Page 87

“Yeah, well, good riddance.” He saw the bottle of brandy on the coffee table. “Drinking? Good idea. A nightcap is in order,” he said. “Another successful dinner to celebrate.”

“Really.” I watched him pour himself a glass.

He wobbled a bit and then drank half of it in one gulp. “Good stuff,” he said. “So? Why did this Price woman come here?”

“She had promised her husband she would come to plead for forgiveness. She wanted to explain about him, to tell me how he was truly an artist and had only an artist’s interest in Sylvia’s beauty.”

“Sure,” Arden said, and finished his brandy. “Maybe she thought we might still press charges or something.”

“She got me very angry, Arden. I wasn’t going to forgive Mr. Price, and she was upset by how I treated her explanation. She said some nasty things about my family and our reputation in the community. I couldn’t help myself.”

“What . . .” He refocused on me and poured himself a little more brandy.

“She saw Adelle and Sylvia, and she thought Sylvia was beautiful and the baby was beautiful.”

“So?”

“So then I told her we weren’t only accusing her husband of groping my sister. We were accusing him of rape.”

My words seemed to sober him instantly. “You told her what?”

“She was shocked and had to sit again.”

“For Christ’s sake, Audrina, she could go and tell someone, maybe a lawyer or someone, because she’d be afraid we’d press charges.”

“Against a dead man?”

“Or discredit her in some way. How could you make such a mistake now? I don’t care how angry she got you.”

“What followed was very interesting, Arden. As it turns out, Mr. Price couldn’t have raped Sylvia and gotten her pregnant with Adelle.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not?”

“He had testicular cancer when he was younger and was made infertile. They had to adopt all their children.”

Arden stood before me, blinking fast. “I’m sure that’s a lie,” he said. “Her way of covering up for him. She’s worried about herself, that’s all.”

“She has the medical reports and is giving me the doctor’s name. She will have him tell the truth. She’s not lying.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“I had these dreams—at least, I thought they were dreams—of you standing outside the first Audrina’s room and whispering through the door while Sylvia rocked in the rocking chair. You impersonated my father and told her to do things. You told her she had to keep everything secret. It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

He didn’t reply. He stood there looking at me.

“You’re the one who raped my sister, Arden. You’re the one who took advantage of her. Did you do this for your own selfish pleasure?”

“No,” he said, maybe too quickly, because he wasn’t quite finished trying to deny it. “I mean . . . Oh, what are you so surprised about, Audrina? We both wanted a child, and you couldn’t give me one. It worked out well, didn’t it? Now we have a child who carries your father’s blood and my blood. It’s almost the same thing, and besides, everyone believes it. That woman won’t convince anyone of anything.”

“You raped my sister,” I said.

“Stop saying that. I did what had to be done.” He stared at the floor for a few moments and then looked up. “And maybe it will have to be done again. I want a son; you should want a son, too.”

I stood up slowly.

His words now and his confession, although anticipated, still struck me hard—but doubly hard when he threatened to have another child with Sylvia.

“You deceived us both, and you had me believing that schoolteacher was the rapist. It was all lies.” A new thought occurred. “Did your Mrs. Matthews know the truth? Did she go along with it? Was it part of your plan? You don’t have to answer. I think now that was why she was so disrespectful to me. She knew I was being a fool, and oh, what a fool you made of me.”