Read Online Legacy of Secrets by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Adler
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were things he kept from me,” he said, meeting her gaze squarely. “The company’s finances were a complicated web with your father like the spider at the center.Only he knew the full facts and how out of hand it had all gotten. I was worried about certain things, but I never guessed how bad it was. He had never done that before and so I never suspected. Until it became obvious—the banks calling and so on. And by then it was too late.” He stared at her a little desperately. “Believe me, Shannon, if there had been any way to save the situation, I would have found it.”
“Of course you would.” She walked sadly away, noticing that her wet shoes made track marks across the hall tiles. Buffy would have hated that. The silver tray on the hall sideboard held a couple of letters and she picked them up disinterestedly. She thought sadly that it was amazing how little the phone had rung since her father died. And, after the first official flow of condolence letters, it was surprising how few people had contacted her. She supposed they were all afraid of being tainted with the Keeffe scandal.
One of the letters was a statement from her bank informing her that she had exactly three thousand two hundred and forty-six dollars in her account, and that they were holding in their vault the title deed to the small piece of property in her name in Nantucket.
Recognizing the writing on the other letter as Wil’s, she tucked it into her jacket pocket, smiling. Wil was the only bright spot on her horizon.
Tomorrow she intended to hitch the little trailer containing her worldly possessions to the back of her pickup and drive to New Haven. She would move in with Wil, then find herself a job in the town. And when Wil completed his studies next year, they would get married.
She glanced up at the sound of heavy feet tramping through the house. Workmen were rearranging the furniture in lots in different rooms and the house looked alien. She turned and hurried back along the hall, down the broad steps and across the wet lawns, along the avenue of plane trees to the lake.
It was raining hard, a gray, relentless day, but her space beneath the big willow tree at the edge of the lake was dryand safe. It was where she had always come as a child to lick her wounds, and she sat as she always had, knees hunched under her chin, arms wrapped around herself in her own soft green world. If she peeked between the fronds dipping into the shallows she could see the gazebo where her father had died, but instead she stared upward at the delicate tracery of branches.
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” she whispered. “Oh, darling Daddy. Was there nothing any of us could do to help? Nothing we could do to stop you? Did all our love and caring mean so little that you had to kill yourself?” She shook her head. She would never believe it. Never.
Pulling Wil’s letter from her pocket, she opened it, quickly reading the two brief paragraphs.
“Under the circumstances, I think it would be better if we ‘postponed’ our wedding…. I’ve decided to take a sabbatical at the end of this semester and take a trip to Australia, maybe work on a sheep farm. Dad says it’ll be good character-building stuff. I hope we shall meet again sometime, when I return.
…”
Shannon stared blankly at the letter. The diamond on her finger felt like a lead weight as the awful reality of her situation confronted her. She was no longer the pampered, courted, protected princess, a rich girl. No longer the wild, headstrong, do-as-she-pleased Shannon Keeffe everyone loved and wanted to know. She had nothing and therefore she was no one.
J.K. STARED WORRIEDLY after Shannon as she ran past him up the stairs. Her red hair was dark with rain and her freckles stood out against her chalky face. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks and she seemed not to see him, though he moved to one side to allow her to pass.
She stumbled on the landing and fell, and he took the stairs two at a time to
“Of course you would.” She walked sadly away, noticing that her wet shoes made track marks across the hall tiles. Buffy would have hated that. The silver tray on the hall sideboard held a couple of letters and she picked them up disinterestedly. She thought sadly that it was amazing how little the phone had rung since her father died. And, after the first official flow of condolence letters, it was surprising how few people had contacted her. She supposed they were all afraid of being tainted with the Keeffe scandal.
One of the letters was a statement from her bank informing her that she had exactly three thousand two hundred and forty-six dollars in her account, and that they were holding in their vault the title deed to the small piece of property in her name in Nantucket.
Recognizing the writing on the other letter as Wil’s, she tucked it into her jacket pocket, smiling. Wil was the only bright spot on her horizon.
Tomorrow she intended to hitch the little trailer containing her worldly possessions to the back of her pickup and drive to New Haven. She would move in with Wil, then find herself a job in the town. And when Wil completed his studies next year, they would get married.
She glanced up at the sound of heavy feet tramping through the house. Workmen were rearranging the furniture in lots in different rooms and the house looked alien. She turned and hurried back along the hall, down the broad steps and across the wet lawns, along the avenue of plane trees to the lake.
It was raining hard, a gray, relentless day, but her space beneath the big willow tree at the edge of the lake was dryand safe. It was where she had always come as a child to lick her wounds, and she sat as she always had, knees hunched under her chin, arms wrapped around herself in her own soft green world. If she peeked between the fronds dipping into the shallows she could see the gazebo where her father had died, but instead she stared upward at the delicate tracery of branches.
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” she whispered. “Oh, darling Daddy. Was there nothing any of us could do to help? Nothing we could do to stop you? Did all our love and caring mean so little that you had to kill yourself?” She shook her head. She would never believe it. Never.
Pulling Wil’s letter from her pocket, she opened it, quickly reading the two brief paragraphs.
“Under the circumstances, I think it would be better if we ‘postponed’ our wedding…. I’ve decided to take a sabbatical at the end of this semester and take a trip to Australia, maybe work on a sheep farm. Dad says it’ll be good character-building stuff. I hope we shall meet again sometime, when I return.
…”
Shannon stared blankly at the letter. The diamond on her finger felt like a lead weight as the awful reality of her situation confronted her. She was no longer the pampered, courted, protected princess, a rich girl. No longer the wild, headstrong, do-as-she-pleased Shannon Keeffe everyone loved and wanted to know. She had nothing and therefore she was no one.
J.K. STARED WORRIEDLY after Shannon as she ran past him up the stairs. Her red hair was dark with rain and her freckles stood out against her chalky face. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks and she seemed not to see him, though he moved to one side to allow her to pass.
She stumbled on the landing and fell, and he took the stairs two at a time to
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