sane anguish when she, too, had found herself pregnant and unmarried. She had been old enough that she and Andy had been able to marry without parental consent, but at the time and for years afterward, it had never occurred to Joanna that her mother might possibly have lived through a similar ordeal. She had needed her mother’s help and had been no more able to ask for it than Eleanor had been to give it.
Joanna and Eleanor had battled over all kinds of things in the years after Joanna’s overly hasty marriage to Andy Brady, but the underlying foundation for most of those hostilities had been Joanna’s feeling of betrayal, Joanna’s belief that Eleanor hadn’t been there for her when she had needed her most. For years she had endured Eleanor’s constant criticism without realizing that her mother’s finger-pointing had been a ruse to conceal her own long-held secret—the baby Eleanor had borne and given up for adoption prior to her marriage to Big Hank Lathrop. It wasn’t until that long-lost child, a grown-up and nearly middle-aged Bob Brundage, had come searching for his birth parents that Joanna had finally learned the truth as well as the depth of her mother’s hypocrisy.
Instead of forming a bond between mother and daughter, Bob Brundage’s appearance had made things worse. For Joanna, learning of her brother’s existence and her mother’s youthful indiscretion constituted yet another betrayal on Eleanor’s part. And now, after years of continual warfare, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield had come suing for peace and pleading for understanding, asking for the kind of absolution she herself had never been able to grant.
Joanna’s first instinct was to say, “No way!” But then she thought about Marianne Maculyea. For years her friend had been estranged from her own mother. Only now, after years of separation, Evangeline Maculyea had finally come around. It had taken the death of one grandchild and the birth of another, but Marianne’s mother had finally opened the door to a reconciliation. It was, as Marianne had told Joanna, “the right thing to do.” And so was this.
“I do understand,” Joanna said quietly.
“Would that boy have married Dora, do you think?” Eleanor whispered, making Joanna wonder if she had even heard. “Not right now, of course,” Eleanor added. “Dora was only thirteen, so she would have been too young. But maybe later, when she was older, this Chris could have married her the same way your father married me.” She paused before saying what before would have been unthinkable. “The same way Andy married you.”
Joanna wanted to answer, but her voice caught in her throat. She thought about what Jaime had said on the phone about Christopher Bernard and his family. Much as she would have liked to believe in the fairy tale, it didn’t seem likely that Chris Bernard was cut from the same cloth as either D. H. Lathrop or Andrew Roy Brady.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Joanna finally managed. “I honestly don’t know”
“I hope so,” Eleanor returned, wiping new tears from her eyes. “I hope he cared about her that much. I suppose that’s a stupid thing to say, isn’t it. George said something about my being overly emotional about this, and it’s true. But I hope Christopher really did care. I hope Dora found someone to love her even for a little while because it doesn’t sound as though that mother of hers has sense enough to come in out of the rain.”
Joanna sighed. This was far more like the Eleanor Lathrop Winfield she knew. “I hope so, too,” she said.
Eleanor straightened now, as though everything was settled. The emotional laundry had been washed and dried and could now be safely folded and put away.
“Well,” she added, “I suppose I ought to head home now. You said George had been called out to a crime scene? How late do you think he’ll be?”
“Most likely not that much later. Because of where the body is, they probably won’t be able to retrieve it before morning.”
“Had he eaten any dinner before he left?” Eleanor asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Probably not. The man’s smart as a whip, but when it comes to sensible things like eating at reasonable hours, he’s utterly hopeless. So I’d better be going then,” Eleanor continued. “That way I can have a little something ready for him when he gets home.”
She turned to Joanna, took her daughter’s hand, and squeezed it. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’m glad we had this little talk. I’m feeling ever so much better.”
Joanna reached over and gave her mother a hug. “I’m glad we had this talk, too. Now go on home. George was worried sick about you. He’ll be delighted to find you at home. Just don’t tell him I told you so.”
Eleanor frowned. “Do
