“We have no record of his family. If you have any information it would be helpful.”
I shook my head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
As I turned to leave, my eyes were met by my own gray. It was Val. “I wanted to catch you before you left,” she said, her tone soft.
It was all too much. I closed my eyes. “Is it Mom?”
“Yes.” She reached for my arm. “It’s not bad. It’s good. She’s awake and talking. She’s even talked to the police. She remembers everything. Her story is pretty far-fetched, but they’re listening to her.”
I looked up to Travis’ dark eyes. We were both exhausted. I was worried about Brody, but I needed to see my mother. For the first time since I could remember, I wanted to see her. “I’ll go see her for a few minutes.”
Val nodded. As we walked toward the elevators, with Travis a step behind, Val whispered, “She’s even had some interesting visitors.”
I lifted my brow, silently imploring her to continue.
“That man, the one who was at my apartment looking for you? Well, I guess he knows Mom. The nurses said that at first she seemed apprehensive, but I walked by and saw them talking. It was him and another man who looked a lot like him. I guess they were all right. Mom was smiling.”
As we approached Mom’s room, Val’s pager went off. “I’m sorry. I’m needed somewhere else.”
I tried to ignore the compassion-filled glance she shot my way as she walked quickly down the corridor. I approached the room, wondering if I’d see my mother and father together. It was a thought that only two days ago would’ve seemed preposterous. I opened the door and found Marilyn alone, sitting up, and looking out the window. When she turned toward me, I saw her tear-coated cheeks.
“Mom, are you all right? What’s the matter?”
Shaking her head, she looked away.
I walked to her bed and sat on the edge. “I’ve contacted an attorney. His name is Phillips, Brody Phillips. He can help you.” I reached for her hand, praying that he could help her, that he wasn’t as ill as Parker: he couldn’t be. I reassured myself that there was no way for him to be exposed. When my mother didn’t respond, I reached for her hand. “Val told me that you spoke to the police. I know this whole thing seems absurd, but I believe your story.”
Her moist gray eyes turned back toward me as her head slowly shook. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I was young and believed the stories I heard. I thought…” Her words trailed away as her petite body shuddered.
Straightening my neck, I asked, “What? What Mother? What did you think?”
She looked down to where my hand covered hers. Turning hers palm up, she laced her fingers with mine. “I thought he would reject you or that his family would hurt you. I’ve wasted so much time. I’m so sorry. I know you hate me and you should.”
I inhaled, waiting to exhale. “Hate’s a strong word. There were times when it was probably appropriate, but not now.”
She squeezed my hand. “He knows. Your father knows.”
I nodded. “We spoke. He didn’t say that, not in so many words… but I got the feeling that he knew.”
Her chin fell to her chest. “He said that he had no idea. He never even assumed that I’d lied about you until Stewart’s funeral. I thought he was there because of you.” She shook her head as her gaze met mine. “He wasn’t. It was a coincidence. He was there because of Stewart, but then he saw me with you. You look so much like him, he knew.”
“But didn’t you say that Niccolo—”
She nodded. “He apologized to both Carlisle and me. He said that he suspected, but when I produced the birth certificate, he didn’t pursue it. He never mentioned it to Carlisle.”
I turned away, gazing around her hospital room. The sun still shone outside the window. As I scanned the small space, I noticed a suit coat draped over the corner chair. It was gray and I recognized it immediately.
“Mom, did Brody Phillips come and see you last night?”
As if pulling her from a fog of memories, she looked at me and her eyes cleared. “What? Phillips? Yes, the attorney you mentioned. He stopped by here last night. I was still pretty out of it. I’d just awakened. He said he’d come back. Why?”
I tilted my head toward the chair. “I think that’s his.” I got up and walked toward the jacket. Reaching for it, I inhaled the fresh scent of clean sheets and my chest ached.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t even see that. I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m sorry for so many things.”
I hugged the jacket as my thoughts went back to Brody. “Mom, we’ll talk more. You need your rest.” I looked toward the door and saw Travis’ broad shoulder through the small windowpane. “I think I need to go home.”
“Victoria?”
The sadness in her tone pulled me silently to her.
She reached for my hand. “You were supposed to be born.”
I straightened my neck as I swallowed the emotions bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. It was a direct contradiction to what I’d heard all of my life. In one sentence she was telling me that I was wanted, that I wasn’t a killer, but she was wrong. I was a killer. I’d killed my twin, Stewart, and soon Parker. I couldn’t respond. A renegade tear fell from my gray eyes as I turned toward the door.
When I stepped into the hall, I found Val standing by Travis. Both of their expressions were grim. I braced myself, unsure of what was happening. All I knew was that I didn’t think my emotions could take anything else. “What?” I asked, Brody’s jacket hanging over my arm.