"I know. I know, They really don't like each other." I said. "Neither will let me forget it for a second."
"Well, it aces beyond just liking and disliking. Your father was not faithful. I don't think he will deny that, but the Eatons are a very proud family in Palm Beach. They just can't stand to be held accountable for any of their actions. They think they can buy their way through the Pearly Gates.
"Your Eaton grandparents, who have nothing to do with you, did not waste any time spreading stories about your mother so they could put on a good face in public and at their extravaganzas and big charity balls."
"Stories about her and Uncle Linden?"
"Well... yes," Miguel said. "Part of your uncle's mental difficulties concerned his relationship with your mother, and they took advantage of that."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart starting to thump. Could there be any truth to the rumors?
"In the beginning, when your mother did not reveal her true identity. Linden harbored some romantic feelings for her. He was a lost, lonely young man, often depressed and dejected. She burst onto his dismal scene like a bright and lovely new warm light and won his trust and affection.
"Later, when he learned who she was, he was deeply disappointed. Another sick joke pulled on him by Fate, he thought. He became even more bitter and was especially resentful of Thatcher and his attention to your mother and her growing affection for him. He grew up in Thatcher's shadow and was always somewhat envious of his success and popularity with women, I believe."
"Why didn't anyone ever tell me about all this?" I whined. "It's not the sort of thing you sit your child down to discuss."
"I'm not a child anymore!" I exclaimed.
"No, you're not. and I suppose we should have had some frank discussions with you about it all. Your mother skirts around the issues whenever she talks to you about your uncle Linden. I know. I've heard her, but she was only trying to keep the sordid, ugly part of it from you."
"I'm old enough to hear anything. Miguel." "It was done to protect you." he insisted.
But I feel so stupid. My half brothers know more about all this."
"They don't know anything but what they have heard from their grandparents, I'm sure. Maybe they did overhear Thatcher tell Danielle some of it Maybe he was trying to belittle your mother in front of her or claim he loved Danielle mare. I'm sure whatever the reason, it was a selfish one, He knows there's no truth to such a sordid lie.
"But," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "you should know that your uncle's final serious breakdown occurred when he had the delusion you were his child. In his mental turmoil he fantasized a male-female relationship with your mother. It's taken years of therapy, medication, and tender loving care to help him get over that delusion."
"Now I'm beginning to understand why he said some strange things the last time I visited with him," I admitted sadly.
"Like what?
"He was just confused. I guess. He told me my father had nothing to do with the baby, with little Claude."
Miguel was silent a moment. thinking. "Yes. I suppose he has his relapses, his trips down those old, strange highways, but for the most part, he's doing well." Miguel assured me.
"Yes, he is," I insisted.
I took another deep breath and settled back. Perhaps the worst was over. I thought. I just wouldn't go to my father's house anymore. and I would have nothing to do with the twins. I had lived without them in my life up until now. I saw no reason why I couldn't continue. I would apologize to Mommy profusely. I thought, and somehow, make it all up to her
However, that opportunity was not to be. As we made the turn through the gated entrance of Joya Del Mar, we could see red lights blinking.
"What the... what's that?" Miguel muttered.
"It's an ambulance!" I cried.
Miguel sped up and pulled alongside the ambulance. The doors were open, and we could see two paramedics bent over a gurney. Lila was in the open doorway of the house. She stood as still as a mannequin, her right hand up, the fingers bent and touching her temple, her left hand clutched in a fist at her side.
"What's happening here?" Miguel shouted at the paramedics.
One turned to him while the other continued doing what I would later learn was CPR. The gurney was high enough up to hide the tiny body of little Claude.
"We're trying to revive him," the paramedic told Miguel. "What? Lila!" he screamed. "Where's Willow?"
"Oh. Mr. Fuentes, she's just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I can't get her to say a word or get up or anything. I ran down here hoping to bring her good news."
"My son!" Miguel cried, more to himself than to me or the paramedics.