Crimson Rain. Meg O'Brien

twins in their arms.

      Gina could remember the first time she realized that Angela was Paul’s favorite. They both did their best not to choose favorites, but there was some link, some bond between Paul and Angela that drew them together. Angela was outgoing and could make Paul laugh with her antics, while Rachel was timid and reserved, standing back and watching while her sister danced like a windup bear and made funny faces that stole the show.

      This, of course, had the effect of making Gina show more attention to Rachel so that she wouldn’t feel left out. When Angela was old enough to notice this, she became angry over Gina’s preference for her twin, as she perceived it. At first she threw tantrums, stamping her feet or kicking things. Around the age of four, however, she began to hit Rachel. When she blackened one of her sister’s eyes, Gina and Paul began consulting Victoria Lessing. Victoria at first told them that, though a black eye seemed a bit extreme, fighting amongst siblings was normal. Perhaps Angela hadn’t realized what the consequences of her actions would be? Now that she did, her love for her sister might temper her actions in the future.

      The problem, as Gina saw it, was that Angela did not seem to have the usual twin’s love for her sister. There were times, in fact, when Gina was sure that Angela hated Rachel.

      She tried to talk to Paul about this but, blinded by love, he couldn’t see it. Angela was too good at hiding her darker side when he was around, and consequently he would defend her hotly, arguing that she simply had a stronger, more assertive personality than Rachel. Paul felt this would serve her well in the future.

      In all fairness, not even Gina could have foreseen the kind of terror that future would bring.

      The phone rang, and Gina came back to the present with a start. Rolling her eyes, she sighed, sensing who was on the other end of that ring.

      “Hi, Mom,” she said, picking up the kitchen phone.

      “How’d you know it was me?” Roberta Evans asked. “Oh, you’ve got that caller ID now, right?”

      “Right, Mom,” Gina lied. It was easier than explaining that she’d developed a sixth sense for trouble. “What’s up?”

      “Rachel’s coming home tomorrow, isn’t she? I forgot when her plane comes in.”

      “Five-oh-five in the afternoon, Mom. You want to come with us?”

      “Sea-Tac at that hour, the week before Christmas?” Her mother’s tone was one of exaggerated horror. “I’d rather wrestle a polar bear! How come you didn’t make it at a better time?”

      Gina could hear the puff-puff of her mother’s cigarette, and saw in her mind the dyed red hair, the dark-lined lips. She loved her mother like crazy, even with all her eccentricities. Truth be told, she loved the eccentricities too—even more than she let on.

      “That was the only flight we could get her on, Mom. She’s having tests at school today.”

      “Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of! Tests, with Christmas only five days away? What are they trying to do to young people these days?”

      “It’s something special, Mom. The term ended officially on the fourteenth, but she had to take some test for a special class.”

      Gina sighed and changed the subject, taking a box of cereal from a bag and putting it in the cupboard. “We’re taking her to dinner on the way home,” she said. “We probably won’t get back here till late.”

      “You keep saying ‘we,’” her mother commented blandly. “Does this mean Paul will be with you?”

      “Of course. We always pick Rachel up together, you know that.”

      “On the contrary, I don’t know a thing about Paul these days. Seems to me he’s never home when I call you at night.”

      “Well, maybe you don’t call on the right nights,” Gina said, defending her husband out of habit.

      “He’s not there now, I’ll bet.”

      “No, but—”

      “And he wasn’t home last night when I called, either.”

      Gina took down a heavy cut-crystal tumbler and pulled a spicy Chardonnay from the fridge, pouring it to the tumbler’s halfway mark, then shrugging and filling it clear to the rim. What the hell.

      “Mother,” she said patiently, taking a sip, “you know Paul always works late during the holidays. It’s his way of coping.”

      “Well, it may be none of my business, but if you ask me, it’s not his only way of coping.”

      Gina frowned. “You’re right, Mother. It’s none of your business.”

      “Don’t Mother me, Gina Evans Bradley. He wouldn’t be the first man to stray.”

      “No, but as I’ve told you before, Paul isn’t the type.”

      “Ha! All men are the type.”

      This was not a discussion Gina wanted to have. But to simply let it go would only add more fuel to her mother’s fire.

      “Paul is too tired these days,” she said quietly, “to have an affair. He’s worn-out, Mom. I’m worried about him.”

      “Are you saying he’s worn-out when he’s with you? You don’t have sex anymore?”

      Setting the tumbler of wine on the counter with a thud, Gina snapped, “Mom, that’s enough! I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

      “Because if he is, that might very well prove my point, you know.”

      Gina clicked the flash button on the phone. “Mom, there’s another call coming in. It could be Rachel. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You can just stop clicking that thing. I know there’s not a call coming in.”

      “Bye, Mom.” Gina smiled as she hung up the phone. Her mother was still sharp at sixty, and at times almost psychic.

      About Paul, however, she was completely off base. Paul would never have an affair. Gina knew him too well, and the one thing she knew for certain was that he simply wasn’t the type.

      Paul watched Lacey as he dressed, who lay on the bed and followed his every move, a mock lewd grin turning up the corners of her mouth. Her lips were swollen now from lovemaking, and with her bright red lipstick rubbed off, she looked like a little girl—an innocent child, though he knew she was neither a child nor innocent, but a woman who knew things that other women never even thought about.

      Pulling his pants on, he shoved in the tail of the white dress shirt he’d worn to Soleil Antiques that day. His hands fumbled. He was depleted from their lovemaking, and she was beginning to get to him again. Lacey played with a nipple, her eyes smoldering. Incredibly, she was ready for more.

      Paul was tempted, but he had to get home. Gina could never know what he was doing; it would hurt her to the core, and he didn’t want that. Keeping a mistress was something entirely apart from his marriage to Gina. It was like—well, like living two different lives, each of them necessary and valid but for entirely different reasons.

      Lacey sat up and reached for him. He dodged her, laughing.

      “Enough! What are you trying to do, put me in cardiac arrest?”

      She slid from under the satin sheets and pulled bikini briefs over legs so long, they seemed two-thirds of her height. Bending over, she let her full breasts hang as she placed them in a more comfortable position inside her bra. Paul’s mouth went dry.

      “Cardiac arrest?” Lacey chuckled, straightening. “Not you! You’re a bear. A big, strong bear.” Then, squinting, she studied him through the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. “No…you’re too tall and thin to be a bear. More like a handsome black panther. An aging panther, of course, with that gray hair popping out along your temples—”