Crimson Rain. Meg O'Brien

are, apparently,” Victoria said with a smile. She picked up her appointment book and a pen. “Okay, now. Do you want us to work together while you’re home on vacation, or not? Shall I put you down for the day after tomorrow?”

      “Mom likes to hit the stores the day after Christmas,” Rachel said. “How about the day after that?”

      “Right.” Victoria wrote it in.

      “Uh…can I have that cookie back?”

      Victoria had picked up the plate and was putting it on the file cabinet. She swung back and laughed. “Sure. Maybe it’ll sweeten your mood.”

      Rachel stood and gathered up her coat, slipping it on with the cookie between her teeth. Then, taking it in her hand, she said, “Vicky…I know we’re making light of this right now. And to tell the truth, I’m kind of relieved that we are. But I still feel, down deep, that something bad is going to happen.”

      Victoria got up and came around the desk, wrapping an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and walking her to the door. “You could be right, of course. But let’s not jump the gun. Let’s look at all sides of it first. Okay?”

      Rachel nodded, drawing her pink scarf tighter as Victoria opened the door into the hallway. “God, it’s raining again,” she said, looking back toward the office window. “Now that I’m living in California most of the time, I get so depressed up here when it rains.”

      “Espresso,” Victoria said, patting her shoulder. “Get yourself some espresso. Better yet, a mocha. The chocolate will do you good.”

      “I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Maybe I need some Prozac or something.”

      Victoria studied her, meeting her eyes. “Maybe you do. But let’s start slowly. We can talk about that later, after we meet some more.”

      Rachel sighed. “Okay. See you in a few days, then.”

      “Right.” Victoria touched her cheek lightly with a pale, slender hand. “Rachel…try to have a happy Christmas.”

      “You, too,” Rachel said, stepping away.

      Going down the long, carpeted hallway to the elevator, she felt awkward, as if she were stumbling. As if the hallway had shrunk, and there wasn’t room now to put her feet anywhere. Or the way it felt during the occasional California earthquakes, even when they were only small tremors. It seemed for days afterward that the ground kept moving—but only slightly, so that it was hard to know whether what she felt was real or not.

      She hadn’t told Vicky about these “spells,” which had come and gone several times over the past few weeks. She didn’t want anyone to know. It was probably irrational, but the old fear was back: If I tell them too much, they might send me away, too.

      4

      Sacred Heart, the Queen Anne Hill church that Paul and Gina had been married in, was wall-to-wall with parishioners. Seats were always in demand for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and ten minutes after they’d arrived it was standing room only. Gina had insisted on arriving early to assure their getting a seat, hurrying everyone along. They had made it with half an hour to spare before Mass began, and had landed a pew two rows from the front.

      It was hot in the crowded church, and Gina fanned her face with the printed pamphlet containing words to the carols they would sing throughout the service. The beads of perspiration on her forehead reminded her of her wedding day and the heat wave that had come tearing through Seattle that July. She had been sure her gown would melt before the long ceremony was over. As it was, the white satin stuck to her skin when she tried to peel it off that night.

      The heat hadn’t dimmed her passion or Paul’s, however. Gina almost blushed now, just thinking of how wanton they were on that honeymoon night.

      She sighed. Where had it all gone, that passion? Had it simply dissipated with so many years of familiarity? Was that the natural order of things? Perhaps. Paul’s mother and father didn’t seem all that passionate about each other any longer, yet after some rocky years when Paul was a child, they seemed contented enough. Right now they were on a cruise through the Caribbean, and after that they were flying to Paris, then Rome—an anniversary gift from her and Paul.

      As for Roberta, her own mother, who knew? At times, Gina thought Roberta might still be dating. Certainly that wouldn’t be unusual at her age. She was only sixty, and there had been mysterious evenings lately when Roberta wasn’t at home and wouldn’t tell anyone the next day where she’d been. Why she’d be shy about telling anyone she was dating, Gina didn’t know.

      For that matter, as she looked around, Gina didn’t see her mother in any of the front pews. Roberta had never, so far as she knew, missed Midnight Mass. Of course, she might have arrived late and had to settle for sitting somewhere in the back. That wasn’t like her, but sometimes the traffic coming over from Gig Harbor was unusually heavy.

      Roberta and Gina’s father, Tony, had grown up in this Seattle parish. They had lived their lives in the old-world Catholic way, following the exhortations of the priests in those days to sacrifice and suffer. There would be stars in their crowns in heaven, they were told. Tony had suffered, all right, living for several months through a siege of cancer when he was fifty. Gina wondered if he were somewhere “up there,” and if the stars in his crown were worth it.

      She knew that what had happened with the twins had taken its toll on Paul’s parents as well as her own. She was glad all three remaining parents were thinking of themselves now, rather than focusing on that time when nothing made much sense and everything around them seemed to be falling apart.

      When Gina met Paul, who was raised Baptist but no longer attended church, he had agreed to marry her in the Catholic church. They were both very young then, in their early twenties. Following a particular faith didn’t seem to matter as much as the fact that they believed in each other. It mattered to Gina’s parents, however, who insisted that being married outside the church was no marriage at all. Paul, to keep the peace, had gone along with their request.

      Even so, Gina’s mother had spoken of misgivings. “A man who will leave his faith behind will one day leave his wife,” she had warned Gina. But that was Roberta Evans; she saw the darker side of things, always. If something could go wrong, it would—at least in Roberta’s mind.

      Unfortunately, in the case of the twins, she had turned out to be right. Roberta had warned Gina that adopting a child without knowing its background, both medical and familial, could be trouble. Angela and Rachel had been placed at Saint Sympatica’s shortly after birth, and little was known about the woman who had given birth to them. The note she left with them in the cardboard box, on the steps of the orphanage, had said nothing that would give anyone a clue as to her whereabouts. She never went back to Saint Sympatica’s to reclaim them, and the twins ended up being there several months before Paul and Gina adopted them.

      “Why weren’t they adopted right away?” Roberta had wanted to know. “Babies have always been in demand.”

      Gina had asked this question of Anita and Rodney Ewing, the couple who owned and directed the orphanage. Mrs. Ewing had seemed uneasy at the question, but had given them a perfectly good explanation. “We wanted to keep them together, and not everyone wants the responsibility of twins. Also, we’ve been very particular. Because the girls have been without a mother or father so long, they may need special care.”

      That special care was a watchful eye as the girls grew older, to ensure that they hadn’t suffered from being abandoned by their mother at such a young age. For that matter, they might have been abused or neglected while in the care of their mother. If they had indeed suffered damage, they would need the best possible psychiatric treatment. This could end up costing quite a bit over the years, Paul and Gina were told, and they had assured Mrs. Ewing that they were able and willing to provide the twins with that.

      Finally, they themselves went through several interviews with the Ewings and Saint Sympatica’s child