“I sincerely hope, Mr. Rhodes, that we never have a relationship. Now kindly leave me and my family alone.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
Olivia smiled. “You know what? I doubt it. Oh, a word of warning—if you show up in my office or my courtroom again, I’m going to throw the book at you.”
Mike’s eyes widened and Olivia realized she’d probably divulged too much. “Thank you, Officer Lusk,” she said formally.
Olivia shut down her computer and reached for her coat and purse. Once she got home—late—she’d tell Jack everything that had happened.
Forty-Five
Roy hadn’t shared his suspicions with Corrie. He needed to deal with this in his own way. After all, the postcards had been addressed to him and him alone; only with the fruit basket had the messages started coming to Corrie, as well. But all communication had ceased after Valentine’s Day. There’d been nothing in any form for weeks now.
It didn’t matter; he knew. Furthermore, she knew that he knew, which was, he suspected, why he hadn’t received any further postcards or anything else.
He’d discovered she had been adopted and raised in California. Then he’d run into a dead end. But her recent actions in the Puget Sound area had given her away. His first break had come when he’d finally talked to the florist who’d taken her order; from then on, things began to fall into place.
“Roy?” Corrie interrupted his thoughts Saturday morning as he sat at the breakfast table. “You’re very quiet.”
Roy set aside the morning newspaper and reached for his coffee as Corrie slid a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. “I was reading the paper.”
“Considering how long we’ve been married, do you seriously believe I don’t know when something’s bothering you?”
He shook his head. She could always tell.
Corrie sat across from him, placing her elbows on the table. “How long have you known?”
“A while,” he returned casually.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know. I hate to admit this, but I’m a little nervous. It’s me she’s angry with, you know.” He was sure of this. And much as he wanted to take responsibility, wanted a relationship with his unknown daughter, he had trouble accepting the changes that would come into his life. Linnette and Mack would need to be told and that worried him. He hated the fact that his children might think poorly of him or their mother.
“What you’re feeling is guilt,” Corrie whispered, her voice shaky. “I feel it, too, although intellectually I know I shouldn’t. Giving this child up to a loving family was the very best choice I could’ve made. I loved her, but at the same time, I knew I wasn’t capable of caring for her on my own.”
What bothered Roy wasn’t simply guilt about the adoption. It was his own failures. “Corrie—”
She cut him off. “I’m the one who made the decision, the one who signed the adoption papers. I don’t know why she singled you out. She has no reason to be upset with you.”
Roy made a pretense of eating, acting as though this was a normal morning conversation. “Before we seek her out, we have to discuss it with Linnette and Mack.”
Corrie scooped up a forkful of egg, but didn’t take a bite. She lowered her head. “I agree.” Then she glanced up and smiled. “I called Mack last week.” She raised her head to look at the kitchen clock. “He should be here in an hour.”
After all these years, Roy shouldn’t be surprised by anything his wife did. In this instance, however, her sense of timing was uncanny. “What about Linnette?” He’d always been close to his daughter, and confessing his failures to Linnette, and Mack, too, wasn’t going to be easy.
“I thought we should tell them one at a time.” She met his eyes. “Is that the way you’d like to do it?”
He nodded. Telling his children…This, above everything else, would be the most difficult part of the whole situation.
Mack arrived at nine. Roy didn’t know what Corrie had said to persuade him to drive from south Seattle to Cedar Cove this early in the morning. Generally, Mack avoided his father. And thinking back over the last few years, Roy accepted the blame for their estrangement.
He wasn’t completely sure when this rift between them had started—when Mack was in high school probably. Roy had wanted his son to play football the way he had; Mack chose soccer. In his disappointment, Roy had refused to attend any of Mack’s games. That had been childish, and he regretted it deeply. From then on, their relationship had degenerated into a clash of wills. It almost seemed as if Mack had made a point of provoking his father. Corrie’s heartbreak was something else Roy laid at his own door.
Mack stood awkwardly in the living room, hands tucked in his pockets. “Mom. Dad.” He acknowledged each one with a curt nod. “You wanted to talk to me?”
Corrie nodded and indicated he should sit down. Mack did, perching on the outer edge of the chair, presumably in case he needed to make a fast getaway. He was a fine-looking young man, Roy thought, studying his son as though he were a stranger. As tall as Roy was himself, he had curly hair, which he wore longer than Roy liked—no doubt why Mack had chosen that style.
Roy looked at Corrie and she looked at him. They should have discussed the best way to broach the subject beforehand. He understood why they hadn’t. Talking about their first daughter was just too painful.
“Your mother and I have something to tell you,” Roy announced, sitting beside Corrie on the sofa.
She reached for a tissue and wadded it tightly.
Mack went very still. He frowned. “Are you two…splitting?”
Roy shook his head. “Never,” he said, taking Corrie’s hand. “Your mother’s stuck with me for the rest of our natural lives.”
That seemed to reassure their son, who smiled briefly.
“Before we explain why we asked you to come over this morning, there’s something I need to say first.” Roy cleared his throat. This seemed to be the day for difficult conversations. “I love my wife and I love my children.”
Mack shrugged, seemingly indifferent.