Stone, Katherine by Pearl Moon

life through
shimmering emerald.
    "Maylene?"
    James's voice, though quiet, thundered in the silence. And his
tone, though subdued, demanded a reply.
    She needed more time. She wasn't ready to meet the gaze of the man
she'd believed she could trust. She crossed to a nearby teak-and-crystal table,
and, as she set the book on the tabletop, she wondered again if James had
betrayed her, so soon and with such cruelty.
    Maylene had no doubt James could be cruel. He'd need only permit a
sliver of the rage within to surface. Maylene knew all about cruelty born of
rage. For that horrible time between her discovery of the truth and the day,
nine years ago, when she left Hong Kong, she'd allowed such cruelty to surface
often. Allowed it? Yes, sometimes. Yes.
    In the beginning, of course, her hurtful words had come of their
own volition. At thirteen, her lack of control was understandable. As were,
perhaps, the words themselves. But there were other times, far too many to
forgive, when Maylene could have held her rage inside. Instead, she'd
lashed out at the mother she loved.
    Maylene wasn't a stranger to cruelty. She'd been its victim all
her life, the target of merciless taunts from classmates scornful of her
snow-white skin and dark-green eyes. It seemed unimaginable that she, of all
people, would ever intentionally hurt anyone. But there it was— cruelty —alive
and thriving within her. She'd wanted desperately to believe she'd been visited
by an evil spirit, a sinister phantom who'd chosen for its home her innocent young
heart. It was so tempting to hope the cruelty was distinct from her, an
unwelcome guest that would one day leave.
    But even at thirteen, Maylene was too grown-up to shift the blame.
The cruelty was part of her, an inheritance no doubt from her father. It had
been there all along, and now both she and her mother knew it.
    Maylene left Hong Kong believing she'd caused irreparable harm to
her relationship with the mother she loved. In London, as if in penance for the
outbursts that had destroyed so much, she imposed discipline on every aspect of
her life. She dressed impeccably, and wore her long black hair tightly
restrained. She made top grades, joined the most prestigious firm, worked
harder, better, longer, than her colleagues.
    Her emotions, too, were kept in check. Even when the pain felt too
great to endure, Maylene didn't permit hurtful words to escape her lips. Not
once. The cruelty remained within—directed inwardly—where it belonged.
    For nine years, Maylene had lived a life of rigid control, as
perfect as she could possibly be. No one had been observing her behavior. No
one cared. Yet perhaps there'd been some purpose to her penance—unknown
to her until, as she prepared to return to Hong Kong, a joyous idea took form.
Maybe she'd find the courage to ask her mother to forgive the unforgivable. And
if that day ever came, she'd offer Juliana a brave reassurance. I'm better now,
Mother. My anger—and my anguish—are under control.
    But were they? Even before seeing Allison's
photograph, the emotions evoked by being in Hong Kong were more powerful than
she'd expected. And now, as the worry that James might have betrayed her
triggered memories of long-ago betrayal, she felt terrifying whispers of rage.
    I'm under control, she told herself. I have to be.
    She turned toward the man who was quite capable of making his gray
eyes as hard and unreadable as granite. Their message now was crystal-clear.
James was concerned about her. What he'd told her was the truth. He'd
discovered Allison's book by chance, a simple accident of fate....
    "Maylene?" The question became a command. "Tell me
what's wrong."
    The actress within her found a little righteous indignation.
"This Allison Whitaker, she's an American, isn't she?"
    "Yes." Watching her carefully, James added, "And as
you've no doubt deduced from the title of the book, she's a Texan—another
Texan."
    "There wasn't a single British or Chinese photographer