“His brothers thought that I was responsible for what had happened to him,” he went on heatedly. “It put me in a terrible position. What Osterman did to those people was despicable, but I was a victim, too, Edith. And Helix, and the Parrish Foundation. And when I think of what Osterman did to you at the Haven…” His mouth tightened with disgust. “God. Whatever happened there sparked these delusions of yours. If I had any idea what that man truly was, I would never have allowed him near you! I failed to protect you, Edith. I have to live with that, too. And it is not easy for me, believe me.”
She stared at him, startled and moved. A flash of what seemed like genuine concern for her. Wow. That was rare. And precious.
Laying aside the fact that the delusions were not delusions, but whatever. Laying aside the fact that she had told her father when she was fourteen that Osterman was crazy and evil, but Charles Parrish was not one to take the word of a depressed, underachieving fourteen-year-old girl over that of a distinguished scientist who was generating profitable patents for Helix. But whatever. Let bygones be bygones.
She reached out, impulsively, and touched her father’s hand.
Charles Parrish’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to yank it back and was forcing himself to leave it, by brute effort of will.
“One of the reasons that I’m retiring is because of that,” he said stiffly. “I want to dedicate myself to administering the funds of the Parrish Foundation in a conscious, ethical way, which involves scrutinizing everything that is done with that money. Nothing will ever slip by me again. I will monitor every single goddamned penny of it.”
She squeezed his hand. “Good for you, Dad.”
He harrumphed. “There was something I wanted to ask you. You’re aware, of course, that my retirement reception is in six weeks. I would like you to attend the banquet. Your mother would have liked for you to be there, with Ronnie. To represent the family.”
Edie wasn’t so sure of that, but saw no profit in saying so. Her mother had been even more embarrassed by her clumsy, unpredictable daughter than her father had. She stared at his handsome, patrician face in the light of the flickering candle. He looked ten years younger than his sixty-four years. Fit, elegant, hair silvering at the temples.
I’ll come to the reception if you and Ronnie come to the book signing. The suggestion hovered, at the tip of her tongue…and she swallowed it back. She didn’t have that kind of bargaining power. It would just touch off another ugly outburst, and she didn’t have the energy for it.
Besides. If Ronnie would be at that banquet, that was reason enough to grit her teeth, don an evening dress and heels, and go.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “I’d be proud to be there for you.”
“Good. You’ll consult with Tanya and your Aunt Evelyn about your dress and hair,” he added sharply, his eyes raking her critically. “And your shoes, of course.”
“Of course.” Edie forced herself to sit up straighter. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Her wavy mane was clean and brushed. The horn-rimmed glasses obscured her eyes, and she liked it that way. Her high-tops were comfy. She was what she was, ink stains and all. “If Tanya and Aunt Evelyn have time to shop with me, I’ll be glad to—”
“They’ll make time. If not, I’ll have Marta help you.”
She kept her face carefully blank at that unspeakable idea. Shopping for an evening gown with her father’s blond, perfect thirty-six-year-old trophy girlfriend, previously his secretary, was her idea of hell. She supposed she should be glad her father had some comfort in his bereavement, if only there were something real behind Marta’s bright, lipsticked smile, but there wasn’t. Just the grinding gears of a calculating, self-interested machine. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “Please, don’t bother Marta.”
“See that it’s not.” Her father looked down at her hands, frowning at the ink stains on her fingers. “You will have a manicure before the reception? Let’s not have people thinking you work in a garage.”
Edie snatched her hand back. “Of course,” she said.
The waiter arrived with her goat cheese, pine nut and arugula salad, and her father’s swordfish filet. After a few bites, Edie laid down her fork and dabbed her napkin to her mouth. “Dad. I was wondering if I could come home this weekend, and spend some time with Ronnie.”
Her father frowned. “You know the answer to that. I’ve established my terms. Dr. Katz told me you’ve missed your sessions with him for weeks now. I assume this means you’re being noncompliant with your meds. So why even ask? It’s a waste of both our time and energy.”
She gulped. “I don’t need the meds. I feel completely calm and—”
“Edie. You have hallucinations.” There was a savage edge to her father’s voice. “You are a danger to your sister, and to yourself!”
She wanted to screech loud enough to shatter glass. She gulped it back. “Dad, it’s not like that. They’re not hallucinations. They’re—”
“Keep your voice down! Does everyone have to know?”
Edie pressed her hand to her shaking mouth. No. Crying.
“Your sister is already stressed from your mother’s death,” her father raged on, his voice hushed. “Your abandonment is the final—”
“Abandonment? That’s not fair!” The words burst out. “I never abandoned her! I would do anything to see her! You know that!”
“Shhh!” He glared at her, eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. “She’s acting out lately. We had another incident, with her firecrackers. She ordered them over the Internet, had the packaging disguised as books. Dr. Katz thinks she’s punishing me. Showing me how explosive and destructive her rage is. The last thing Ronnie needs now are further examples of mental imbalance and rebellion. You oppose me at every turn, out of habit. Ronnie does not need to see it.”
I oppose you because I have to, Dad. To survive.
Edie didn’t say it. Her father would see the words as a spiteful blow. He could not hear the anguished truth behind them.
Poor Ronnie. She wasn’t acting out with her firecrackers. She just loved things that spat bright-colored sparks and went bang. It was her bizarre karma, like Edie’s, to be born into the straitlaced Parrish family.
“Would you mind leaving this subject?” her father asked. “It’s ruining my meal.”
Edie nodded, and pushed the remaining salad around on her plate. The heavy silence was broken only by the clink of cutlery.
When they were almost finished, she saw the arrogant young man from the couple nearby striding past their table. He’d said his piece, and he was beating hell out of there. Edie glanced over at the girl. Her eyes were streaming. Her hand was pressed against her mouth. She looked like she needed to vomit, or cry. Or both. Soon.
The girl got up, lurched toward the bathroom. Edie’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm as she passed. “Wait,” she said.
Her father gasped. “Edie!” he hissed. “For God’s sake—”
