From the Cradle to the Grave

By Michael Kaye

Intriguing, poignant and compelling, From the Cradle to the Grave is the story of identical twin girls, born in the dirt-poor town of Mission Gulch, Tennessee and destined to live vastly different lives. Harshly separated at birth, Anne is adopted by a wealthy Connecticut couple, while Ronnie is left to grow and survive in the squalor and abuse of poverty.

After years of betrayal and unhappiness, Ronnie discovers her sibling's existence and determines to seek out her long lost sister. Anne, now happily married to Mark, and the mother of their beloved six-year-old daughter, Rachel, remains unaware of her twin's existence.

The novel's chapters alternate, each telling a different story. Anne's husband Mark's tale is one of discovery. The parallel story documents Ronnie's life, leading her to the realization she may never have the loving family she craves unless she wills her own destiny into being putting Ronnie and Mark on a collision course that will change all their lives forever.

Different environments; the same genetics identical twins or not?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 23, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595803422

Michael Kaye

Michael Kaye was born and educated in England where his long literary career began. He is the author of nine novels, two stage plays, several volumes of poetry and numerous children's books. He resides in northern New York State and is currently working on his latest novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE  

Mission Gulch, Tennessee September, 1969

The woman with the poorly dyed red hair gritted her rotten teeth one more time. No one bothered to wipe the sticky sweat from her tired face. No one cared enough to do so. She heard a coarse voice from the other end of the room yelling at her, ordering her to do more. She pushed again as hard as she could. Two flies buzzed overhead. She hoped for God’s sake they wouldn’t land on her. Not now. Not at this agonizing moment.

Her eyes closed tightly, her dirty, broken fingernails digging deeply into the rough palms of her clenched fists. The excruciating pain from below her belly seemed almost unbearable this time. Mustering one final effort she bore down again.

The wailing cry told her it was finally over. Despite her exhaustion she half raised her head from the grimy pillow, looking and searching around the dingy room. Her foggy gaze settled on the midwife, a hag of a woman surely past her usefulness. The old crone was attending to the new born, treating it brusquely, without love or tenderness.

Another girl, the midwife muttered gruffly, as she roughly snatched at the buttons on the woman’s thin nightgown to expose a milk-full breast. After placing the screaming baby at the nipple she abruptly turned to leave.

As she reached the old wooden door she looked over her shoulder and said, Maybe next time, sugar, you’ll just keep your damn legs closed.

But the woman in the bed heard nothing. She shifted herself to a more comfortable position, aimlessly stroked the baby’s head and anxiously gazed about the room. An awful dread engulfed her, bringing tears tumbling down her cheeks.

Through her wetness and sorrow she heard him come in. The lowly feeling in her stomach sank even lower.

You did good, sweetie-pie, he said, grinning through missing front teeth. Maybe we ought to try this again real soon. He kissed her forehead and she smelled his disgusting breath.

The woman said nothing as she turned her head away from him. The tears came in a rush again; the sadness overwhelming her. And she wondered how on earth she could survive this.

CHAPTER 1  

The usual short cut home took her down a tree-lined country road that shaved ten minutes from her journey, allowing her time to readjust her thoughts before facing the fray of family life.

Most days the ride was pleasant, with the sun threading its way through the leaves, splashing elaborate patterns everywhere. But today was dreadful, prematurely dark, as the rain lashed down in torrents, making it difficult for Anne Meadowes to see more than a few feet in front of her. She switched the wipers to full speed and slowed the car to a crawl.

Through the smeary windshield she just caught sight of a parked car on her right, with someone frantically waving at her. Evasively, Anne pulled slightly to the left, avoiding a collision by inches. As she passed, she noticed a raised hood and a drenched figure gesticulating forlornly at the engine.

Thirty yards farther on Anne pulled over and stopped her car. Rummaging around inside the cluttered glove compartment, she found her black fold-down umbrella and a flashlight. Carefully opening her door, she pressed the automatic button on the umbrella and switched on the flashlight.

Hurrying along the shoulder, Anne did her best to avoid the huge puddles, eventually giving up when she realized her black pumps were full of water. The rain relented slightly and she was able to see a good stretch of the road. Apart from the broken-down sedan the place was deserted.

Approaching the figure in the sodden brown raincoat, Anne called out cheerfully, unsure if the person now bending over the engine even knew she was behind her.

Anything I can do to help?

A woman half turned, wiping the rain from her forehead. God, am I glad to see you. There hasn’t been another car past here in fifteen minutes.

They both turned to peer into the engine, as if by just looking at it would make it restart. Anne noticed nothing of the woman except her wet straggly blond hair and her large framed glasses with bottle-glass lenses.

Looks very wet to me, Anne said with a sigh. You’re going to need a tow.

D’you happen to have a phone with you? the woman asked almost apologetically. Stupid me, I left mine at home this morning.

I’ve got a better idea, Anne replied. I’ll give you a ride into town. The guys at my garage are great. They’ll be glad to come and get it, and it’ll give you a chance to dry off a little.

Are you sure? the woman answered hesitantly. Seems quite an imposition to me.

Not at all, Anne said with a smile. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.

They closed the hood, locked the car and headed back to Anne’s vehicle. Once inside, Anne produced a box of tissues and they dried their faces as much as possible.

Thanks again, the woman said, relaxing in her seat. I’m Ronnie Locke. She held out her hand.

Hi…again, Anne replied, lightly shaking the woman’s hand. Anne Mead-owes.

Well, Anne Meadowes, Ronnie said with a relieving sigh, I’m sure glad you came by when you did. This road’s deserted. I’d almost given up on anyone coming along.

It’s mostly a short-cut to the few houses on this side of town. Are you looking for someone?

Ronnie shifted slightly in her seat, turning her head away from Anne. No, she replied softly, a hint of hesitation or embarrassment in her voice. I’m new to the area. My errands took me over here, then the car broke down.

As Anne started the engine and slid away she suddenly felt sorry for the woman sitting beside her. Maybe it was her bedraggled state making her a pathetic figure in Anne’s eyes, but between them an awkward gulf certainly existed. From the tugging of her heart she gained the impression, from Ronnie’s demeanor, that here was a lonely person. And from the look of her car, a rusted out Ford Tempo, not only lonely but poor, too.

Is there someone I can call for you, to let them know you’re all right? Anne asked the question not only to be helpful, but also in an attempt to discover if the woman had any family in the area. Maybe there was a husband, even children perhaps.

No one, Ronnie answered quickly. I live by myself. The clipped reply gave notice that the subject was now closed.

They drove in silence for about half a mile before Anne stopped the car in a small parking area bounded by a thick stand of trees. In the steady rain the two women left the car and headed into the woods.

The single gunshot was heard by only two people, one of who was now dead. It took the other fifteen minutes to hide the body well enough until she could return later and bury it properly. Placing the gun in her purse, she returned to the car and drove away.

Mommy! Mommy! the child yelled, running at full speed down the wide, bright hallway. For a few seconds Anne was taken aback by the tornado approaching her. When the young girl crashed into Anne’s thighs the jolt caught Anne so much by surprise she reached out for the wall to stop herself falling.

Sweetie, sweetie, she remonstrated, you’ll hurt mommy doing that.

But I always do it, the child replied indignantly. Are you sick?

Not sick, Anne informed her, raising her eyebrows. Just cold and wet.

You look like a duck, the child giggled, raising her head for an expected kiss. Anne obliged, not only with a kiss but with a huge, tight, damp hug, too. Pulling away quickly, the child looked her mother up and down. You smell funny. Like Prince does sometimes. Prince, the family dog, was a shaggy-coated mixed breed that loved nothing more than to be out in the rain, rolling around in the wet grass.

I do, do I? Anne said with mock horror. Then it’s up to the shower for me.

As she reached halfway up the winding staircase her husband, Mark, appeared below. There you are at last, he called after her. Everything all right?

Sure, Mark, she said hurriedly. Everything’s fine. I’ll tell you all about it when I’ve showered.

Mark frowned, puzzled by Anne’s use of his first name. She only did that in times of extreme stress. He shrugged his shoulders, went to the kitchen and poured them both a large glass of wine.

As he and six-year-old Rachel played a silly word game, Anne ventured in, dressed in clean blue jeans and a fresh white shirt. That’s better, she declared, as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Mark handed her the wine, clinking her glass with his.

Glad you’re finally home, he said with a wide grin. What happened?

Anne ruffled Rachel’s fair hair, sat down close to them and sipped her wine. Not much, actually. There was a car broken down on Pike’s Lane. A woman on her own. The car looked pretty hopeless so I gave her a lift into town. I pointed her in Gary’s direction and left. Couldn’t have been a worse evening.

Just then, a shaggy mop of hair bounded into the kitchen, plopping itself at Anne’s feet. The dog, Prince, sat eagerly waiting, his large mouth open, his long tongue slobbering expectantly in Anne’s direction. Reaching out, she gingerly patted his head before returning her attention to her family.

Within seconds, Prince began dancing around her, barking so loud that it nearly split Anne’s head in two. Irritably, she shouted for him to stop, but that response only seemed to make him worse.

Mommy. Mommy, Rachel squealed above the noise. He wants his cookie. Did you forget?

What?

His cookie. Every night you give him a cookie. It’s just like how every night you tuck me in. He’s asking for his cookie. Rachel explained everything in a slow, deliberate way, as though Anne was the child and she the grown up.

Anne immediately smacked her palm into her forehead. Stupid me, she said defensively. How on earth could I forget his cookie? Jumping up, she anxiously glanced around the kitchen. By this time both Mark and Rachel watched her intently. Did someone move the cookies? she asked, her voice vaguely desperate.

Of course not, mommy, Rachel asserted indignantly, as she ran to a corner of the counter top. They’re right here. She handed the box to her mother and waited while Anne fed a handful of treats to Prince.

After an uncomfortable few moments with the dog, Anne rinsed her hands then flopped down in her chair. Sighing heavily, she said, Sorry, guys. I don’t know where my head is tonight.

Rachel came over for a kiss and cuddle, which greatly improved both their moods. Mark went to her, too, touching her shoulder on his way to the cupboards. I’ve ordered Chinese, he said, as he grabbed plates and glasses. Should be here in a jiffy.

Great. I’m really famished. Anne released her daughter and the three of them prepared the table for dinner.

Several times during the meal Anne caught Mark staring at her. He remained silent, unnerving her even more. Finally, Anne stared right back at him, unable to bear his watchful eyes any longer. What? she demanded with a wrinkled brow. Do I have a noodle hanging from my nose?

Rachel screamed with laughter. You’re so funny, mommy. The child liked her best when she acted the fool.

Well, do I? Anne continued but with a smile this time.

You’re just tired, I guess, Mark answered. It’s all right. His tone registered disappointment. Resignedly, he returned to his dinner.

Exasperated, Anne shot back. Sorry, Mark, but if I’m missing something here then I apologize. It’s been one heck of a day.

Mark heard his name mentioned for the second time that evening. Guiltily, he backed off, realizing her stress levels must be through the roof. No big deal, honey. We’ll talk about it later.

No, she insisted. Tell me now.

By this time, Rachel’s head turned back and forth between as though watching a tennis match. Why is mommy being so mean to daddy?

It’s just the Hamilton deal. The one I was so excited about. Remember? Anne nodded, but her mind went blank. Well, he signed on the dotted line today. It’ll probably add twenty per cent to our bottom line. He raised his eyebrows and grinned boyishly. Anne could see he was over the moon.

Sounding overly enthusiastic, she said, That’s just wonderful. You’ve worked so hard on it. Must be quite a relief at last?

Yes, it is, but now the real work starts. The trick is making sure we keep him. I’ll be in overall charge of the account but I’ve assigned Doug to run the day to day operations. He’s young, still wet behind the ears, but given the right encouragement and guidance I’m fairly confident he’ll do us proud.

Of course he will if you think he’s the right guy, Anne replied blandly wondering desperately whether or not she was supposed to know Doug.

We’re throwing a huge bash on Saturday to celebrate. Wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, significant others, the whole crew. Should be a blast.

Can I go? Rachel asked sweetly.

Sorry, cherub, Mark answered with a shrug. Grown ups only. Besides, you’d be really, really bored. All that business talk. All those strangers. You’ll have much more fun here with Jodi. Which reminds me, can you give her a call, honey, and find out if she’s free to baby-sit?

Anne seemed distracted, lost for a while in her own thoughts. Mark asked her again. What? she queried.

Jodi? Mark repeated for a third time. Give her a call will you?

Sure. Oh, sure. Sorry. Miles away. I’ll do it in a minute.

What is the matter with you tonight? Mark demanded, fast becoming tired of his wife’s inattention to things in general and him in particular. Got something else on your mind?

Smiling sweetly and covering for her behavior, Anne said, Hundreds, as a matter of fact. Can’t seem to wash the day away. Sorry.

But the trite apology fell on deaf ears. Mark was not amused. One of the biggest days of my life and you show all the enthusiasm of a fly about to be squashed by a newspaper. This is big, Anne. Huge, in fact. Now we’re playing with the big boys at long last. Couldn’t you at least be a tiny bit happy for me?

Immediately, Anne knew what she had to do. For the next fifteen minutes she gave him her undivided attention, peppering him with questions, listening intently to his replies and generally soothing his ruffled feathers. Gradually the charm worked as Mark relaxed with her, soon forgetting his irritation with her previous attitude.

When they finally finished their conversation Rachel’s bedtime rolled around. Mark offered to pick up the kitchen while Anne took Rachel up for her bath. For the little girl bath time meant bubbles, splashing, fun and having her mother all to herself for a while. She grabbed Anne’s hand and hurried her upstairs.

But tonight seemed different for Rachel. As much as she tried to enjoy herself the usual spontaneous laughter and special moments with her mother were muted, strangely forced and one sided. Not that Anne didn’t try to participate. She did. But once again her mind seemed to wander, always playing catch-up with Rachel’s lively talk and actions.

More than once Rachel admonished her. Mommy, she whined, you haven’t asked me anything about what I did today. Don’t you want to know?

And Anne would fall to her knees, apologizing to her daughter, listening patiently while the child relived each moment from morning ‘til night. As she listened she studied every part of Rachel, thinking it a wonder that this child was really hers. I love you, she said softly, as she gently blew bubbles into Rachel’s face. Rachel giggled, putting a handful of suds on Anne’s chin.

I love you, too, mommy, she answered, rubbing her tiny hand over Anne’s soapy chin and neck. You feel different, she said, her face puzzled.

Different how? Anne asked.

Less puffy, Rachel told her. Nice and smooth.

Must be my new cream is working. Thank you, sweetie. You’ve made mommy’s day.

And with that Rachel lay back in the tub and waited. What? Anne questioned after a few moments of silence.

Pull my feet like you always do, Rachel demanded.

Anne reached beneath the warm water, grabbed her daughter’s ankles and dragged them upwards. Rachel quickly slid below the surface, closing her eyes, holding her breath. Within a few seconds she burst upwards, shaking her head and gasping for air.

Shrieking with laughter, she asked Anne to repeat the game over and over again.

By the time they’d repeated the game ten times, Anne and the bathroom floor were soaked. Far from being annoyed, Anne laughed herself silly, too, only stopping when Rachel appeared exhausted.

Wiping her face with a towel, Anne said happily, It’s amazing how easily you make everything better for mommy. Get out and let me dry you.

Wrapping Rachel in a huge fluffy towel, Anne held her close and hugged her tightly. Without warning, she burst into tears, hiding her face behind her daughter’s head. Quickly pulling herself together, she carried the child into her bedroom, helped her into her pajamas and tucked her into bed.

Thank you, mommy. That was fun! Rachel squeaked, her pretty brown eyes dancing with pleasure. Is daddy coming up to say goodnight?

Right behind me, sweetie. Goodnight. Sweet dreams, little one. After planting a kiss on Rachel’s forehead, Anne switched off the light and prepared to leave.

Mommy? Rachel said softly. Did you forget?

The child’s tiny voice stopped Anne in her tracks. She tiptoed back and in a whisper said, Forget? Forget what, angel?

You know, Rachel insisted, screwing up her nose. What you always say.

Anne quickly ran a few, familiar, childish phrases through her mind, but had no idea to which one Rachel referred. Honey, mommy’s really, really tired this evening, she said firmly, trying hard to diffuse an awkward situation. Give me a clue? Please?

The one about the bed bugs not biting me, silly, the child answered crossly.

Oh, that one, Anne whispered, relieved. Of course. What an idiot I am. Bending down again, she hugged and kissed her daughter, tucking her in once more and smiling into her eyes. Sleep tight, she said tenderly. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

Rachel giggled, hiding her head under the covers. I won’t, Anne heard her say as she quickly left the room.

On the stairs she met Mark coming up. She’s asking for you, Anne said, shaking her head. What a kid. I tell you.

While Mark spent time upstairs with Rachel, Anne busied herself searching through the kitchen drawers and cupboards. Looking intently into each one, she moved items around, checking out the contents but removing nothing. Next, she went into all the downstairs rooms, following the same routine before returning to the kitchen.

Mark had beaten her back there, his unexpected appearance making her jump when she saw him. Did you call, yet? he asked pointedly.

Call? she queried with a frown.

Jodi. Remember? Saturday night? Since you fired Alice we’d better make sure Jodi’s available.

No, she confessed. I seem to have lost her number.

But it’s programmed in, isn’t it? You did it yourself.

God, I must be losing my mind, Anne responded with a shrug. I think I did.

While she went to the phone and picked out the number from the hand written names on the back of the handset, Mark carefully studied her. He thought she’d looked worried all evening, as if preoccupied by some constant thought or issue. He also saw a definite change in her face, thinner, more haggard. He hoped she wasn’t coming down with something.

That’s all settled, Anne said as she finished on the phone. Jodi will be here sharp at six.

Good. That’s good, said Mark, pleased to have at least one irritating detail out of the way. Now, what about you? What’s up?

The question caught Anne completely off guard. Playing for time, she poured herself another cup of coffee, offering the pot to Mark. He shook his head, faking a smile. So, you want to tell me or do we have to play guessing games all night?

Sitting down, away from where he stood, she raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. What’s to tell? Nothing. I’m okay. Honestly.

You’re not sick, are you, he persisted. Because if you are I need to know, honey. With this new account I’ll be working all hours, but not if you’re in trouble.

The words ‘in trouble’ hit Anne like a slap. Why should he think I’m in trouble for God’s sake? I said I’m okay. Okay? she replied sharply, regretting her tone immediately. Softening, she said, It was just one of those horrendous days. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. And on top of that I had to deal with the breakdown. Getting soaked isn’t my idea of fun. This time she looked him directly in the eyes daring him to push the matter further.

But Mark backed down, sensing her anguish, aware that she knew she wasn’t her old, cheerful self. As long as you’re all right. That’s the main thing.

I am. Really. And I appreciate your caring about me. If I was a bitch I apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I know the Hamilton deal’s a big step for you, and I’m sorry I forgot about it.

Apology accepted, Mark beamed, crossing the room, kissing her passionately. Mmm, you taste good, he said with a twinkle in his eye. I like that in a woman.

A woman? Anne questioned, smiling but faking outrage. What about me?

My woman, I mean. My one and only.

That’s the right answer, soldier, and they both laughed.

Care to join me upstairs?

I would indeed, Anne replied sweetly. You go ahead and I’ll be right up.

Happily, Mark left her to her few remaining chores, hoping they’d take no more than just a couple of minutes.

As soon as he left, Anne jumped up and continued her exploration of the downstairs rooms. Quickly, her mind assimilated everything she saw and touched, remembering each detail as though her life depended on it. The experience left her fresh and energized, eager and enthralled.

By the time she reached their bedroom Mark was almost asleep. Slipping into the bathroom, she emerged five minutes later scented and naked. Mark stirred himself awake as Anne cuddled close, taking the lead with her stroking fingers, soothing and soft.

Pleasantly surprised by his wife’s unexpected initiative, Mark reached for her, nuzzling her neck and gently kissing her soft, sweet lips. But this time Anne determined she would drive the car, as she eased him back onto the pillows. Tonight, she would work the miracles while he just came along for the ride.

By the time they finished, exhausted but pleasured, Anne was not only happy but beaming.

Mark lay on his side, facing Anne, gently stroking her bare shoulder, more than stunned by his wife’s performance. Was it something in the water or am I just irresistible tonight? he asked rhetorically.

Anne looked into his smug face, her smile matching his. I thought you needed cheering up, that’s all. Was I right?

Read me like a book. Thanks.

All part of the service, my dear, she said jauntily, her voice taking on a fake military tone. We aim to please.

Listen, I’m sorry if I was grumpy earlier, he said apologetically, his hand now making soft circles on her stomach. It’s just that the Hamilton deal means a lot. I thought you weren’t interested instead of realizing you just had a lot on your plate, too.

Let’s put it down to miscommunication and forget it, Anne suggested. After all, no one died.

As Mark continued his caresses he decided to risk an honest, and to him a positive, observation. Did you lose some weight?

At once Anne’s cheeks flushed, her eyes darting to her waist and legs. Sighing deeply, she reacted with a mixture of pleasure and disdain. Finally, she said, her voice a model of exasperation, you noticed.

Looks good, Mark recovered quickly, desperately wondering how long she’d been losing the pounds. Earlier that evening he’d been upset with her for not caring about something that mattered to him. Now the shoe was on the other foot. New diet or what?

Not really, she countered. Just being more careful. More fruit and veggies, less candy. But thanks for the input. Always great for the ego.

As he turned away from her to settle down to sleep he noticed something else. What happened here? he asked, holding up her right hand, showing her the scratches. Get in a fight? he said jokingly.

Again, Anne’s face flushed, her mind unprepared for the question. Again she decided to tough it out. Not nearly as nasty as they look, she replied casually. Just on the surface. Cats. I was showing a house today and I guess I startled one. Could have been worse but the owner dragged it off. Just goes with the territory.

Mark kissed her hand as if delivering an instant cure before they both settled down to a well-earned rest. Stretching out, Anne filled more than her share of the bed, sinking her head into the downy pillow and enjoying the chance to finally relax her tired mind and body. Within a few minutes she snored lightly, sound asleep.

Try as he may Mark found it difficult to doze off. He twisted and turned, changed positions a dozen times, took several sips of water, but to no avail. He remained wide-awake, his addled thoughts darting back and forth in his mind like a crazy game of checkers.

Although elated by Anne’s sensuous behavior and surprising forwardness, Mark still harbored some deep down resentment towards her. He found it hard to overlook her thoughtlessness in forgetting the Hamilton deal, as well as her apparent preoccupation with her own problems. All evening he found her vagueness bemusing, as though her mind was permanently elsewhere.

Two other moments also worried him; when she couldn’t seem to locate either the dog’s cookies or the number for the baby sitter. And these were things she dealt with every day. To Mark it felt as if Anne was a stranger in her own house. Perhaps the stress of her day had taken its toll, or maybe she was just becoming more forgetful.

As he thought about the last possibility the dark shadow of Alzheimer’s crossed his mind. But the disease usually hit people in their fifties, and Anne was only thirty. Much too young, surely? He dismissed the idea as totally preposterous, while deciding to keep a watchful eye on her for the next few days. Maybe there was another simpler, more innocent, explanation.

Settling down to sleep at last, Mark reached his hand across the bed, gently laying it on Anne’s bare back. Her skin felt smooth, devoid of its usual tell tale wrinkles. At once, he recalled her comment about losing some weight. As he let his fingers run softly up and down he admitted to himself that she actually felt very good. And he cursed himself strongly for not noticing the difference weeks ag°.

By the time she was fully awake Mark had already left the house. She barely remembered his feather light kiss on her forehead as her tired body begged for more rest. She managed an extra ten minutes before Rachel tugged at her arm and whined her mother’s name. Suddenly, with warning bells ringing in Anne’s head, she threw back the covers, hugged her daughter and hurried to the bathroom.

Quickly, behind the closed door, her mind cleared, allowing her to focus directly on the task of dealing with the morning’s routine. Despite Rachel’s cries of’Mommy, hurry up. Mommy, hurry up,’ Anne soon knew exactly how she’d handle the situation. Confidently, she opened the door and confronted her petulant offspring.

Is the house burning down? Is the dog missing? Has a burglar stolen your head? Rachel’s eyes widened then narrowed as a look of confusion spread across her pretty face. Obviously, her mother had gone stark raving mad. Well? Anne demanded with a smile, what’s the big hurry?

But I don’t know what to wear, Rachel replied softly, half afraid to speak.

A closet full of clothes and you don’t know what to wear, eh? Anne said, a little sterner that she intended. Maybe it’s time you made your own decisions in the morning. What d’you think? Time to be a big girl? And Anne dropped to her knees, pulling the small child to her chest. You see, she continued in a whisper, one day, a long time from now, you’ll be out in the big, wide world all on your own. When you’re in college. And you won’t have mommy around to tell you what to wear and what to do. You’ll have to decide all by yourself. And the way you learn to do that is by practicing, little by little, every day.

But I don’t want to go away and be all by myself, mommy, Rachel interrupted sternly, her eyes filling with tears.

Not now, Anne emphasized. But one day, believe me, you’ll want to be gone. It’s called growing up.

Rachel looked doubtful at her mother’s suggestion. Why can’t I just stay here with you and daddy?

You can, for a long, long time. Then one day you’ll want to be off to see what else is out there. Kind of like a huge adventure where you don’t know the ending. It’ll be lots of fun. Trust me.

Anne waited a few seconds while Rachel turned these thoughts over in her mind. Soon enough a more positive look replaced her worried expression as she skipped off to her bedroom shouting, I know what I’ll wear. I know what I’ll wear. Anne quickly followed anxious not to let the momentum slide.

And when you’ve picked out your outfit you can decide what you want for breakfast. How’s that?

I already know that, Rachel answered indignantly. Fruit Loops and Pop Tarts.

Over the next hour Anne helped Rachel bathe, dress, eat breakfast and gather her things together in time to catch the bus for kindergarten. As they waited for the bright yellow vehicle to arrive Anne kept the conversation light, asking her daughter about her teacher and the other kids in her class. When she finally waved Rachel goodbye a sudden feeling of relief swept over her, but it was relief tinged with happiness and quiet euphoria that only she could experience.

Returning to the house, Anne took a quick shower, dressed and began a careful, thorough exploration of the entire house. She spent a long time in each room going through drawers and closets, noting the exact position of ornaments, chairs, magazines, flowers and every conceivable item that caught her eye.

Her quick mind took in each detail, however insignificant. When she walked through the house again she felt confident that this was indeed her home.

As she finished up in the kitchen the phone rang. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to let the machine pick up. But what if it was Mark? He’d think it odd if she were there but didn’t answer.

Hello? she said tentatively, trying hard to stay calm, natural.

Anne, it’s Marge! the woman bellowed. Did you forget?

Anne’s mind did a dozen flips before finally processing the information she desperately needed. Marge, she gratefully recalled, was her boss at the real estate office.

Hi, Marge, she answered casually. Did I forget what?

Your nine o’clock, that’s all. I’ve one steaming client out at Colebrook waiting for you.

Oh, God, you’re right, Anne spluttered, covering as best she could. Sorry, but it’s been crazy around here this morning.

I guess so, Marge replied, peeved and irritated. Not like you to miss an appointment.

Will he wait?

No, she won’t. I’ve rescheduled. When are you coming in?

Give me an hour. I’ll be there. Sorry.

Marge grunted down the phone then hung up. Anne, hardly thinking straight, flopped down on a chair and stared at the floor. She totally concentrated her thoughts towards her work, remembering she always started at eight-thirty sharp. This morning had been a major mistake, one she could ill afford to repeat.

Dashing upstairs, Anne pulled from her closet a dark blue tailored suit and a white blouse. She fixed her make up, coifed her hair, dressed and collected her briefcase all within twenty minutes. Leaving the house at a trot, she threw her briefcase in the back seat of the Buick, put a pair of work boots and a shovel into the trunk and sped away.

The ride to Brace and Everett’s real estate office took just under twenty-five minutes. Anne knew this because she’d timed it on numerous occasions on her journey to and from her house. This morning she was grateful that the long ride would give her a chance to collect her thoughts and make the necessary preparations to face Marge and the others in the office.

As she hurried along the highway her mind turned first to Mark and Rachel. A broad smile creased her face as she realized how lucky, how absolutely blessed she was to have them close to her. They were a perfect family and they were hers.

As she neared the outskirts of the office, Anne slowed down, giving herself just a little more time to think about her work in general and Marge Brace in particular. It still annoyed her that she’d forgotten to check her appointment diary, vowing to herself to double her efforts to keep track of even the minutest detail.

To that end Anne ran a picture of the office and its people through her mind, seeing very clearly each room and where precisely she fitted in. She recalled faces and names, voices and appearances, even the young and the old. Every detail came back, even down to the exact placement of the coffee machine. Relieved, she sighed, but then immediately thought about Marge.

Obviously, here was a woman to contend with, be wary of and most importantly, fear. Not because Anne was frightened of her, but because she could damage her in so many ways. Being her boss, Marge expected competency, initiative, energy, enthusiasm and a high level of professionalism. All these skills had enabled Anne to become successful. She couldn’t, under any circumstances, let any one of them fall by the wayside.

After parking her car, Anne rifled through papers in her briefcase, noting future appointments for the day, details of properties, names of clients and a host of other important matters. Confident of her knowledge and ability, Anne checked her make-up, straightened her outfit and headed for work.

Upon seeing her come through the door Marge Brace ushered Anne into her spacious office. At fifty-seven Marge enjoyed the success and prestige of owing the area’s leading real estate operation. With her handsome, heavyset face and piercing, bright green eyes, Marge’s outward appearance suggested a homely grandmother rather than the aggressive entrepreneur she’d become. In the difficult world of selling real estate Marge’s toughness, perseverance and attention to personal service set her far apart from her competitors. No one could ever say Marge Brace never went the extra mile for a sale.

Sitting down quickly, Marge said urgently, This was a bad mistake, Anne. You know that?

Anne nodded knowingly but strangely unbowed. One off, Marge. Give a girl a break. She looked her boss right in the eyes, never once wavering.

I don’t have to tell you Mrs. Richter was not amused. We’re going to need some damage control here. I can’t afford to lose her.

And you won’t, Anne replied confidently, smugly even.

Suggestions?

Immediate personal visit from me, a lavish lunch and a fresh appointment first thing in the morning. Anne raised her eyebrows in expectation.

Marge considered the proposal, drumming the desktop, biting her lip. Send her a huge arrangement and you’ve got yourself a deal.

Done, Anne said eagerly as she turned to leave.

Calling her back, Marge said, Everything okay?

Sure, Anne assured her abruptly. Everything’s just fine. Just one of those mornings.

After Anne left the office Marge all but dismissed the incident from her mind. But as she settled into a contract review Anne’s face continually forced its way into her thoughts. Her first impression suggested the woman might be ill. Marge thought she’d lost weight, her features thinner, tighter than usual. Then she recalled the attitude over the missed appointment. The apology was certainly there but it seemed tinged with arrogance, laissez-faire even. From Marge’s viewpoint Anne had not been nearly as contrite enough. And that was strange given her usual care and commitment to her work in general and her clients in particular. A phone call diverted Marge’s attention and she gave the matter no more time.

Meanwhile, Anne grabbed a cup of coffee, made polite but brief conversation with a couple of the other agents and sought out Mrs. Richter’s phone number. After two minutes spent soothing some ruffled feathers, Anne invited the woman to lunch, which Mrs. Richter seemed eager to accept. That settled, Anne next ordered the flowers before dismissing the whole ugly incident from her head.

According to her planner, she had three appointments for the rest of the day. The first in an hour, the second at two o’clock and the last one at four-fifteen. Rummaging through her desk and drawers, Anne soon found the relevant files, gave them a quick study and assimilated the essential information without too much trouble.

With no time to spare until the first appointment, she pushed the files into her briefcase, took a last swallow of coffee and dashed for the door. As she headed out a shrill voice stopped her in her tracks.

Annie, cried Sally Birdsong, holding up a sheet of paper, I need to know where you’ll be, thank you very much. The last remark, laced with sarcasm, told everything there was to know about Sally’s attitude and demeanor. Her job as office manager included keeping tabs on each agent whenever they left the office, partly for security reasons and partly to check the hours they kept.

Momentarily startled, Anne looked at the woman with a blank stare. Sorry, what?

The log, Sally replied, eyebrows raised as though offended by having to state the obvious. We sign it every time we leave the office. Remember?

Quickly, Anne smiled, smacking her hand against her forehead. Now I do, she said apologetically. After completing the formalities she left the office, relieved to have that part of the morning behind her.

The address of her first appointment conveniently put her only ten minutes from her house. Driving just above the speed limit, she reached Pike’s Lane in plenty of time to have a good look around. Slowing and cruising, she noticed that the Ford Tempo from the night before still stood abandoned on the shoulder.

Apparently, no one had bothered to check it out which pleased her enormously. The more time elapsed before discovery the better her chances.

She drove on slowly until reaching the small parking area surrounded by the small stand of trees. Here she waited for a few minutes, constantly glancing into her rear view mirror, anxious that no one should witness her next move. Finally, convinced by a clear road, she went to the trunk, took out the pair of stout boots, put them on, picked up the shovel and headed into the woods.

The gruesome task, half completed the day before, took a lot of energy. Edging back gingerly from the trees, she found the coast clear, changed into her dress shoes, packed away the shovel and drove, in good time, to keep her appointment.

At three thirty-five in the afternoon, Officer Mel Thomas decided to take a short cut to check out the few properties on the other side of town. He usually ignored Pike’s Lane with its barrenness and isolation, but for a few days now some of the locals had been pestering the station with complaints of irritating vandalism to cars and mailboxes.

As he cruised down the road, Officer Thomas seemed in no particular hurry. In his experience rarely, if ever, did anything positive or informative come out of interviewing these disgruntled residents, except allowing them to vent their anger at somebody. His job was to calm them down, make his presence felt for a couple of days, then let the whole matter blow over.

Along the route he glanced from side to side hoping to catch sight of a bunch of bored youths whose sole purpose in life was to cause annoyance to anyone over the age of twenty-five. But he saw no one and nothing in the area that caused him the least suspicion.

Picking up speed, he rounded a bend, setting off on the straightest section of the road. About halfway along, Officer Thomas passed a rusted out white Ford Tempo sitting on the shoulder. It was parked slightly askew and as far as he could see there appeared to be no one inside or around it.

Switching on his flashing lights, Officer Thomas backed up, stepped warily from his cruiser and went to investigate. He soon found the doors locked and nobody inside. He checked the trunk but that was locked too. The inside of the car was clean, with not a single piece of paper or junk anywhere. To Officer Thomas that seemed odd.

After calling the license plate into the station, he was told five minutes later that the number belonged to a 1998 Toyota Corolla registered to a Harry Breen. And Harry Breen lived in the west of the state some four hours away.

The tow truck came within fifteen minutes and in another twenty-five the car was safely ensconced in the police pound. In Officer Thomas’ view not only was the old wreck a danger on the shoulder of a dark road, but someone must be up to something illegal. And he thought it may be interesting to find out exactly who that might be and why.

By the time Anne was ready to pick Rachel up from afternoon day care she had completed a busy full day of work. Her lunch with Mrs. Richter served its purpose, with her apology being accepted without much fuss. In fact, Anne spun such a humbling story that her client actually felt sorry for her, promising to look over the property in question the very next morning.

The other two appointments were unproductive, with both sets of prospective buyers turning down the houses. Anne felt mostly responsible, fearing her presentations were ill prepared and flat. She kicked herself for missing these two opportunities and knew Marge would demand a full explanation. But at least Mrs. Richter was back in the fold and Anne felt very confident her sale would go through.

As she drove to the day care center she tried hard to put her business problems aside. Her mind concentrated solely on Rachel and her heart jumped a little at the prospect of seeing her.

There you are, she said cheerily, as Rachel came running towards her. Everything all right, sweetie?

Hi, mommy, Rachel answered brightly. I made you something.

You did?

It’s a card for you, her daughter replied, as she proudly handed Anne a folded sheet of light blue construction paper.

With exaggerated care and puzzlement Anne opened the card, reading the words as though she held in her hand a precious old manuscript. That’s so lovely, darling, she said with a huge grin. I shall treasure it forever. She gathered Rachel up in bear hug, squeezing her tightly, kissing her pretty face.

During the ride home, as Rachel chatted eagerly about her day, Anne thought again how blessed she was. She had a complete life, with a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and a challenging job. The ideal she always strove for had finally come true. She would do anything within her power to preserve and protect it.

Mark was not home when they arrived but a message on the machine said he’d be in within the hour. Anne quickly set about making dinner while Rachel did her best at laying the table. The child hated this mundane task, but Anne insisted she help.

Why do I have to? Rachel asked, annoyed.

Because if you want to eat that’s your contribution.

Then I won’t eat, Rachel said emphatically, banging down the plates.

Doesn’t matter. You still have to help. You’re part of the family, too.

After finishing the chore the child sulked on the couch, ignoring her mother.

Mark eventually arrived fifteen minutes later than promised carrying a large bunch of flowers for Anne and a bright yellow, silky soft, stuffed animal for Rachel. The toy, a cuddly teddy bear, was hugged, squeezed and stroked by Rachel, shown indignantly to her mother and found a place of honor at the table.

You certainly know the way to a girl’s heart, Anne said, sarcastically, aware that Mark had just unwittingly rewarded Rachel’s bad behavior. Mine, too. The flowers are lovely. Thanks. She kissed Mark tenderly before arranging the bouquet in a vase. She placed them in the center of the dining table so she could enjoy them throughout dinner.

When Mark returned from changing, Anne handed him a glass of wine and a hefty portion of a wonderfully aromatic beef stir-fry. Rachel received a smaller helping that she looked at with a mixture of fear and loathing. What is this, mommy? she asked gingerly.

Beef stir fry. It’s good.

It smells funny, the little girl argued, pushing the pieces around her plate.

Just eat it, sweetie. The veggies’ll make you big and strong.

Rachel still wasn’t convinced. Glancing at her father she said, D’you like it, daddy?

Sure I do, he answered quickly. Just a different recipe, right? he queried, looking at Anne for help.

Anne flushed, her thoughts running wild again. Right, she agreed. Different recipe. Don’t you like it?

I could do without all these onions, Mark said sharply. You know how they upset my stomach. He began picking them out from the rest of the vegetables, pushing them to one side.

A brief moment of horror crossed Anne’s face. Onions, she thought. He hates onions. Damn! Then just as quickly she