My Lost Daughter (9 page)

Lily tried to talk to her, use the old psychology tricks, but nothing worked. Finally she sat down with her when John was gone and had a serious discussion about her behavior. “You just don't understand,” the girl told her. “All day long I have to smile and be nice to everyone. Sometimes when I get home I can't control it any longer.”

Shana had to defend her turf as the most popular girl in her school. Other girls would get envious and make up stories about her. Like a politician seeking reelection, Shana would take polls, recruit more followers, and make certain her constituents would vote for her. On one occasion a girl punched her in the face after school, and Shana slugged her so hard she almost broke her hand. When she was expelled for fighting, Lily
told her to give it up. But it was a hard thing to give up, this being on top. Like Lily, Shana was tenacious and driven to control the world around her.

Last month Shana had come home in a particularly nasty mood and Lily had broached the subject again. “Most people have a few good friends in life that they enjoy. Why do you need the entire school? Why is it so important that everyone likes you?”

“You don't understand,” Shana said. “It's not like that at all. They need me.”

Lily shook her head, incredulous. “That's absurd, honey. They don't need you. What are you saying?” Then she'd given it more thought. “Are you saying someone has to be a leader, and that if that person isn't you, it will be someone else?”

“Yeah, that's it,” Shana told her. “See, Mom, I don't smoke, use drugs, or listen to bad music. And I certainly don't go all the way with boys. I get good grades—pretty good, anyway—and I give kids advice and listen to their problems. Girls get into fights with other girls and I get them to make up.”

So that's the story, Lily had thought. It sounded like her reasons for being a district attorney and aspiring to be a judge. She held the reins to her life and had taught her daughter to do the same.

The short brunette at bat swung and connected; the parents in the stands screamed as she raced the short distance to first base. The next batter hit the ball as well, but was tagged at first base. The game was over and Shana's team had won.

The girls moved toward the dugout, the majority getting as close to Shana as possible. Postgame activity had changed since the year before. Instead of going for the cookies and sodas the team mother provided, a number of girls were taking out brushes and lip gloss from their purses.

John infiltrated the group, putting both hands around Shana's waist and lifting her into the air. “I'm so proud of you, pumpkin.” They both saw Lily a few feet away and smiled. They weren't smiling at her, though. Lily knew they were flaunting their closeness, showing her that this was their private moment, one they didn't care to share. Placing Shana back on the ground, John stared straight at Lily and draped his arm around Shana's shoulders, walking with her the short distance to the dugout, pulling her close, glancing back to see if Lily was still watching, the other girls crowding around John now as well as Shana. Lily winced, locking her fingers on the wire fence. They both looked away.

A short time later, John headed in her direction, stopping to pick up a few bats on the way. The baseball cap made thick crevices appear in his forehead. At forty-seven, he was eleven years older than Lily, and his hair was thinning to the point where more
scalp showed than hair. He was still an attractive man, however, with a robust body and a bright smile, displaying rows of even white teeth in his tan and muscular face. At the moment, his expression wasn't pleasant, nor was it the adoring look reserved for his daughter.

“Made it, huh?” he said, tipping his baseball cap back on his head. “Pried yourself away to catch the last five minutes of the game. You sure you're not missing something at the office? You don't want your family to get in the way of your big ambition to be a judge.”

“That was uncalled for,” Lily said, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. “I'll take Shana home in my car.” She turned and plodded through the dirt in the direction of the dugout.

Shana's face was flushed with excitement. She stood almost a head above the other girls. Her long red hair had more golden tones in it than Lily's, and she wore it in a ponytail pulled through the back of her baseball cap. Her wide-set eyes were such a deep shade of sapphire that they almost matched the navy blue lettering on her uniform. High pronounced cheekbones gave her face an ethereal, elegant quality far beyond her years. With the right makeup, clothes, and photographer, Lily thought, Shana's face could be on the cover of next month's
Glamour
magazine.

One girl followed as Shana broke away and headed for the car. “Oh, this is my Mom. Mom, this is Sally. Call me in thirty minutes,” Shana told her. Once they were home, the phone would ring in her room all evening, each girl calling at the preselected time.

Sally stood there with her mouth gaping. “You look so much alike. I can't believe it.”

Shana got into the car and slammed the door, her eyes cutting to her mother with resentment. Lily felt her heart sink. Shana had always been so proud that they resembled each other. She used to tell Lily how all her friends thought her mother was so pretty. Lily remembered how she'd gaze up at her and ask if she'd be that tall when she grew up. The past week, Shana had screamed at her that she was a giraffe, the tallest girl in school, and ended the tirade by saying it was Lily's fault.

Lily tried to start a conversation. “That was a great job of pitching out there. Sorry I didn't get to see more of the game. I rushed but the traffic . . .” Shana stared straight ahead, refusing to answer. It was going to be one of those days. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Do you have much homework?”

“Done.”

“Want to go roller-skating with me Saturday?”

“I practice softball every day and have gym class. I don't need any more exercise.”

“How about the mall? Do you want to go to the mall?”

“I thought I was grounded.” She shot Lily another look full of animosity. “Can Charlotte and Sally go?”

“No, I want to spend time with you alone. I don't want to spend time with Charlotte and Sally. Besides, where is my top you loaned to Charlotte without my permission?”

“Don't worry. You'll get your precious top back. I just forgot. Will you chill out, Mom?” With this last statement, her voice went high and shrill. Then something changed and she turned to her mother with a sweet smile and a sugar-coated voice. “I need a new outfit. There's a dance in the gym next week and we're all going.”

Here we go again, Lily thought, acid bubbling back in her throat. In desperation she'd recently found herself doing something she despised. She'd bought Shana things in the past year or so just to get that one little smile. As a parent, she was on a seesaw. One day she tried to uphold her long-standing rules and restrictions. Then the next time she broke all her own rules. To compete with John she had to play a new game, his game. His game was to give Shana anything she wanted. “I just bought you a bunch of new clothes two weeks ago, Shana. Can't you wear one of those to the dance?”

“MOM . . . I've already worn them to school. I don't want to wear them to the dance.”

“We'll see,” Lily told her, pacifying.

Shana stared out the passenger window.

“So, what else is going on? Any gossip?”

“I started my period today.”

Lily was excited and it showed. Shana rolled her eyes. This was something strictly feminine, something they could share. They could go home and lock themselves in the bedroom and talk, rekindle the bond they'd had before John had turned Shana away. “I knew you'd start any day now. Didn't I tell you that I started at your age? That's why you've been so snippy and emotional. I was, too. It's perfectly normal. Do you have cramps? How do you feel? We'll stop at the drugstore. What are you wearing now?”

“Dad already got me some pads today.”

Lily's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. She took her foot off the gas and the car came to an abrupt standstill in the suburban traffic. Cars honked and
then passed. She turned to face her daughter. “You could have called me at work and told me. Why didn't you? Why are you shutting me out of your life?” She had to hear the words. Like a masochist, she sought the pain.

“Dad said you were too busy and that you'd get mad if I bothered you.”

The words “Dad already got me some pads today” were ringing in Lily's ears. Now they were joined by “Dad said you were too busy.” In the act of not sharing that one historically female moment, the rite of passage, and the fact that Shana could go to her father without embarrassment, her daughter had destroyed her. They drove home in silence.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 14
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

Lily and Christopher Rendell were sitting on the balcony of her new home, finishing off a bottle of Merlot. The salty sea air made it seem colder than it actually was, and they were both bundled up in their terry cloth bathrobes.

The two-bedroom house wasn't very large, but it was only a short walk to the sand and Lily loved it. The balcony was elevated to protect the house from high surfs or they could have simply walked out their back door. Erected twenty years ago, the house had a spacious kitchen, two wood-burning fireplaces, and a comfortable room with a high ceiling that served as both the living room and family room. There was no dining room, but a marble-topped bar ran the length of the kitchen and Lily had managed to squeeze in a table large enough for four people.

The Realtor told Lily that the former owners had a home in Beverly Hills and only used this house once or twice a month. The recession seemed to have impacted the rich as well as the average person, and Lily was more than happy to relieve them of the responsibility for their beach house.

Lily had just taken a shower and her red hair hung to her shoulders in wet ringlets. Before the recession, she could have never afforded a place on the water. Of course, the price of housing in Ventura was only a fraction of what it was in other beach communities.

The city had grown up around the historic San Buenaventura Mission, founded in 1782. On one side were miles of sandy beaches, along with multimillion-dollar homes with boat slips. The rest of the city had sprawled upward into the foothills, where many of the residents had panoramic views of the ocean. Unlike Santa Barbara, a similar city approximately twenty miles north, Ventura hadn't developed into a playground for the rich and famous. New shops and restaurants had slowly appeared throughout the years, but most things had stayed the same. Lily thought there was a tired feeling to Ventura, as if a dusty bubble had been placed over it, trapping it twenty years in the past. The nearby farming communities didn't help, especially with all the avocado fields. The Spanish influence was still present, yet it hadn't been cultivated as it had in Santa Barbara, where lovely mission-style homes and buildings had been built to harmonize with meticulously renovated existing structures.

Chris leaned over his knees. “Why don't you let me go up north with you?”

“I don't think that would be a good idea,” Lily told him, chewing on a ragged cuticle. Chris was everything she'd ever wanted—intelligent, empathetic, and romantic. Unlike Bryce, she felt confident he would be faithful and be an excellent stepfather to Shana. When he'd asked Lily to marry him three months ago, she'd been thrilled but hesitant. They decided to live together before they made their final decision, so Chris moved into Lily's new beach house and rented out his own home for six months.

Chris was a municipal court judge. Cases didn't make their way to the superior court unless they were felonies. Everything else was handled in the municipal court, which they referred to as the “Zoo” because of the constant chaos. Chris could resolve twenty cases in one day, while the crimes Lily adjudicated could take months. Plea
agreements or negotiated settlements, as they now called them, were a superior court judge's only salvation. Without them, Lily's calendar would become hopelessly backlogged.

All Lily could think about was Shana. She had booked a flight to San Francisco for tomorrow evening, knowing she would have to recess court early in order to get to LAX. Friday night traffic on the 405 Freeway was a nightmare and completely unpredictable. No matter how much travel time a person allotted, they could still miss their plane.

Going anywhere during a trial of this magnitude was risky. If she didn't get back for some reason, Judge Hennessey could have her censured. A judge walking out on a murder trial, especially one that involved the death penalty, was tantamount to professional suicide. According to the Standards of Judicial Administration, to enable the just and efficient resolution of cases, the judge, not the lawyers or litigants, was responsible for controlling the pace of litigation. A strong judicial commitment was essential to reducing delay and, once achieved, maintaining a current docket.

The proceedings leading to trial in a capital case were sometimes more time consuming than the actual trial. If Shana's problems turned out to be more serious than Lily anticipated, a replacement judge would have to start over from day one. If there was too long of a delay, the defense could ask for a mistrial under the grounds that their client had been denied due process.

In addition, once a case fell under Lily's jurisdiction, she was to make every possible attempt to encourage the parties to settle or enter into a plea agreement. Silverstein's determination to make certain Noelle Reynolds received the death penalty had made that impossible. At the end of the day, it wasn't justice that ruled. Moving the calendar was the name of the game.