All Fall Down

“Guilty?” Melanie repeated, arching her eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

“Silly question, Mel. You feel guilty because Mia was Dad’s whipping girl.”

“That’s nonsense. Why should I—”

“Because even though the two of you looked exactly alike, he picked her to hurt.”

Feeling her sister’s words like a blow, Melanie took an involuntary step backward, then swung away from her sister. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door to the family room, listened for Casey, then carefully eased the door three-quarters of the way shut. “That wasn’t my fault,” she said finally, heavily. “It was Father’s. I have no reason to feel guilty over it.”

“Of course not. But you do. You’re still trying to make up to her for you being the golden child.”

“You don’t understand. You’ve never understood.”

Ashley’s mouth thinned. “Because I was never a member of your little twin’s club. Right? Not Ashley, the one who was different.”

“Mia and I don’t have a club and we’ve never excluded you, Ash.”

“Oh, please.” Her voice thickened. “I was the third sister. The third wheel. I still am.”

Melanie made a sound of frustration. “You make me crazy when you’re like this.”

Ashley took a step toward her, then stopped. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s because I’m different that I see so clearly? You, Mia, Dad … everything?”

“Mia needs me. She’s more sensitive than either of us. More vulnerable. That’s why Dad singled her out, he knew she wouldn’t fight back. And that’s why I had to stop him.”

Ashley opened her mouth to respond, but the phone rang, cutting her off. Melanie answered. “Oh, hello, Stan.”

Ashley made a face and grabbed her purse. “I should go.”

“Stan, could you hold a moment?” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Please stay.”

Ashley shook her head, her expression—for one fleeting moment—lost. “I’ll call.”

Melanie held a hand out, regretting their argument. “Coffee on Friday?”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

“I love you.”

Ashley smiled. “Ditto, kiddo.” She started out the door, then stopped and looked back, her expression wicked. “Tell the prick I said hello and to burn in hell.”

Melanie watched her go, then turned her attention back to the phone. “What can I do for you, Stan?”

“Which one of your sisters is there?” Stan asked, ignoring her question. “Wimpy or bitchy?”

Melanie dismissed his barb. “Ashley was. She just left. She asked me to tell you hello.”

“I’ll bet. More like, to burn in hell.”

Melanie choked on a laugh. “What do you want, Stan?”

“That thing today, the murder, were you involved?”

“Involved?” she repeated, purposely playing dumb.

He made a sound of annoyance. “With the investigation. Are you involved?”

“The crime occurred in Whistlestop. Yes, I’m involved in the investigation.” She smiled to herself, aware of his ire. “But as I’m sure you can understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

He swore. “I couldn’t care less about the details. I don’t want my wife having anything to do with—”

“Ex-wife,” she corrected. “You’re Shelley’s problem now, thank God. You haven’t forgotten about her, have you?”

“Cut the crap, Melanie. Of course I haven’t forgotten about Shelley.”

“And as your ex,” she went on, “you have absolutely no say in my life. None. What I do is my business. Only mine. Got that?”

“Except when what you do is potentially harmful to my son.”

“Our son is fine. Happy, healthy and loved. My involvement in a murder investigation is no more harmful to him than your legal wranglings are.”

“That’s where our opinions differ.”

She laughed without humor. “Our opinions differ on everything, Stan. If there’s nothing else, it’s late and I’m hungry and tired.”

“Oh, but there is. We need to talk about the future, Melanie. Casey’s future.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “He’s starting real school next year.”

She glanced at her watch, then longingly at her salad. “I’m aware of that, Stan.”

“Then you’re also aware that I live in the city’s best school district?”

It took a second for his words to sink in. As they did, a flicker of fear burst to life inside her. She tamped it down. He couldn’t mean what she thought he did—she was jumping to conclusions, overreacting. After all, they had been divorced three years, and in that time Stan had seemed more than satisfied to be an every-other-weekend father.

“The best?” she countered. “By whose standards? The schools in my district are highly rated. Not as fancy, maybe, but—”

“Come on, Melanie,” he said softly and patiently, as if he were speaking to a willful child, “don’t you think it’s time for us to set our personal needs aside and ask ourselves what’s best for Casey.”

“You mean who’s best for him, don’t you?” “Maybe I do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. She was living the nightmare that had dogged her the entire first year of her divorce—that Stan was going to try to take custody away from her.

She gripped the receiver so tightly her fingers went numb. “I already know who’s best for him. Me. I’m his mother, Stan.”

“And I’m his father. I can offer him a stable, two-parent home in one of Charlotte’s finest communities. Which, by the way, is gated for security.”

“Let’s not forget a swimming pool, tennis lessons and lunches at the club,” she said sarcastically. “And maybe while you’re at it, you should sweeten the pot with a yearly trip to Europe?”

“Those things are important.”