is a novel of intrigue, danger, and unexpected twists and turns. Unlike my first published book
Read the prologue and first two chapters of Long Shadow:
Prologue
1955
The
whisper broke the stillness of the night.
“Lisa,
wake up.”
Moaning
sleepily, Lisa turned away. The soft voice intruded into her dreams once again. A hand shook her
shoulder.
“Wake
up, Lisa, wake up.”
She
opened her eyes. Dim light cast deep shadows on the face hovering above her.
Whimpering, she drew away until she came fully awake and realized who gazed
down at her.
“What’s
the matter, Mommy?”
“Shhh,
whisper. We don’t want anyone to hear us. You must do exactly as I say.”
Lisa
frowned. Mother used that tone of voice only when she said something very
important or was upset with her.
“Come,
I’ll help you get dressed. We have to hurry.”
After
lifting Lisa from under the covers, Mother pulled the nightgown over her head.
Confused,
Lisa protested. “But it’s still nighttime.”
“I know, honey, but tonight’s a special night. We’re going
on a trip. Look, you have a new shirt and jeans.”
“It’s
too dark in here.” Lisa reached for the lamp beside her bed, but her wrist was
caught in a tight grip.
“No,
don’t turn on the light.” The whisper was harsh. “We can see well enough.”
“B-but…”
Lisa’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffled as jeans were tugged on her legs
and her shirt buttoned.
“Don’t
be frightened. Everything’s all right,” her mother said in a softer tone. “But
it’s very late, and we don’t want to wake Grandma and Grandpa by turning on
lights or talking loud.”
Lisa’s
eyes widened when the dim shape of her mother moved further into the weak glow
cast by the nightlight.
“What
happened to your hair, Mommy? How did it
get so dark?”
A
swift, nervous flutter of her mother’s hand touched strands once golden blonde
like the soft locks falling to Lisa’s shoulders.
“I
think it’s prettier this way, don’t you?”
“I-I guess
so.”
Bending
down, Mommy put Lisa’s favorite teddy bear in her arms. She smiled, but Lisa
didn’t think it was a happy smile because her mother’s eyes had tears in them.
“We’re
going to take Bear on a secret adventure. It will be such fun, sweetie, just
like your storybooks.”
“Are
we going far away?”
“Yes, very far.” With quick, sure strokes her mother braided
Lisa’s hair. Pinning the braid on top of Lisa’s head, she pulled a hat down
tight.
“This
adventure is just for you and me. Remember, it’s a secret. We’re going to
pretend you’re my little boy, so don’t take the hat off. If anyone asks, you’ll
say your name is Jamie, okay?”
Lisa
giggled. “Okay. Will I be a little boy for the whole adventure?”
“No,
just while we’re traveling. Afterward, you’ll be my sweet girl again.”
Lisa
grinned; this sounded like fun. “I like adventures.”
“I
know you do. Now we’re going to tiptoe down the stairs very, very quietly. We don’t
want anyone to hear us. Do you understand?”
“Yes,
Mommy.”
“Of
course you do. You’re a big girl now, almost four years old.”
Mother
closed the door behind them without making a sound. Taking Lisa’s hand, she
clutched it as they moved along the dark hallway. Only the moonlight and faint
illumination from outside lights filtered through the skylight and windows to
light their way.
Trying
hard to move quietly, Lisa walked on the tips of her toes to the head of the
stairway. They started down. One of the steps creaked. It sounded loud in the dark,
silent house. Mommy gasped and stopped. Her grip on Lisa’s hand tightened until it
hurt a little, but Lisa didn’t say anything. Sensing her mother’s alarm, she stood
unmoving in the shadows, bewildered and frightened, for what seemed a long
time. Finally the clasp on her fingers loosened, and they started down the stairway
again. Lisa continued to tiptoe until
her mother opened the front door, just wide enough for them to slip through.
Outside,
under the roofed portico, Mommy put her finger to her lips, warning Lisa not to
talk yet. They descended three steps leading to the long curved driveway. Lisa
could hear palm trees rustling in the soft breeze as they hurried toward the
entrance to the estate. The heavy wrought iron gate squeaked when Mother pulled
it open. She moved through the entryway swiftly, but paused outside to look up
at the sign over the gate.
Lisa
remembered being carried on Daddy’s shoulders one day while he read the sign to
her: La Nostra Casa. “It means Our
Home,” he’d said.
Leaving
the gate open, mother turned away and started down the road.
“Where
are we going, Mommy? To Heaven? Will we meet Daddy there?”
“No, Lisa, Daddy had to go to Heaven, but we can’t go there
yet.” Mother sighed and quickened her pace.
“I’m
tired, Mommy. You’re walking too fast.”
Stooping
down, her mother swung Lisa up into her arms. Lisa looked back. Moonlight
glinted on the trees and shone silvery-white on the house. Putting her head
down on Mommy’s shoulder, Lisa watched her home recede into the dark night.
Chapter
One
1977
Corrine
Parker came to a stop in the driveway, but remained motionless in the car,
staring at the house where she’d lived most of her life. The lawn needed mowing;
old paint on the small yellow ranch-style structure was stained and peeling.
Fortunately, the muted light of dusk hid most of the flaws. Almost all the flowers
her mother tended had died with her; only a few hardy geraniums remained in
loving testimony to her life. The dogwood tree was in bloom, its blossoms softening
the hard reality of a house neglected for years, standing in the midst of a neighborhood overrun with
neglected houses.
Never
sure what to expect when she entered her father’s home, she took a moment to
prepare herself. Anger flared in spite of her determination to remain calm. Why
do I bother coming here? I should turn the car around and go home. He doesn’t
care, but he’ll make a scene when I tell him. The only one he cares about is
himself.
A
long-ago memory of a handsome man holding the hand of a little girl sprang into
her mind. The man smiled down at the girl. He hasn’t smiled since long
before Mother died. Without wanting to feel pity, it rose in her, only to
be squelched by returning anger. The man’s been wallowing in self-pity for
years. He doesn’t need mine. Sliding out of the car, she opened the trunk,
picked up two grocery bags and carried them to the front door. Juggling
packages, she turned the knob and pushed the door open with her shoulder.
Forcing a cheerful note into her voice, she called, “Hi, Dad. It’s me, Corrie.”
No
answer.
Making
her way to the kitchen, she put the groceries on the table, pushed remnants of
yesterday’s supper to the side. Her irritation increased as she carried soiled
plates to the sink, added them to the pile of dishes already there. She found
him in the living room, slouched in his armchair, the ever-present bottle
clutched in one hand. It was still three-quarters full. Good. She’d left work early,
hoping to arrive before he was so sloshed he couldn’t understand or remember anything she said. He
usually didn’t start drinking in earnest until he got home in the evenings. Probably
why he still has a job. For how long, she wouldn’t try to predict.
He
lifted his head and acknowledged her presence with a careless wave of his arm. “Sit,” he said.
“I
brought Chinese, your favorite. Come to the kitchen. We’ll have a nice dinner.”
She caught herself speaking to him as if he were a child. Does that go along
with having an alcoholic parent? She didn’t know or care.
“Don’t
want any dinner, not hungry.”
“Come
along anyway. I have something important to tell you.”
He
shot her a nasty look. Grumbling under his breath, he followed her into the kitchen,
bottle in hand. She frowned when he placed it on the table beside his dish.
“Can’t
you have one meal without that filthy bottle at your side?”
“Don’t
be so high and mighty, Corrie. If I want a drink with my food, I’ll have it.”
Knowing
it did no good to argue, she shrugged, put a portion of egg foo yung on his
plate, lo mein on hers. If he eats something while he drinks, maybe he’ll be
reasonable when I break the news. They ate without speaking while she
mentally practiced what she’d say. She glanced at him. Bloodshot eyes under
bushy eyebrows were focused on his plate. He rarely looked directly at her
anymore.
Halfway
through the meal, he demanded, “Well, out with it. What’s so important you
drove all the way across town?”
In one
instant, Corrie’s well-rehearsed speech fled from her mind. She blurted, “I’m
leaving North Carolina for good this Saturday.”
At
last she received his full attention. Fork midway to his mouth, he stared at her.
“What did you say?”
The
bitterness of years surged up; she could taste it in her mouth. “What a surprise!
You’re looking right at me for a change, so I’ll repeat it for you. I’m leaving
Charlotte. For good.”
He
took a swig from the bottle. “Doesn’t surprise me. Why should you hang around?”
Sarcasm dripped from his lips. “Don’t give a thought to me.”
She
leaped up. “I’m the only one who does think of you. You’ve lost all your
friends. You’re on a permanent binge. You haven’t smiled in years and…”
The sound of the bottle slamming down on the table cut her
short. She noted with surprise it remained in one piece. He stood, leaned
forward, hands spread on the tabletop. “What’s there to smile about, huh? Tell
me, daughter, what’s there to smile about?”
Without answering, she took the plates to the sink, came
back to her chair, and sat down. Taking a deep calming breath, she clasped her
hands together and gazed hard at him.
“Am I your daughter?”
His
eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A
private detective came to see me last week. We had an interesting visit.” She
waited a moment before continuing. “He told me who I really am.”
She
watched the red flush creep into his face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,”
he muttered, averting his eyes.
Corrie’s
lips tightened. “The detective told me I was adopted. He backed it up with
information from the adoption agency.”
“Lies,
all lies! The woman at the agency swore everything was confidential…”
Sudden
awareness of what he’d revealed fell across his face. His words trailed away.
Corrie
waited, arms folded across her chest, jaw clenched in anger.
Sinking
back in his chair, the man she’d known as father ran a shaking hand through his
dark hair.
“It
was just before Christmas,” he muttered. “They found you sitting by your dead
mother. You were three years old. They tried to find relatives, someone who knew
your mother or you, but no one came forward to identify her or claim you.”
“It’s
true then. Why did you lie to me all these years? Don’t I have a right to know
who I am?”
“Your
mother wanted you to be ours alone. Sometimes I think she convinced herself she
actually gave birth to you. And I wanted her to be happy.”
Mom
died when I was twelve. There’s been plenty of time to tell me the truth. Instead
I heard it from a stranger.”
“What
does it matter?” he snarled. “We took you in, gave you a good home. You always
had someone to take care of you.”
“No,
you had someone to care for you. After Mom died, I was on my own. You didn’t
even know I was in the house except when you wanted to eat or have your clothes
washed. You want to hear something pathetic? All I craved in return was a kind
word from you. And I never got it.”
“Kind
word? My wife is gone, and you’re still here. Every time I see you, it reminds
me of what I had, what I lost. Do you think I forgot how she took every bit of
attention away from me and gave it to you?” he shouted. “All her love went to you.
You! I got the leftovers. Even her last words were for you. ‘Take care of Corrie,’
she said. And then she died.”
He
took a gulp from the bottle, put it down, and dropped his head into his hands. “I
was left alone.”
“You
had a daughter. You had me.”
“You?”
He sneered. “I didn’t want you then, and
I don’t want you now.”
Corrie
cringed inside but refused to let him see how deeply his words stung. She’d
recognized his thinly-veiled resentment long ago but made excuses for it, refused
to acknowledge it. Well, it’s over now. You may not know it, Daddy, but I’ve
been feeling the same way about you for a long time.
Corrie
rose, met his angry stare with one of her own.
“You
want to leave?” he shouted. “Go on. Get out, and don’t come back.”
“Oh, I
won’t come back to this dump. Or to you. You can bet on it.”
The
walls vibrated from the force of the slamming door. She drove off without a backward glance.
Chapter
Two
Sunshine
danced on the clouds below the plane. For the first time in what had seemed like endless months,
Andrea Hamilton felt free of stress. Leaning back against the headrest, she
allowed the soothing drone of the engines to lull her into complacency. Eyes
closed, she remained still for several minutes, enjoying the sense of peace.
When she turned toward the window again, she studied her reflection critically.
Though her thin face reflected the weight she’d lost, she decided her deep blue
eyes and light brown hair with its golden highlights were redeeming factors.
Then, in spite of the fact she’d resolved not to go there, her thoughts drifted
back a year…to the day that changed her life.
She’d
been with Maggie that afternoon, her best friend and roommate at the University
of Miami. The thought of fiery Maggie brought a smile to her lips; she lived up
to the promise of her bright red hair. They’d clicked from the start; she was
the one person in whom Andrea confided, the only one who knew all her secrets.
Ironically,
they’d been celebrating when the phone rang, looking forward to the following
week’s graduation ceremonies. Maggie, already enrolled in law school, was
working part-time in a law office. At the time, Andrea hadn’t been sure what she
wanted to do with her life. She’d considered studying journalism in graduate school
but was tempted to wait a year before continuing her education, reasoning that
if she worked for six months, she could save enough for the European trip she’d
always dreamed about.
The
ringing phone put an end to all her plans. Instead of a flight to Paris, there was
a frenzied flight to New York, followed by the shock of finding her once strong
mother frail and wasted. Andrea learned her mother had been battling the disease
since she’d returned to school three months ago. Afraid Andrea would interrupt
her education and return home immediately, she’d refused to notify her daughter.
“Would
you like something to drink?” The polite voice of the flight attendant brought
Andrea back to the present. She ordered coffee, pulled down the miniature table
attached to the seat in front of her, and placed the cup on it. As she stirred cream
and sugar into the brew, Andrea’s thoughts returned to the past. Her mother
declined rapidly; most days she’d been too weak to walk or speak more than a
sentence or two. Every now and then, she rallied a little. At those times, she
surprised her daughter by reminiscing about her youth and the early days of her
marriage. Before her illness, she’d avoided speaking about the past, so Andrea
listened eagerly, thirsty for any information she could get. Andrea had asked
questions when she was younger, but her mother always seemed disturbed by her
queries and evaded answers, leaving her confused and vaguely anxious. Eventually,
she’d stopped asking.
One
evening, as she sat by the bed, Andrea was startled by a loud cry from her mother.
Clutching Andrea’s arm with unexpected strength, she pulled herself to an upright
position. Eyes locked on her daughter, she gasped, “Don’t go back! I…should
have told you…”
Pointing
a trembling finger to the dresser, she whispered, “There…look there.”
Atop
the bureau sat a tray with medications, a pitcher of water, and a bunch of daisies
in a vase. All as it should be. Putting her arms around her mother, Andrea gently
pressed her down on the pillow and held her hand. Waited until she fell into quiet
sleep, while the words her mother uttered swam in her head… “Don’t go back!”
What
did she mean? We moved so often, traveled so much. Don’t go back to the
University? Florida? A memory surfaced. Mom frowning, the
hint of fear in her eyes when Andrea told her she wanted to enroll in the
University of Miami. She’d tried to convince her daughter to go elsewhere,
tried hard, but Andrea was stubborn. Her mother had yielded with reluctance.
Andrea
bent, placed a kiss on her mother’s cheek, and left the room. She would have to
wait for morning to ask questions.
Her
mother died during the night.
She
lingered in New York for almost a year after the funeral, telling herself there
were things to be done while delaying the doing of them. She was drained, incapable
of making decisions. Little by little the pain lessened. Finally, she forced herself
to make a resolution. Just one. She would return to Florida, to her friends.
On the
day she left New York, Andrea stood in the doorway of her mother’s bedroom one
last time. House and furnishings sold, suitcases packed, she was ready to go.
Her eyes scanned the room, fell on the dresser. Mother told me to look there
the day before she died. Why? In her grief, the incident had been
forgotten.
The
drawers had been emptied, but she opened each one again and peered in. As expected,
she found nothing. Suddenly, she knew. In the strange way she’d always known
such things. She couldn’t explain how she knew, but her instinct had
never failed her, and she acted on it now.
Yanking
out the top drawer of the dresser, she felt around the sides and back. Thrust
it aside and pulled out the second drawer. She found it taped to the bottom: a
letter-size manila envelope. Hesitating, wary of what it might contain, she
carried the packet to the dining room, and placed it on the table, unopened.
But she had to know. In one swift movement, she slit it open and turned it
upside down. Two white envelopes, an opal ring, and a heart-shaped locket fell
onto the table. She picked up an envelope at random and opened it. A letter
from Petroni Enterprises, Inc., yellow with age, dated June 14, 1949, confirmed
her mother’s employment with them. Frowning, Andrea
replaced everything in the packet, put it in her overnight case. There wasn’t
enough time to examine the other items; she had to catch a plane.
The
captain’s voice on the intercom interrupted her thoughts. They were flying over
the coast of Georgia and anticipated arrival at Fort Lauderdale Airport on time.
Andrea shook off upsetting memories. She would not dwell on the past.
When
she stepped off this plane, she would walk into a new life.
