The Confession (28 page)

Mark nodded his head. Looking at his mother, he paused a moment, confused by the uncertainty that showed on her expressive face.

“That’s unfortunate. In these situations, it is normally our safest bet, as well as our fastest option to test the family members first. Rest assured, we’re doing all we can.” He pulled his clipboard against his chest and looked directly at Mark. “She’s strong.” He turned to look at McKenzie. “We have her sedated, but if you’d like, I can take you, one at a time to see her now.”

“Mark, you go ahead.” McKenzie attempted to smile.

He hesitated, surprised when his mother walked to the other end of the room and pulled out her cell phone.

“Ready?” the doctor asked.

Mark nodded and followed him out of the room.

Mark stood quietly beside the bed, holding onto Emily’s hand, careful to avoid the IV line taped to the top of it. Her beautiful face was marked with cuts and scrapes, and her complexion was pale as she laid against the stark white hospital sheets.

Today was her fiftieth birthday. She was supposed to be laughing and toasting with her friends, not lying motionless in a sterile room. She’d experienced so much pain in her life already, it seemed unjust she would be here. Presents sat unopened, trays of her favorite foods uneaten and open bottles of champagne would be poured down the drain.

He thought of the rare rose bush he’d secretly planted this morning. The Bride’s Dream was already blooming; its delicate pale pink buds had cooperated in his plan to surprise Emily on her birthday. He hadn’t had the chance to show her. Instead, she lay sedated in a hospital bed.

He gently set her hand back onto the bed and began to pace. He hated hospitals. The smell, the beeping machines, the fear. Why was this happening to her? He knew he was being somewhat unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it, he blamed Aimee. He had to, it made it easier. How could he have been so foolish? He’d let this girl get close to Emily, and crawl under his skin. Emily had paid the ultimate price for his negligence. He’d failed to protect her. Again. He’d let his heart overtake his common sense. A mistake he swore to never make again.

Growing agitated he clenched and unclenched his fists. He knew he should have handled the evening differently. He’d been so angry when he’d found Aimee in the room with Emily that he’d reacted without thinking. The fact that his heart had lodged itself in his throat when he saw her standing there in that dress hadn’t helped his mood. He had to give it to her, she was definitely a beautiful woman. Then again, some people found cobras or black widow spiders beautiful.

He sighed. The sound erupted like an explosion in the silence of the room. He knew he should step out, take a moment to calm himself down. Besides, his mother was waiting to see Emily. Walking over to the bed he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I promise she won’t hurt you again. Nobody will.”

He closed the door quietly behind him and walked down the long hallway toward the waiting room. Peering through the window of the double doors, he froze, his feet cemented to the floor. How dare she show up here. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins, the sound like a bass drum in his ears. Clenching his teeth, he remained rooted, paralyzed in fury, as he watched Aimee speak to the nurse behind the counter.

McKenzie came out of the waiting room and headed over toward her. Heat climbed up his chest, spreading across his cheeks as he watched his mother pull her into her arms. Willing his feet to move, he burst through the door toward the scene unfolding in front of him.

Aimee had her back to him and his eyes uncontrollably followed the chain down her back and took in the soft curves of her hips. His involuntary reaction to her fueled his rage, and propelled him forward. Increasing his speed, he marched toward her and grabbing her arm, spun her around.

He was pleased to see the look of fear cross her face.

“Get out of here. Now!” His voice shook with barely controlled anger. “Or I promise you, I will personally throw you out.”

“Mark, that’s enough.” McKenzie pulled his hand from Aimee’s arm and stepped between them, her eyes pleading with him.

The doctor came through the doors, apparently having been alerted to the disturbance. His voice was full of authority when he turned to Mark. “Step back. Calm down or I will have to ask you to leave.”

Aimee could see Mark fighting for control. She knew him well enough, and was certain he wouldn’t calm down as long as she was in the building. Her heart was beating fast, her palms sweaty, and her knees weak as he took a step back from her, his eyes never leaving hers. Maintaining his silent accusations, he crossed his arms, and clenched his jaw. Over Mark’s shoulder she could see Luther standing in the doorway of the waiting room, protectively watching her, disbelief and sadness shining in his eyes.

She turned her attention back to the doctor. “I would like to give blood for Emily Sinclair.” She straightened her shoulders and tried to hold her head up high, but she wasn’t able to bring her voice above a whisper.

He studied her for a minute. “Ms. Sinclair has an extremely rare blood type. Although we appreciate your concern, the chances of your being a match — ”

“I’m AB negative.”

Relief registered on the doctor’s face. Mark uncrossed his arms and took a step closer. His eyes narrowed, cutting through her.

She caught McKenzie’s encouraging glance, urging her to continue.

Looking back at Mark, she searched for any sign that he still cared for her. She felt a piece of her die away as she understood that all that remained was the hatred filling his eyes. She knew she couldn’t fix this. She’d lost him and no amount of truth would take back the lies she’d told or the secrets she’d kept.

She needed to concentrate on saving Emily. She took a deep breath and tried to speak. “I’m … ” She cleared her throat and looked back at Mark again. Overwhelmed with regret, tears escaped beneath her lashes. Looking into his eyes, she finally muttered, “Please let me help. I’m … I’m her daughter.”

“You’re a fool, but you’ll figure that out. Might want to work on your apology speech, you’re going to need a miracle to talk yourself out of this one.”

Mark replayed the words Luther whispered into his ear at the hospital over and over again. He wished he could understand what he’d meant, and why the words bothered him so much. It made sense that Luther would stick up for Aimee. But why had he spouted off about Mark being a fool? Common sense would have him simply slipping out the back door. Was he referring to his foolishness for falling for Aimee? Or was it something else? And why did he care so much?

He’d been surprised when she actually played the lost daughter card. Even after discovering she was a liar and assuming that was her game, he’d been shocked when she said it. It was a common pattern, so why would she be any different than the others? But he’d truly believed she was different. So different that he’d fallen in love with her. Luther was right, he was a fool.

What didn’t make sense, or possibly made her that much better than the cons that came before her, was how she knew Emily had a rare blood type. Not only that, but the doctor had informed them later she’d been a perfect match and had actually saved Emily’s life. He’d told himself it was all an impressive coincidence.

He pulled next to the fountain and parked his car. It’d been a long night. After they were sure Emily was going to pull through, his mother had insisted he grab an hour of sleep and a shower. Needing to clear his head, he hadn’t argued.

Walking through the front door, he headed toward the kitchen to update Mimsey. She was standing at the counter with a large bowl resting against her hip as she stirred vigorously. Normally in a tidy bun, her hair was wild, falling around her face in knotted clumps. Her eyes were swollen and red, her apron covered in batter and dusted with flour.

“Mimsey, are you alright?”

Whipping her head up in surprise, it seemed to take a moment for her to register he’d spoken. She let go of the spoon, then the bowl. Hitting the floor, the bowl shattered, and batter sprayed across the kitchen. She ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

“Marcus, how is she? Please tell me that Ms. Emily is okay. I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been.”

“Emily is going to be fine. She’s weak and sleeping a lot, but it sounds like she’ll be home in a few days.”

“Oh thank goodness. I was so afraid.” She stepped in and snuggled into his arms. “Yesterday was supposed to be a celebration. I can’t understand how it could all go so wrong.”

“It’s all okay,” he said, cooing in her ear as if she were a small child. “There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

She rested against him quietly for a few minutes. Suddenly, her head whipped up and she abruptly stepped back. “Did you say she’ll be home in a few days? Look at this place … Look at me.” Running her hands through her hair, she tugged some of it back into the band. She looked down at her apron, then over at the mess on the floor. “I have so much to do. I’ve got to clean this place up. Will she be able to climb the stairs or should I set the reading room up for her? Can she eat normally, or will she need softer foods? I have to go to the market, and oh, I should make her favorite — ”

“Mimsey, breathe.”

Her cheeks grew red and she smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, but I do have a lot to do.” Her smile faded and her voice became a whisper. “Is Ms. Aimee going to be returning?”

“She will not be returning.” His tone was filled with disdain. “In fact, if you happen to see her anywhere near this property, call the police immediately.”

She nodded her head in acknowledgement, but Mark noticed the single tear that fell from her eye. He turned and left the kitchen. His mind reeled with the reality of how much an impact Aimee had on the women in the house. How had she become such a fixture in such a short period of time?

He headed for the back of the house and noticed signs of an abandoned party in each room he walked through. Small tables were still set up, with half-filled glasses of champagne resting on them, and a table in the sun room was stacked high with un-opened gifts. He saw one of the gifts laying on the floor and set it back on the large pile.

Turning around to leave he noticed the framed photo sitting on a small table in the corner. His stomach turned as he drew closer, pulled by its familiarity. He must have walked past this photo a million times, but it was more than that. He’d held it in his hands only recently, yet he knew he hadn’t. It was a photograph of Nathan and Emily at a charity fundraiser years ago. Picking it up, he stared closely at the smiling faces, trying to understand his reaction. The wind blew out of his lungs as if he’d been punched and the photo slipped from his hands. Aimee’s prom photo. The similarities in the two pictures were impossible to miss. He knew then he’d never seen Aimee’s photograph before it came from the investigator, but he’d remembered this picture and confused the two.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to understand how this was possible. He hurried from the room, beginning to wonder if he was losing his mind.

He snapped the door closed behind him and stopped to pull fresh air into his lungs before moving forward. Even walking the path to his cottage he saw her everywhere. His feet stopped outside her door, as if they had a mind of their own. He felt light headed, and he could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Telling himself his reaction was simply because he was overtired, he took a few steps back, willing himself to go home.

He shook his head in frustration and let out a breath. He pushed open the door, but remained outside on the porch. Her scent wafted from inside, carried on the breeze. His stomach clenched, and he allowed his anger to engulf him, welcoming it over the sadness.

Walking inside, his footsteps echoed in the emptiness of the room. As if pulled, he walked through the door to her bedroom. He noted the empty hangers on the rod, the drawers hanging partially open, the vase filled with roses he’d clipped for her, and the stack of books beside the bed. His attention was drawn to an old leather case sitting in the middle of the bed.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he clicked open the latches and lifted the lid. He lifted an envelope from the top and noted the date on the postmark. It was mailed only a few days ago from New York City. His palms grew sweaty as he pulled the sheet from the envelope and read it. Scanning the typed words, he held his breath. “Based on the scientific evidence we conclude that Jane Doe cannot be excluded as the biological mother of Josie Doe. The probability of the stated outcome is 99.9999%.” He stared blindly at the paper in his hand, unable to process the information and what it might mean.

He looked down at the contents still resting in the case and lifted out an old photo album. He gently flipped open the cover, staring at a green eyed baby with cherub cheeks and a kewpie doll mouth. Turning the pages faster, he watched Aimee growing up in photographs. She was tottering toward a dark haired man, his face alight with pride. In another, she was sitting on the lap of a dark haired woman, her eyes bright with love for the person behind the camera. Reaching the final page, he flipped back to the beginning, looking again.

He set the book to the side and carefully lifted out a baby blanket. He gripped it tightly, the pressure behind his eyes building as he fought to control the tears threatening to fall. It was yellowed with age, and the red ladybugs climbing around the edges were now pink, but it was the same. It was the blanket that was lying over the top of Amelia in the only photograph Emily had of her daughter.

Folding it up, he dug deeper into the case. He set aside the pile of newspaper articles regarding the kidnapping, and paused when he reached for the last item. She wasn’t a fraud, she wasn’t conning anyone. Holding the broken plastic circle that had been cut from her tiny wrist, he knew. Aimee was Emily’s daughter. And he’d made her leave.

He felt dizzy as he tried to process the events of the last two days. She wasn’t a playing a game, she was real. Why hadn’t she told him? He shook his head. He would never have believed her and they both knew it.