“No, no . . . ,” Gabriel replied defensively. “Of course that’s not what I’m suggesting.” He went suddenly pale.
“That’s what my father thought,” I added. “It’s why he cut me off. And you know how I felt about that. I never believed for a second that Dean just wanted me for my money, and I still don’t. I never forgave my father for saying that.”
Gabriel raised his hands in surrender, understanding that it was a sore spot with me. “I just meant that if he was in love with you, he wouldn’t want to lose you.”
I tried not to let myself get worked up. The last thing I wanted was to create tension with Gabriel. It wasn’t fair, and I knew it.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said. “They’ll do the test and discover that he’s not the father, and maybe they’ll find a match with someone else that she was involved with. Someone with a criminal record.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure that’s what will happen.” I began to chew on my thumbnail.
Rose called up the stairs. “Mom? Can we have some popcorn?”
“I’ll go,” Gabriel quickly said. “You should rest.” He stood up and looked at the collection of memorabilia on the bed. “Would you like me to help you put this away?”
I stared at it for a moment. “No, I’ll do it.”
Gabriel seemed reluctant to leave, but when Rose called up a second time, he walked out to take care of her and Joel.
CHAPTER 27
OLIVIA
Two days before Christmas, a warm front moved across the state of New York. It rained steadily, which melted all the snow and caused flooding in the streets of Manhattan. Shoppers with boxes and bags skipped over puddles, and the snowman in our backyard was reduced to a small white blob on the grass, as if he had never been there at all.
A week had passed since the detectives came to the door, and we heard nothing. A few times, I considered calling Caroline Weaver to ask what she knew, but I resisted the urge because it was the holiday season, I was seven months pregnant, and I didn’t want to think about my first husband being a killer. It was totally incomprehensible to me, like something out of a bad dream, so I stuck my head in the sand and didn’t discuss it with Gabriel either. I did my best to maintain a sense of normalcy by baking sugar cookies and wrapping gifts, visiting friends, and singing Christmas carols at dinner parties.
On Christmas Eve, after Gabriel and I placed the toys under the tree and ate the milk and cookies that the children had set out for Santa, we went to bed to the sound of ice pellets striking our window as the temperature dropped rapidly.
By sunrise, the freezing rain had stopped, and the city was eerily quiet. I slipped out of bed and looked out the window. All the trees on our street were silver, cloaked in ice, and the sidewalk was a skating rink.
I glanced back at Gabriel, who opened his eyes briefly. “It looks slippery out there,” I told him.
“I’ll put salt out,” he replied, but he made no move to rise. He rolled to his side and fell back to sleep.
A few minutes later, after I brushed my teeth and pulled on my bathrobe, I heard Joel’s bedroom door open. He toddled out sleepily, and I took hold of his small hand. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
“Did Santa come?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been downstairs yet. Should we go and wake up Rose?”
“Okay,” he replied.
Together, we knocked on her door, and then I quietly opened it. She sat up in bed. “Is it Christmas?”
“Yes,” I whispered in the stillness of the dawn. “Go wake up your father.”
Rose tossed the covers aside and sprang out of bed. She and Joel dashed down the hall. Gabriel groaned as they dragged the covers off him.
“Wake up!” Rose shouted with delight, and the house was no longer quiet.
Joel mimicked her. “Wake up! Wake up!”
Gabriel covered his face with a pillow. “Can’t I be Scrooge today?”
Rose laughed and screeched. “No, you can’t be Scrooge! Get up, Daddy! Don’t be a lazybones!”
He threw the pillow aside and sat up. “Did someone just call me lazybones?”
“Yes!” She laughed hysterically while Joel bounced up and down on the bed.
“Then I must prove you wrong,” he replied. “Let’s go! Chop-chop! Go brush your teeth because those gifts aren’t going to open themselves!”
He rose from bed and pulled on his New York Yankees sweatshirt, which clashed with his green plaid pajama bottoms. The children ran past me in the doorway, and he stood for a moment, looking at me sleepily. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
For several seconds, I felt the weight of what hung between us—the question of what had happened to that young woman who was found dead in a New Jersey forest.
“I’ll make coffee,” I said, sweeping those thoughts aside for yet another day, because it was Christmas.
Gabriel scratched the back of his head and sauntered into the bathroom. I went to check on Rose and Joel. Then we all ventured downstairs to see what Santa had brought.
Later, after we opened our gifts and enjoyed a decadent feast of waffles, strawberries, and fresh whipped cream, I called Rachel.
“Merry Christmas,” I said. “Is this a good time? Did you finish opening all your gifts?”
“Oh yes, hours ago. Amelia was up at the crack of dawn. How about you? Was Santa good to you?”
I touched the gold necklace at my neck. “Yes. Gabriel gave me an elegant diamond pendant. I love it.”
We chatted for a few minutes about the gifts we received and of course the weather.
“Will you still go to your mother’s place for turkey dinner?” Rachel asked. “They’re calling for snow on top of all this ice. Thomas thinks we might lose power.”
“Let’s hope not. And we should be home before it starts anyway.”
Rose came upstairs from the basement. “Dad got the train set working!”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I replied, covering the mouthpiece. “I’ll come down as soon as I’m off the phone. I’m talking to Rachel.”
“Okay!” She disappeared back down the stairs, and I returned to our conversation. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries.” Rachel paused. “So have you told your mother yet? About you-know-what?”
I sat down at the table. “No. I’m just not up for hearing her say I told you so. You know how she always felt about Dean. I hate to say it, but I think she would actually take some pleasure in hearing about it.”
“Best to keep her on a need-to-know basis then,” Rachel replied. “Otherwise . . . I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”
“No.” I straightened the napkin holder and moved the salt and pepper shakers closer together. “Nothing yet. Gabriel said it could take weeks for DNA results to come back. Other than that, we haven’t talked about it much. We basically avoid the subject altogether.”
“Really? I’m surprised. You usually talk about everything.”
“Yes, but this is ugly. The thought of Dean having anything to do with that woman’s murder is horrendous to me. I know it’s not true, but either way, I don’t think Gabriel wants to listen to me defending Dean, which is probably what would happen.”