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“I don’t have a clue. Although she must’ve rated with Michael if he had her bronzed. It would appear that only the people he loved got the distinction. And don’t look so forlorn, Olivia. I knew that Michael never loved me. But he was good to both of us and I’ll always love him for that.” Her eyes narrowed on the laughing woman. “I wonder if this is the woman who had his child.”
Olivia turned to her. “So Michael told you about his child? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I found the letter she sent him by accident, and since Michael never mentioned it, I figured it was a secret he wanted to keep. How did you find out?”
“Michael’s child is contesting the will.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “The company? The house? Or everything?”
“I won’t know the details until I talk with Deacon, but it doesn’t sound good.” She looked at the bronze. “So who is she, Mom?”
“I don’t know, but maybe we can figure it out.” She walked to the bookcase behind the desk and slid a stack of books to the side to reveal a wall safe.
Olivia followed and stood behind her. “I didn’t have a clue this was here.”
Deirdre started dialing the combination. “I’m sure Michael told you in the instructions that were left with the house. But knowing you, you got distracted before you got to that part.”
Between French Kiss and Deacon, Olivia hadn’t even gotten a chance to read the sheets of information the lawyers had sent her. But as soon as she got home tonight she planned on doing so.
“How do you know the combination?” she asked.
“I used to keep my jewelry in here.” The lock clicked, and Deirdre pulled open the safe door. She reached in and took out a stack of papers and handed them to Olivia. “Somewhere in here is the letter. I need a drink.”
While her mother walked to the liquor cabinet, Olivia took the papers to the desk and sat down. There were the usual documents that one would find in a safe: Deeds. Stocks. Michael’s birth certificate. But beneath the legal papers were two letters and a sketchpad filled with designs. Olivia leafed through the pages and recognized the drawings immediately as Michael’s original designs. There was even a design for the French Kiss logo. But what she hadn’t noticed in the designs she’d seen before was the scrolled A at the bottom. Why would Michael sign his designs with an A?
Hoping to find the answer, she picked up the first letter. It was addressed to Michael and held one thin sheet of stationery with tiny purple flowers running along the top and bottom. The writing was artistic and beautiful.
Dearest Michael,
There are no words to express how sorry I am for the way things turned out. But I want you to know that it wasn’t a lie. I’ll always cherish the time we spent in Paris. I also want you to know that I gave birth to a son tonight. I’m hoping that he will be the one to mend your heart, the one who will make you understand the importance of family.
Love,
A
Olivia stared at the letter. “So Michael does have a child.”
“Maybe.” Deirdre came over and took the chair across from the desk. “And maybe she was just some weirdo trying to get money from a wealthy man. You remember that song that Michael Jackson made popular. Although I always thought he protested too much about Billie Jean not being his lover and the kid not being his son.” She took a drink of her gin and tonic and nodded at the other letter. “What’s that?”
“It’s another letter.” Olivia put down the first and picked it up. It wasn’t from the same woman. The handwriting was stronger—more masculine. She opened it and a picture fell out. She barely glanced at it before reading the words written on the piece of lined notebook paper. Five harsh lines with no heading or signature.
How could you do it? How could you love my mother and let her die without ever trying to help her? As far as I’m concerned, you’re a piece of shit! And I want nothing from you! Nothing except for you to go straight to hell!
“So what does it say?” Deirdre asked. “Please don’t tell me we have another illegitimate child who wants a cut.”
Without answering, Olivia reached for the photograph. It was a picture of Michael and a woman standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The woman was looking at the camera, but Michael was looking at the woman. It wasn’t his expression of adoration that Olivia noticed as much as the familiarity of his features. At this young age, Michael looked exactly like Deacon. Except for the eyes. Deacon didn’t have Michael’s eyes.
He had this woman’s.
