The Iron Tiara

"I would like to see them,” he told her. A beat passed. “You never answered my question back at the campsite, Christy. Why didn't you tell me Abby was your daughter?"

Without looking over at him or asking how he found out, she said evenly, "Because she wasn't. Not legally, anyway. Litzy raised her during her short life. I was a bystander."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I didn't think it mattered anyway," she continued. "It's not like she's still here."

"But your love for her is still with you,” he reminded her.

She looked over at him then and smiled. "That's true. But telling you she was my biological child wouldn't have changed anything. I'll continue to love her more than my own life, and I'll continue to mourn her the same. Even if Litzy had given birth to Abby, my feelings wouldn't be any different."

"I'll give you another child, Christy," he said as he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly.

She didn't reply, only nodded and he saw sadness in her eyes. It was time to ask her about Abby’s father.

"No!" she cried. "Ugh. No, Anthony. Van wasn't Abby's father."

"I don't believe you," he told her, his eyes narrowing. He sat up on the edge of his chair and leaned toward her. "All the secrecy. The made-up story about the older boyfriend. Van's inability to keep it in his pants and the recent proof we've seen of exactly what he is capable of doing to you." They were sitting side by side, but he leaned even closer, putting his face right in hers. "And I already know that Van isn't your stepfather. He's your biological father. All the more reason for your family to hide it."

She pulled back from him and stood up, yanking her hand out of his. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him. "You've been talking to Richard," she said. It wasn't a question.

"You don't deny it? Van is your father?"

She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. "No. I don't deny it. But I do deny that he fathered Abby. What kind of a person do you think I am?" she asked him.

"Christy," he said, as he stood. He was now looking down at her. "It has nothing to do with what kind of person I think you are. It has to do with the kind of person I know Van was. He was undoubtedly capable of raping you. Did he?"

"No," she told him, not breaking from his gaze.

"Then who got you pregnant?" he probed. "Who is Abby's father? I won't believe it's not Van unless you tell me otherwise."

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked up at him, slowly shaking her head.

"You know him. Well, you don't know him. You know of him."

His eyes widened. Who could she possibly be referring to?

"Lenny Renquest,” she said.

It took a second for him to recognize the name and when he did, he gave her a half smirk. "The pimply faced kid from the restaurant?" he asked her.

"Yes, and he doesn't have pimples anymore." Her tone was defensive.

"I could see his acne scars from across the room. How in the world did you ever hook up with him?"

"It was the night of some big dance. I don't remember if it was prom or homecoming. Of course I didn't go. He'd already graduated. Anyway," she said as she fiddled with her earring, "I ran into him at the drug store. He was always a nice guy. I was lonely. I was curious. He was willing."

"He took you home?" Anthony asked, trying not smile. He couldn't imagine them together. The tall, lanky, pale and pimply kid with the girl who should've been the prom queen.

"Not exactly." She looked at him sheepishly. "We did it in the back of his father's plumbing van in the drugstore parking lot. It happened two times. The first time was over as soon as he put it in. He didn't last much longer the second time, but it was long enough to get me pregnant. I decided afterward that I hadn't been missing out on much by not having a boyfriend."

"Does Lenny know about Abby?" Anthony asked, his expression now serious.

"No. Nobody knows. My parents were very good about covering it up. And they humiliated me by starting a rumor that I'd run off with an older boyfriend. Even Richard believed it. I don't know if they ever told my grandmother the truth. I was sent away to a private school for pregnant girls and Bobbi died right before Abby was born." Her voice held an edge of bitterness. "And when I threatened to shout it to the world, Van and Vivian offered me a compromise. They would never acknowledge Abby or let me raise her in our home, but they would let Litzy adopt her. If I refused the offer, they guaranteed I would never see my child again. And I believed them."

"I'm sorry, Christy. I'm sorry about all of it."

"I am too," she told him as she stood there. She was looking down, kicking at an imaginary stone with her right foot.

He reached for her and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist, welcoming his strength, warmth, and masculine smell. He bent low to rest his chin on her head and said, "I have another question, Owani."

"What?" she asked, drinking in his scent.

"You ran into Lenny at the drug store. He was supposedly the school brainiac. Your words at the restaurant, not mine," he quickly added. "And you're a smart girl."

"Yeah, so?" she asked.

"You'd think one of you would've thought to grab a pack of condoms."

Without looking at him, she could feel the smile in his voice as his mouth rested against her head.

"Shut up, Anthony. Just shut up."





Chapter Forty-Six





Naples, Florida 1979





Before too long summer was upon them, and it was one of the most brutal heat waves Anthony could remember. The high temperatures were relentless, and drought conditions made it close to impossible for Native Touch to keep their clients happy. It wasn't easy producing luscious green lawns with little to no water.

Anthony watched as Christy's demeanor slowly changed and despite the scorching weather, she seemed to bloom. He sensed that she'd been set free from her secret and the scrappy, feisty woman he'd met in Vivian's bedroom last year reasserted herself. And it was where she reasserted herself that surprised and concerned him.

She'd become a regular at Camp Sawgrass. She never participated in or approved of some of their more sinister activities, but she did take it upon herself to protect the women that regularly showed up there. He'd caught her more than once reading the riot act to one of his men for mistreating one of the girls, and he'd finally forbade her from showing up at the camp without him. He knew that no one would ever dare touch her, but the men secretly groaned and complained about her, and Anthony couldn't blame them. She could be a tyrant when her nurturing instincts surfaced to protect the wayward and lost souls that found their way to the camp.

"You can't forbid me from going there, Anthony," she'd snapped at him one hot afternoon.

"Yes, I can, Christy," he'd barked back, giving her a look that would've sent a grizzly packing. "It's my camp, and they're my men, and I don't want you there if you’re going to interfere."

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