Whispering Hearts (House of Secrets #3) - V.C. Andrews Page 0,91

both Dr. Davenport and Samantha knew this was an area of thin ice for me to tread, and so they never asked me about my family in England.

One Saturday morning, the second week into my seventh month, I placed a call. My fingers were trembling, thinking my father would answer. I almost preferred he would and then immediately hang up. It would eliminate my need to elaborate on my lies, and I would feel that I had fulfilled my obligation. But to my stunned surprise, it was Julia who answered, and like someone who had just awoken, despite the time in England being five hours later.

“Julia?” I asked, needing to confirm it was she.

“Why haven’t you called? You never gave us a way to contact you. I couldn’t even write a letter, send a telegram, anything.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, beginning to construct my fabrication, “but this has taken—”

“Daddy is dead,” she said.

It was as if something had just exploded very close to my ear. I think the explosion was even ringing with her words.

“What?”

“He was walking home after work. It was raining, and people who saw him said he was having trouble opening his old umbrella. You know how he resisted replacing it. He stood there struggling with it. He hadn’t been feeling well for weeks. Some nights he would sit in the living room and not say a word to either me or Mummy. He wasn’t eating well, either, and Mummy was nagging him to go to the doctor, but you know how stubborn he could be.”

“What happened?” I asked.

At least, I think I did. I couldn’t hear myself.

That ringing continued.

“Suddenly, he stopped struggling with the umbrella. A witness said he looked up at the rain as if he could send the drops into retreat, back up to the clouds, and then he sank to the walk. The ambulance was called, but he was already gone. They couldn’t revive him. His heart exploded. That’s the way they put it to us, exploded. Why haven’t you called?”

I couldn’t talk.

“Mummy wanted to wait until we could find you, but she couldn’t stomach him lying there in the morgue like that. She said he would be furious. She’s not making very much sense these days. Why didn’t you call us?”

“I couldn’t,” I said.

“Why couldn’t you? Why, Emma? Mummy thought for sure something terrible had happened to you, too. Everyone wanted to know why you weren’t at the funeral. I had no answers for them.”

“Oh, Julia,” I said. I was crying now, crying louder than I thought.

“What?” she screamed. “Why couldn’t you call us at least when you knew Daddy wouldn’t be home to slam the phone down at the sound of your voice? Why?”

I was hyperventilating, fighting to catch my breath.

“Emma. Daddy’s dead. He died over a fortnight ago. Come home tomorrow. Do you hear me?”

“I…”

“Tomorrow.”

“Can’t…” I said.

“What? Your damn career? Your confounded selfish—”

“No, Julia. I can’t because I’m seven months pregnant,” I said.

Her silence brought the ringing back. I held the receiver away from my ear and then dropped it and slowly sank to my knees and then back against the bed before sitting on the floor, my legs apart. I swung my arm and knocked over the table and the phone.

Samantha opened my bedroom door and looked in at me for only a split second before she screamed for Mrs. Cohen. I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart that I would simply die, evaporate, and be gone from everyone and everywhere. Mrs. Cohen came running, and with Samantha’s help, got me off the floor and back into my bed.

Samantha saw that the phone was still off the cradle.

“What is it, Emma? What’s happened?” she asked as Mrs. Cohen began to check my vitals.

“Her heart is pounding,” she muttered.

“Call Dr. Bliskin,” Samantha demanded. “I’ll call my husband.”

She went to the phone. Mrs. Cohen went into the bathroom and returned with a cool washcloth to put on my forehead.

“Are you in any pain, Emma?” she asked. Samantha was already talking to Dr. Davenport.

I shook my head. “I’m a little dizzy,” I said in a loud whisper.

“What is it?” Samantha asked. She came to hold my hand.

“I called home,” I said. “My father died. More than two weeks ago. They didn’t know how to reach me…”

I closed my eyes. I was sobbing, but I couldn’t feel any tears on my cheeks. Mrs. Cohen called Dr. Bliskin’s office, but he was in the delivery room. Mrs. Topper said she would give

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