And the woman of my heart, he thought. She didn’t respond and he realized the words were only in his mind.

She was shaking her head. “Do you know I actually had the half-baked idea that I could find out something important, not just about Mrs. Hildebrand, but maybe about my mother? I didn’t find out anything, not really.”

“It seems to me you got a whole lot out of coming here, Mary Lisa. You got a little understanding, and maybe a little peace. And now, maybe, you’ll get more.” He pulled her against him. “Mary Lisa, there’s something else. I came here to show it to your mother privately, but now I want to show it to you first. There was a note, Olivia left it for her. She left it in the garage for some reason, probably where that thick rope was lying. I don’t know why.”

“A note? For my mother?”

He took an unsealed white envelope from his jacket pocket. It had her mother’s name on it. She looked down at it, realized she was afraid to read it. Slowly, she let Jack place the envelope in her hand, and saw him turn away from her to give her privacy.

She pulled the single piece of folded stationery out of the envelope and opened it.

My dearest Kathy,

I know you’re in great pain at this moment and very angry with me as well. I take solace only in knowing that the pain of my death will ease, and perhaps the anger as well. It’s time for honesty between us, too rare a commodity in both of our lives, I think.

You are the only person, besides Marci, who has mattered to me, Kathy, and though I have prized you both, isn’t that a shattering indictment of me? After you left last night, Marci came to see me, but only to tell me she would never see me again. I had told her the truth, you see, that it was I who poisoned Milo, her precious father, that I couldn’t stand to see him alive anymore after he killed Jason for nothing more than money, just stupid money, the only important thing in his life. Marci’s feelings never even entered his mind. I thought she would understand it, Kathy. She says she hates me now, hates me. At least the monster is dead.

And now I will die too. I am not sorry for what I did.

Forgive me, Kathy, I admire you and I love you. But listen to me now. I’m dying with Marci’s hate tearing my heart. I want you to make peace with Mary Lisa.

You told me you simply can’t help yourself, but Kathy, you have to let the past go. Let your beautiful daughter into your heart. The affair George had so many years ago while you were pregnant with her, even that terrible time you spent in a psychiatric hospital where you gave birth to her, surely it has lost its importance. You cannot let it tear at your life forever. He came back to you and his family and you recovered. Forgive him. Forgive her. Forgive yourself. Let it go, dearest, let it go.

Your dearest friend,

Olivia

Mary Lisa had a sheen of tears in her eyes as she folded the letter into the envelope and handed it back to Jack.

“Shall I tell her you read it?” he asked her.

“No, Jack, let it be up to my mother. Olivia’s letter has already made a difference, at least to one of us. Who knows what else it will accomplish?”

And this time, he said it aloud, “You are the woman of my heart, Mary Lisa Beverly.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

There are approximately fifty hours of soap operas each week on the three major networks.

BORN TO BE WILD

Sunday Cavendish is staring out the window of her office, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a black suit with a white silk blouse beneath, and three-inch black heels. Her red hair is piled atop her head, tendrils lazily curling down in front of her ears. She’s thinking about the scene with her mother at her club when she’d bared her soul.

They roll the club dining room footage, gauzy and vague as Sunday’s memory, then clear. She sees her mother’s pain, the sheen of tears in her eyes-it left her with no doubt that her mother loved her father dearly, and perhaps she still does. Sunday knows it wasn’t an act, but real as it gets. And now he is back.

She shakes herself, pours a glass of water from the crystal carafe, sips slowly. She thinks about her father the last time she saw him, three days before.

They roll the footage of father and daughter in her living room, fading it in again as her remembered thoughts strengthen. Looking somehow diffident, his voice soft, nearly pleading, he told her how much he’s missed her, the awful hollowing pain he’s felt all these years without her. Her uncertainty, her desire to believe him, the tug she’s feeling toward him, are all clear on her face.

She says aloud, barely above a whisper, “Who are you? Who are you both?”

There’s a knock on her office door, pulling her back to the present.

“Enter.”

Her father walks in. “Sunday,” he says, then crosses the distance between them and bends to clasp her hands and kiss them. He straightens and she pulls her hands away. “I wanted to see you. I couldn’t wait. Your secretary said you don’t have an appointment for ten more minutes.”

“I thought you were taping a sermon this morning.”

“It’s done. I came directly here.”

She lightly touches her fingers to his cheek. “Don’t you wear makeup? Or did you wash it off?”

He shakes his head. “The TV people are talking about it, but I’m hanging tough. I’ve always thought it ridiculous for a grown man to have his face powdered up.”

She grins back at him, and nods.

He looks at her intently. “I know you, Sunday. What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.”

“You’ve known me for two weeks, Father,” says Sunday, her voice light, dismissive. “You can’t begin to tell if there’s anything wrong with me.”

He pauses a moment. “I’ll admit I had some help.”

An eyebrow goes up.

“I saw your mother last night.”

She looks astonished, holds it, holds it-

“Clear! Mary Lisa, you need to have your nose powdered, it’s shining like a beacon under the lights. You too Norman.”

Mary Lisa grinned at Norman. “The TV people are talking about makeup again.”

Norman got his own nose powdered while Lou Lou dusted away the shine on Mary Lisa’s nose. A couple of minutes later, they picked up the scene again.

Sunday looks astonished. “You saw Mom? Goodness, that must have been an adventure. I don’t see any wounds. Was there lots of blood?”

He laughs. “Not really. It seems to me that your mother has mellowed a bit over the years.”

“Surely you jest. It proves you don’t know any of us. It’s been too long, far too long.”

He says slowly, thoughtfully, “Is she really the monster you’ve painted, Sunday?”

She looks at him. “I’m still wondering if you’re the monster she’s painted. The monster my grandfather painted as well.”

“Does the old fraud still have his brain?”

“Oh yes. He can still shoot down anything that walks on two legs.”

“I want to see you this evening, Sunday. Perhaps we can meet for dinner. You can select the restaurant.”

She stares at him a moment, studies his face, then slowly nods. “All right,” she says. “Dino’s, at seven o’clock.”

MARY Lisa was glad to see the end of an incredibly difficult day on the set, ruled by Murphy’s Law. The dialogue of a scene between her half sister, Susan, and Susan’s husband, Damian, had misfired so badly the actors were making gagging noises, and then to make matters worse, Betsy Monroe, her TV mom, had her hair dyed and it turned a virulent Halloween orange. Out of sheer frustration, Mary Lisa had eaten a bacon cheeseburger for lunch with Lou Lou staring at her, disbelieving, while Jack, grinning, offered her catsup. She felt the curse of guilt until she promised herself she’d drink a diet soda for dinner, nothing else, or she’d roast in hell.