“She called me a few days ago. She wants to see you too.”
“Are you up for a trip? I don’t know what your schedule is like.”
“My schedule’s flexible. We can go whenever you feel like.”
Vanessa frowned as a thought occurred to her. “Do you think she’d rather fly out to see us?”
“No. She doesn’t travel anymore.”
“Why not? I remember how she used to travel a lot with your father.”
“After he passed away, she sort of became a hermit. She doesn’t even travel for family Thanksgivings.”
“I’m sorry. That’s kind of tough. Where does she live now?”
“Harrisburg. It’s a small town in Ohio. But Nate and I visit her after the festivities. She really doesn’t mind being alone. I think she enjoys the solitude.”
Vanessa turned around to look at Justin. In the dark, she could barely make out the sharp, clean lines of his face. It was amazing how he was hers. She felt like this was a dream and she’d wake up alone without him or the baby.
What kind of a mother would she make?
Her only role models were her own mother and grandmother. Ceinlys loved her children—of this Vanessa had no doubt—but she didn’t always express that affection very well. And she always seemed distracted and discontent, even though she faked happiness well when she knew people were watching. Nobody would’ve known how miserable Ceinlys was by looking at her. And she’d relegated almost every aspect of taking care of Vanessa to the nannies.
Then there was Shirley Pryce. Nobody was meaner or more cutting under the genteel exterior. She’d always made it clear that she considered Ceinlys to be beneath Salazar. Contemptible even.
She had also repeatedly told Vanessa a girl should never try to be too smart, too educated or too outspoken. A woman should strive not to embarrass her man, that was all.
“I don’t blame you for making that mistake,” her grandmother would say. “It’s not your fault. How can you know any better with a mother like Ceinlys?”
And unlike her brothers, Vanessa was the child who often did wrong according to her grandmother. Had Shirley, old but still very sharp, suspected Vanessa might not be Salazar’s?
“What are you thinking?” Justin asked.
“Nothing.” Vanessa wrapped her arms around him, not wanting to spoil their time in the dark by talking about her family. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Blanche’s place in Harrisburg was a cozy cottage on a five-acre lot, a small section of which was a vegetable and herb garden. The house exterior was made of rough, earth-tone rocks, and the bright sun beat down on a red roof. A couple of apple trees grew in front, and a few long-eared rabbits hopped away as Justin’s car pulled up.
Vanessa took in the house. It wasn’t anything like what she’d pictured. She’d assumed Blanche would live in a mansion almost as grand as Barron’s in Houston. She could certainly afford one. But Harrisburg wasn’t even conveniently located. Vanessa and Justin had driven their rental for two hours after landing along lonely, deserted roads, some of which apparently didn’t even have names.
“Why here?” Vanessa asked. “She could live anywhere she wants.”
“To make sure it won’t be easy for Barron to bug her or summon her.” Justin put a hand on the small of her back. “Just a little rebellion against him for taking me from her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wanted to keep me at home, but Barron wanted me with him, so he could ‘groom’ me.”
“Not many women would object to their son inheriting twenty-five billion dollars.”
“Mom’s not cut from the usual cloth.” Justin’s hand tightened behind her. “Watch your step.”
“I’m fine.” The path leading to the house was made of smooth pebbles, but Vanessa was an expert stiletto walker.
The aroma of bubbling soup and fresh biscuits hit her the moment Justin opened the heavy wooden door, and she had to smile at her own preconceptions. She’d assumed the place would be like her family’s mansion with its cool, wax- and cleanser-scented air.
The interior was all warm earth-tone tiles and rugs and old wood with off-white stucco walls. A painting in the living room featured a view of the ocean; a sunset spilled orange over the water and palm trees swayed in the breeze. It somehow didn’t quite seem to go with the rest of the place.
Justin noticed her gaze. “That’s the place where she met my dad,” he said. “She was working at a resort there.”
Blanche came out of the open kitchen, her sneakers quiet. Stove heat had turned her cheeks rosy. Her hair spread out around her face like a fluffy silver cloud. She wasn’t wearing a single piece of jewelry, but her dark eyes sparkled. She wore a pink long-sleeve shirt and blue jeans, all simple cotton. The white and green apron on her read Home, Sweet Home in a fire-truck red.