Tonight You're Mine (4 page)

Nicole couldn't keep the exasperation from her voice. “What on earth makes you think I'm going to desert you? I've done all I could to help—” She stopped short, seeing Shelley tense and Phyllis's mouth begin to twitch again. Just be quiet and get through it, she told herself sternly.

When they stopped at the Sloan residence, Nicole emerged from the limousine, trying vainly to smooth the wrinkled skirt of the ill-fitting black linen dress she'd bought yesterday. Phyllis, however, looked trim and stylish in an expensive black silk shantung suit, her prematurely white hair tucked into its usual perfect French twist. Nicole remembered that even when she, Nicole, was a child, her mother had worn that gleaming, flawless hairstyle.

A few of Phyllis's friends had skipped the funeral service so they could set out the food. The large house, decorated to perfection in cool, neutral tones with an occasional touch of aqua, looked pristine, not a knickknack out of place. Phyllis glanced around approvingly, then took her place at the door. “Nicole, you and Shelley stand beside me,” she ordered. “We must greet the mourners.”

What did you think we were going to do, Mom? Nicole thought sourly. Stampede to the table and begin gobbling food as fast as we can? But Phyllis wasn't happy unless she was giving all the commands, even if they were unnecessary.

As they took their places inside the door, Nicole suddenly felt the desire to bolt and run down the street, never looking back. Her mind skittered, trying to recall how relatives of the deceased had acted at other funerals she'd attended. Sad, of course. Subdued. But what had they said? Her mind went blank.

And as soon as people began filing in the door, she realized why she, who was usually good with words, was nearly speechless. This wasn't like any funeral she'd attended because it was for a man who had killed himself. There was something strikingly different about the funeral of a victim of suicide. Everyone seemed embarrassed because they too were at a loss for words. No one could say, “At least he's out of his misery now,” because if he'd been in misery, no one seemed to know it. Two weeks ago when Nicole had last seen him, Clifton had been the essence of cheerfulness although he seemed a bit tired. No one could say, “It was God's will,” because Clifton Sloan's death was entirely of his own will. Most couldn't even say, “He's in a better place,” because they believed no one who committed suicide went to a better place.

And of course they were speculative. Had Phyllis or Nicole done something to drive him to this? Had Clifton suffered a financial disaster? What was the real story? What was the family hiding?

As a result, almost everyone merely muttered a strained, “I'm so terribly sorry,” to which the family said over and over, “Thank you.” As the line of mourners filing through the door was nearing its end, all Nicole could hear was Phyllis, then herself, then Shelley, each saying “Thank you,” in increasingly mechanical, scratchy voices.

Phyllis finally gave Nicole a gentle nudge in the ribs and said, “That's everyone. Now circulate. And do
not
discuss the nature of your father's death.” She then glided forward, handkerchief clutched in her right hand, face wan and a bit vacant. No one would dare ask
her
any details, Nicole thought. She looks as if she'd keel over if they did. But in reality, Phyllis Sloan was the strongest woman Nicole had ever known. Even at this moment, she could probably stand up to a prolonged police interrogation if she chose.

Shelley clutched her mother's hand again, and they wandered into the living room. This was the room Phyllis insisted be kept perfect for company, but Nicole suddenly remembered childhood Christmases when the tree had stood in front of the window, and on Christmas morning brilliant paper and ribbons had lain all over the pale carpeting.

“Clifton, look what a mess she's making,” Phyllis would fret. “Nicole, open the packages carefully. Don't tear at the paper or squash the bows. We might be able to use some of the trimming next year.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Phyl,” Nicole's father would laugh loudly, knowing how much Phyllis hated the shortening of her name. “We're not headed for the poorhouse. I think we can afford new paper and bows next year. Nikki, rip and tear and throw the wrapping all you want.” So while Phyllis's lips pressed tighter and tighter together, the child Nicole had done exactly as her father ordered while he recorded her every movement on film in the days before video cameras.

Although her father dominated her memories of those happy times, her mother was always there in the background, a nagging but stable force. Mom may have been difficult, Nicole mused, but at least she hadn't deserted her family like Roger did. Such a thought would never have crossed her mind. In her annoying, idiosyncratic way, she tried to be the best wife and mother she could.

As if sensing her thoughts, Roger walked up. “How are you two doing?” he asked gently.

“We're okay,” Nicole said, noting that he was wearing his glasses with the thin silver rims. He couldn't wear contacts and when he really cared about his appearance, he wouldn't wear the glasses, fearing they made him look older.

Roger glanced down at Shelley, a frown forming between his light brown eyebrows. “I didn't think you'd be here, sweetheart.”

“It's Grandpa's funeral.”

Roger raised an eyebrow, then looked at Nicole. “I don't approve of children attending funerals.”

Shelley, who'd grown hostile toward her father although Nicole had been careful never to criticize him, said hotly, “I
wanted
to come. I'm not a baby!” She looked up at Nicole. “Can I go get some cake now?”

Nicole nodded and as Shelley scampered away, Roger fixed Nicole with cool gray eyes. “You're turning her against me.”

Nicole took a deep breath, trying to hold her temper. “I have bent over backward not to turn Shelley against you, but she's not two years old. She's aware it was your decision to move out of our home, and you've made no attempt to keep your relationship with that teenager a secret from her.”

“She is
not
a teenager,” Roger said stiffly. “She's twenty.”

“Had a birthday, did she? Gee, pretty soon people will stop thinking she's your daughter.”

“Please don't get nasty at a time like this.”

Chastened, Nicole said quietly, “You're right. I'm sorry.”

Roger glanced over at her mother. “Phyllis seems to be holding her own.”

“She always does.”

“I think she's mad as hell,” Roger stated. Nicole remained silent although for once she agreed with him. “Do you have any idea—”

“
Why?
” Nicole interrupted. “Why my father killed himself? No.”

Roger turned his searching gaze back to her. “We aren't exactly close these days. How do I know you're being honest with me?”

“Roger, I have never lied to you,” Nicole said tautly. “But even if I knew why Dad killed himself, why would I be obligated to tell you? It's none of your business.”

“Yes, it
is
my business. Clifton was my daughter's grandfather.”

“What are you hinting at?” Nicole flared. “Some kind of genetic weakness?”

He gave her a patient look. “Of course not. You know I believe we're products of our environment. I'm worried because if there was some kind of serious trouble in the family that caused Clifton to do this, I should know. After all, Shelley adored him. She was around him too much these last few months. This whole mess has really rocked her young world.”

“I know of no serious trouble in the family except for you leaving me, which I hardly think would drive my father to suicide,” Nicole answered coldly. “And I am well aware of the effect this has had on Shelley. I'm doing everything I can to restore some normalcy and happiness in her life.”

“That's what I wanted to talk about,” Roger said earnestly. “I think Shelley should spend the next few weeks with me.”

Nicole stared at him in disbelief. “Forget it.”

“Don't give me one of your knee-jerk reactions. Think about how much sense it makes. You're desolated by your father's death. Your mood can't be doing Shelley any good, and you're not up to giving her the attention she needs.”

“I see. And living with you and your girlfriend will return her good spirits in no time?”

Roger's jaw tightened. “Her name is Lisa Mervin. And we don't live together.”

“She only spends all her nights at your apartment.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Nicole cut him off. “You haven't been discreet, Roger. We're professors at the same university. Do you think I'm not aware of your lifestyle? Lisa is your student, for God's sake. Sleeping with a student on the sly is one thing. You're openly living with her. Have you ever heard of dismissal due to moral turpitude? It can happen, especially when you don't have tenure to protect you. At this rate you might not have a job next year.”

Roger's face had paled, his gray eyes hardening. “All you've heard are rumors. Why don't you let
me
worry about my job?”

“You misunderstand. I don't
care
whether you lose your job over this girl or not. Shelley is another matter.”

“Nicole, you are
not
going to use my having a woman in my life to keep me away from my daughter.”

“I'm not trying to keep you away from her, but she isn't going to stay with you and your little live-in nymphet. Besides, there's no point in going into this now. We'll work out visitation at the custody hearing.”

“Visitation? I think you mean joint custody.”

“Over my dead body!”

Carmen Vega appeared beside them. “Your voices are rising,” she said pleasantly. “Phyllis is going to glare a hole through each of you if you don't quiet down.”

Roger's nostrils flared slightly. He was ready for battle now, but Nicole's energy immediately flagged when she realized the potential scene they were creating. “Carmen is right. A funeral isn't the time for this discussion.”

Roger gave her a searing look. “I agree, but don't think I intend to crawl away and let you have Shelley all to yourself. She's my daughter, too, and I am
not
going to give her up. Don't forget your past emotional problems, Nicole,
or
the police investigation you underwent. I've got a ton of ammunition on my side, too, and don't think I won't use it.”

He strode away, heading for the front door. Nicole sucked in her breath, feeling as if he'd just kicked her in the abdomen.

“Creep,” Carmen muttered.

“Sometimes I don't know why I ever thought I loved him, and I could just slap myself for getting in a fight with him.” Nicole ran a hand across her forehead. “If the pressure inside my skull gets much worse, my eyeballs are going to pop out.”

Carmen gently took her arm. “Come in the kitchen with me.”

Nicole glanced around the room. Phyllis was talking with a good-looking, dark-haired man Nicole didn't know. Shelley sat in a corner, nibbling on a piece of cake.

In the kitchen, Carmen poured ice water in a glass. “Where does you mother keep the aspirin?”

“Cabinet to the right of the sink.”

In a moment Carmen handed her the glass and a bottle of white pills. “Sit down at the table. Take two of these and about five deep breaths.”

Nicole obeyed, sinking down at the table and swallowing the aspirin. Then she leaned her head forward onto her folded arms. “I didn't need a confrontation with Roger on top of everything else.”

“He probably started it,” Carmen said, sitting down beside her. “He's the most self-centered person I've ever met, Nicole.”

“He wasn't always that way, Carmen. You never got a chance to know him well, but a few years ago he was very protective and considerate.”

“Well, he isn't anymore. In a few months you'll see that the end of this marriage is one of the best things that's ever happened to you.”

“I already see it,” Nicole said wearily. “I'm not saying the whole thing isn't upsetting and disruptive, but I know eventually I'll be a much happier person because of the divorce. It's Shelley I worry about.”

“Shelley is a strong little girl, just like her mother. She'll be fine.”

Nicole smiled wanly. “Do you really think I'm strong?”

“I've known you since you were six.” Carmen grinned. “I'll never forget the day we were on the playground and that terrible big bully José was pulling my braids. I was flailing around, helpless and squealing. The other kids were laughing. Then you marched up, at least two inches shorter and fifteen pounds lighter than José, and kicked him with all your might in the knee. He howled like a baby all the way back into the school building.”

“And I got detention for a week.”

“And the undying respect of everyone else in the first grade he'd bullied. Nearly twenty-eight years ago,” Carmen said, shaking her head slowly in amazement. “Sometimes I still feel like that little girl on the playground.”

“I don't feel like that fiery-eyed little kid who rescued you. I feel like a rag doll who lost all her stuffing. Carmen, it's so strange. I'm numb. I haven't even cried over Dad. Not once.”

“You're in shock. I was the same after my baby boy died. Be grateful. In a couple of days, you'll feel awful.” Carmen's long curly black hair had been brushed into an unnaturally smooth style. She ran her hands through it, shaking loose some of the curl. “What caused your face to turn chalk-white at the cemetery?”

Nicole wiped at a drop of water running down the side of her glass. “I saw a man and a dog standing on a slope watching the funeral.”

“I saw them, too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was that student of yours, Miguel something.”