Tara Quinn - A Daughter's Story

Rose’s eyes looked sunken and her mouth hung open as she stared at Emma, at Emma’s lips, as though trying to decipher the words that had just passed through them.

“What are you saying? That Frank didn’t do it?” The words were a whisper, more movement than sound.

Shaking her head, Emma held on to the woman who’d raised her well, in spite of her heartbreak. “The driver’s testimony matched Frank’s testimony from twenty-five years ago word for word. He’s been exonerated.”

Rose’s eyes raised to meet Emma’s gaze. “Frank didn’t do it.”

“No, Mom.”

“I can’t…we…he was persecuted…”

And when investigators had failed to turn up enough proof to charge Frank with the crime for which he’d been arrested, he’d been run out of town like a low-life criminal, Emma silently filled in the blank Rose’s words left hanging.

And worse, they’d kept tabs on him, contacted school officials who might hire the ex-principal and coach, preventing Frank from getting a job in the field he loved so he wouldn’t harm another child. Rose and Emma had spoken openly at conference after conference, educating the public about child-safety issues, raising money for the search for missing children and talking about the man who still walked free.…

They hadn’t named Frank. That would have been illegal. But they’d introduced themselves. They’d talked about Claire by name. And anyone who’d wanted to know more could have found out anything they wanted. Including Frank’s name.

Frank and Cal had been kicked out of town—but first, they’d been kicked out of the family.

Rose processed the news silently. Emma’s heart cried for both of them.

She breathed a sigh of relief when her mother finally spoke. “Have you heard from him?”

“No. I really don’t think they’d contact us, Mom. Not after…”

Beside herself with grief the day Claire had disappeared, Rose had latched on to any hope at all of finding Claire—even if that meant she believed her fiancé was the one who could lead them to Claire. She’d latched on and lashed out. With a vengeance.

“I… Oh, my God…”

“Detective Miller told me they’re living in Tyler, Tennessee,” Emma said slowly. “They know your address. I’d be shocked if we heard from them…but we might. So…”

“They? They…who?”

“Cal and Frank.”

Rose didn’t ask the question Emma read in her mother’s eyes. “Neither of them ever married. They still share a home. Cal’s an English professor at Tyler University, Mom.”

“A professor?” Rose’s lips tilted slightly upward.

Emma smiled. “Yeah.” She’d missed him so much over the years. They’d only lived together a year, but there’d been no doubt in Emma’s mind that Cal was her big brother.

That he’d always be there to look out for her. Protect her.

Minutes passed. “And Frank?”

“He worked as a janitor until just recently.”

“A janitor?”

“In a nursing home.”

“I have to call Cal, Mom.” Emma finally got to the real point of the conversation. “I can’t not call him.” And she couldn’t contact Rose’s ex-fiancé’s son without letting her mother know.

“I accused an innocent man....” Rose’s words trailed off and hung there.

“You were a mother who had to do whatever she could to find her missing child.”

“I threw him out. Threw them out…”

“You were agonized.”

“I sent letters, contacted schools.…”

“You did what you felt you had to do to protect other children.” The crusade to stop Frank Whittier had probably saved Rose’s life. It had certainly given Emma her mother back, as it had provided Rose with an outlet for her anguish.

“You did what any mother would have done, given the evidence.” From his backyard hideout, Cal had seen Claire in his father’s car. When the police had searched the car, they’d found Claire’s favorite teddy bear, the one she’d slept with the night before and brought to breakfast the morning of her disappearance, under the front seat of Frank Whittier’s car.

“Cal was hiding under those bushes that used to be in the backyard. When he first got there, he peeked around the corner to make sure Frank’s car was still there. That’s when he saw Claire. He didn’t look again, but he heard the car drive off. There’s no way he or any of us could’ve known she’d gotten out of the car during those six or so minutes.”

Rose’s eyes were filled with tears as she looked over at Emma. “I loved him. I should at least have given him the benefit of the doubt.”

“At the risk of losing Claire forever?” If Frank had been guilty, and Rose had protected him, stood by him, it could have been too late.

“We did lose her,” Rose said. “And we lost Frank and Cal, too.”

And Emma and Rose owed the Whittiers the respect of an apology, at the very least.

“I have to call him, Mom.” She’d handle this one.

Her mother had forbidden Emma to write to Cal over the years, but she’d wanted to. So badly.

Would her life have been different if she had? Would she have avoided coming home to find another woman in her man’s arms if she’d ever, even once, dared to take a chance? To demand for herself as much as she gave to Rose and Claire?

Looking sick to her stomach, Rose nodded, and retreated to the balcony that looked over the Atlantic Ocean, in the distance.

Putting their untouched dinner in the refrigerator, Emma cleaned up and let herself out.

Life wasn’t easy. Not for Rose. Not for any of them.

Rose couldn’t make things right for her daughters.

Claire was gone.

And Emma just felt dead.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NUMBER OF TIMES Chris had felt grief were so few and far between he could remember all of them. He relived each and every one as he sat at Citadel’s that Friday night and nursed a second glass of not-cheap whiskey. A single shot this time.

Every hurt, every disappointment, every little insecurity he’d ever felt, came back to him as he sat there alone, trying to hold on to faculties he refused to do without.

There was the time his father had called home and asked him to bring his mother to the phone, and Chris, running into her room to get her, had found her beneath a naked man he’d never met in the bed that his parents shared.

He touched briefly on the night Sara had given him back the diamond engagement ring she’d accepted several months before, but didn’t allow himself to linger. The void that Sara’s leaving him had created was soon filled again—by Sara. She was another man’s wife now, but she was Chris’s best friend.

He thought about calling her, telling her about Ainge, and took another sip of Scotch instead. Part of the reason she’d left him was because she couldn’t live with the constant possibility of his death on the ocean. He didn’t need to bring the possibility any closer to home.

Which left Chris with his morose trip down memory lane.

There was the morning he’d received the call that his parents had been killed in a pileup on the freeway just fifteen minutes from home. That was also when he found out they’d been on their way home from a court hearing because his mother, who’d already broken his father’s heart, had filed for divorce.

The last time had come a couple of days ago, when word had spread that Wayne Ainge had gone overboard, when they’d all waited as rescue crews attempted to get the young man up from the bottom of the ocean in time to save his life, and then heard the news that they’d failed, that the boy was dead.

Oh, and there was Christmas Day. He always had invitations for the day, places he was wanted and welcome. But for some reason that day got to him. Which was why he was usually the lone boat out on the ocean on December 25.