The Daughter Merger

Mom had always complained that even her whisper could be heard two blocks away. Now Claire let her scathing voice soar to the back, to her father. She let her bitterness be Beatrice’s.

“‘O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.”‘

It came more easily. A sense of power flooded her veins and made her giddy. She was better than Jessica Wisniewski. Better than anyone. She was dazzling her father, who had been so sure she couldn’t do it.

Still facing the audience proudly, Claire finished at last, a heartfelt, anguished cry, “‘I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.”‘

Her voice seemed to linger in her ears, if not the air. In the long moment of silence that followed, her confidence drained from her with a whoosh, and heat rose in her cheeks.

She’d made a fool of herself. Nobody else had acted. If you were cool, you didn’t.

But then, suddenly, kids were clapping. As she stared, incredulous, somebody—Josh McKendrick—stood. Others joined him. They were giving her—her—a standing ovation. Dazed, she kept standing there.

Mrs. Hinchen’s smile was broad, approving. And her father—Claire’s gaze sought the back of the auditorium.

Her father was gone.

He probably hadn’t even stayed to watch. Unexpected anger gave her the courage to grin, wave and walk nonchalantly off the stage.

Without tripping.

CHAPTER FOUR

DAVID WHITCOMB’S MERCEDES BENZ was parked at the curb in front of the condo. Grace had known he would be here, of course, but still the awareness that he must be inside gave her an odd start. He was not a comfortable man, the kind she could easily imagine grabbing something to drink and the newspaper and making himself at home. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of him at home in her place. She wanted him at arm’s length.

And yet she’d insisted he come often, feel at ease. Claire needed him. As long as Claire lived here, Grace had to try to do what was best for the girl.

But when she let herself in from the garage, Grace couldn’t let go of the day’s tension the way she usually did the moment she stepped into her home, her refuge. Instead she felt a wariness almost as great as if she suspected an intruder. He was here, somewhere.

A muffled shriek of laughter from upstairs told her where the girls were. They wouldn’t be giggling like that if he were up there with them. She glanced briefly at the telephone, but messages could wait. Going out to dinner gave her a good excuse not to think about plans for the annual fall school carnival, which she, ever ready to wave her hand in the air, had volunteered to organize.

Pausing only to pet Lemieux, who was curled in a too-small cardboard box she had left out just for him, Grace set down her purse and moved quietly through the dining room.

She found David in the living room reading the newspaper she’d left on the table that morning. He didn’t hear her coming, and for a moment she was able to observe him unseen.

He’d tossed his suit jacket on the ottoman and loosened his tie. His face showed weariness he hadn’t yet let her see. She had the sense that the newspaper was a time filler, that he wasn’t really concentrating. As she watched, he let out a soft sigh and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes.

Grace felt a quiver under her breastbone. What would this guarded man look like if he smiled? His laughs to this point had been bitter, more a rough sound than a genuine curve of the mouth. Was he stern in the office? Did he have a sense of humor? Was he capable of tenderness?

She hoped so, for Claire’s sake. For hers…well, it hardly mattered, Grace had to remind herself, as long as he was civil. If he ever were to smile at her with devastating charm…the flutter in her chest at the image her mind conjured was enough to scare her. She should be grateful that he was uninterested in her as a woman. If he were…face it, she’d be in trouble.

She must have moved, because he turned his head in that contained way he had, in the same instant assuming a mask of distant civility.

Donning her own, Grace strolled into the living room. “You made it.”

“Eventually. The audition ran until five-thirty.”

“So you haven’t had to wait long.” Oh, she was a fount of brilliance tonight.

“No.” He appraised her, a lightning-quick glance that made her flush with a sudden, desperate desire to be beautiful, shapely, to provoke a spark of hunger in those hooded eyes.

Praying her cheeks hadn’t turned pink, Grace kicked off her heels and sank onto the couch. “So, did the girls say how the audition went?”

“Aside from long?” A hint of a rueful smile quirked one corner of his mouth so fleetingly she’d have missed it if she blinked. It was enough to steal her breath.

“Um…” Focus. “Aside from long,” she agreed.

Lemieux, the snowshoe Siamese cross, strolled into the living room, having abandoned his beloved box, and leaped to her lap. Grace couldn’t help a small “oomph,” when his muscular body landed. He circled, settled and began happily purring when she petted him.

David shook his head in seeming bemusement at the drool from the contented cat forming a puddle on her skirt.

“What did your daughter say the cat’s name is?”

She explained that he was named after the hockey star, Mario Lemieux. Then, feeling David’s still fascinated stare, she prodded, “The audition?”

He tore his gaze from the cat. “I missed Linnet’s reading, but I saw Claire’s.” The oddest expression crossed his face. “She was incredible. She got a standing ovation.”

Pride. That’s what she saw in his expression. Pride he hadn’t known he felt, didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Does she know you saw her read?”

His face shuttered. “I told her on the way home.”

“And?”

“I said she was great. Talented.” The soft voice was emotionless.

Grace wanted to shake him. “And?” she prompted again, less patiently.

“For a moment I’d swear she looked pleased. She asked, ‘Do you really think so?’ Linnet jumped in with how great she was, and how many people stopped them on the way out to tell her that. I asked when they’d find out whether they got the parts. My daughter had remembered by then that she has to be invariably negative with me. She shrugged and said it didn’t matter, that some popular ninth grader would get any good one.” Furrows formed in his forehead. “I tried to tell her they’d be crazy not to cast her. She went for the rude ‘Like you know anything about it.”‘

“But she was pleased. Just remember that.”

He shook his head. “Claire doesn’t believe me.”

“Maybe not this time, but if you say it often enough…” She stopped, realizing how preachy she sounded. “I don’t know why I’m lecturing you. I’m certainly no expert.”

“And yet, you’re raising a great kid yourself. You must be doing something right.”

“I’d like to think so,” she admitted. “But my two cents is hardly needed when you’re seeing a counselor.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re seeing one. Have seen.” His grimace carved a groove in one cheek. “Heck, make it plural. We’re on number three now. I figured Claire didn’t like the first one. Or the second one. Maybe she’d respond to someone else, I told myself. Now, I’m beginning to wonder. But do you know, plenty of these people don’t have kids themselves. I asked number one. Well, no, she admitted. She’s never had children.”

Grace’s hand paused on Lemieux’s sleek tan-colored back. “But she’s studied them.”

“Is that the same thing?” He sounded deeply cynical. “Claire isn’t mentally ill. How the hell does somebody learn from books how to raise a normal kid to be happy, self-confident and productive?”

Lemieux protested the lack of fingernails, and Grace automatically resumed scratching.