The Confession (27 page)

“He could be back already. He wasn’t at his place, so he must be around here somewhere. Everything looks fabulous. Be sure to let me know if you need anything.”

Aimee headed toward the main sitting room where the buffet tables had been set up. Everything seemed to be in order. The linens were placed, the chaffers polished, waiting for the hot pans of food to be set inside. Multiple vases of fresh cut flowers were sporadically placed down the long buffet table, and candles flickered atop mirrored squares.

Luther was still at the bar, batting his eyes at the bow-tied bartender. “You must try the pear martini. It’s almost as good as the ones they serve at Katwalk in the fashion district.”

“I promise I will as soon as I get a chance. Do you have everything you need?” she asked the flushed bartender.

“Yes, thank you, I think I’m all set.”

She nodded her head, and tugged Luther a few feet away. “Have you seen Mark?”

“No, I haven’t seen anyone yet. You really should try this martini, it’s beyond fabulous.”

Shaking her head and patting him on the upper arm, she said, “Try to remember that the party doesn’t start for another hour or so. Pace yourself.”

She left the room and headed upstairs to find Emily. Tapping on the door, she walked inside the master suite. She found her sitting at her dressing table, staring blindly into the mirror.

“Emily?”

“Oh Aimee, there you are, and don’t you look stunning.” She turned and smiled at her, her eyes misty. “Would you help me with this necklace, I’d forgotten how small the clasp was.”

She walked over and took the ends of the delicate chain, connecting them together. “Are you alright?”

Emily reached back and patted her hands. “I’m fine. Feeling a little nostalgic tonight is all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aimee stepped from behind her and sat in the chair beside the vanity.

“I’m fifty years old. Can you believe that?”

“Not for one second.”

Emily clucked her tongue. “You’re flattering me because it’s my birthday. Although, I like it, and plan on believing you, at least for tonight.” She laughed. Turning back toward the mirror, she tilted her head, inspecting her reflection from a different angle. She appeared wistful for a moment. “I never expected today to be like this. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m so grateful for my life, my family, my friends. I’m truly blessed. I just pictured … ”

Aimee waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, she asked, “You just pictured what?”

Emily turned and looked at her. Her eyes filled with sorrow. “Why is it, that when we have it all, we still yearn for what we lost?” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “It truly shows the truth in our selfish existence doesn’t it?”

Aimee swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. “I don’t think wanting something, or longing for something important to us is selfish. I think it’s human, I think it’s real.”

“You really think so?” Emily reached out for her hands. “I have so much. I’m not talking about wealth and possessions, but look at the people who love me. I’m the luckiest woman alive. Why can’t I simply focus on that? Why can’t I let go of the ones that aren’t here?”

Aimee felt her chest tighten. Her hands began to shake as they clung to Emily’s. She wanted to tell her. She had to tell her. She’d decided to tell Mark first, to admit her deceptions, and tell him the complete truth. But the longing on Emily’s face was more than she could bear.

Emily gently pulled her hands back and waved them in front of her face. “I swore I wouldn’t cry tonight. Yet, I can’t seem to pull it together. This is my third attempt at putting on my makeup.”

“You look beautiful.” Aimee said the words slowly, wanting the truth behind them to be heard. “Emily … ”

She couldn’t seem to form the words. How do you tell someone that you’re the daughter they never knew? She inhaled, and cleared her throat.

Emily’s eyes clouded over. Concern etched in her expression. “Aimee, what’s wrong? What is it? You’ve gone completely pale.”

“I have something important to tell you. I … ” She bowed her head, praying for the right words to say. “I … I’m your — ”

The door swung open, the force slamming it into the wall and lodging the handle into the sheetrock. Both women jumped from their seats, startled by the commotion.

Mark strode in, his face filled with rage. His jaw tightened, the veins in his temple throbbed, and his fists clenched. His eyes never left Aimee as he approached her with fierce determination.

“Get out.” His voice was toxic, the words each forming their own command. He whipped up his arm and pointed to the door.

Emily stepped between them. “Marcus Lee, what has gotten into you?”

Aimee felt her knees buckle and grasped the chair for support. Tears flowed down her cheeks. He knew. Somehow, he knew. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was moving, but her throat had closed up, striking her mute.

“She’s a fraud. She’s been lying to us all along.” He never took his hate-filled eyes from hers.

Emily looked confused, her head whipping from one to the other, like she was a spectator in a horrible tennis match.

“I’d like you to meet Aimee Roberts, owner of Amore’ Handbags in New York City.”

“What?” Emily turned to look at Aimee. “What is he talking about?”

She couldn’t speak, but she knew she couldn’t lie, not any more. She nodded her head, sobs racking her body.

“She was never sent over from the agency. She’s just like the others. A liar, a fraud, a money-grubbing — ”

“Marcus, that’s enough!” McKenzie walked into the room. She faced her son, silencing him with her glare.

Aimee sat down in the chair, her breath coming out in wisps as she tried to control herself. Her entire world had collapsed. She couldn’t defend herself. She couldn’t speak. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

She looked up at Emily, her expression wary, cautious and filled with pain. She tried to speak again, her attempt only producing a quiet whimper as she continued to shake her head. Mark no longer looked at her, he simply looked through her.

Narrowing his eyes, he seethed, “I said, get out.”

Emily looked from one to the other, tears rolling down her face. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and slowly began to walk. She’d barely reached the open door before she began to run.

Aimee looked at Mark again, his face filled with fury. She slowly rose from the chair, bowed her head and began to leave the room. As she passed McKenzie, she caught a glimpse of compassion that she didn’t understand. Still unable to find her voice, she shook her head no, and mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry,” before slowly walking out the door.

Emptying the last drawer of the dresser into her suitcase, Aimee tugged the zipper around and hefted her bag onto the floor.

“How did things get to be such a mess?” she asked.

Luther grabbed the handle of her suitcase and rolled it across the floor, parking it beside the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, walking back into the bedroom.

Looking around, the reality that this would be her last time coming home to the cottage hit her. Hangers still swung back and forth on the rod from her haste in ripping down her clothes. Some of the drawers hung open, and the books she’d recently purchased on roses sat unread beside the bed.

She walked over to the garment bag hanging from the closet door. She slid the zipper down slowly and pushed back the heavy plastic. She stared at the red dress hanging inside. She recalled dancing across the floor in Mark’s arms, and the sound of his laughter. She heard the clinking sound of champagne glasses as she toasted the success of the auction with Emily and McKenzie. She pictured the day she first saw the dress, draped on a model while she shopped with her mother; the woman who’d rushed from her room, less than an hour ago, crying because of her dishonesty. Emily was her mother and she’d ruined any chance of being a part of her life.

Luther sat on the bed and hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the fraud.”

She felt the tears well up again. She didn’t think she had any left to spill. She walked into the bathroom, and looked around at the bottles still sitting on the counter. “I don’t have room to take all of this stuff back with me.”

She leaned on the counter, her body shook with the force of her crying. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen, black streaks ran down her cheeks, and her hair had fallen from its pins.

“Are you sure you want to leave like this?” He walked up behind her and rubbed her back in support. “Don’t you want to talk to him, to try to make this right?”

“He hates me. I’ve never seen so much repulsion in someone’s eyes before.” A croak erupted from her throat. “Oh, Luther, what could I say? I messed it all up. He’ll never believe me now. I think it’s best if I leave before I make it worse.”

Grabbing her purse from the counter, she headed for the door.

“Wait for me in the car. I’m going to do a quick check to make sure you didn’t forget any essentials.”

She nodded her head and walked through the front door, closing it behind her.

She hadn’t seen the envelope fall from her bag, but Luther had. Walking over to where it landed on the counter, he picked up the envelope containing the DNA results.

Stepping into the bedroom, Luther pulled down the forgotten case from the top of the closet shelf. Opening the lid, he gently laid the envelope on the top of the faded baby blanket. Running his hands over the soft cotton, he said a quick prayer and closed the lid.

Pulling the garment bag from the closet door, he tossed it over his arm, turned out the light and closed the cottage door behind him.

Mark burst through the double doors, McKenzie right on his heels. Scanning both hallways, he reached back for her hand and pulled her to the left. Their shoes clicked along the linoleum, as they all but ran up to the counter outside the emergency room.

“Emily Sinclair?” he panted. “We’re here to see Emily Sinclair.”

Behind the counter, the woman smiled, her eyes roaming from the top of Mark’s head, down to the tips of his black dress shoes.

McKenzie stepped in front of him, blocking the woman’s view. The woman inhaled, envy registered in her eyes as she stared at the woman in silver sequins. “Where is Emily Sinclair?” she demanded. Her impatience was clear in her tone, and the woman quickly moved her mouse around on its pad.

“She’s been moved to ICU. It’s on the eighth floor. Elevators are down the hall, first right,” she answered, still staring open mouthed at them.

They said their thanks and ran for the elevators. Mark knew under different circumstances he would have laughed at the familiar reaction the woman had to his mother. Her beauty had a way of striking people mute, even while they rushed to do her bidding.

The door slid open on the eighth floor and they both rushed out. Mark rushed to the desk and again, asked for Emily.

The nurse behind the counter looked up briefly and then back at her computer screen. “Are you family?” she asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. No. Well, sort of. We’re all the family she has. The hospital called,” Mark said, his voice winded, and his control slipping. “Can we see her? Is she going to be okay?”

“The doctor is in with her. I will let him know you’re here. He will fill you in on the details. You can have a seat in the waiting room.” She tipped her head in the direction of the small room across the hall.

McKenzie took a seat in one of the straight backed chairs while Mark paced back and forth. She had to be okay. He tried to avoid picturing the last time he saw her, rushing from her own party, tears pouring from her eyes as if her heart were breaking all over again.

His anger surged again. What was Aimee’s game? He couldn’t quite figure it out. She’d never asked for anything, or done anything to make him suspect her. Other than lie, of course. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories of her, but he could still see her smile, feel her hair against his cheek, and feel his heart split open.

“This is all her fault, you know.” His eyes flashed with rage.

“This is all whose fault, Mark?” McKenzie asked. Her eyes filled with concern and confusion.

“Who else?” The rage in his voice made it clear who he was referring to.

“It was an accident. How can this be Aimee’s fault?” She rose from the chair and approached him. “Please try to remember that we don’t know what really happened, or why she lied. Maybe there is a simple explanation for all of this confusion.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Simple explanation? Are you serious? She’s been lying to all of us for months. How is that going to only require a simple explanation?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep himself from punching the wall. “She owns her own company so why is she working for someone else?” Mark picked up his pace, his mind spinning, his anger building, as he continued to talk aloud, but mainly to himself. “Why didn’t she say anything? How did she know about the job interview? What was she after?”

“Mark, come and sit down for a minute. You’re burning a hole in the linoleum.”

He spun around, momentarily forgetting his mother was there. “When are they going to tell us what is going on? Why won’t they let us see her?”

As if on cue, the doctor walked into the room. “You’re Marcus Lee?” he asked.

“I am. This is my mother McKenzie.” The doctor shook each of their hands. “How is she? Is Emily going to be alright? Do you know what happened?”

“She had a pretty serious car accident. The police are still investigating but it seems she crossed into the path of an oncoming car and overcorrected, causing her vehicle to roll over an embankment.”

McKenzie gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. Tears spilled down her cheeks as Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in closer.

“A piece of glass lodged into her thigh severing a major artery. She’s suffered massive blood loss and requires a transfusion. Emily has an extremely rare blood type. We have none on sight, but we’re in the process of contacting other hospitals in the area, as well as our donors on file. Our records indicate she has no living family members. Is this accurate?”