stoic as Gram is bound to be
upset when threatened with losing her husband." There was another silence.
"You think I should come back to Baltimore, don't you?"
"That's
your decision. I just didn't want you not to hear he was ill until ... until it
was too late."
Rainey
sighed. "It was always too late for me and my grandparents. They think I'm
the bad seed. In two days, I have to be in New Mexico to begin shooting, and
I'm up to my ears in last-minute crises. What would be the point of visiting?
Will I have a touching deathbed reconciliation with my grandfather?"
"Not
likely. That sort of thing is more Hollywood than real life. But ... I think you
should probably come, because if you don't and he dies, you'll almost certainly
regret not doing it. Your grandparents had all of the warmth of frozen cod, but
they weren't evil. In their way, they did the best they knew how."
"Damn
you, Val," Rainey said, voice unsteady. "I'll bet you're lethal when
you argue a case in court. Very well, I'll come--I can work on the trip so it
won't cost me too much time. But you have to let me stay with you. I'm going to
need a friendly face if I'm visiting the grandparents."
"You
know you're always welcome here, Rainey. I'll pick you up at the airport."
"No
need--I'll call a car service." Rainey's voice lightened. "At least
I'll be able to see you and Kate and maybe Rachel, so there are
compensations."
"See
you soon, then." Val hung up the phone. It would be nice to have her
friend in Baltimore, but this was the wrong reason.
Rainey should have
been working on her laptop computer as the hired town car carried her directly
to the suburban hospital where her grandfather was being treated, but her
concentration evaporated as soon as her plane landed. Her mind kept going to
the first time she'd flown into Baltimore, when she was six years old.
After
Clementine's spectacular rise and tragic death, it was the Marlowes who'd
inherited her illegitimate daughter, father unknown and legal name Rainbow.
Rainey had been put on the plane in Los Angeles as an unescorted child, and a
warm-voiced flight attendant looked after her during the long flight.
The
trip took her from summer to winter both physically and metaphorically. Icy
February winds shook the jetway as the attendant led her into the terminal, but
far colder were the expressions of the Marlowes as they collected the
granddaughter they'd never met. Clutching a white teddy bear, Rainey stared at
her grandparents, not quite believing that she now belonged to these people.
Both were lean and erect, with lines of permanent disapproval marking their
faces.
"She
has red hair, like her mother," William said with a frown.
"Not
quite as red. That's something," his wife replied. "She doesn't look
much like Clementine. Such a skinny little thing. I wonder who her father
was."
Rainey's
eyes filled with tears as she hugged her bear tighter. A sign of affection from
one of the Marlowes would have won her heart forever, but all she got was a
terse, "Come along, child. We'll take you home now." Virginia glanced
at her husband. "I can't call her by that outlandish name her mother gave
her."
And
she hadn't. For as long as she lived with them, Rainey had been you or her to
her grandparents. Her first weeks in Baltimore, she cried herself to sleep
every night.
As
an adult, she'd come to respect their fairness. They wanted her no more than
she wanted them, but they had been conscientious. She'd been well-fed and
well-clothed and never physically abused even when she was in her rebellious
high school years. And luckily, they'd enrolled her in the local Quaker school,
where she would get a good education with the moral grounding they thought she
needed.
At
Friends' School Rainey met the girls who had become her true family. She spent
more of her waking hours with Val and Kate and Rachel and Laurel than she did
with her grandparents. Slowly she'd learned to play, to laugh with her friends,
and to confide in
upset when threatened with losing her husband." There was another silence.
"You think I should come back to Baltimore, don't you?"
"That's
your decision. I just didn't want you not to hear he was ill until ... until it
was too late."
Rainey
sighed. "It was always too late for me and my grandparents. They think I'm
the bad seed. In two days, I have to be in New Mexico to begin shooting, and
I'm up to my ears in last-minute crises. What would be the point of visiting?
Will I have a touching deathbed reconciliation with my grandfather?"
"Not
likely. That sort of thing is more Hollywood than real life. But ... I think you
should probably come, because if you don't and he dies, you'll almost certainly
regret not doing it. Your grandparents had all of the warmth of frozen cod, but
they weren't evil. In their way, they did the best they knew how."
"Damn
you, Val," Rainey said, voice unsteady. "I'll bet you're lethal when
you argue a case in court. Very well, I'll come--I can work on the trip so it
won't cost me too much time. But you have to let me stay with you. I'm going to
need a friendly face if I'm visiting the grandparents."
"You
know you're always welcome here, Rainey. I'll pick you up at the airport."
"No
need--I'll call a car service." Rainey's voice lightened. "At least
I'll be able to see you and Kate and maybe Rachel, so there are
compensations."
"See
you soon, then." Val hung up the phone. It would be nice to have her
friend in Baltimore, but this was the wrong reason.
Rainey should have
been working on her laptop computer as the hired town car carried her directly
to the suburban hospital where her grandfather was being treated, but her
concentration evaporated as soon as her plane landed. Her mind kept going to
the first time she'd flown into Baltimore, when she was six years old.
After
Clementine's spectacular rise and tragic death, it was the Marlowes who'd
inherited her illegitimate daughter, father unknown and legal name Rainbow.
Rainey had been put on the plane in Los Angeles as an unescorted child, and a
warm-voiced flight attendant looked after her during the long flight.
The
trip took her from summer to winter both physically and metaphorically. Icy
February winds shook the jetway as the attendant led her into the terminal, but
far colder were the expressions of the Marlowes as they collected the
granddaughter they'd never met. Clutching a white teddy bear, Rainey stared at
her grandparents, not quite believing that she now belonged to these people.
Both were lean and erect, with lines of permanent disapproval marking their
faces.
"She
has red hair, like her mother," William said with a frown.
"Not
quite as red. That's something," his wife replied. "She doesn't look
much like Clementine. Such a skinny little thing. I wonder who her father
was."
Rainey's
eyes filled with tears as she hugged her bear tighter. A sign of affection from
one of the Marlowes would have won her heart forever, but all she got was a
terse, "Come along, child. We'll take you home now." Virginia glanced
at her husband. "I can't call her by that outlandish name her mother gave
her."
And
she hadn't. For as long as she lived with them, Rainey had been you or her to
her grandparents. Her first weeks in Baltimore, she cried herself to sleep
every night.
As
an adult, she'd come to respect their fairness. They wanted her no more than
she wanted them, but they had been conscientious. She'd been well-fed and
well-clothed and never physically abused even when she was in her rebellious
high school years. And luckily, they'd enrolled her in the local Quaker school,
where she would get a good education with the moral grounding they thought she
needed.
At
Friends' School Rainey met the girls who had become her true family. She spent
more of her waking hours with Val and Kate and Rachel and Laurel than she did
with her grandparents. Slowly she'd learned to play, to laugh with her friends,
and to confide in
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