Confessions Bundle

And sometime during that sixty-five-hour period, she was going to tell her daughter about her newest client.

She wasn’t sure it was the right, the best or the fairest thing to do. She just knew she couldn’t keep the appointment she had with Blake Ramsden on Monday morning to discuss his case and come up with a plan unless she’d come clean. Mary Jane had been willing to fight to protect her mother’s honesty.

Juliet had no choice but to do the same.

She’d intended to tell her little girl on Friday night, but after dinner out at a local hamburger joint—Mary Jane’s choice—the child had been taken with a fit of the giggles that had set the tone for the rest of the evening. They’d rented a silly movie, spilled popcorn in Juliet’s bed while watching it and done each other’s hair, and Juliet had painted Mary Jane’s face.

It had been just what the doctor would’ve ordered, had he been asked, Juliet decided early Saturday morning, staring at the smooth and beautiful features of the child sleeping so peacefully beside her. Mary Jane’s curls spiraled around her head like a dark halo. The little girl’s rounded nose and full sweet lips almost brought tears to her eyes.

God, give me the words to tell her about Blake in a way that makes it okay for her.

She’d said this same prayer several times during the previous night, holding the child against her while she slept. She’d do anything for Mary Jane. It was just damn tough, sometimes, to know the best thing to do.

Give her a court of a law, an intimidating judge, a dishonest prosecutor, a wrongfully accused murderer, and she was fine. Give her a fifty-pound child with springy curls and eyes just like her own, and she had no idea what to do. There’d been no degree to get in motherhood. No Mary Jane manual.

And Juliet had never been comfortable with just winging it.

The phone rang and she panicked until she realized it was her home phone, not her cell. Blake Ramsden didn’t have access to the unlisted number.

She reached over her still-sleeping daughter for the receiver on the nightstand.

“Hello?”

“Jules? Did I wake you?”

Juliet stretched. Grinned. “No, but I’m still in bed,” she told her twin. “Mary Jane’s here, too.” The three McNeil women, together, at least in a sense. Her day was complete and it had only begun.

The little girl moaned, turned over.

“I need to talk to you.”

Juliet’s smile faded. With one last look to make sure that Mary Jane hadn’t awakened, she slid out of bed.

“What’s up?” she asked softly, tiptoeing out of the bedroom with the cordless phone and down the hall to the kitchen. Normally Mary Jane could sleep through an earthquake—except, of course, for those few times when Juliet needed the child to stay asleep. She seemed to have some kind of sensor that alerted her to those.

“I…I…” Marcie hiccuped.

“Marce? Talk to me.” Juliet’s voice was firm, but it hid a heart full of fear. If Hank had hurt her…

“You aren’t sick, are you?” She held her breath until she knew. Anything else they could handle.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Okay. Her sister was talking. One-answer questions seemed to be the trick. “Is it Hank?”

“No.” The word broke on another hiccup.

“If he did anything…”

“He didn’t.” Marcie’s words were quick. Too quick?

“He doesn’t know…”

“Know what?”

“Jules?” Marcie’s generally controlled tone rose in a wail.

Juliet sank to a chair at the kitchen table, staring out at the ocean. There had been times in her life when that view had been the only thing that saved her. Its vastness and strength, its vitality, and its unwavering existence always helped put life in perspective. “Yeah, Marce, I’m right here.”

“Are you busy?” At seven o’clock on a Saturday morning?

“No.”

“Can I fly down?”

Juliet’s stomach knotted. “Of course. You got a flight or you need me to call for one?”

“I’ve got one.” She named a flight that left San Francisco in a little under three hours.

That was good then. If her sister was capable of making flight plans, things couldn’t be all that bad. Could they?

“You going to make me wait until you get here to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nooo…” Marcie’s hiccup strayed to a sob. “Oh, God, Jules, I can’t believe, after everything…”

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.”

What could be so difficult to talk about? Juliet twisted a finger in her hair, something she hadn’t done since she’d been a first-year lawyer and learned that the gesture was a sign of inner weakness.

“You’ve done something?”

“I…I…I can’t seem to tell you, Jules. You’re never going to believe I was this stupid.”

“Just say it.” Juliet fought the tension gripping her, so that she could give her sister the empathy she so clearly needed.

Something she’d be a lot better equipped to do if she knew what she was trying to be empathetic about.

“Is it about money?” She crossed her fingers. That would be an easy fix.

“No.”

And then something a little more horrific occurred to her. “You aren’t in trouble with the law, are you?”

“No.” Marcie almost chuckled, but hiccuped instead. “Of course not.”

Juliet laid her cheek on her hand. Her voice lowered, softened. “Tell me.”

“I’m…pregnant.”

Juliet’s entire body stiffened. Her skin felt hot. And then cold. The phone started to slip from her hand.

“Say something.”

She would. As soon as she could think.

“I love you.”

Inane, maybe, but it was all she could come up with.

“I love you, too,” Marcie said, and sniffled.

“Hey, Marce, don’t cry.” Her sister’s tears brought Juliet’s mind at least partially back to action. “We’ll get through this. You know we will. We always do. Together.”

The assurance was as much for herself as for her sister. “You’re coming here. That’s the right choice.”

She had to get Marcie out of Maple Grove. Away from settling for life in a trailer, raising a child alone only to have the child go off and find a better life, a fuller life, leaving Marcie with nothing but a bottle of sleeping pills and a bathtub filled with bubbles….

“It’s only for the weekend,” Marcie said. “I have to open the shop on Monday.”

“Who cares about the shop?” Juliet said, half-crazed with panic and half-determined to take control and make sure that they all lived happily ever after.

“I do.”

Yes. She knew that. “I’m sorry, Marce. It’s just a bit of a shock, you know?”

“Tell me about it.” The droll tone didn’t erase the tears in Marcie’s voice, but it helped calm Juliet anyway.

“Okay, did I hear you say Hank doesn’t know?”

“Yeah.”

Good. That gave them time to figure things out before Marce was pulled in ways she might not want to go. As their mother had been.

“And you aren’t planning to tell him? At least not this morning, before you fly out?”

“No. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

What did that mean?

“You’re having the baby, right?” She couldn’t believe she was asking.

“Of course.”

“And keeping it?” Neither of them would ever consider anything else. They’d been abandoned by a parent. Twice.

“Of course.”

“Good, so go pack, get down here, and we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Okay.” A loud sniffle sounded again.

Juliet watched waves roll onto the beach in the distance, wondering how many generations of babies had been born, how many generations of people had died, while that water just kept right on rolling in and out.

“How long have you known?”

“The time it took for you to answer your phone,” Marcie said, speaking the entire sentence without a sob. “I knew I’d be in trouble if what I suspected was true, so I made the plane reservation, dialed your number on my cell phone and waited until I got the results before I hit send.”

That sounded more like the Marcie she knew.

“I’m only about a month along. I bought the test four days ago,” her twin continued, apparently needing to get things out now that she could speak. “Every night I told myself I’d do it, but I just kept thinking that ignorance was better than the truth. I guess I was probably just waiting until I was free to fly down.”

The fact that Marcie had needed to come to San Diego during her time of crisis was not lost on Juliet. Her sister might be more aware, less like their mother, than Juliet had begun to fear these last couple of years. She just needed a loving boost to give her the courage to take those first frightening steps out of Maple Grove and the false sense of security she had found there.

“Does Hank know you’re coming here?”

“Not yet. I planned to call him from the airport.”

“You’re driving yourself in?”

“Yeah.” Marcie sighed, sounding exhausted, which she probably was. Remembering back to her own trip into this same hell, Juliet doubted that her sister had slept more than a few restless hours all week. “I know it’s more expensive to park the car, but I want the time alone.”

“I understand.”

“I gotta go if I’m going to make my flight,” Marcie said, her voice weakening again.

“Okay. Be safe, Marce. I’ll be right here waiting for you. You aren’t alone, you know? You aren’t ever alone.”

“I know.”

“And while you’re on that plane?”

“Yeah?”

“Think about nothing but what an incredible joy Mary Jane has been all these years.”

“You’d do it all again, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Juliet said.

It was about the only thing she knew for sure.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PAPERS ON THE DESK in front of him were just as he’d left them. Same issues. Same unanswered questions. Same requests.

There was security in that.

Filled with what felt like a healthy dose of determination, Blake sat behind his desk Saturday afternoon, feeling better equipped to face what was to come. It was the first time he’d been to the office since the arraignment. He’d intended to come the day before, to carry on as though it were business as usual—partially to convince himself it was. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to make himself do it.

He’d called Lee Anne to let her know he’d be in on Saturday afternoon and to ask her to leave anything that needed his immediate attention on his desk. He’d spent Friday at the ocean instead. Running on the beach, strolling along the water’s edge with the seagulls, letting the waves wash over his bare feet, sitting in the sand watching the tide roll in, skipping rocks. He’d even bought a ticket for one of the tourist cruises and had dinner with a boatful of strangers out on the water.

Mourning the family he’d never had, he’d never felt lonelier in his life.

Today, Blake was back, in jeans and a polo shirt instead of a suit. Working on a weekend when most of his employees were off. It was a start.

There had been several messages for him at home the night before, from people who knew him well enough to have the unlisted number. They’d heard about the arraignment on the news and, he was certain, had questions.

He’d answer all of them. He owed them that. But he owed himself this time to toughen up first. Having those he trusted doubting his trustworthiness was one of the worst things he could imagine—other than going to prison.

There were more calls on his office line. He listened to them, but didn’t return any. Just like the others, he’d deal with them later.

He went through the mail. Pretty much standard fare, as the postal service didn’t move as quickly as telephone technology. There was a thank-you note from Amunet’s adoptive parents for his help with her service. Apparently Amunet had spoken highly of him when she’d finally come home to New York.

Had that been before or after she’d decided to take her life?

There was an invitation to give an address at the 61st Annual International Builders’ Convention and Exposition in Orlando the following January. It was easily the world’s largest annual construction trade show, for home as well as commercial builders—and under normal circumstances, Blake would have accepted the honor proudly.

But could he? They needed a response by early next month.

He dropped the invitation in the teakwood box on a corner of his desk to look at again in another week or two. Not that he’d have any better idea than he did now whether he’d be a free man in January of next year.

Blake’s computer beckoned. While he had a staff of talented architects, there were some design jobs he still took himself. It was the part of the business he loved best.

And that library project had been calling to him all week. This afternoon, all distractions aside, he intended to lose himself in trusses and structure and yet-to-be developed aesthetics. If he could sustain the drive, if the work could keep the demons at bay, he’d work all night.

But first, there would be e-mail. Since he did far more communicating electronically than by phone or post these days, he expected there’d be a lot.

He pushed the power button and waited while the machine booted up. It never ceased to amaze him that no matter how much he invested in computers, how much faster each new version worked, it never seemed fast enough for long.

That, he supposed, was why the leaders in the computer industry were so rich.

A noise sounded in the outer office. Blake glanced over, on edge. Expecting to be there alone, he hadn’t shut his door.

If it was a reporter, come to hound him…

“Sir?” He recognized Lee Anne’s voice just outside his door.

“Yeah, Lee, come on in,” he called, relieved and yet not. Lee Anne had a family to feed single-handedly. Could she afford to wait around to see whether or not she still had a job after July?

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ramsden,” she said, coming in a little hesitantly. He’d never seen her in jeans before. A sundress once, at a company picnic the previous summer. But never jeans. They made her look younger.

“I just wanted to bring you this.”

She placed a decorated gift bag on his desk. “See you Monday, sir.”

“Thank you,” Blake called to her retreating back. And then he realized that he had no idea if there was anything to be thanking her for.

Still, in all his travels and studies and experience, he’d never heard of anyone quitting with a gift bag.

Curious, he pulled it closer, surprised by its weight. Underneath a wealth of white tissue paper, he found a triangular frosted glass paperweight. Inscribed in the center of it was his favorite quote from nineteenth-century author, songwriter and motivator M. H. McKee: Integrity is one of several paths. It distinguishes itself from the others because it is the right path, and the only one upon which you will never get lost.

Blake stared for a long time and then placed the paperweight in the center of his desk, where he would see it every time he looked up.

The ocean-scene screen saver he’d chosen was scrolling through scenes. Tapping an arrow key to stop it, Blake settled in to work. He opened his e-mail software but before it could download his messages, there was another sound from outside his door.

Stu Walters, his chief accountant, stood on the threshold. “Just had to leave this,” he said. Walking in, he set a small wooden box on Blake’s desk, and left. Blake glanced down and inscribed on the lid he read, The man who fears no truths has nothing to fear from lies. Sir Frances Bacon.

Bailey Warren, a talented young architect who’d been with Blake since college, was next. He brought a glass letter opener inscribed with words from someone named Jim Stovall. Integrity is doing the right thing, even if nobody is watching.

Melinda Nelson arrived just as Bailey was leaving. She was from Contracts. She left a water globe of a boat on the ocean with an inscription on a gold plaque attached to the block of wood that held it. From Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Our own heart and not other men’s opinions form our true honor.

His full-time construction attorney, Fred Manning, gave him a promise of full support and a plaque that read: Virtue, morality, and religion. This is the armor, my friend, and this alone that renders us invincible. Patrick Henry.

An hour later, Blake was sitting there completely bemused, speechless and dangerously close to blubbering like an idiot. He’d seen more than twenty of his hundred employees, many bringing gifts from groups of others. On the desk in front of him was seemingly every size, shape and design of plaque, wall hanging, paperweight, letter opener, caddy or other office gift, every single one of them inscribed with messages about integrity.

Character is the accumulated confidence that individual men and women acquire from years of doing the right thing, over and over again, even when they don’t feel like it. Alan Keyes.

Blake had never heard of Alan Keyes, but he felt a great fondness for him.

As he sat there, taking it all in, a quote from Molière caught his eye. If everyone were clothed with integrity, if every heart were just, frank, kindly, the other virtues would be well-nigh useless, since their chief purpose is to make us bear with patience the injustice of our fellows.

And there was the one he came to again and again, given to him by the group in the mailroom. A Chinese proverb. If you stand straight, do not fear a crooked shadow.

They forgot just one.

I am a very lucky man. Blake Ramsden.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, when Juliet and Mary Jane would ordinarily have been taking Marcie to the airport for her flight back to San Francisco and the drive to Maple Grove, Marcie and Juliet took Mary Jane, a blanket and a picnic outside to the beach, instead.

The day was deceptively perfect, a balmy seventy degrees, sun shining brightly.

“How come you don’t have to go back today, Aunt Marcie?” the girl half called over her shoulder, skipping along in the sand in front of them. It was a private stretch of beach, open only to the home owners in the area. This afternoon, no one else was outside. Several of the cottages near them were summer and vacation getaways and frequently vacant.

“I called Tammy and asked her to take my clients tomorrow,” Marcie said softly, sharing a worried glance with Juliet, a worry the pure blue sky overhead couldn’t assuage.

Juliet wanted to tell her sister that everything would be just fine. She tried to convey that with her eyes and her smile. But she couldn’t really. Because she was worried, too, about their futures—and, at the moment, about Mary Jane’s reaction to the upcoming conversation.

At least one of the things they had to tell the little girl wasn’t going to go well. Juliet was certain of that. Just as certain as she was that she had to tell her.

Wearing denim shorts with a long-sleeved pink T-shirt, Mary Jane bounced on ahead of them, their self-appointed spot picker.

Juliet was happy to let her go. She and Marcie had talked long into the night and both were pretty sure about what had to be done. For all of them. It just wasn’t going to be easy.

“Right here,” Mary Jane said, choosing a spot in the center of the private beach, some distance from their cottage. It was just like her, always wanting to be in the middle of things.

Seagulls hopped down by the water. The waves were calm, a steady flow back and forth, bringing in little treasures—and taking some with them.

“I’m going to look for shells,” Mary Jane announced, kicking off her flip-flops.

“No, you’re not,” Juliet told her. She used Mary Jane’s shoes to weigh down two corners of the blanket, kicking off her own sandals to get the other two corners. “Have a seat.”

Marcie pulled bottles of water out of the canvas bag they’d packed. There was fruit, bread, cheese and cookies as well, but it was still too early to eat.

With a pinched face, Mary Jane sat on top of one of her sandals. “What’s wrong?” she asked, passing a frightened look between her mother and her aunt. “Is this about me?”

“No,” Marcie said with a surface grin as she kicked off her backless tennis shoes, pulled up the legs of her navy running suit and joined her niece. “Not everything in the world is about you, Squirt.”

“I know that.”

Moving the bag to one edge of the blanket, Juliet finally had nothing left to do but join the other two. Sitting cross-legged, she formed the third point of the McNeil family triangle.

“Sweetie, your aunt Marcie and I have a couple of things to tell you.”

Mary Jane’s green eyes widened. “Two of them?” Though she was picking at a yarn tie on the quilt, her gaze met Juliet’s.

“Yep.”

“Big things?”

“Uh-huh.” Juliet nodded. She was still wearing the black Lycra pants and white Hollywood T-shirt she’d put on to in-line skate that morning. She and Marcie had come down to the beach with coffee, instead, to keep talking.

“Am I in trouble?” Mary Jane’s timid voice pulled at Juliet.

“No, you’re not.”

The eight-year-old’s shoulders relaxed slightly as some of the tension eased out of her small frame. Before she’d had Mary Jane, Juliet had never guessed how much another person’s happiness and peace could mean to her. How much she’d give to have every single pain Mary Jane would ever feel come to her instead.

“Should I go first?” Marcie asked, looking from one to the other.

Juliet nodded. It might be better if she told Mary Jane about Blake first, and then followed up with Marcie’s less threatening news, but if Marcie was going to offer even this small reprieve, she was willing to take it. Maybe some magical way to present things would occur to her in the meantime. Because as it was, she had no idea what she was going to say to her daughter.

“What’s wrong, Aunt Marcie?” Mary Jane asked, frowning at her aunt with concern. “Are you going to marry Hank?”

“Nooo!” Marcie half chuckled, half choked. “You know neither one of us wants to get married. But if I was, I’d hardly call that something being wrong!”

“Wellll.” The child drew out the word. “It would mean that you’re staying in Maple Grove forever and you always say you don’t want to do that.”

Marcie and Juliet exchanged another glance. Out of the mouths of babes.

“No, I’m not marrying Hank,” Marcie said, knees up to her chin, holding her toes. “Actually, things are going to change a lot. I’d like to move in with you and your mom,” she said, and then, before the girl could respond, continued. “Your mom already said it was fine with her, when I asked her, but it has to be okay with you, too, since it means you’d have to give up your playroom for good instead of just the times I visit.”

“I don’t play in there anyway.” Mary Jane’s face was straight.

“But?”

The little girl shrugged. “Just…sometimes…Mom and me…but when you’re here…”

“You love having Aunt Marcie here,” Juliet said, confused and feeling slightly protective of her twin, who looked as if she might cry again. Juliet hadn’t expected any resistance at all from Mary Jane on this issue, which didn’t bode well for what was to come. “You can’t wait for her to visit.”

“I know,” Mary Jane said. “But…”

“What?” Juliet felt lost.

Mary Jane looked at her aunt, and then back at Juliet. “It’s just that, when you guys are together, you’re the pair. And then I’m…”

Understanding hit. “Oh, Mary Jane, come here,” she said, dragging her daughter across the blanket and onto her lap. “You and I will always be a pair. No matter who else is around or in our lives.”

Mary Jane stared up at her, the brown flecks in her eyes glistening.

“You’re going to grow up someday and maybe get married, and have kids, and the special love you and I share will still be right there. Unchanging. Do you understand?”

The little girl nodded, her sweet dark curls jostling against her cheeks.