His eyes narrowed into vicious slits as he curled his lip at the Associated Press and spoke to her under his breath. “There’s no way I’m letting anybody on the Dolphins’ defense see a picture of me smilin’.”
“Thank God there aren’t any small children around.”
“I don’t know why you’d say that. I love kids.”
It was approaching his eleven o’clock curfew as they left the last party and made their way to the elevator. Darnell’s courtship of Miss Charmaine Dodd wasn’t progressing quickly enough to suit him, and he was hoping one of the Chicago papers would print a shot of him with Phoebe that would stir Miss Dodd to jealousy.
Phoebe had minimized her contact with Dan by waiting until that afternoon to fly into Miami, and she’d barely had time to change into her gown, an old one she’d bought for a Christmas party several years ago. It was a high-necked, tight-fitting sheath of shimmering gold lace worn over a flesh-colored body stocking. Darnell was wearing his tuxedo with a black silk shirt and gold bow tie that matched his diamond embellished tooth.
The elevator was empty when they reached it, allowing Darnell to return to the discussion he’d been more or less carrying on by himself ever since he’d come to her room three hours earlier. “I don’t see why everybody thinks Captain Ahab is evil. Damn, if it wasn’t for his leg, I’d have that man on my team any day. He doesn’t let anything stand in his way, dig? Those are the kind of men win football games.”
Moby Dick was just one of the books she’d recommended that Darnell had devoured in the past few months on his quest for self-improvement. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that football might have made Darnell rich in material things, but the game had robbed him of the opportunity to use his intellect. Because Darnell was big, black, and strong, no one had bothered to discover that he also had a fine brain.
Darnell continued his praise of Captain Ahab all the way to the door of her hotel suite. She dreaded being alone with her thoughts and wished he didn’t have a curfew so she could invite him inside. Instead, she wished him good luck with a peck on the cheek. “Crunch some bones for me tomorrow, Darnell.”
He grinned and took off down the hallway in his size fifteen dress shoes. She sighed as she shut the door. Charmaine Dodd was a fool if she didn’t snatch him up.
The telephone rang. She unclipped one of her crystal earrings and sat down on the room’s chintz couch to answer. “Hello.”
“Where the hell have you been all week?”
The sharp crystal edges of her earring dug into her palm. She squeezed her eyes shut against the fresh wave of pain. “Hello to you, too, Coach.”
“I stopped by the house on Tuesday night so we could see each other before I left, but Molly said you’d already gone to bed. You were giving interviews when I called the office on Thursday and Friday, and there was no answer at your house last night. I’m coming up to your room.”
“No!” She bit her lip. “I’m tired. It’s been a hard week.”
“I need to see you.”
It didn’t take a crystal ball to figure out why. He wanted sex, a quick romp with the bimbo while his prospective bride remained untouched. “Not tonight.”
He was clearly exasperated. “Look, give me your room number. We have to talk.”
“Another time, Dan. I’m exhausted.” She took a shaky breath. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll see you on the sidelines.”
Her eyes glistened with tears as she set the receiver back on its cradle. She hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on her door and walked over to the window where she stared out at the lights twinkling over Biscayne Bay.
She’d learned a lot from the players in the past few months. She’d learned that if you wanted to play the game, you had to be able to take the hits. That’s what she was doing now. She was taking the hits. Dan had given her a killing blow, but she wasn’t going to let him see the damage. Tomorrow, when she heard the music to “Ain’t She Sweet?”, she would hold her head high, wave to the crowd, and cheer on her team. No one would know that she was playing hurt.
The afternoon the Stars beat the Dolphins in the AFC semifinals, Ray Hardesty sat in the den with his .38 in his lap and wished he had enough whiskey left in the house to get drunk. In one week the Stars would be meeting the Portland Sabers in the AFC Championship. He tilted the bottle to his mouth and drained the last half inch, but even the fire in his throat didn’t burn as hot as his rage. The Stars had never made it this far when Ray Junior was on the squad, and now they were going without him.
With a garbled, barely human sound, he flung the bottle across the room. It crashed into a trophy shelf and shattered, but he didn’t worry about the noise because there was no one around to hear it. After a marriage that had lasted for three decades, Ellen had left him. She’d told him he’d been acting crazy and he needed to go to a psychiatrist or something. Fuck that. He didn’t need to go to any psychiatrist. He just needed to get even with Dan Calebow.
After the Chargers game, he’d thought about killing Calebow. He’d eventually rejected the idea, not out of scruples, but because Calebow’s death wouldn’t necessarily guarantee a Stars’ loss. He needed something foolproof. He wasn’t rich enough to bribe anyone. Besides, the players made too much money these days to be susceptible, and most of the refs were honest. He wanted guarantees.
Phoebe Somerville appeared on the television screen. Last week he’d been hiding in the woods next to Calebow’s house when the coach had brought her home. The bedroom lights had gone on less than half an hour later. He’d been spying on them for months now, borrowing cars so Calebow wouldn’t spot him, and he knew their relationship was no longer casual. Although he’d filed the information away, until now he hadn’t known what to do with it.
The idea that had been slowly taking shape in his mind was both complex and amazingly easy. He’d probably be caught, but by then it would be too late, and he didn’t care what happened to him anyway. Only one thing mattered. Keeping the Stars from winning the AFC Championship.
On television, Phoebe Somerville’s interview had ended and the cameras returned to the Stars’ coach. Ray lifted his .38 and blew out the screen.
Dan had been through the media blitz that surrounds championship games as a player, but never as a coach, and he decided it was a good thing he’d learned to survive without sleep. Even so, by the time he freed up a few hours late Tuesday afternoon following the Stars’ victory over the Dolphins, he was definitely punchy. He was also mad as hell at Phoebe.
As he pulled into her driveway and got out of his car, he decided the first thing he was going to do when he finally got hold of her was to kiss her. Then he was going to give her a piece of his mind. He knew exactly how busy she was, but so was he, and she could have squeezed in ten minutes sometime during the last two days to talk to him. Both of them had been under a lot of pressure, but that didn’t mean they should shut each other out. She hadn’t even flown home with the team Sunday night, something he’d been looking forward to. The last time he’d seen her was in the locker room after the game when Ron had brought her down to congratulate the team.
Phoebe’s housekeeper, Peg, let him in as she was getting ready to leave for the day. He dropped his coat over the banister and heard high-pitched squeals coming from the back of the house. At first he didn’t recognize the sounds, not because they were so unusual, but because they were so unexpected.
Pooh trotted out to greet him. With the dog at his heels, he made his way through the living room, then came to an abrupt stop as he reached the archway that led into the kitchen. What he saw there nearly knocked him off his feet.
“I want to do it, Phoebe!”
“It’s my turn!”
“Mine!”
“Hush! You can both do it, you little stinkers. Here’s a knife for each of you. That’s the way, Jared. Good job, Jason. A little more icing on the side. No, Jared, don’t lick it until we’re—Oh, well, what are a few germs between friends? Right, pal?”
Jesus. He knew it wasn’t just lack of sleep that was making his eyes sting, but emotion. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life than Phoebe icing that ugly-looking cake with those two little towheaded boys kneeling on chairs beside her.
She didn’t look at all like the mother of his imagination. Her man-killer fingernails were painted vampire red. Big gypsy hoop earrings played peek-a-boo with her calendar girl hair, and at least three bracelets clinked on each of her wrists. She had on an oversized Stars’ sweatshirt—she’d gotten that part right, at least—but instead of wearing it with some nice jeans like mothers were supposed to, she had on the tightest, slinkiest pair of gold stretch pants he’d ever seen in his life.
No, she didn’t look like anybody’s mother, but those two little boys with chocolate smeared all over their faces obviously adored her. And so did he, with all his heart. He pictured her showing up for their kids’ PTA meetings decked out in red satin and rhinestones, but instead of dismaying him, the idea filled him with pleasure. She’d marry him. Of course, she would. As he watched her, he refused to let the shadows of his childhood give him any doubts. A woman didn’t break a fifteen-year sexual fast with a man she didn’t love.
“Sing that song again, Phoebe,” one of the children demanded while Pooh licked up the chocolate crumbs on the floor beneath the table.
“Which song?”
“That one about monsters.”
“The werewolf song?” As the boys nodded, Phoebe launched into a spirited rendition of Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London,” accenting the beat by swinging those amazing hips of hers. God, she was beautiful, and as he watched her, he felt an odd sense of peace. He couldn’t imagine anything better than spending the rest of his life with her.
She swept the twins off their chairs to dance, her back still turned toward the doorway. He watched her wiggle to the rhythm, and he smiled when the boys tried to imitate her. She swung them around, then froze as she saw him.
“Don’t let me stop the party,” he said with a grin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Peg let me in as she was leaving.”
The boys started to squirm and Phoebe released them. “I’m afraid you’ve got me at a bad time.”
Jared tugged on her hand. “The cake’s all frosty now. Can me and Jason have a piece?”
“Of course. Let me get some plates.”
Her hands were clumsy as she pulled the plates down. She saw that Dan had knelt in front of the boys so they were at eye level. Lines of fatigue were etched in his face, but she didn’t permit herself to feel any sympathy. Keeping up with two women at the same time was undoubtedly exhausting. She blinked her eyes against a fresh flood of pain.
“That cake looks mighty good, fellas. You make it?”
“Peg maked it,” Jared replied.
“But Phoebe let us put frosty on it,” his twin added.
“Chocolate,” Jared explained unnecessarily, since it was decorating most of his face.
Dan chuckled, and the sound ripped through Phoebe’s heart. She quickly placed a wedge of cake on each of two plates and set them on the cluttered table.
Dan stood to watch the boys scramble for their chairs. “Yessirree, that cake sure does look good.”
Jason didn’t let the fact that his mouth was already full stop him from talking. “The man wants some, Phoebe.”
She tried to keep her voice light. “Not such big bites, killer. You’ll choke.”
Molly burst into the kitchen. “I’m home! Hi, guys. Hi, Coach.” She gave each twin a pat, leaned down to get a kiss from Pooh, who’d jumped up on her, then regarded Phoebe cautiously. “Did Peg tell you what happened?”
“She said you had a meeting.”
“There was a problem in the writing lab, and Mrs. Miller wanted to talk to us about it. Thanks for watching the boys.” She made the statement begrudgingly.
Phoebe rinsed the frosting from her hands and dried them on a dish towel while Molly fussed over the twins. Dan came up behind her.
“Now that you can pass guard duty over to Miz Molly, what do you say we take a walk?”
“It’s too cold outside.”
“Shoot, that’s good Chicago weather out there.” Not giving her a chance to protest further, he grasped her wrist and pulled her from the kitchen. She couldn’t engage in a struggling match with him in front of the children, so she went along with him until they had reached the foyer and were out of earshot.
“Let me go!”
For a moment he didn’t say anything; he simply studied her with guarded eyes. “Seems like I’ve been a little slow to catch on. I just thought you were busy this past week, but you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“We need some privacy. Get your coat.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine.” He gripped her upper arm and pulled her up the stairs.
“Stop it!” she hissed. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Too bad.” He led her into the bedroom and shut the door. Only then did he let her go, bracing his hands on his hips just as he did when he was standing on the sidelines. He had the same fierce expression on his face that she’d seen when he was about to do battle.
“All right, let’s have it. Why the deep freeze?”
She had tried to postpone this encounter, had even hoped to avoid it entirely, but she should have known that wouldn’t be possible. Dan wasn’t the type of person to avoid confrontations. She bit the inside of her cheek because, once she started to cry, she’d never be able to stop, and she couldn’t bear to have him see her break down like that.
“Are you mad because I didn’t call you right after we slept together? You know what’s been going on this week. I thought you understood.” He glanced at his watch. “Matter of fact, I’m short of time right now. We’ve got a coaches’ meeting at six.”
“You’d better hurry and get your clothes off, then.” She tried to sound tough, but there was a painful rasp in her voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sex. Isn’t that why you’re here? To knock off a quickie before your meeting?” The words hurt her beyond bearing.
“Shit. This is going to be one of those woman things, isn’t it? You’re pissed off, and I’m going to ask you why you’re pissed off, and you’re going to say that if I can’t figure it out for myself, you’re not going to tell me. Dammit, I don’t want to play games like this with you.” She could feel his anger building.
“Pardon me!” She jerked the bangles from one wrist and threw them to the bed, knowing that rage was a safer emotion to express than grief. “Let’s get to it, then.” She kicked off her shoes, sending them flying across the room. “Hurry up, Coach. You’ve still got your pants on.”
He closed the distance between them and caught her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Stop it! I don’t believe this. What’s wrong with you?”
She had broken her resolution to get through this confrontation with dignity, and she grew still in his arms. Taking a shaky breath, she spoke quietly. “I’m not going to sleep with you anymore, Dan. It was a mistake, and I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
He drew back so they were no longer touching. Although his voice lost its belligerent edge, there was a dangerous wariness in his eyes. “I know you care for me. You wouldn’t have slept with me if you hadn’t.”
“I met Sharon at the Bills game.” The guilty look that flashed across his face told her everything. “She’s very nice. You have good taste.”
“Sharon doesn’t have anything to do with the two of us. If you’re thinking I was sleeping with both of you at the same time, you’re wrong.”
“That’s what I understand. You had the best of both worlds, didn’t you?” Her voice caught. “You could get your rocks off with the bimbo while you kept your future wife pristine.”
Instead of being apologetic, he looked furious. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”
“It’s hard to think anything else.”
She could see him struggling to hold on to his temper. “I’d made arrangements for Sharon to come to the Bills game weeks ago, and I couldn’t call it off at the last minute. But I’m not seeing her any longer. I thought she was what I wanted in a woman, but then, after you and I were together last time, I knew I was kidding myself.”
The knowledge that he and Sharon had separated should have made her happy, but it didn’t. She needed to hear him say that he wanted more from her than sex, that he wanted love, and until he spoke the words, nothing could be right between them. Her voice was soft and unsteady. “Did you stop seeing her because she wasn’t hot enough for you?”
The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Don’t do this, Phoebe. Don’t start saying all kinds of things that can’t be taken back. I told you how screwed-up my own family was. For a long time I’ve been wanting to settle down to a real marriage—not just an ongoing orgy like I had with Valerie. I want kids.”
“So you held auditions for your future children’s mother, and Sharon won the baby ribbon.”
“It’s not hard to figure out why she appealed to me. I wanted somebody who liked kids, who wasn’t going to be slapping them around whenever my back was turned.”
“I see. Exactly whose mother was she supposed to be? Your children’s or yours?”
He flinched, but she felt no satisfaction in knowing she’d hurt him. She didn’t want that. She just wanted him to go away before she fell apart.
“That’s a rotten thing to say.”
“I guess it is. But I also suspect it’s true.”
His voice sounded hoarse. “Do you know that when I saw you with those kids downstairs, I was just about the happiest man in the world. For a few minutes today, I thought everything was coming together for us.”
He hesitated, and she suddenly knew what was coming. It was as if he’d already spoken the words, and although the room was warm, she felt chilled. Don’t say it! Tell me you love me instead. Tell me love is what you want from me, not just children.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’d never seen you with kids. For all I knew, you felt the same way about them as Valerie. But I saw how you acted with those boys, and it wasn’t hard to tell they’re as crazy about you as you are about them.”
Her whole body was aching. “Does this mean that I’m in the running now that Sharon’s out of the picture?”
“I don’t know why you’re putting it like that, but, yes, I think you’d make a terrific mother.”
She swallowed. “Am I in first place now or are there other women standing in line in front of me?”
He gritted his teeth. “There aren’t any other women.”
“So I’m the only candidate at the moment.”
“I haven’t had more than two hours of sleep a night for longer than I can remember,” he said tightly. “I’m running on junk food and adrenaline, and I’m not going to apologize for wanting to marry you.”
Of course he wanted to marry her. They were great together in bed, he knew she wouldn’t abuse his children, and there was a possibility she’d give him the Stars as her dowry.
Until that moment, she had forgotten about Reed’s sly insinuation, but now it came rushing back. The room began to spin. She struggled to speak. “This sudden desire of yours to marry me . . .” She cleared her throat. “Is it just because you saw me with the twins or does it have anything to do with the fact that I’m only one game away from owning the Stars?”
He went completely still, his face going pale. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”
“We’ve known each other for months, but this is the first time you’ve indicated that you want anything more than sex from me. Is that what today’s all about? Are you laying the groundwork for a real marriage proposal in case the team wins on Sunday?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”
She gave a choked laugh. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about what a catch I’d be. If the Stars win, whoever marries me will be getting big breasts and a great football team. I’m every man’s fantasy.”
His face was rigid. “Don’t say another word.”
“You’d be the envy of all the coaches in the league.”
“I’m warning you. . . .”
“Will you still be this anxious to marry me if the Stars lose?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “What happens in that game on Sunday doesn’t have anything to do with the two of us.”
“But if you win, I’ll never be sure of that, will I? The only way I’ll know you’re sincere is if you lose and you still want to marry me.” Say you love me, Dan. Say you want to marry me because you love me—not because I excite you in bed or you want me to have your children or you covet my football team. Say you love me, and push all this ugliness away.
“I’m winning this football game.”
“Then we don’t have a chance,” she whispered.
“What are you trying to say?”
She was bleeding inside and she wanted the pain to stop. Her throat had squeezed so tightly shut she could no longer speak.
He regarded her with a flat, cold stare. “I’m not throwing the game.”
At first she didn’t understand what he meant. But as she took in the bleak expression on his face, she felt sick inside.
His voice was hard and furious, and she remembered that he hid all his stronger emotions behind anger. “I’ve played hard all my life, but I’ve always played clean, no matter how much temptation I faced. I’ve been offered money. I’ve been offered drugs and women. But I don’t throw games. Not for anybody. Not even for you.”
“I didn’t mean . . .”
His eyes flicked over her with contempt. Then he stalked out of the room.
She was only dimly aware of the passage of time as she sat on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped in her lap. She heard voices in the hallway when Molly took the twins home and then she heard her return a short time later. Pooh scratched at the door, but went away when she didn’t open it. She sat in the room and tried to put the pieces of herself back together.
At ten o’clock, she heard water running in Molly’s bathroom. She listlessly pulled off her own clothes, then slipped into her oldest bathrobe, finding comfort in its soft, worn fabric. There was a knock at her door.
“Are you all right, Phoebe?”
Under other circumstances, she would have been pleased that Molly had thought to inquire about her welfare, but now she merely felt empty. “I’ve got a headache. I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave for school.”
She wandered over to the window and pushed back the curtains to look down into the woods that ran behind the house. Tears clouded her eyes.
“Phoebe?”
She hadn’t heard Molly come in, and she didn’t want her here. Sooner or later she would have to tell her sister they were leaving Chicago, but she couldn’t do it tonight. “The door was closed.”
“I know. But—Are you sure you’re all right.” The light in the room went on.
She continued to face the window because she didn’t want Molly to see that she’d been crying. She heard the soft padding of Pooh’s paws on the carpet. “It’s just a headache.”
“You and Dan had a fight, didn’t you?”
“Dan and I are always fighting.”
“You tease each other, but you don’t really fight.”
“This wasn’t teasing, Molly. This was the real thing.”
There was a long pause. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know why you would be. You hate my guts, remember?” She knew it wasn’t fair to take out her unhappiness on Molly, but she was past caring. Pooh nudged at her ankles, almost as if she were reprimanding her.
“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”
Fresh tears clouded her eyes. “I need to be alone, okay?”
“You’re crying.”
“Just a temporary weakness. I’ll get over it.”
“Don’t cry. Dan would feel bad if he knew he’d made you so sad.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“I think you’re in love with him.”
She swallowed hard as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ll get over that, too.”
She felt a gentle hand on her arm. Her throat closed tight and something seemed to break apart inside her. Without quite knowing how it happened, she was in Molly’s arms.
Molly patted her arm and rubbed her back. “Don’t cry, Phoebe. Please, don’t cry. It’ll get better. Really, it will. Don’t cry.” Molly crooned to her just as she crooned to Pooh. Since she was several inches shorter than Phoebe, their position was awkward, but they held on to each other anyway.
Phoebe had no idea how long they stayed that way, but nothing on earth could have made her let her sister go. When she was finally cried out, Molly pulled away, only to return a few moments later with some tissues she’d fetched from the bathroom.
Phoebe sat down on the side of the bed and blew her nose. “It’ll be better tomorrow. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”
The mattress sagged as Molly sat beside her. Several moments of silence ticked by. “Are you pregnant?”
Phoebe looked at her with startled eyes. “Why would you think that?”
“A girl in my ancient history class is pregnant. I know it can happen, even to older people who are supposed to know about birth control and everything. If you are, I’m sure Dan would want to marry you, but if he didn’t—The two of us—” She spoke in a rush. “I’d help you take care of the baby. You wouldn’t have to have an abortion, or give it away, or raise it by yourself or anything.”
As Phoebe took in the intensity of her sister’s expression, some of her numbness disappeared, and she gave a watery smile. “I’m not pregnant. But thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”
Phoebe nodded and blew her nose. “I can’t help it. That was the sweetest thing anybody’s ever offered to do for me.” She gave a small hiccup. “I love you, Mol. I really do.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” Phoebe wiped at her tears.
“Even though I’ve been a brat?”
Phoebe smiled weakly. “A real brat.”
“Nobody’s ever loved me before.”
“Your mother did.”
“Really?”
“She loved you a lot.”
“I don’t remember her. Bert said she was a bimbo.”
Phoebe gave a choked laugh. “She was. So was my mother. Those were the only kind of women Bert married. He liked them blond, sexy, and not too smart. We got our brains from him, Mol, not from our mothers.” She pulled at the tissue in her hands. “But your mother was one of the sweetest women I ever met, and she loved you so much. I ran away when you were just an infant, but I still remember how she’d hold you for hours, even when you were sleeping, just because she couldn’t believe she had you.”
“I wish I remembered her.”
“She was a nice lady. She used to tell me stories about being a showgirl. So did Cooki, who was Bert’s second wife. They were both sweethearts.”
Molly was drinking in her every word. “Tell me about them.”
She sniffed and dabbed her nose. “Well, Bert found all three of his wives in Las Vegas. None of them started out with anything except good looks, but they were exceptional women. Sometimes I think bimbo is just another word men made up so they could feel superior to women who are better at survival than they are.” Pooh jumped up in her lap and she stroked her soft fur. “Instead of feeling sorry for themselves, all of Bert’s wives worked hard to make something of their lives. They survived bad men, lousy working conditions, bouts of bronchitis from skimpy costumes, and they did it with a smile. Your mother wasn’t bitter, not even when she figured out what kind of man Bert really was.” She gave Molly an unsteady smile. “You’ve got sequins and fishnet tights in your heritage, Mol. Be proud of it.”
Her sister, with her solemn face and splendid brain, was clearly entranced with the idea. As Phoebe watched her, a horrible thought flickered through her mind, driving out her own misery.
“You have photographs of her, don’t you?”
“No. I asked Bert a couple of times, but he said he didn’t have any.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask you!” Getting up from the bed, Phoebe went into her closet and returned a few moments later with one of the cardboard boxes she’d had sent from New York. While Molly watched, she turned out the contents on the bed to search for what she wanted. “I know it’s in here somewhere. Here it is.” She drew out the gold dime-store frame with a photo of Lara sitting on a deck chair by the pool holding a newborn Molly in her lap. Lara’s blond hair was tied back from her face with a floral scarf and she was smiling down at Molly, who was wrapped in a pink blanket.
She held her breath as she passed the photograph over to her sister.
Molly touched it gingerly, almost as if she were afraid it would dissolve in her hands, and stared down into her mother’s face. An expression of awe came over her. “She’s beautiful.”
“I think you have her eyes,” Phoebe said softly.
“I wish I’d known her.”
“I wish you had, too.”
“Can I have this?”
“Of course you can. I took it with me when I ran away. I used to pretend she was my mother.”
Molly stared at her, and then a sob slipped through her lips. This time it was Phoebe who held her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so awful. I was so jealous of you because Bert loved you and he hated me.”
Phoebe patted her sister’s hair. “He didn’t hate you, and he didn’t love me, either.”
“Yes, he did. He was always comparing me to you.” She slowly drew back so that Phoebe was looking into her tear-stained face. “He said that I gave him the creeps, and that I looked like I was going to faint every time he talked to me. He told me you always stood up to him.”
Phoebe drew her close again. “I didn’t stand up to him until I was a grown woman. Believe me, when I was your age, all I tried to do was stay out of his way.”
“You’re saying that to make me feel better.”
“Bert was a bully, Molly. He was a man’s man, in the worst way. He had no use for any woman who wasn’t either taking care of him or sleeping with him. That left out the two of us.”
“I hate him.”
“Of course you do. But when you’re older, you may learn to pity him instead.” As she spoke, she felt something let go inside her and she realized that her father’s rejection had finally lost its power over her. “Bert had two of the best daughters in the world, and he didn’t even care. I find that sad, don’t you?”
Molly seemed to be thinking it over. “Yes, I guess it is.”
As the winter moonlight made a pool on the carpet, their fingers met somewhere in the region of Pooh’s topknot.
They squeezed tight.
