The Art of Deception

I’ll give you that, Kirby, but I’ll be back.”
    Before his anger could push him too far, he whirled around and left her alone.
    Fairchild was waiting for him, sitting calmly in the parlor by the fire. “I thought you’d need this.” Without getting up, he gestured to the glass of Scotch on the table beside him. He waited until Adam had tossed it back. He didn’t need to be told what had passed between them. “I’m sorry. She’s hurt. Perhaps in time the wounds will close and she’ll be able to listen.”
    Adam’s knuckles whitened on the glass. “That’s what I told her, but I didn’t believe it. I betrayed her.” His glance lowered and settled on the older man. “And you.”
    “You did what you had to do. You had a part to play.” Fairchild spread his hands on his knees and stared at them, thinking of his own part. “She would’ve dealt with it, Adam. She’s strong enough. But even Kirby has a breaking point. Melanie… It was too soon after Melanie.”
    “She won’t let me comfort her.” It was that anguish that had him turning to stare out of the window. “She looks so wounded, and my being here only makes it harder for her.” Steadying himself, he stared out at nothing. “I’ll be out as soon as I can pack.” He turned, his head only, and looked at the small, balding man in front of the fire. “I love her, Philip.”
    In silence Fairchild watched Adam walk away. For the first time in his six decades he felt old. Old and tired. With a deep, deep sigh he rose and went to his daughter.
    He found her curled on her bed, her head cradled by her knees and arms. She sat silent and unmoving and, he knew, utterly, utterly beaten. When he sat beside her, her head jerked up. Slowly, with his hand stroking her hair, her muscles relaxed.
    “Do we ever stop making fools of ourselves, Papa?”
    “You’ve never been a fool.”
    “Oh, yes, yes, it seems I have.” Settling her chin on her knees, she stared straight ahead. “I lost our bet. I guess you’ll be breaking open that box of cigars you’ve been saving.”
    “I think we can consider the extenuating circumstances.”
    “How generous of you.” She tried to smile and failed. “Aren’t you going to the hospital to be with Harriet?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “You’d better go then. She needs you.”
    His thin, bony hand continued to stroke her hair. “Don’t you?”
    “Oh, Papa.” Tears came in a flood as she turned into his arms.

     
    Kirby followed Cards downstairs as he carried her bags. In the week since the discovery of the Rembrandt she’d found it impossible to settle. She found no comfort in her art, no comfort in her home. Everything here held memories she could no longer deal with. She slept little and ate less. She knew she was losing touch with the person she was, and so she’d made plans to force herself back.
    She opened the door for Cards and stared out at the bright, cheery morning. It made her want to weep.
    “I don’t know why a sensible person would get up at this ridiculous hour to drive to the wilderness.”
    Kirby forced back the gloom and turned to watch her father stride down the stairs in a ratty bathrobe and bare feet. What hair he had left was standing on end. “The early bird gathers no moss,” she told him. “I want to get to the lodge and settle in. Want some coffee?”
    “Not while I’m sleeping,” he muttered as she nuzzled his cheek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, going off to that shack in the Himalayas.”
    “It’s Harriet’s very comfortable cabin in the Adirondacks, twenty miles from Lake Placid.”
    “Don’t nitpick. You’ll be alone.”
    “I’ve been alone before,” she reminded him. “You’re annoyed because you won’t have anyone but Cards to shout at for a few weeks.”
    “He never shouts back.” But even as he grumbled, Fairchild was studying Kirby’s face. The shadows were still under her eyes and the loss of weight was much too apparent. “Tulip should go with you. Someone has to make you eat.”
    “I’m going to do that. Mountain air should make me ravenous.” When he continued to frown at her, she touched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Papa.”
    “I am worried.” Taking her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. “For the first time in your life, you’re causing me genuine concern.”
    “A few pounds, Papa.”
    “Kirby.” He cupped her face in his strong, thin hand. “You have to talk to Adam.”
    “No!” The word came out