Rifkin. Using his full name meant Sarabess was serious. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. "You waited fifteen years too long. If you think for one minute that girl is going to forgive you, you are wrong." Rif brought the coffee cup to his lips. He didn't think he'd ever tasted anything so bitter.

"She's my daughter. I'm her mother."

Rif sighed and closed his eyes. His voice was so low Sarabess had to strain to hear it. "You gave birth to her. You were never her mother. You were Emily's mother. As your attorney, I'm advising you to let matters rest. As your friend and lover, I'm asking you to let matters rest. Please, Sarabess, listen to me."

"I have no intention of following your advice, Rifkin. It's time."

"For you, perhaps. Not for Trinity. If she wanted to see you, she knows where you are. She could have come home anytime. The fact that she hasn't called or written in fifteen years means she doesn't have any interest in seeing you."

"She doesn't even know Harold died. She should know that," Sarabess said coldly. "Mitzi knows. If you could just get inside that. . .that squirrelly head of hers, we could find Trinity in a heartbeat."

"Almost fifteen years after the fact you think Trinity should know her father died! I can't believe I'm hearing what I'm hearing. I advise you to think seriously about what you are contemplating, Sarabess. You gave birth to Trinity so you could use her bone marrow so that Emily would live. Then you gave that child to your foreman and his wife to raise. You hauled her up here one day a year on Princess Emily's birthday and any other time Emily pitched a fit. You had the Hendersons dress her up like a poor relation, then you sent her away after the party. One day a year, Sarabess! One goddamn day a year! Those other command performances simply don't count. You're delusional if you think Trinity will want to see you."

"I had no other choice. Emily would have died. Because of. . .of that. . .procedure, I had thirteen more years. With my darling daughter. Thirteen years! I wouldn't trade those thirteen years for anything in the world. When. . .when I explain things to her, I'm sure she will understand. She is my daughter after all. She only has one mother. We all have only one mother." Sarabess's voice was colder than chipped ice, her eyes colder.

Is he buying into my explanation? At first blush, it doesn't seem like it. Well, that will have to change quickly.

"I don't care how much it hurts, Sarabess, but you were never that girl's mother. You didn't sit with her at night when she was sick. You didn't take her to church, you never took her shopping. You never once looked at her report card, never went to a school meeting. You never read her a bedtime story or tucked her into bed. Half the time you couldn't remember what her name was. Emily didn't like her either, thanks to you. Guilt is what took Harold to an early grave, and we both know it. I guess you're just a lot tougher.