Eric Lustbader - First Daughter

"I'm alone with her in my mind," Jack persevered, "but when I try to-you know-nothing happens."

She dumped the rice into a serving bowl. "Now that's just not you."

"Right, not when I'm with you. But Scarlett, when I think about her-really think about her-well, it's too much. I'm wondering why the hell a goddess like that would be with me. Then the fantasy goes up in smoke."

She stared intently at the steaming rice. Her cheeks were flushed. After a time, she seemed to find her voice. "You think I'm as beautiful as Scarlett Johansson?"

If he said yes, what would she do? He didn't know, so he said nothing, even when she turned her head to look at him. Instead, he got up, rather clumsily, and helped her serve the food.

They sank back down into their respective chairs. Wordlessly, she handed him the carving utensils and wordlessly he took them, parting the breast from the bony carcass, as he always did. Sharon served them both, first slices of the chicken, then heaping spoonfuls of rice, and broccoli with oil and garlic. They ate in a fog of self-conscious silence, sinking deeper and deeper into their own thoughts.

Finally, Sharon said, "You're feeling okay now?"

Jack nodded. "Fine."

"I thought…" She put her fork down. She'd hardly eaten anything. "I thought maybe after the hospital you might call."

"I wanted to," Jack said, not sure that was the truth. "There's something I want to tell you."

Sharon settled in her chair. "All right."

"It's about Emma."

She reacted as if he'd shot her. "I don't-!"

"Just let me-" He held up his hands. "Please, Shar, just let me say what I have to say."

"I've heard everything you need to say about Emma."

"Not this you haven't." He took a deep breath, let it out. He wanted to tell her, and he didn't. But this time seemed as good as any-better, in fact, than any of their recent meetings. "The fact is-" He seemed to have lost his voice. He cleared his throat. "-I've seen Emma."

"What!"

"I've seen her a number of times in the past week." Jack rushed on at breakneck speed, lest he lose his nerve. "The last time she was sitting in the backseat of my car. She said, 'Dad.'»

Sharon's expression told him that he'd made a terrible mistake.

"Are you insane?" she shouted.

"I tell you I saw her. I heard her-"

She jumped up. "Our daughter's dead, Jack! She's dead!"

"I'm not saying-"

"Oh, you're despicable!" Her brows knit together ominously. "This is your way of trying to weasel out of your responsibility for Emma's death."

"This isn't about responsibility, Shar. It's about trying to understand-"

"I knew you were desperate to crawl out from under your guilt." Her wildly gesticulating hands knocked over her wineglass. Then she deliberately knocked over his. "I just didn't know how desperate."

Jack was on his feet. "Shar, would you calm down a minute? You're not listening to me."

"Get out of here, Jack!"

"C'mon, don't do that."

"I said get out!"

She advanced and he retreated, past the seashells and the colored glass, the postcards Emma had sent to them from school, the photos of her as a child. He scooped up his coat.

"Sharon, you've misunderstood everything."

This, of course, was the worst thing he could have said. She flew at him with raised fists, and he backed out the front door so quickly that he stumbled over the top step. She got to slam the door on him once again. Then all the downstairs lights were extinguished and he knew she was sitting, curled up, fists on thighs, sobbing uncontrollably.

He took a convulsive step up, raised his fist to hammer on the door, but his hand flattened out, palm resting on the door as if by that gesture he could feel her presence. Then he turned, went heavily down the steps, returned to his car.

JACK THOUGHT he was heading home, but instead he found himself pulling into Egon Schiltz's driveway right behind Candy Schiltz's Audi A4 Avant wagon. He got out, walked to the front door, pushed the bell. If Sharon wouldn't talk to him about Emma, maybe Egon would. Jack checked his watch. It was late enough that he was sure to be home by now.

Schiltz lived in the Olde Sleepy Hollow area of Falls Church. His house was a neat two-story colonial the family had lived in for decades. Schiltz had paid just north of $100,000 for it. Back in the day, that wasn't exactly cheap, but these days it was worth conservatively fifteen times that.

Molly came to the door, gave an excited shriek as he whirled her up and around.

"Molly Maria Schiltz, what is going on!"

Candy came bursting into the entryway, but as soon as she saw Jack, the look of concern on her face changed to a broad smile.

"Jack McClure, well, it's been too long!" she said with genuine pleasure.

He kissed her on the cheek as Taffy, their Irish setter, came bounding in, tongue lolling, tail wagging furiously.

"We've finished dinner," Candy said, "but there's plenty of leftovers."

"I just ate, thanks," Jack said.

While he and Candy went into the family room, Molly trooped upstairs to do her homework.

"I have cherry pie," Candy said with a twinkle in her eye. "Your favorite, if memory serves."

Jack laughed despite his black mood. "Nothing wrong with your memory."

Seeing no way out, he allowed her to bustle around the open kitchen, Taffy happily trotting at her heels. She was a statuesque woman with ash-blond hair and a wide, open face. In her youth, she'd been a real beauty. Now, in later middle age, she possessed a different kind of beauty, as well as an enviable serenity. She cut a slice of pie as generous as her figure, took a bowl of homemade whipped cream out of the refrigerator, piled on a huge dollop.

"Milk or coffee?" she said as she plunked the plate and fork down on the pass-through. Taffy came around, sat on her haunches, her long, clever face turned up to Jack.

"Coffee, please." Jack rubbed Taffy's forehead with his knuckles, and the dog growled in pleasure. He picked up the fork. "How many people is this portion supposed to feed?"

Candy, pouring his coffee into a mug she herself had made in pottery class, giggled. "I can't help it if I still consider you a growing boy, Jack." She padded over with the mug. She remembered he liked his coffee straight. "Anyway, you're looking far too gaunt to suit me." She put a hand over his briefly. "Are you getting along all right?"

Jack nodded. "I'm doing fine."

Candy's expression indicated she didn't believe him. "You should come over here more often. Egon misses you." She indicated with her head. "So does Good Golly Miss Molly."

"Molly's grown up. She's got her own friends now."

Candy pulled a mock face. "D'you think she'd ever stop loving her uncle Jack? Shame on you. That's not how this family works."

Jack felt as if he were dying inside. Here was a picture of his own family life… if only so many things had happened differently. "The pie's delicious." He smacked his lips. "Is Egon upstairs? I'd like a minute of his time."

"Unfortunately, no," she said. "He called to say he was staying extra late at the morgue, some kind of hush-hush government case. But you should go on over there. He'll be happy for the company. And you know Egon, he can lend an ear with the best of them."

Candy flattened down the front of her dress. "I wish you and Sharon would patch things up."

Jack stared down at the remains of crust. "Well, you know how it is."

"No, I don't," Candy said rather firmly. "You love each other. It's obvious even to a nonromantic like my Egon."

Jack sighed. "I don't know about love, but Sharon doesn't like me very much right now. Maybe she never will again."

"That's just defeatist talk, my dear." Candy put away the pie and washed the whipped cream bowl. "Everything changes. All marriages survive if both of you want it to." She dried her hands on a green-and-white-striped dish towel. "You've got to work at it."