"Trinity has never touched the trust fund Harold set up for her. She knew about it, Sarabess. I believe that your husband, her father, told her about it when she was quite young. I cannot even begin to imagine what that young girl thought at the time if, indeed, he did tell her. I think the knowledge of that monstrous trust fund was what made her run away. At least that's Mitzi's theory. She didn't want any part of it, you, or Harold. Let it be."

Sarabess fingered the pearls at her neck. She felt choked up at her lover's words. "When did you get so ugly, Rifkin Forrest?"

"Ten minutes ago, when I saw what you were about this morning. Today of all days. Why didn't you make the decision a week ago, a month, yesterday? Today is the anniversary of Emily's death. In just a few months Trinity will be thirty and will come into," Rif said, his voice sounding ominous.

Sarabess didn't think Rif's voice could get any colder, but it did. She actually shivered in the humid June air.

"You went in that room, you looked at the pictures, you relived the thirteen years that Trinity gave your daughter. You probably cried; and then you decided maybe this was a good time to find your other daughter. The thought probably crossed your mind that you might have grandchildren somewhere. That's the part I want to believe.

"The other part, having to do with the trust fund that will revert to you if Trinity dies or isn't found in time to take possession of her trust, is not something I want to think about today. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I have a tee time in thirty minutes."

Sarabess was speechless. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, I'm leaving. I don't want any part of upsetting that young woman's life for your own selfish desires."

Sarabess started to cry. "Please, Rif, don't leave. I. . .I'm not doing this for me. I want to try and make it right. You may be right—it may be too late—but I won't know if I don't try. I just want to find her. I won't invade her life if it looks like I. . .if. . .she isn't interested. I thought that Jake," she said, referring to Rif's son and law partner, "might do the search. He used to play with Trinity when they were little children. Emily used to watch them from the sunroom. She was so envious." A linen handkerchief found its way to her eyes. It all sounded good to her ears. It should—she'd rehearsed this little speech for hours in front of the mirror.

Rifkin sighed wearily. "It always comes back to Emily, doesn't it?"