“Of course it’s a lie. It’s a horrible lie.”

Desperate to do at least this one thing right and well, she went to Seth, crouched in front of him. She wanted badly to take his hand, but resisted her impulse when he leaned away from her.

“Ray Quinn wasn’t your father, Seth. He was your grandfather. Gloria’s his daughter.”

His lips trembled, and those deep-blue eyes shimmered. “My grandfather?”

“Yes. I’m sorry she didn’t tell you, so sorry you didn’t know before he . . .” She shook her head, straightened. “I didn’t realize there was confusion about this. I should have. I only learned about it myself a few weeks ago.”

She took her seat again, prepared herself. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

TWELVE

IT WAS EASIER now, almost like a lecture. Sybill was used to giving lectures on social topics. All she had to do was divorce herself from the subject and relay information in a clear and cohesive manner.

“Professor Quinn had a relationship with Barbara Harrow,” she began. She put her back to the window so that she could face all of them as she spoke. “They met at American University in Washington. I don’t have a great many of the details, but what I do know indicates that he was teaching there and she was a graduate student. Barbara Harrow is my mother. Gloria’s mother.”

“My father,” Phillip said. “Your mother.”

“Yes. Nearly thirty-five years ago. I assume they were attracted to each other, physically at least. My mother . . .” She cleared her throat. “My mother indicated that she believed he had a great deal of potential, that he would rise up the ranks in academia quickly. Status is an essential requirement to my mother’s contentment. However, she found herself disappointed in his . . . what she saw as his lack of ambition. He was content to teach. Apparently he wasn’t particularly interested in the social obligations that are necessary for advancement. And his politics were too liberal for her tastes.”

“She wanted a rich, important husband.” Cueing in quickly, Phillip raised his eyebrows. “And she discovered he wasn’t going to be it.”

“That’s essentially true,” Sybill agreed in a cool, steady voice. “Thirty-five years ago, the country was experiencing unrest, its own internal war between youth and establishment. Colleges were teeming with minds that questioned not only an unpopular war, but the status quo. Professor Quinn, it would seem, had a lot of questions.”

“He believed in using the brain,” Cam muttered. “And in taking a stand.”

“According to my mother, he took stands.” Sybill managed a small smile. “Often unpopular with the administration of the university. He and my mother disagreed, strongly, on basic principles and beliefs. At the end of the term, she went home to Boston, disillusioned, angry, and, she was to discover, pregnant.”

“Bullshit. Sorry,” Cam said shortly when Anna hissed at him. “But it’s bullshit. There’s no way he would have ignored responsibility for a kid. No way in hell.”