He sighed. “Melanie has dementia. The doctors think it’s early onset Alzheimer’s, but they’re not sure.”
Carlotta bit down hard on her tongue to quell the sob that formed in her throat. No.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can tell from your reaction that you must know Melanie.”
Carlotta nodded, blinking back tears. “Yes. We used to be…close.”
The man adopted a defensive stance. “I just realized I didn’t catch your name.” His voice was once again full of distrust, his body language, rigid.
Across the room, her mother’s laugh rang out in merriment. “Why, that’s Carlotta, of course. Why on earth are you wearing a wig, sweetheart?”
Everyone froze.
Knowing her mother recognized her sent elation coursing through Carlotta’s chest. She went to Valerie and knelt next to the chair. “Hi, Mom,” she said gently. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, dear, can’t you see?” She touched Carlotta’s cheek and looked concerned. “Why are you crying? Peter isn’t being mean to you, is he?”
Carlotta smiled through her tears. “No. Peter is good to me.”
“Where is your engagement ring?” her mother asked, touching Carlotta’s hand.
“It’s in a safe place,” she assured her.
“Good. I worry about a girl in high school wearing such a valuable piece of jewelry.”
Sadly, Carlotta realized her mother’s mind had rewound to the time before she and Randolph had left.
Valerie smiled. “Is the wig for drama class?”
“That’s right,” Carlotta said, touching her blond hair.
“You were always such an entertainer. And a beautiful dancer. Your ballet teacher says you could be on Broadway.” Valerie sighed. “Of course, not if you marry Peter.”
“You don’t want me to marry Peter?”
“I don’t want you to give up your dreams…like I did.”
Carlotta was rapt. Her mother had never talked about a life she might’ve had if she hadn’t married Randolph.
“I take ballet,” Priscilla announced to Carlotta, then wedged herself between the two women, crowding out Carlotta. “Aren’t I a good dancer, Mommy?”
Valerie smiled lovingly at Priscilla. “Yes, you’re a wonderful dancer, didn’t you just hear what I said?” She stroked the little girl’s hair. “Your ballet teacher says you could be on Broadway someday.” Then Valerie looked confused, as if two memories had collided.
“Mom,” Carlotta said, hoping to bring her back to the present. “Wesley is with me.”
Her mother squinted. “Is that a friend of yours, dear?”
She choked back a sob. Wesley would be devastated if their mother didn’t recognize him. “No, Mom, Wesley is my little brother. Remember?”
Valerie picked up a brush from a table next to the chair and began to comb the little girl’s hair. “Your daddy and I have talked about having another child, and if it’s a boy, we’ll name him Wesley. Would you like to have a brother or a sister?”
Priscilla made a thoughtful noise. “Not really. I like things the way they are.”
The girl was precocious, Carlotta observed.
“But I get lonely sometimes,” Valerie said. “Your father is gone so much.”
“But he brings you nice books.” The little girl talked as if she were used to cheering up her mother.
“Yes, he does.” Valerie said, stroking the brush through the little girl’s hair, over and over, like she used to do when Carlotta was little.
“Mom,” Carlotta said, speaking quietly, “before Dad left, did he give you anything to keep safe for him?”
Valerie acted as if she hadn’t heard her, just kept brushing Priscilla’s hair.
“Mom, this is really important,” Carlotta said. “Did Randolph hide anything, maybe papers from Mashburn & Tully, the place he used to work? Try to remember.”
Valerie didn’t react, seemed to be in her own world.
Priscilla turned haughty eyes to Carlotta. “She’s not going to answer. She doesn’t know you.”
Feeling like an intruder, Carlotta pushed to her feet to walk back to the man who had been watching everything with a somewhat befuddled expression.
“You’re Melanie’s daughter?”
“Yes. My name is Carlotta.”
“That explains a lot. Priscilla is accustomed to answering to either name.”
“She looks very much like I did at that age.”
“And Mr. Randolph is your father?”
“Yes. We’ve been out of touch for a long time, until recently.”