Page 7 of Whispers

“Stop it!” Claire ordered, realizing they were getting nowhere. “Enough! Both of you—stay out of each other’s things.” Then, to lighten the mood, she added, “That’s my job. If there’s any snooping, I’ll be the one to go through drawers and closets and secret hiding places—”

“Oh, sure,” Sean mocked.

“Try me.”

Yanking the rubber band from

her ponytail, Samantha checked her face in the mirror and scowled at a pimple as she shook out her hair. “Well, I’m glad we’re moving. I’m sick of everyone staring at me and saying all those lies about Dad.”

Give me strength! Crossing her arms under her chest, Claire leaned a hip against the bureau for support. “What lies?”

“Candi Whittaker says that Dad is some kind of weirdo, that he did something nasty with Jessica Stewart, but I told them they were wrong; that Jessica used to be Sean’s girlfriend.”

Sean groaned and turned his back on his sister.

“And what did Candi say to that?” Claire hardly dared ask.

“She laughed—a real creepy laugh, it gave me the willies—and then she told Tammy Dawson that I was in a classic case of denial and that she should know because her father’s a psychiatrist.” Samantha’s gaze was troubled, but she lifted her chin, refusing to be beat down by what she assumed were lies about her father. “It’s not true, is it?” Her voice was suddenly so small, her fingers lacing and unlacing in worry. “Daddy didn’t do something awful with Jessica, did he? That isn’t why you left him?”

Claire’s heart sank. Biting her lip, she fought an onslaught of fresh, hot tears and took Samantha into her arms. Sick inside, she admitted the truth. “Daddy and I had lots of problems, you know that.”

“Everyone does. You said so.” Doubt cracked Samantha’s voice. Her blond head, so recently proud, bowed.

“That’s true, honey. Everyone does. But—”

“No.” She tried to wiggle away, to hide from the truth, but Claire decided that there was no time like the present, especially if Samantha’s friends were giving her a bad time.

“But it’s also true that Jessica says she and Daddy were . . . well, were intimate.”

Samantha’s body began to tremble violently. “Intimate?”

“Meaning that he fucked her,” Sean clarified.

“No!”

“Sean, hush!” Claire clung to her daughter. “Don’t use that kind of language around this house—”

Samantha’s eyes were wild. “But he didn’t, did he? Daddy would never, ever—”

“Whatever happened, you have to have faith in your father,” Claire heard herself saying, though the words rang like the hollow sound of a lonely bell. She’d lost faith in Paul a long time ago; she’d given up on him and their sham of a marriage years before. She’d only stuck it out for the kids. Now that seemed like a cruel, disgusting joke. Her children would forever bear these scars. “Daddy and I were already separated when . . . well, when Jessica said that it happened.”

“You’re saying that Jessica lied?” Samantha asked, hope in her tiny voice.

“No way!” Sean sneered. “I walked in on them. They were humping like dogs in heat!”

“Stop it, Sean!”

“No!” Samantha shook her head violently. “No! No! No!”

“Honey, I’m just telling you what Jessica is saying.” Claire’s throat was suddenly raw with the pain her daughter felt.

“But why?” Samantha’s voice was an octave higher than normal.

“Because she’s a slut, and he’s a pervert.”

“I don’t know,” Claire said. “Sean, I don’t want to hear another word—”

“No! It’s not true!” Samantha’s body stiffened, and she pushed Claire away. “I don’t believe you!” She ran to the door. “You’re a liar, Sean, a creepy, lowlife liar!”