waste. You can plant these in your garden and see what becomes of them. Thomas-” She began to cry; she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. “Can you forgive me?”

He waved a bony hand in dismissal. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I wanted someone to blame-”

“You didn’t do or say anything I wouldn’t have. Jenny, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t wished I’d gone on that trip instead of Stephen.”

“I know.” She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, taking his hand. “It’s been so long, Thomas, and I don’t mind saying I’ve missed you, in my own way.”

He squeezed her hand. “How are the children?”

“They’re fine. I brought pictures. And my father sends his best. He says you’re invited to come down and sit on the front porch with him and drink iced tea anytime you want.”

“Is it warm this time of year?”

“Quite.”

“Good. Never mind my concussion, we’ll leave this afternoon-”

Jenny laughed. “You’re as impossible as ever. As it so happens, Father and I are planning a family reunion for Memorial Day weekend. With all the daughters-in-law and grandchildren, we’ve gotten to be quite a horde.”

“I considered you a horde in 1961.”

“You can’t get to me anymore, you know. I’ve come too far. I’ve raised six children on my own, I own a damned citrus grove, and I’ve lived within spitting distance of my father for twenty-six years. I’ve toughened up.”

“You’ve never remarried,” Thomas said.

She shrugged without apology or regret, then smiled. “I’m only fifty-four. You never know.” Her pale blue eyes never leaving him, she said, “What about Memorial Day? I’m not going to beg, but you’ve got great-grandchildren you’ve never seen…and grandchildren who need to get to know you.”

His eyes misted. “Jenny…”

“And if you’re worried about paying for your ticket, please don’t.”

That brought him up straight. “I have no intention of accepting charity-”

“What about a share in Junk Mind?”

Thomas sat back and gave her an appraising look. “Go on.”

“When Sofi and Rebecca were starting out, they got anyone and everyone they could to invest in their crazy scheme. I did, the kids did-and so did you.”

“I didn’t give a penny toward that game.”

Jenny cleared her throat. “Um, do you remember that Chinese porcelain vase?”

“The one that came over on one of Eliza’s ships in 1797?”

“The ugly one with the screaming eagles painted all over it.”

“Eagles were a tremendously popular motif in the new republic-”

“Thomas, the vase was ugly.”

His incisive gaze fastened on her. “Was?”

“Well, I’m sure it still is, it’s just not mine any longer. And I did say mine, Thomas, because as I recall you did give it to me-probably because you knew I thought it was ugly. Anyway, I sold it to a very rich old woman in Palm Beach and invested the proceeds to Junk Mind in your name. The money’s in some kind of trust. I worked it all out. I know you’d probably rather have the vase back. If you’d like, I’ll give you the woman’s number and you can badger her until she relents. You’ll have enough money to buy ten more like it if you want.”

“There’s only one like it.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“How much am I worth?”

She grinned at him. “That’s a loaded question, but if you want a dollar amount, you’ll have to talk to Sofi.”

“Why not Rebecca?”

“This one was between just Sofi and me. Being a Blackburn, Rebecca would have insisted on telling you, and I didn’t want to deal with you. I wanted the girls to have the money, but I didn’t want to profit myself from selling anything that had meant something to you-so I just did what I did.”

Thomas smiled and leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek. “I don’t know who to call first, Sofi or a travel agent.”

“Then you’ll make it?”

“I think I can live another week or two.”

“The kids’ll be thrilled. Oh, Thomas.” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t believe she was crying again. “I’m not sure Rebecca will make it, but you’ve probably seen enough of her to last you a while. If she has any sense, she’ll be in San Francisco. Jared’s taking Mai home tomorrow, and I picked him out as my one-and-only son-in-law thirty years ago.”

“Where is Rebecca now?”

Jenny sighed. “France.”

To the disgust of the purists at the next table over in the sidewalk cafe, Rebecca sipped on a tall glass of iced café au lait and tried to decipher an article in the morning edition of the Paris Le Monde. Finally she pushed the paper across to Jean-Paul Gerard. “My French rots. Does this say what I think it says?”

He glanced at the headline and smiled. “Probably.”

The last ten days had transformed him. Springtime in Paris was just as gorgeous as everyone said, and he’d hobbled on his cane, dragging Rebecca from one sight to another. He’d told her about Gisela and how he was her “whim,” the child she’d wanted. She hadn’t wanted any of her regular lovers for the father: she’d wanted an honorable, intelligent, good man…a friend. In late 1934, Gisela found herself in French colonial Saigon on a lark, and she discovered that Emily Blackburn had died the previous year and Thomas was totally bereft. Emily had been her friend, as well, and Gisela and Thomas fell into each other’s arms for comfort. And she’d decided…him. He’d be the father of her baby.

And so it was.

An honest and open person, she’d told her son everything, but explained that Thomas had never had an inkling he’d gotten her pregnant. And she’d made Jean-Paul promise he would leave it that way.

“Then he never knew?” Rebecca had asked.

“No-but I resented him for it. I thought he should have recognized me…seen himself in me. But I favor Gisela, and what can I say? It just never happened.”

Now he folded up the newspaper and drank some of his espresso. “It seems,” he said, looking at her over the rim of his cup, “the Louvre has received an anonymous donation of the Empress Elisabeth’s Jupiter Stones.”

“That’s what I thought it said.”

“They came with a typed note explaining that the empress-an eccentric woman given to whims-had, at one time, taken to wandering through the gardens of Riviera cottages. One night in the early 1890s, she came upon a girl who wasn’t frightened of this strange, wealthy, powerful woman, and they talked until dawn, at which point the empress gave the girl a bag of ‘pretty colored stones’ in gratitude for those moments of peace and friendship.”

“Gisela’s mother?”

“Yes.”

Rebecca drank some of her café au lait and let an ice cube melt on her tongue. “You got the stones from David Rubin?”

Jean-Paul grinned. “You’d graciously put me on the list of people to whom Sofi could relinquish them.”

“And you smuggled them into France.”

“The least of my difficulties getting here.”

“You know, I’d have given you the stones. You could have sold them if you’d wanted. They’re worth an incredible fortune.”

He shook his head sadly, his eyes distant. “That’s never been why I wanted them. They were Gisela’s, her prize possession-not even a possession. A gift. Her mother had never sold them, and neither had she.”

“So neither would you. The Louvre’s probably got a staff of hounds on your trail by now. They’ll get the whole story.”

“Good,” he said with satisfaction.

“You know,” Rebecca said, sitting back. “You could do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

She laughed. “I should hold you to that, but you’d better hear me out first. Grandfather’s been threatening to leave the Eliza Blackburn house to me-just what I need. I already own enough decrepit buildings. It needs new wiring, new plumbing, painting, fixtures… You could take me off the hook.”

“You’re not going to stay in Boston?”

“Nope. I haven’t paid my rent in two months-Grandfather’s probably drawing up papers to evict me now. I’m wrecking his cash flow.”

“Rebecca…”

“Don’t say no yet. Think about it.”

“You don’t understand. I’ve never had a father. And I promised Gisela-”

“There’s one thing you’re forgetting, and that’s Thomas. My grandfather. Your father. Think about him, Jean-Paul. Then make up your mind.” And she smiled suddenly, and jumped up, hugging him and ignoring all the peculiar looks they got, her the rich chestnut-haired young woman, him the battered, white-haired man who looked twenty years older than he was. “I’m glad you’re my uncle.”

Jared turned off his computer and gave up on trying to get any work done. He couldn’t concentrate. Back two days from Boston and all he’d managed to do was make a mess of every project he started. Mai was catching up on her homework and doing famously; she’d even started delivering papers and washing windows to earn the money to pay back her grandfather. Rebecca had sent them a postcard of the Eiffel Tower and scrawled on the back some nonsense about tumbleweeds coming to rest. Jared couldn’t see the correlation between Paris and tumbleweeds.

All he knew was that he missed her.

Feeling restless and out of sorts, he walked across his small yard and started fiddling with the pots of geraniums on the rail of his deck. He and Thomas Blackburn made a pair when it came to gardening. He pinched off a few yellowed leaves before he gave himself up to the spectacular view. San Francisco wasn’t Boston, but it was where he belonged. He couldn’t take Mai away from her friends, the only life she’d known-not now. If that meant losing R.J…

He couldn’t. He had to think of a way not to lose her.

Behind him, the wooden gate creaked open, but it was too early for Mai to be getting home from school.

“Don’t you ever worry about earthquakes?” Rebecca asked as she walked up onto the deck. “I’ve been in San Francisco two hours and keep waiting for the ground to start moving under me. Of course, Grandfather says he wouldn’t live in Florida because of the poisonous snakes and the alligators, but Papa O’Keefe says he wouldn’t live in Boston because of the blizzards. I guess it depends on your perspective.”

“R.J…”

She went on breathlessly, “You just have to decide what you can live with and what you can’t. I got used to snakes, alligators and blizzards. I can get used to earthquakes.”

She was putting on a grand show, but he’d known her since she was born and could see she was nervous. Having her there, close to him again, made his head spin. This was the woman he loved…would always love.

Without looking at him, she went over and sat in the rope hammock, giving it a little push with her feet. It was all Jared could do to keep from touching her. She was the one who had to make the trip west, who had to make the decision whether or not she wanted to be a part of his and Mai’s life…whether or not she was ready to settle down and understand that a kid had to be in school and he had professional commitments.

But he wasn’t altogether certain that if she asked him to fly off to the South Pacific, he wouldn’t pack himself and Mai up and go.

It was her show, and he let her talk.

“I figure,” she went on, “you live in San Francisco, you learn to nail down the furniture and not display the glassware.”

Jared leaned against the rail. “You planning to live in San Francisco?”

Her eyes-so blue, so gorgeous, so scared-avoided his. “Thinking about it. The Boston branch of my studio went out of business.”

“The Boston branch?”

“I’ve decided to open up a West Coast branch. I’ve got the design for my stationery and business cards finished.” She pushed off again, swinging gently in the hammock. “I’ll get them printed up as soon as I have an address. Not a temporary address, either. A real address.”

Jared was gripping the rail; he noticed his knuckles had turned white, and tried to relax. “You could afford to buy half of San Francisco-”

She looked at him-finally. “I don’t want half of San Francisco.”

“R.J.,” he said in a low voice, “you’re making me crazy.”

She pretended not to hear him. “All I want is a place to work-which is easy enough to come by-and a room with a view. You wouldn’t by any chance know of one of those, would you?”

“Rooms with views can be hard to come by in this city.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Have lots of money you don’t mind spending or know someone. Since you’re a Blackburn,” he said, straightening up to stand beside her feet, “and there hasn’t been a Blackburn born who likes spending money, I guess you’d better know someone-preferably,” he added, “someone who likes you a lot.”

“Aha. Guess who’s the only person I know in San Francisco?”

With one foot, he lifted up her toes and gave her a push. “Who?”

She grinned at him, keeping her feet up so she could swing freely. “You’re not going to make this any easier on me, are you?”

Jared shrugged. “I haven’t dumped you out of that hammock and carried you upstairs yet, have I?”

She looked at him in mock innocence. “Does your room have a view?”

That did it. He grabbed her on the upswing and pulled her into his arms, feeling the warmth and weight of her and loving her. She clasped her hands at the back of his neck and laughed. “Jared-I love you.”

“Good thing, because you know what?” When she shook her head, he held her close and said, “I love you. R.J., I’ve always loved you-I’ll never stop loving you. But, darling, my room doesn’t have a spectacular view.”

As it turned out, it just didn’t matter.