“Marita, I have some…some news, from Amber,” Vista tells her daughter in a slightly broken voice as she closes the office door behind her.
Marita doesn’t bother to look up, although she sensed her mother’s approach to her office long before she arrived, “End of quarter financials, I’m busy as hell, Vista,” she grouches back at her for a moment.
Awkward silence follows for a minute or two.
Finally, sitting back in her large, overstuffed leather desk chair, Marita lifts her gaze from the mountain of paperwork spreading slowly to cover the entirety of her exquisite, hand carved mahogany desk, and looks at her mother.
Marita slowly removes the non-prescription eyeglasses she is wearing. They always make her feel more like an accountant when she wears them, hence putting her in the right state of mind for her current task, as much as anything can.
She muses how wearing this little accessory, with her hair swept up tightly, always makes men go wild, some sort of ridiculous “repressed/hot secretary” fantasy business men so often possess.
Chewing lightly on the earpiece of her glasses for a moment, Marita finally smiles at her mother,
“Sorry V, I’m just grumpy and taking it out on you. This is the one part of the business I hate. I just have to hire a bookkeeper…as soon as I can find one I trust,” she tells Vista, and both women laugh lightly at the absurd thought of either of them ever trusting a stranger to handle anything this important.
“What’s up in Amber that I should care about so much?” she asks, wondering what could possibly be making her mother’s voice crack and cause the strained look in the woman’s eyes.
More composed now, Vista tells her in a falsely calm, seeming matter-of-fact voice, “Your father was murdered, by one of his brothers they say, Corwin, in all likelihood.“
Marita calmly takes in her mother’s words and expression, knowing that for some reason Vista still has an attachment to the man who caused her so much heartbreak and gave her nothing in return except for a few nights of stolen passion, and one royal pain in the ass daughter.
Chewing more energetically on her glasses now, she considers her response.
No use piling on, but no reason to sugarcoat it either.
“Oh, I hadn’t heard that yet,” Marita replies, sounding far more upset that her information network was working more slowly than her mother’s than she does about hearing that the man who gave her life had apparently lost his own,
“Shall we send a card…thanking my uncle Corwin?” she asks icily, then immediately regrets saying it, though solely for Vista’a sake, not his.
Quickly redirecting the conversation, Marita adds in a more thoughtful voice, “That makes no sense. Corwin? The man is an idiot. Caine is…was a lot of things, but dumb enough to be murdered by a bungling intriguer like Corwin was most definitely not one of them.”
“Mother,” Marita says exasperatedly, purposely not using her mother’s first name as she always does at the office, “why do you even care, why do you sound almost sad about it? And don’t hand me that line about me not existing if it weren’t for him. The death of a sperm donor doesn’t require an emotional response, and please don’t call him my ‘father,’ that is completely disrespectful to real fathers everywhere.”
Seeing the tears welling up in her mother’s eyes, Marita drops the tough girl attitude for a moment, and tells Vista quietly with a tone of promise in her voice,
“Let me look into it for you, he doesn’t die that easy, we both know that. If there is a scheme going on here, it’s likely his, not Corwin’s for god sakes. Once we know for sure, you can shed all of the tears you like if he is really gone…just don’t expect me to offer more than a tissue and a hug, fair enough?”
Her mother nods and manages a weak, but thankful smile.
Marita gets up, crossing the room with the grace of a cat. She reaches Vista, bends down and gently kisses her mother’s cheek, then quickly shoos her out of her office,
“I have to finish this godforsaken paperwork, and I guess I have some calls to make, maybe even a visit if I have to, so get going,” she tells Vista and gives her mom a smile and a playful slap on the rear as she heads out.
As the door to her office closes with a soft click, Marita turns and leans her back against it for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, allowing her real thoughts to finally run loose in her own mind for a moment,
I hope the bastard suffered first.
