Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [89]
“NO!” Julianne’s hands slammed into Genna’s chest. “You’re making this up! Why are you making this up?”
She began to cry, punching out at Genna, then at Jayne, who rushed to help subdue the young girl.
“You are lying! My mother is dead! She is dead!” She sobbed. “My father told me! He told me . . . he wouldn’t lie to me.”
They let Julianne sob and rail against them until she simply went slack, like a doll. Genna moved back into the seat next to her and cradled her in her arms until the girl could cry no more.
“We’re taking you to your mother, Julianne. I’m sorry we had to do it this way. I’m so sorry.” Genna rocked her gently. “But your mother has waited seven years to have you back, and it’s our job to take you there, do you understand?”
“Why would he do that?” Julianne’s whisper was almost inaudible. “Why would he lie about her? If she didn’t die, why would he take me away?”
Genna looked over Julianne’s head to Jayne and grimaced. She didn’t want to answer these questions, didn’t feel it was her job to tell the daughter that the father was an egotistic fool who’d kidnapped her rather than permit her mother the joy of watching her grow up. She wasn’t sure how best to phrase it.
Oh, hell, let the psychologists explain that part. I might end up doing more harm than good, Genna rationalized. “I’m not exactly sure.”
“I don’t believe you.” Julianne grew restless and pushed Genna away. “I don’t believe you. If my mother was alive, why wasn’t she with us?”
“Your parents divorced, Julianne. Didn’t you know that?”
“No, they didn’t.” Julianne’s face went dark. “They weren’t divorced. That’s how much you know. They loved each other. My daddy was so sad when she died. That’s why he took me away. That’s why he called me Rebecca. . . .”
Genna sighed deeply. She was in over her head, and she knew it. She looked to Jayne for help, but instead of words of wisdom, she got only a helpless shrug of the shoulders from her companion.
“Tell me what you remember about your mother.” Genna thought perhaps the best thing to do at this point might be to take the focus off Jules, for now. There was nothing she could say about the man that would help the situation now. Perhaps getting Julianne to talk about Mara might be the better path.
Julianne’s trembling hands lay in her lap, her fingers intertwined.
“She was pretty. She had long dark hair and a soft voice. She laughed a lot,” she said tentatively.
“What else?” Genna encouraged her.
“She sang to me. Played with me. She took me to school in the morning. When I came home we had lunch outside every day when it didn’t rain. I had a swing in the tree, and she pushed me. . . .” Her eyes shifted to one side, then appeared to focus on something Genna could not see. “Sometimes she sat on the swing and I sat on her lap and we swang together. We sang songs. . . .”
Genna watched Julianne’s eyes flicker, then fill with tears.
“I always missed her,” Julianne confided. “Daddy told me not to think about her, but I always did. . . .”
“You’ll see her soon,” Genna told her. “She’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”
Julianne gave her that look again, that look of not understanding what was said to her. She gazed out the window but did not speak again until the plane touched down at the small airport in Bucks County. A long black car waited just off the runway, and when Julianne was led off the plane by Genna, the back door opened and a pretty dark-haired woman stepped out.
Julianne stood on the third step from the bottom of the portable stairway and stared as the woman approached her. She walked slowly toward the plane, her face a study in joyful disbelief. As the tears began to roll down her cheeks, she opened her arms wordlessly, and Julianne hesitated for several very long moments before walking into the circle of her mother’s embrace.
Genna Snow blew out a long-held breath and looked over her shoulder at Jayne, whose eyes were wet. The hands of the two women touched briefly, then Jayne said, “Hey, we must be really important. We scored brass for a driver. . . .”
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