Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [16]
“Ha! That’s enough, wise guy.”
“I think it’s good, I really do.” Ellen felt better saying it, and her chest knot loosened just a bit. “Be happy, Dad.”
“I love you, kitten.”
“I love you, too.” Ellen managed a smile.
“You gonna eat or what?”
“No, I’m waiting for the wedding cake.”
He rolled his eyes.
“So tell me what she looks like.”
“Here, I’ll show you.” Her father leaned over, slid a brown wallet from his back pocket, and opened it up. He flipped past the second plastic envelope, which had an old photo of Will, and the third, he turned sideways and set down on the table. “That’s Barbara.”
Ellen eyed the woman, who was attractive, with her hair in a short, classy cut. “Mommy!”
“Gimme that.” Her father smiled and took the wallet back.
“She looks nice. Is she nice?”
“Of course she’s nice.” He leaned over to put the wallet into his back pocket. “What do you think? She’s a jerk, that’s why I’m marrying her?”
“Are you going to move in with her, or is she moving in here?”
“I’m selling the house and moving in with her. She’s got a corner unit with a deck.”
“You gold digger, you.”
He smiled again, then leaned back in his chair, regarding her for a moment. “You know, you gotta move on, kid.”
Ellen felt the knot again. Time to change the subject. “I interviewed this woman whose husband kidnapped her children. Susan Sulaman, if you remember the story I did.”
He shook his head, no, and Ellen let it go. Her mother would have remembered the story. She’d kept scrapbooks of Ellen’s clippings, starting with the college newspaper and ending three weeks before she died.
“Anyway, Susan thinks there’s an instinct that mothers have about their children.”
“Your mother had that in spades.” Her father beamed. “Look how good you turned out, all because of her.”
“Hold on, let me show you something.” Ellen got up, opened her purse, and extracted the photo of Timothy Braverman as a baby, then handed it to her father. “How cute is this baby?”
“Cute.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“What am I, stupid? It’s Will.”
Ellen stood over him as if suspended, not knowing whether to tell him. He and Sarah had both mistaken Timothy for Will. She felt funny about it, and not good funny. It made her uncomfortable. She realized now why she was missing her mother so much. She could have told her mother about Timothy Braverman. Her mother would have known what to do.
“He’s grown up a lot since then, hasn’t he?” her father asked, holding up the photo with unmistakable pride.
“How so? I mean, what differences do you see?”
“The forehead.” He circled the area with an index finger knotted from arthritis. “His forehead got a lot bigger, and his cheeks, they’re full now.” He handed her back the photo. “He just grew into his face.”
“He sure did.” Ellen lied more easily than she thought, for a bad liar. She folded the paper, put it back inside her purse, and sat down, but her father was looking reflective, pouring them a glass of tea.
“You were like that, too, just like that. When you were little, your face was so wide. I used to say you looked like a salad plate. Will’s the same way. He gets it from you.”
“Dad, he’s adopted, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Her father laughed. “You’re such a good mother, I always think you’re his real mother.”
Ellen let that go, too. She usually felt like Will’s real mother, until someone told her she wasn’t. But she knew what he meant.
“You got that mother instinct from your mother. You’re every inch her daughter. That he’s adopted, it doesn’t matter. That’s why we keep forgetting. It’s like proof.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Ellen nodded, oddly grateful.
But then again, Don Gleeson could sell anybody anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Ellen finally got home and closed the front door behind her. “How is he?” she asked Connie, keeping her voice low.
“Hanging in. I gave him Tylenol at two.” Connie checked her watch. “He’s been asleep since four.”
“Did he eat?” Ellen shed her coat and hung it in the closet as Connie reached for hers, the domestic changing of the guard.
“Chicken soup and crackers. Flat ginger ale.