Rising Tides. Emilie Richards
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for many years. And so has Pelichere.”
The sun had risen higher before she spoke again. “I’m going to have to tell my parents, Phillip. How are you going to tell Nicky?”
“Maybe I should have told her months ago. Aurore left it up to me to decide when.”
“Why didn’t you tell her before Grandmère died? They might have had a chance at a reunion.”
“That’s why I didn’t. I was afraid that nothing good could come of a meeting. I couldn’t bear to see either of them hurt more.” He slid off the car and stood. “There’s more than I’ve told you. Don’t judge my decision until you know it all.”
She joined him on the ground and took his arm when it seemed as if he was going to walk away. “Thanks. I guess.”
“For what? For telling family secrets you’d probably rather not have heard?”
She tried to think of a way to explain her own con fused feelings. “I’ve spent the last year of my life trying not to be a part of this family.”
He moved away. “Well, now there’s even more family that you can try not to be a part of. And not the kind you’re probably dying to have.”
She let that go. “Listen, have you ever stood on the Mississippi River bank when the fog was rolling in?”
He frowned.
“Try it sometime,” she said. “I did it a lot as a little girl, and I still remember. At first the fog is appealing, soft and cool and deliciously mysterious. Then you begin to realize there are people nearby, and boats on the river. You hear snatches of conversation, whistles and bells, and sometimes you even hear laughter. But nothing is clear, and you can’t find anyone or anything without falling into the river and drowning.”
“So?”
“Well, that’s what it’s been like growing up as a Gerritsen,” she said. “And even though I don’t like what I’ve heard about my grandmother, I guess I’m grateful you’re here to chase off the fog.”
His eyes searched hers, as if he expected to see some thing there to contradict her words. Then he shrugged. “There won’t be any fog at all by the time we’ve finished here, Dawn. Our grandmother’s going to see to that. I really hope you’re ready to see the whole picture. But I can tell you this. By the time these four days have ended, you may wish for fog again with all your heart.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Lies.” Ferris slashed his hand through empty air. “What kind of game are you playing, Dawn?”
Dawn had waited until her parents were awake and dressed; then she had invited them both for a walk down the driveway, where she quietly related what she’d learned from Phillip. No one else was in sight.
“No games,” she assured Ferris. “I’m just telling you what I know.”
“You’re telling me what Phillip Benedict told you.”
“That’s part of it. But I’ve read the letters, and Phillip’s story fits.”
“You believe it?” Ferris demanded. “You’re that gullible?”
“Grandmère dictated the story to him, and Phillip says that Spencer and Pelichere can verify everything he told me. You can ask them.” Dawn didn’t step back as her father moved in on her, but she felt as threatened as she had on the rare occasions in her childhood when Ferris had been angry at her.
“I told you Nicky Valentine was a liar. Apparently she’s passed it on to her son. Don’t you know she’ll jump at the chance to turn this into a scandal?”
Dawn was beginning to get angry right along with him. “Don’t kid yourself, Daddy. Nicky doesn’t want to be related to you any more than you want to be related to her. Her reputation will suffer.”
“I think the two of you have said enough for now.” Cappy stepped between them. “Dawn, Pelichere made French toast this morning. Why don’t you go inside and get some before Spencer calls us all together?”
“When does this family reach the point where any two of us can have a conversation without a referee?” Dawn watched something—acknowledgment, perhaps, or possibly even sadness—pass over her mother’s face. Then, before she could identify it for certain and be disappointed, she turned back up the driveway and left them behind her.
“It’s a lie,” Ferris said when Dawn was gone. “An insidious lie. I won’t have my mother’s name destroyed this way.”
“Your mother’s name?” Cappy gave a humorless laugh. “Nobody’s out here except you and me, Ferris, and both of us know whose name you’re worried about.”
“Don’t you start on me. You’ll be tarred with the same brush if these lies are spread around.”
Cappy made a show of looking at her watch. “We’ve got forty minutes before we’re all supposed to get together again. I’m going for a walk along the beach. I’d suggest you use the time left to figure out how you’re going to come to terms with the fact that Nicky Valentine is your sister.”
“I don’t know what these Gerritsens are trying to do, but I don’t see why I have to stay here and play along.” Nicky glimpsed Phillip and Jake exchanging looks as she stalked to the closet. She had been so quiet as Phillip related the story of her birth that she guessed neither man had expected this response.
As she began to pull clothes off hangers, Phillip stepped toward her, but Jake put his hand on his step son’s arm and nodded toward the door. Phillip stood poised between what he thought he should do and what he obviously preferred. Finally he settled for the latter. The door closed softly behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jake asked.
“I’m going home.”
“You gonna drive all the way back by yourself in this rain?”
She faced him. “You’re not planning to stay?”
“I’m not leaving. You don’t stay to find out what’s going on, I have to.” Jake sat down on the bed. “The way I see it, someone’s lying, or someone’s telling the truth. Either way, we got to ask ourselves why. We can’t pre tend it doesn’t matter.”
“Aurore Gerritsen was not my mother.” The bed was soft against Nicky’s legs. She felt Jake’s hand on her knee and realized she was sitting beside him.
“What do you remember about your daddy?” Jake asked.
“Little things. He was a good man.”
“And what did he tell you about your mother?”
“Nothing. He never said anything.”
“Could she have been a white woman?”
“How would I know what color she was?”
“Because you can put two and two together same as any reasonably well-educated person.”
“We’re talking shades? I’m supposed to guess my mother’s race by my father’s color? By mine? We’re not mixing a pitcher of chocolate milk here. Add a little more Hershey’s syrup, make it a little darker. People aren’t that simple, and you know it.”
“Your daddy didn’t tell you anything about your mama? Did anybody else?”
She was silent for a long time, wrestling with the things she couldn’t forget, wrestling with something too terrible to remember. “The place where I grew up was full of women as light or lighter than me, and all of them had colored blood. I always thought my mother had been one of them. Someone told me she’d died giving birth to me.”
“But it’s possible she could have been white?”
“No!