Favourite Daughter

MONDAY

THREE DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION

3

6:30 a.m.

My foghorn alarm blares and jars me out of bed. I scamper to the bathroom to turn it off. Shaking fingers jab at my phone. This routine happens every morning. Normal people have a soothing alarm, not this blaring foghorn. But I’m not normal. I’m special. Even though the sound scares me to death every morning. It works, though. I’m awake.

I grab my toothbrush and turn on the water, quickly dampen it before turning the water off again. I’m not worried about California’s perpetual drought. After what happened last year, I’ve developed a fear of water, especially the vast, deep ocean surrounding us. Did you know water covers 71 percent of the surface of the earth? Oceans hold 96.5 percent of the earth’s water. The Pacific Ocean, my view, is the deepest ocean, reaching more than six and one-half miles deep. The California Current moves south along the west coast of North America. I shudder as I tap my toothbrush on the edge of the sink. I learned from the coroner’s office that if you drop something into the ocean north of here, it always drifts this way, even a body.

From the bathroom I glance at David’s empty, cold side of the bed. He’s left for work extra early this morning. But that’s fine. Today’s our coming-out party and he probably has to knock out some things before he can focus all of his attention on me, and Betsy and our remembrance for Mary.

I study my reflection in the mirror above my sink. Not bad. I’m sort of like an actress who’s been on sabbatical and is offered a part: she reluctantly takes it and wins an Oscar. There is work to be done but I can see the beautiful me in there. I slept in yesterday’s makeup. It’s mostly faded away, rubbed off on my pillow, most likely. Dark smudges hang under my eyes from worn-away mascara, but what’s new and a little alarming is the deepening web of wrinkles beside each of my eyes. Botox will get rid of those in an instant.

In the closet, I slip off my T-shirt and stare approvingly at my own body in the full-length mirror. I look a little thin, but you can never be too rich or too skinny. Mom loved to repeat that one. My stomach is flat, a feature that only departed from my physique about three months into my pregnancy with Betsy, and returned shortly after her delivery. And of course, my surgically enhanced breasts are exactly right, a little larger than necessary, but hey, go big or go home. If David and I were to go on one of those island vacations he loves, I could rock a bikini for old times’ sake. I try to imagine it, us, on vacation again. Me in a floppy hat, white bikini, skin warm from the sun, and David unable to keep his longing eyes off my body. He grabs me as we walk into our casita, whispering “gorgeous” in my ear as he pulls me to the bed. Yes, we’ll do that again, soon, perhaps in the new house.

I check the time. I need to hurry to be ready for my coffee date with Elizabeth. Once I’m showered, I enjoy putting on full makeup for the first time in a while. I take my time, and I’m pleased with the results. I pull on jeans—they’re baggy, but they’ll do for this morning’s activities—and a flattering white blouse.

I wait for Betsy in the kitchen, hoping for more mother-daughter time like we had last night. Sometimes I’m lucky and I catch her in the morning when she’s hungry or needs a water bottle to take to school. Most days, though, she exits through her bedroom door and rushes through the courtyard to her car before I even realize she’s gone, like her dad, the other mouse running from momma cat.

I can’t blame her. She doesn’t think about me, or my needs. I remember acting the same way with my own mother when I was ten. It’s a selfish phase most girls go through, and Betsy and I are enjoying an extra long, extra trying phase. It balances the fact Mary and I never had one. Sure, we had our disagreements, but not the ongoing war of disappointment and misunderstanding that Betsy and I seem to be locked in.

Last week, David walked into a huge fight between my daughter and me. It was after 11:00 p.m., far too late for Betsy to be out on a school night. I waited for her in a chair, outside in the dark, sacrificing my own comfort. I care about her and her curfews. When Betsy had finally walked into the courtyard, I had confronted her before she could sneak downstairs via the outdoor steps.

“Stop right there.” I stood up. I scared her and that made me smile.

“Oh my God,” Betsy yelled. “You would be out here like a freak. Leave me alone.”

“You smell like smoke. Where have you been?”

“I told Dad I had a bonfire tonight. You can’t keep treating me like I’m a child. I’m eighteen. Besides, if you had taken the time to have an actual conversation with Dad, he could have told you where I was.” Betsy backed away, heading toward the outside stairs, trying to escape to her room to get away from me, her mother: the person who gave birth to her, the person who gave her life.

“Who were you with? I want to know your friends.” The fact was Betsy never brought her friends home. I knew all of Mary’s high school friends, for years, and they all seemed to like me. Some of the boys liked talking to me more than they did Mary. But with Betsy, I only knew Amy, from middle school. After Amy moved away, Betsy didn’t bring anyone else home, no matter how often I pushed to meet her “group.”

Mary had told me when she was a senior, and Betsy was a junior, that Betsy was in a totally different crowd. Mom, we don’t overlap friends, not at all. I can’t really tell you more. That’s why I had to surprise her in the courtyard. I have to catch her when I can. She’s sneaky, my Betsy.

Last week in the courtyard, Betsy wasn’t just sneaky, she was mean. Her voice was cold, firm. “Your snooping is freaking me out. You need to cool it. I’m going to bed—don’t follow me.”

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, young lady!” I had yelled. Too loud. We’re all too close together here at The Cove. I can’t believe I raised my voice.

David stepped through the door from the garage at that moment. Mortified by my outburst.

“Jane, honestly. I heard you from inside the garage. What will the neighbors think?” He was mad at me, not worried about what Betsy had said or done. David still cares about the neighbors, still has friends in the neighborhood. Clients, too.

Betsy saw her chance for an exit. “Welcome home, Dad. Good night.” She smiled as he walked to her side.

“Good night, honey.” They hugged and she was gone.

I am very tired of this treatment. Instead of backing me up, supporting my good parenting, David had walked past me into the house, leaving me alone in the courtyard staring up at the stars piercing through the night sky like laser beams. Just then one of the palm trees in our courtyard shed its hull, something that happens at least once a year. The heavy wooden canoe-shaped beast landed with a bang a foot away from where I’d been sitting. I could have died.

But I’m a survivor. And I always win. Something Elizabeth will discover in ten minutes, the palm trees later this morning.

4

9:00 a.m.

Elizabeth is late but I’m fine with it. Gave me time to settle in, grab the corner table at Starbucks, order a small black coffee. Why can I never remember what I’m supposed to say for small? And why can’t I just say small? As I sip my coffee I watch the line of well-dressed women and men, and wonder which one of them is happy. Who is cheating on their spouse? Who is living a lie?

Have any of them given up a child for adoption and then pushed their way back into that child’s life? I mean, after the adoptive mother gave up everything and raised the girl as her own, cared for her, made her the woman she was, and then you swoop in for the easy part? For the glory? Who does that?

Elizabeth does. And there she is now, pushing through the glass door with an air of importance, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders. She’s wearing a white lab coat to enhance her doctor status and high heels. Sexy doctor status. Nice try, but you still have nothing on me. She spots me in the corner and I watch her lips purse. Is she nervous? I mean, when I visited her clinic in LA last year I didn’t really threaten her, although she seems to have taken it that way. Silly restraining orders. They don’t really do anything, do they?

I should have taken one out on her. She is the one who didn’t listen, she’s the one who never backed off. She lured Mary to her with an internship. Unforgivable.

She pulls the chair out across the table and sits, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Don’t you want anything to drink?” I ask. I’m not getting her anything, and the line is ten deep, but I’m being pleasant. I tuck my blond hair behind my ear, making sure my huge diamond studs sparkle in the sunlight streaming in over my shoulder.

“No. What do you want, Jane?” She folds her hands together on the table. Pity she’s never found a man. Maybe she isn’t interested in them, not that I care.

“I want you to get in your car and drive back to LA. You aren’t welcome here.”

Elizabeth smiles. “That’s funny. Mr. and Mrs. Harris invited me personally. You know I used to work for them. I’m part of the family in more ways than one.”

“This ceremony is for me, her mother, and David, her father, to say goodbye to Mary in front of our friends. Not for you, some servant, a housekeeper who had random sex and didn’t want the results. You act like you’re family but you’re just the help. I’m family, do you understand? I was nice, before, when Mary found you. I had to be. I didn’t want to upset Mary. But now Mary is gone. You have no hold over me, nothing.”

Elizabeth smiles, her face flushes. Good, she should be embarrassed, the slut. “You’ve never been nice to me, or to your daughter, from what I can tell. And you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? I know David allowed our daughter Mary to contact you, and unfortunately, you responded even though you promised to never have contact with the baby you gave up.” I take a sip of my coffee but I continue to stare at my nemesis.

“You’re still mad about that, aren’t you? As you know, Mary contacted me first. I did nothing wrong, and neither did Mary. It’s all just so small-minded of you.” She shakes her head at me like I’m a toddler about to be put in time-out.

I’d like to wipe that smirk off her face, or throw my coffee at her. But I won’t. “No, I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”

“You liked pretending Mary belonged only to you. But she was mine, too. I loved her. I just didn’t have the means to provide for her, not like David does.” Elizabeth sits back, takes a deep breath.

My mind is pinging, facts merging together, swirling around like the time does these days. But there’s something. “You mean like David and I do. He is my husband.”

“Yes, and Mary’s father, her biological father.” Elizabeth smiles.

The thing about the truth is you can see it when it’s revealed. Even if it’s been in front of you all along, even if you never, ever, wanted to see it. Oh my God.

“You didn’t.” I lean forward as she scoots her chair back.

“I’m not the one who was married. I didn’t do anything wrong. But I do feel a little bad for you, I mean, it was during your first year of marriage. Isn’t that supposed to be the golden year?” Elizabeth stands up. “Don’t worry. Mary didn’t know David was her real dad. We never told her. To protect her. And I suppose, to protect you.”

What? This is nonsense. She’s lying, she must be. This cannot be true. My head is swirling, heart pounding. I want to throw my coffee at her. I want to force her to stop talking. Force her to go away for good. I take a breath. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I? Mary’s gone now. I don’t care about you, or your petty jealousy. Mary was going to be a brilliant doctor, just like me. Her mom.”

I want to grab her by the neck and squeeze. I want her to stop talking. David was with her? Our first year of marriage? He has cheated on me before? And with her? A servant? I can barely breathe. I manage, “David wouldn’t do that to me. We were in love then.”

Elizabeth leans forward. “He was already regretting his choice. I really can’t blame him. You have control and boundary issues, Jane.”

“Oh, do I?” I hiss. I stand up, hands clenched in fists.

“You do. And besides, Mr. and Mrs. Harris were in love with the idea of a grandchild. You should have seen the way they pampered me, feeding me exquisite meals, buying maternity clothes for me. David was married, they couldn’t understand the delay, and meanwhile, I was pregnant. It all worked out.”

I take a step forward and I’m standing next to Elizabeth now. The air between us is toxic. “I didn’t want to get pregnant then. If I wanted to I would have.”

“Well, something made him turn to me.” She takes a step back. She’s leaving. But then she stops and says, “Look, Jane. It didn’t mean anything. It was a one-night stand. I was house-sitting for his parents. It was a mistake. Except it gave us Mary. All of us were blessed to know her, to have her in our lives.”

I’m shaking all over. If she comes to the ceremony I won’t be able to control my rage. I cannot have her there today. I won’t. It’s my new start. “Do not come to the ceremony. Do not or you will be sorry.”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You are a piece of work, threatening me again. This isn’t about you. It’s about Mary, and David and his parents, too. They asked me to be here, to mourn Mary. She’s my daughter, too.”

As she walks away I pick up my phone. My hands shake as I punch David’s number, and the call rolls to voice mail. “We need to talk. Now. Call me or come home.”

I sit down, trying to breathe. I will not allow this to ruin things, not now. No, I will get David back, and then we’ll discuss his further betrayal. For now, I will keep the peace, play my role. Once we’ve moved into our new house, he will pay for this.

5

10:00 a.m.

Tree service companies are so responsive, especially if you’re calling from The Cove and willing to pay double the typical fee because it’s an emergency. I called last week after my near-death experience and today here they are. The crew and I already had assessed the situation and they’d explained their strategy by the time David bursts into the courtyard, red faced and frantic.

He got my message, apparently. I’ve been ignoring his return phone calls, forcing him to come home. I won’t confront him about what I’ve learned from Elizabeth James. Not now. But still, he came home to me. That’s a good sign. He must be reminded of my power.

I give David a little wave and notice the shock on his face when he finally spots the guys, one climbing up each of the two trees. “What is going on here, Jane? What are you doing to our magnificent palms? What’s the emergency?”

“I’m getting rid of them. They’re a menace.” I put my hands on my hips and take a sip of my coffee. He grabs my shoulder. I shake his hand off.

He says, “They’re one of the primary assets of our home. We can’t replace them. They’re grandfathered in. They represent our two girls.” David talks to me as if I were a child. As if I care about what he is saying. As if I hadn’t already spent a half hour plotting the demise of his precious trees with the guys implementing the plan.

Above our heads I notice the men are listening to David instead of me. They stop climbing.

“Oh no you don’t. Keep climbing. I signed the papers. Cut them down now. I’ve already paid, signed on the dotted line. Do it,” I command. It feels good to hear the chain saws rev up.

“You’re destroying our home, the value,” David yells. I can tell he wants to say more but he shakes his head. It is loud, with the chain saws, hard to talk. I watch as he walks into the house and slams the door. Poor, pouting David. He doesn’t realize, even after twenty years, that I know what’s best for our family. Palm trees are killers. They have to go. Period. And I’m not the one destroying our home, dear.

I hurry inside the house, per the men’s directions, and listen as the chunks of palm tree crash to the ground in the courtyard. It’s satisfying knowing they are dying, knowing I won. I destroyed them first, before they could get me. That’s what winners, survivors do.

Back inside, I try to find my husband. I fight the urge to ask David about Elizabeth’s accusation. Maybe I’ll just ask him for a hug, for some reassurance about the ceremony this afternoon. I’ll demand that he make sure Elizabeth James does not attend. That’s the first step.

“David, we need to talk. The ceremony tonight has me all out of sorts. Let’s hug.” I stand near the front door and hold my arms out to him.

“You are unbelievable,” he says as he walks past me and out the door.

“Wait, we need to talk,” I scream after him, but he can’t hear me over the chain saws. It’s fine. If he had stopped, hugged me, I might have asked him if he is actually Mary’s biological father. I’m certain it isn’t true. What kind of man would cheat as a newlywed? Not David, not my David. As I watch chunks of palm tree drop to the ground, my stomach turns.

Of course it’s true.

I take a cleansing breath and walk to the kitchen. It’s fine that he ran out the door. He’s angry right now and he wouldn’t be fun to talk to about this newly realized betrayal. I will stick to my plan, reunite our family. And then we will have the important chat, once we’re settled in our new home.

I wonder if Betsy is home. If she passes through the kitchen, I’m ready to smother her with love. I walk to my desk and glance above my laptop at the invitation pinned to the corkboard:

JOIN US FOR A CELEBRATION OF THE LIFE OF MARY HARRIS

BELOVED DAUGHTER OF DAVID AND JANE HARRIS

BELOVED SISTER OF BETSY HARRIS

BELOVED GRANDDAUGHTER OF DAVID AND ROSEMARY HARRIS

5:00 P.M. AT THE COVE PRIVATE BEACH

PLEASE DRESS IN THE COLORS OF THE SUNSET

MONDAY, MAY 20TH

RSVP: KYLIE DORN

Most of the details of today’s event were handled by David’s assistant, Kylie Dorn, a spunky, sunny young woman with full, pouty lips and a waist to breast ratio like Barbie’s. I know she’s mostly man-made, but the guys don’t seem to mind. She draws the appreciation of all men she comes into contact with, much like I do. We have a lot in common.

I briefly wonder if she’ll be in attendance this evening, full lips pouting even more, breasts wrapped in the tight black fabric of feigned mourning. Oh, scratch that. The invitation directs us to wear the colors of the sunset. How cute. Of course she’ll be there.

Stupid Elizabeth is likely on her way back to LA by now. She’s afraid of me, and she should be. Good riddance.

I hear footsteps in the hall. Betsy walks into the kitchen wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and a frown. Her nose piercing taunts me, sparkles, challenging me to say something about it.

I swallow. “Good morning. Can I get you breakfast?”

Betsy’s face scrunches together with disgust as if she’s having an alien encounter. She wasn’t expecting me to be here. I enjoy surprising my daughters. It keeps them off balance.

She says, “No. I don’t eat breakfast. I thought you knew that by now.”

She’s so surly. Perhaps I should give her something to think about at school today, a little tidbit of juicy information for her to ponder during art class. “Did you know your father is Mary’s biological dad?” I ask.

Betsy’s disdain face has been replaced by something else. Her mouth drops open. She didn’t know.

“What are you talking about? Have you been drinking? Popping pills?” She throws her hands on her hips, ready to argue with me.

“No, of course not. I had coffee with Mary’s birth mother, you remember Elizabeth? Mary told you all about her.”

“So, that’s old news. You always told Mary she was adopted. I still don’t know why you made such a big deal about her wanting to meet her birth mom.” Betsy shakes her head.

She’s trying to act like this revelation doesn’t matter, that it isn’t true, but I can see the stress in her clenched jaw, her rigid posture.

“It is a big deal. All of it.” I know my voice is cold, hard.

Betsy takes a step back. “You’re lying about Dad, aren’t you?”

I fight a surprise burst of emotion threatening to choke my voice. “No, I’m not. We were married when he, well...” I cover my face with my hands, push tears from my eyes.

Betsy leans against the counter, deciding what to think.

I mumble, “I’m devastated.”

“Did Dad tell you this is true?” she asks.

“No.” I sob. “Haven’t talked to him yet. But it’s true. Your dad is a liar. I’m sorry.” I’ve needed a little leverage, something to force a space between them. I’ve found it.

“I have to go to school. I need to get out of here. It’s all screwed up, everything. I mean, when are you going to get rid of Cash’s dog bowl?” She points at the white porcelain bowl tucked under the kitchen island. The words—Love. Eat. Play. Cash.—are glazed in black block lettering on the side of the bowl.

Obvious change of subject, darling daughter, but fine, I’ll play. “Oh, does it bother you?”

“Kinda, yeah. He died six months ago.” Betsy yanks open the refrigerator, hiding her tears.

As if I didn’t know when he died. But I need to be patient and kind with her. It’s a hard day, the anniversary of Mary’s death. Learning your dad has cheated, fathered a baby who became your sister. It’s a lot. I remind myself I need to smother her with warmth and cheer and support. Besides, she’ll love the new house and we’ll just put all this nastiness behind us.

I say, “I can put the bowl away if it bothers you.” I flash her a big, fake beaming smile. My jeans are sagging and I yank them up on my waist.

Betsy closes the refrigerator. She holds a container of pomegranate seeds, a healthy choice. I’m proud. I always worry about her weight ballooning up. “You know what? It does. It bothers me. And that’s not the only thing wrong. I cannot believe I have to go celebrate Mary’s death today, like I don’t think about her, miss her, every single minute.”

I try to catch her arm but she darts past me, stopping at the door to the kitchen, watching me.

Tears fill my eyes, running down my cheeks. “I miss Mary every minute, too. That’s why I care about you so much. You’re my only focus now. We’ll sit together at the ceremony, I’ll be there for you, Betsy. You can lean on me.”

My tears match Betsy’s. Poor girl. I’m the only parent she needs. I hope she confronts David for me. That would be much more satisfying. He’d be crushed by the disappointment. It’s so important to him to be the hero, Betsy’s perfect dad. Not anymore. Not ever again, it seems.

She wipes her face with her sleeve. “I can’t cry anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t listen to you and your lies. I have to go.” She’s gone, out the door before I can remind her to be home in time for the ceremony. I know she heard me, though. She heard the truth about her philandering father.

A text pops up on my phone: I’m here.

I glance at the time and can’t believe it’s already 10:45 a.m. Such a busy morning. I grab my purse and hustle through the almost tree-free courtyard and out to the street. Sam, my driver of sorts, jumps out of the front seat and opens the passenger door behind the driver’s seat.

His hair is brown and unruly. Always. As if he doesn’t own a comb. “Hey, Mrs. H.”

“Hi, Sam. I took your suggestion and finally did something nice for myself. I had a manicurist come by the house. What do you think?” I flutter the fingers of my right hand.

“Glad you did something nice for you for a change, instead of just taking care of everybody else like you tell me you do. You know, when you’re not sad.”

I slide into the back seat. He closes the door behind me and hurries to the driver’s seat. When he gets in I say, “Yes, motherhood is trying sometimes. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just finishing up the breakfast dishes. Betsy and I had a lovely meal together. She’s such a wonderful young woman, so sweet.”