Favourite Daughter. Kaira Rouda

would I? Mary’s gone now. I don’t care about you, or your petty jealousy. Mary was going to be a brilliant doctor, just like me. Her mom.”

      I want to grab her by the neck and squeeze. I want her to stop talking. David was with her? Our first year of marriage? He has cheated on me before? And with her? A servant? I can barely breathe. I manage, “David wouldn’t do that to me. We were in love then.”

      Elizabeth leans forward. “He was already regretting his choice. I really can’t blame him. You have control and boundary issues, Jane.”

      “Oh, do I?” I hiss. I stand up, hands clenched in fists.

      “You do. And besides, Mr. and Mrs. Harris were in love with the idea of a grandchild. You should have seen the way they pampered me, feeding me exquisite meals, buying maternity clothes for me. David was married, they couldn’t understand the delay, and meanwhile, I was pregnant. It all worked out.”

      I take a step forward and I’m standing next to Elizabeth now. The air between us is toxic. “I didn’t want to get pregnant then. If I wanted to I would have.”

      “Well, something made him turn to me.” She takes a step back. She’s leaving. But then she stops and says, “Look, Jane. It didn’t mean anything. It was a one-night stand. I was house-sitting for his parents. It was a mistake. Except it gave us Mary. All of us were blessed to know her, to have her in our lives.”

      I’m shaking all over. If she comes to the ceremony I won’t be able to control my rage. I cannot have her there today. I won’t. It’s my new start. “Do not come to the ceremony. Do not or you will be sorry.”

      She shakes her head and laughs. “You are a piece of work, threatening me again. This isn’t about you. It’s about Mary, and David and his parents, too. They asked me to be here, to mourn Mary. She’s my daughter, too.”

      As she walks away I pick up my phone. My hands shake as I punch David’s number, and the call rolls to voice mail. “We need to talk. Now. Call me or come home.”

      I sit down, trying to breathe. I will not allow this to ruin things, not now. No, I will get David back, and then we’ll discuss his further betrayal. For now, I will keep the peace, play my role. Once we’ve moved into our new house, he will pay for this.

       5

      10:00 a.m.

      Tree service companies are so responsive, especially if you’re calling from The Cove and willing to pay double the typical fee because it’s an emergency. I called last week after my near-death experience and today here they are. The crew and I already had assessed the situation and they’d explained their strategy by the time David bursts into the courtyard, red faced and frantic.

      He got my message, apparently. I’ve been ignoring his return phone calls, forcing him to come home. I won’t confront him about what I’ve learned from Elizabeth James. Not now. But still, he came home to me. That’s a good sign. He must be reminded of my power.

      I give David a little wave and notice the shock on his face when he finally spots the guys, one climbing up each of the two trees. “What is going on here, Jane? What are you doing to our magnificent palms? What’s the emergency?”

      “I’m getting rid of them. They’re a menace.” I put my hands on my hips and take a sip of my coffee. He grabs my shoulder. I shake his hand off.

      He says, “They’re one of the primary assets of our home. We can’t replace them. They’re grandfathered in. They represent our two girls.” David talks to me as if I were a child. As if I care about what he is saying. As if I hadn’t already spent a half hour plotting the demise of his precious trees with the guys implementing the plan.

      Above our heads I notice the men are listening to David instead of me. They stop climbing.

      “Oh no you don’t. Keep climbing. I signed the papers. Cut them down now. I’ve already paid, signed on the dotted line. Do it,” I command. It feels good to hear the chain saws rev up.

      “You’re destroying our home, the value,” David yells. I can tell he wants to say more but he shakes his head. It is loud, with the chain saws, hard to talk. I watch as he walks into the house and slams the door. Poor, pouting David. He doesn’t realize, even after twenty years, that I know what’s best for our family. Palm trees are killers. They have to go. Period. And I’m not the one destroying our home, dear.

      I hurry inside the house, per the men’s directions, and listen as the chunks of palm tree crash to the ground in the courtyard. It’s satisfying knowing they are dying, knowing I won. I destroyed them first, before they could get me. That’s what winners, survivors do.

      Back inside, I try to find my husband. I fight the urge to ask David about Elizabeth’s accusation. Maybe I’ll just ask him for a hug, for some reassurance about the ceremony this afternoon. I’ll demand that he make sure Elizabeth James does not attend. That’s the first step.

      “David, we need to talk. The ceremony tonight has me all out of sorts. Let’s hug.” I stand near the front door and hold my arms out to him.

      “You are unbelievable,” he says as he walks past me and out the door.

      “Wait, we need to talk,” I scream after him, but he can’t hear me over the chain saws. It’s fine. If he had stopped, hugged me, I might have asked him if he is actually Mary’s biological father. I’m certain it isn’t true. What kind of man would cheat as a newlywed? Not David, not my David. As I watch chunks of palm tree drop to the ground, my stomach turns.

      Of course it’s true.

      I take a cleansing breath and walk to the kitchen. It’s fine that he ran out the door. He’s angry right now and he wouldn’t be fun to talk to about this newly realized betrayal. I will stick to my plan, reunite our family. And then we will have the important chat, once we’re settled in our new home.

      I wonder if Betsy is home. If she passes through the kitchen, I’m ready to smother her with love. I walk to my desk and glance above my laptop at the invitation pinned to the corkboard:

      JOIN US FOR A CELEBRATION OF THE LIFE OF MARY HARRIS

      BELOVED DAUGHTER OF DAVID AND JANE HARRIS

      BELOVED SISTER OF BETSY HARRIS

      BELOVED GRANDDAUGHTER OF DAVID AND ROSEMARY HARRIS

      5:00 P.M. AT THE COVE PRIVATE BEACH

      PLEASE DRESS IN THE COLORS OF THE SUNSET

      MONDAY, MAY 20TH

      RSVP: KYLIE DORN

      Most of the details of today’s event were handled by David’s assistant, Kylie Dorn, a spunky, sunny young woman with full, pouty lips and a waist to breast ratio like Barbie’s. I know she’s mostly man-made, but the guys don’t seem to mind. She draws the appreciation of all men she comes into contact with, much like I do. We have a lot in common.

      I briefly wonder if she’ll be in attendance this evening, full lips pouting even more, breasts wrapped in the tight black fabric of feigned mourning. Oh, scratch that. The invitation directs us to wear the colors of the sunset. How cute. Of course she’ll be there.

      Stupid Elizabeth is likely on her way back to LA by now. She’s afraid of me, and she should be. Good riddance.

      I hear footsteps in the hall. Betsy walks into the kitchen wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and a frown. Her nose piercing taunts me, sparkles, challenging me to say something about it.

      I swallow. “Good morning. Can I get you breakfast?”

      Betsy’s face scrunches together with disgust as if she’s having an alien encounter. She wasn’t expecting me to be here. I enjoy surprising my daughters. It keeps them off balance.

      She says, “No.