"Thank you so much for dinner, Rita. It was most delicious," Alex complimented, hugging her hostess at the door of the apartment.
"Well, we had a lot to celebrate: everything's in order for the carnival. The posters are delivered, the kids had a blast..."
"They could not stop talking about riding in the front seat of the patrol cars. Please tell your coworkers how much I appreciate their help."
"I will," promised Rita, "I will."
Alex turned to leave, but stopped after opening the door. "Rita? Is there something bothering Chris? He was awfully quiet tonight."
Rita, herself, had picked up on his prolonged silences and arduous ventures into conversation, and was a little unnerved that it had been so obvious to Alex as well. "He had a pretty hard interrogation this afternoon…" she explained. "I think it's still affecting him."
Satisfied with the clarification, Alex said goodbye and made her exit, but left Rita even more concerned about Chris.
Rita gazed intently at her pensive partner, curious as to his state of mind. Taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him, she asked, "you okay, Sam?"
Chris snapped his head up and offered her a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking." He paused, not wanting to continue.
But he knew the time had come.
"Uh, Rita? What was your mother's full name? Your real mother's?"
Rita was taken aback. It was certainly not a question she had anticipated. "My what? Jeez, Chris, what brought that on?"
"Well, I'll get to that, I promise. So?"
Rita stared at him for a full thirty seconds, trying to gauge if he was really serious, and if so, where the conversation could possibly be heading. "Her name was Alexandra Lilia Fontana. Now, why would you want to know that?"
"That's beautiful, Sam. Is that why your middle name is 'Lee?'"
The affirmative response was calculated and cautiously drawled out. "A-ccording to my dad… Chris –"
"Rita, I wasn't loaned out to Vice. I was on special assignment, like I said, it just wasn't with Vice. Things were slow in Homicide… The Cap gave me permission to investigate your mother's death."
Rita sprang from the couch as if she had been stung. She gaped, wide-eyed, at Chris.
"He – You did what?!"
"Rita, just hear me out. I love you, Sam. And I couldn't risk getting you involved until I was sure I had the facts straight. Remember when Alex left her purse at the station?"
Rita nodded mutely.
"When I saw it on your desk, I reached for it, but it tipped over and Alex's wallet fell out. I picked it up, and that's when I saw her license. Rita, Alex's full name is Alexandra Lilia Fontana."
The shell-shocked woman before him expelled a breath as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Her words were barely audible. "Are you suggesting…"
"I had Cherie run a full background check on Alex. I cross-checked it with info on your parents' marriage license and the deed to their house. They matched. Then I checked the death records within two months after your birth. There is no record of an Alexandra Fontana dying during that time, or ever, Rita."
"But I have the death certificate…" Rita whispered.
"I had Keisha call in some favors from her contacts at the hospital where you were born. They did some checking. Alexandra Fontana was admitted to the OB/GYN at 8:33 a.m., May 2nd, 1964. She delivered a six-pound, nine-ounce baby girl at 1:24 p.m. There were complications with the birth, and she remained in the hospital for two weeks. She was discharged on May 18th. Keisha's friend in the morgue assured her there is no record of an Alexandra Fontana ever dying at Holley State Hospital."
"But I have the death certificate," repeated Rita.
"It's a fake." Chris replied softly.
"Why would my mother fake her death certificate?"
"She didn't." Chris' voice dropped softer still. "She never knew it existed. When she was released from the hospital she was given your death certificate – and your father's."
Rita swayed on her feet. "I have to sit down," she exclaimed breathlessly as she slumped down next to Chris. She braced her elbow on the back of the couch, massaging her forehead and closing her eyes. She stayed that way for some time.
"Tell me everything," she finally relented.
"I interrogated the doctor in charge of your mother's care, a Doctor Mitchum. A week after your mom's discharge he was given the cushy post of Chief Researcher for the Cobalt Obstetrics Institute. All he had to do was drug your mom, tell a few lies, and the job was his.
"When your mom was in labor, there were complications that made her black out. She stabilized, but remained unconscious. Mitchum put her in a drug-induced coma. She was then given a private room, under strict orders that no one but Mitchum was allowed to get anywhere near it. Once everything was in place, he went out and broke the news to your dad that his wife didn't make it."
Rita's first line of defense was to scoff at the whole idea. "Do you have any idea how insane this sounds? It's like a bad movie plot! It's crazy! Who would go through all that trouble, huh? And why?! What would be the point?!" For the moment, incredulous disbelief and growing indignation were able to mask serious consideration of the implications Chris' discoveries posed.
Chris knew that the explanation Rita sought would put an abrupt end to her relatively calm appearance, unleashing an array of emotions so strong no external force could hope to temper them. The answers to all her questions lay in a single name. Words failed Chris, as he solemnly realized there were no means to soften the blow. He took a deep breath.
"Harlan Cameron."
Rita's world came to a screeching halt.
She tried desperately not to believe what she heard. Her eyes went ablaze with fury and her petite frame became rigid. Her mouth moved, but no sound was produced. "No," she finally uttered forcefully, "No, Chris! Damn it!"
If there ever was an archenemy in the life of Rita Lee Fontana Lance, it was represented in the loathsome, purely vile presence of Harlan Cameron. Her hatred toward him already ran strong and deep.
Rita couldn't remain seated, and she jumped up from the couch once again, pacing back and forth, fisting her hands so tightly that her long nails made crescent-shaped indentations into her palms.
"The plan to destroy your father started years before the investment deal. Cameron wanted to break him one piece at a time. First his wife, then his home and reputation, and finally his life. He convinced your dad to have a closed-casket funeral, then took care of all the details for his grieving friend. While Alexandra Fontana was in a coma, across town she was being laid to rest in the eyes of Palm Beach. According to Mitchum, Cameron simply played both sides… He helped your dad go through his wife's belongings then turned right around and gave them back to her when she was released from the hospital. Alexandra detested high society here, and Cameron knew it. She made the decision to get the hell out of here, and he fueled that emotion until she finally left."
Liquid rage and pain flowed down Rita's cheeks as the information assaulted her soul. Armed with a mounting distrust for a past she thought she knew, Rita spat, "and my mother never suspected a thing?!"
"Well, you'll have you to ask her that yourself, but think about it, Rita. Did you ever question her death certificate and try to find her?"
Distraught as she was, Rita knew Chris had a point. "No, never," she confessed.
"That's right. She was given the same amount – no, even more information than you had on her." Chris paused before clarifying his statement. "When your mom was discharged, Cameron took her to Boca Raton Cemetery and showed her your grave and your dad's. He had paid for it all. The cemetery and marker companies both have records of his involvement. Alexandra had been unconscious for two weeks…two weeks is a lot of time to plan."
Chris lowered his head and his voice. "I saw it, Rita… I saw your grave."
His tone cut right through to Rita's heart, causing her to stop and face him.
Haunted blue eyes met tear-clouded green. "I know it wasn't real, but – I can't speak for your mother, Sam, but it was damn convincing."
Rita's rage swelled up again. "That bastard! How could he put her through that?! How could he put all of us through that?!"
Helpless, Chris watched Rita turn back away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head, a physical gesture he recognized as accompaniment to the mental act of drawing inwards and internalizing her questions and wrath. He resisted touching her, knowing that she wouldn't keep him locked out for long.
True to form, Rita withdrew and looked to Chris again. "Today at the station… It was Mitchum you had interrogated, wasn't it?"
Silently, Chris nodded affirmatively.
"Can I see the transcript?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"No, but I think have to."
Chris retrieved the typed pages from his jacket, and went back to the couch where Rita was now sitting, staring into space. "Here," he said quietly.
Rita snapped out of her trance and accepted the papers. She leaned back against Chris and began flipping through them.
Question: "Doctor Mitchum, would you mind telling me where you practiced before you came to Cobalt's?"
Answer: "I really do not see how that is pertinent, or why you have even brought me here in the first place, Sergeant."
Question: "Just answer the question."
Answer: "Holley State Hospital."
Question: "Why'd you leave?"
"I asked you why you left, Doctor. Is this too tough for you?"
Answer: "Sergeant Lorenzo, my last days at Holley drove me to drink. Excessively. I have spent the past thirty years trying to forget them. . . . . . ."
A large tear fell, and was quickly wiped off the legal document that spelled out in black and white the merciless, inhumane offenses that shattered three lives and obliterated the formation of a family.
...Answer: "Let me inform you, Sergeant, of how Palm Beach society functions. Harlan Cameron is old money. Here, old money is protected at all costs. People will look the other way. Outsiders, are just that. No matter what their wealth, they will always be outsiders. Alexandra Fontana was an outsider. She was wealthy, but she was an architect. She worked. Remember, Sergeant, this was the 1950's and 60's. Even if she wasn't an outsider, as a working woman – especially in a field such as architecture – she would never have been accepted. People like Cameron rule this city, Detective. They are invincible. They know they are safeguarded...no matter what."
Question: "Invincible, huh? Don't bet on it."
Rita set the transcript down. "I knew you were angry for me. I saw it in your eyes."
"Rita, I'm sorry I had to keep everything from you."
"No. No, don't be, Sam. I understand. If I had been in that interrogation room with you, Mitchum would have had me up on brutality charges two seconds after I walked through the door."
Chris turned on the couch, so he could partially recline and Rita could rest her head against his chest. He held the love of his life tight in his arms, and she in turn clung to him with all her might. The silence and the stillness blanketed them, securing them from the rest of the world, if only briefly.
Chris kissed the top of Rita's head. "Where do you wanna go from here, Sam?"
Rita's answer was a defeated scoff. She sat up and considered the question, a task that greatly taxed her waning supply of mental energy. "I have no idea," she answered truthfully. "I can't just spring this on her. God, she has a life!"
Chris' heart shattered as he watched Rita's entire being sober, two and a half decades suddenly melting away in her anguished expression as a petrifying thought struck her. "What if she doesn't want me?"
"Rita…"
"What if she doesn't like me?"
"She already likes you."
"Yeah, as a friend, she likes me. But not as a daughter." Questions and doubts spiraled out of control, and Rita was powerless to halt them. "What if it's not her?" Facts or no facts, Rita was terrified to allow herself to believe in the miracle. It was too fantastic, too unfathomable to risk hope.
Rita paced her living room like a caged animal, innumerable thoughts and emotions cycloning through her, so much so she couldn't concentrate on a single one in particular.
Chris never took his eyes off her, at a loss for words or actions, and watched as a spark of logic lit her face and she headed off to her bedroom. Rita returned with a dusty box that Chris knew she kept on the top shelf of her closet.
Settling herself on the floor, Rita wordlessly took off the lid, and stared at the contents. Nestled on a thick stack of file folders was a small music box, one of Rita's most treasured possessions. She gingerly picked it up and set it on her lap.
It had been her mother's.
Since she had been a child, Rita would always take it out when life dealt her a crushing hardship she wasn't sure she could overcome. Its mechanical song was a source of connection and comfort almost magical in its calming abilities.
Today, there was comfort to be granted, but gone was the fairy tale feeling of a mother watching over her from above. Rita's heart skipped a beat at the notion of a flesh and blood mother. She gently set the music box aside, and brought out the top file of the stack, not bothering to open it. There was no need. Rita knew the contents were her father's birth and death certificates, followed by her mother's, followed by their marriage license – in that order. "Chris," she asked quietly, "could you please get the picture off my dresser?"
"Sure thing," came the willing response as he headed off.
Chris didn't need to question the picture to which Rita was referring. There were only two photographs reserved in that place of honor: on the left side was her favorite candid shot of the two of them, with Chris embracing her from the back. And on the right… On the right was a cherished picture she had recently received from Karen Krane, which portrayed a carefree five-year-old and her dad enjoying the Krane's yacht.
"Thank you, Sam," Rita mumbled. She looked at the special photo and file of records that together would form the evidence for the shocking claims she was about to deliver to an unsuspecting friend. With a jolt, Rita realized that when Alex learned the truth of their past, she just might experience the same fears and doubts that currently tormented Rita herself. Too many 'what ifs,' too much information… Rita gave her head a quick shake, and got up from the floor. "I don't think I can do this," she remarked aloud.
"Yes, you can," was Chris' reassuring response. The statement was neither patronizing nor placating. For years Chris had witnessed the enduring strength of his best friend, and no matter how hard life tried to break her, Rita always triumphed. "I'll be right there with you if you want me to be, Sam. I'll do as little or as much of the talking as you want. It's your call, Rita."
"Oh, I want you there," Rita vehemently exclaimed. "I – I need you there." She scoffed at her out-of-control emotions. "God, I wasn't this shaky when I pulled my first undercover assignment or Vice sting!" As Chris stepped in behind her, drawing her close to his chest with his strong arms circling around her, Rita accepted his silent gesture of comfort by leaning back against him and closing her eyes.
"They were a different kind of danger," Chris supplied matter-of-factly.
Rita focused her turmoil on his soothing presence, desperate to regain a sense of balance. But when the doorbell rang, it startled her as effectively as if it had been a gunshot. She gasped, and her eyes snapped open.
Chris gave her arms a quick squeeze and whispered 'I love you' in her ear. He went to the door. "Hey there, Alex, come on in."
"Thank you, Chris. I came back as soon as I c – Rita? Are you all right?" The haunting expression on the young woman's face was instantly unsettling.
"Ah, yeah, Alex. Um, I'm gonna go pour the coffee." With that, she virtually flew out of the room.
"Chris?"
"She'll be okay, Alex. Here, let's sit down."
Chris guided Alex to the kitchen table where he made an effort at small talk, and when Rita emerged from the kitchen with a tray of mugs, she heard him casually ask Alex if she had ever been in Palm Beach before.
"Yes, I have. I used to live here, actually." She paused, as if deep in thought. "It seems like another lifetime ago…"
Rita concealed her picture and folder of documents as she slipped into the chair across from Alex.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Sure, Chris, go ahead."
Chris looked to Rita, who finally responded with an almost imperceptible nod. It was now or never. "I mean no disrespect, and I'm sorry, but… How did your daughter and husband die?"
Alex stiffened immediately, squaring her shoulders. She held her head high, as was her way of facing the pain only slightly diminished by time. For Chris, it was a powerful sense of déjà vu', having watched Rita on numerous occasions in the past carry herself in much the same manner.
"My child was stillborn. My husband…was killed in an auto accident, trying to get to the hospital when I went into labor."
"What was his name?"
Alex was mute for a moment. "Donald Fontana," she finally stated.
Rita finally broke her silence. "My dad died when I was seven. Do you remember me telling you that?"
"Yes, that's why you went to live with foster parents…"
"That's right. I went to the Lances' because my dad, Donald Fontana, committed suicide in 1971 when I was seven."
Alex inhaled sharply. "Dad?! Suicide?! But – No, that's impossible! He would never – he couldn't have – No, the Donald Fontana I knew was killed in 1964."
"Alex?" Chris asked soothingly. "How did you find out that your husband had been killed in an accident?"
It took Alex several tries to find her voice. "During delivery, I slipped into a coma that lasted two weeks. When I woke up, I learned I had given birth to a girl, but she was stillborn. Donald had been killed in a car crash…"
"Who told you this?"
"My doctor… Wait, that's not right. He was in the room at the time, but he wasn't the one who told me. Harlan did. Harlan Cameron."
Chris nodded. "Bingo," he said softly.
Rita's lip quivered under the strain of holding back her tears. Alex had just confirmed what Chris learned through his investigation. That meant she really was Alexandra Fontana…
And that meant…
When Rita was sure she could speak with some semblance of dignity, she handed Alex her father's death certificate and explained, "Donald Fontana…shot himself in the head. I was the one who found him in our bathtub."
With shaking hands, Alex accepted the piece of paper, and read:
Donald Leo Fontana…Date of death: September 29, 1971…
Cause of death: Contact Gunshot Wound of the Temple
"This just can't be! I was at his grave the day I was discharged. Harlan had arranged and taken care of everything, and I felt terrible for ever doubting him."
Chris immediately jumped at the ending statement. "What did you mean by that? That you doubted him?"
"Well, Harlan was one of Donald's best friends…but I could never shake the feeling that there was something…sinister about him. Frankly, he gave me the creeps, and Don used to always tease me about it. So, naturally, when I found out that Harlan had arranged for me to stay in his private suite at the hospital and had made all the funeral and burial arrangements for Donald and the baby, I felt ashamed for ever doubting his character."
"Don't ever feel ashamed about that," Rita muttered hotly, hatred dripping from every word.
She cleared her throat, as an unspoken apology for her unexpected sidetrack. "Um, there's more." She stared down at the other certificate she was holding, and furrowed her brow. "I also told you that my mother died when I was born." Without looking up, she slid the paper across the table to Alex.
Alexandra Lilia Fontana…Date of death: May 2, 1964…
Cause of death: Amniotic Fluid Embolism
An icy chill radiated up Alex's spine as she gazed at her own name under the official seal of the State of Florida and the Gothic calligraphy font heralding 'Death Certificate.'
"Oh, my God." Then her mind worked through the logic regarding…Rita… She snapped her head up to stare at the young woman in front of her. "Oh, my God!"
"As you can probably guess, this is the only copy. And there obviously is no evidence of its existence in the state records."
"But… That would mean you're – But how?!"
Rita listened in suffering silence as Chris once again explained what his investigation had uncovered, her pain not even fractionally abated this second time around. When he finished, she offered the version she had lived with, had accepted as truth, for thirty-one years.
Alexandra Fontana could only gape in staggering shock. She was stunned speechless, emotionless. Several minutes passed before she was physically and mentally capable to react. The fuse was lit, and the dam suddenly burst. Bottomless rage, resentment, and inwardly directed shame laced her words. "Damn it… I played right into his plan. At Don and the baby's graves he asked me about the house, and I told him to just sell it. Sell it all. Donald was the only reason I had stayed in Palm Beach. I was fed up with being an outcast simply because I was a successful businesswoman and not their precious 'old money.' Harlan told me he would take care of everything. He told me not to go back to the house because it would be too painful. And I left for Atlanta that very day. I severed all ties. I gave him a list of the possessions I wanted, and he sent them. A few weeks later he wrote me saying that the house sold, and he gave me the check. My God…he must have funded that himself…"
Alex bowed her head and stared at her hands in her lap, her thoughts swimming over lost time with a child she never knew survived. "Every day, for thirty-one years, I've mourned your death. Every day as the years passed, I've wondered what you'd be like as you grew." She lifted her tear-stained face and focused on the similarly effected face of her friend…turned daughter. "For thirty-one years, I've missed your life!"
Rita shook her head and reached a hand across the table to Alex, who immediately clasped it. "It wasn't your fault," she stated fervidly. "It wasn't your fault."
In an instant, Rita and Alexandra felt time suddenly freeze. How many nights had they prayed to see each other's face just once? How many days had they longed for the opportunity just to meet, to get to know one another? In an instant, Rita and Alexandra truly realized the precious gift that had been granted to them.
"Your smile," Chris quietly exclaimed.
"What?" came the stereo reply.
"Your smile, Alex. That's why I was so sure we had met before. That smile has lit up my life for over eight years. I don't know why, but I just couldn't place it when we were introduced."
As if on cue, two pairs of green eyes focused on Chris, and he received a double dose of raised eyebrow and lopsided grin.
"Aw, see, that's just freaky now. Now you two are just being mean. I don't know why I take this abuse!"
For the Fontana women, it was increasingly surreal, yet beautifully so, to agree with initial observations of features and mannerisms they shared. It was an instant bond of mother and daughter.
Leaning back against the couch in the living room, Rita and Alexandra sat surrounded by an array of pictures, letters, schoolwork, the music box, and other special treasures.
"Do you remember this?" Rita asked, handing her mother the worn copy of 'Suzy Pratt: Girl Detective.'
"Oh, my gawd," Alex cried. "I can't believe you still have this!"
"What do you mean 'still have it?' This is still one of my favorite books! Daddy used to always read it to me when I couldn't sleep – and even Chris and I have pulled it out when we've had insomnia. It still works like a charm!"
"This was the first book I ever bought when I learned I was pregnant with you. Your dad thought I was nuts, and was laughing so hard he was in tears. He had always teased me about my love for police work." Alex's smile turned a shade slyer as she remembered other works of literature that evoked the laughter of her husband. "Have you ever heard of Dashell Hammett, Rita?"
"He was a mystery writer, wasn't he?"
"A mystery writer whose writing was inspired by his life's work. He was an operative for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency before he wrote classics like 'The Maltese Falcon,' 'The Thin Man,' and 'Special Agent X-9.' When I was pregnant, and couldn't sleep because you decided to be quite active, I'd sit in my rocking chair and read to us out loud book after book of his. And it seemed like his were the only ones that would settle you down. Those are some of my fondest memories of being pregnant…"
For a moment, Rita was speechless, having never experienced a first-hand account of a bond she shared with her true mother. Her eyes twinkled at the realization that she herself could add another piece to the special connection. "'Special Agent X-9,' huh?" she asked.
"Yes, it was a comic book, actually, not a novel. Why?"
"Oh, nothing," was the innocent answer. "It's just that 'X-9,' well, 'X-ray 9' in the police alphabet, has been my designation ever since I switched to Homicide from Vice."
"You're joking!"
"Nope." Beaming, both Rita and Alex widened their eyes and shivered at the uncanny coincidence.
For mother and daughter, the hours slipped away effortlessly. Alex listened devotedly to recounts of key events in Rita's life, and Rita sat spellbound as she learned of the carefree, prankster, romantic man her father had been when Alex had known him, and the hopes and dreams Alex had had for motherhood.
It wasn't long before they had talked, cried, and hugged most of the night away. Dawn was almost breaking when Alex finally moved to leave, promising to return for a late breakfast once she and Rita had the chance to rest their overloaded but ecstatic minds.
Standing by the door to the apartment, they shared a final embrace, and Rita offered Alexandra one last memory.
"Every night when Daddy would tuck me in, we would tell you about our day. And when he would kiss me goodnight, he would always use the words 'Mommy and I love you.' You were always a part of our lives."
Humbled and grateful, Alex took every word to heart. "I can't tell you how much that means to me, Rita. You know, when I first moved to Atlanta, I would wake up at night having sworn that I had heard you crying. I knew it wasn't real, but I never wanted to fall back asleep until I had comforted you in my mind. Every night my last thought was asking your dad to take care of you in heaven…and saying how much I loved you both." Alex smiled sweetly as another idea struck her. "Who knows, Rita, there were probably many a night when we were all telling each other 'I love you' at the very same moment."
Before slipping into bed, Rita paused at her window. One by one the stars were fading from sight…
…signaling on so many levels, that the long night was coming to a close.
Rita moved flush against the warm body of her Sam, who even in his slumber instinctively reached out to hold her. She basked in the overwhelming sense of love she felt for him, for his immense accomplishment, and for the woman who was so much more than an amazing friend.
"I have a mom," Rita whispered in humble fascination to her sweet soul mate.
The arms that held her tenderly gripped tighter, and without opening his eyes, Chris smiled.
With arms braced against the railing of Rita's balcony, Alexandra stood motionless as she gazed out, hypnotized, at the crashing ocean.
"You know, if you stare at the waves long enough, you can find the answers to just about anything."
Rita's voice successfully brought Alex out of her solemn reverie. "I never realized just how much I miss it," she responded sincerely. "There's nothing on earth quite like it."
A small smile slowly spread across her face, and she turned toward Rita. "Your father proposed to me by the ocean, did you know that?"
Rita casually flopped down onto a chair, wonder illuminating her features as she searched her memory. "Um…"
Quiet nostalgia filled Alexandra's voice as she continued. "I was living in a fifth-floor apartment in Highland Beach. Every morning I would go out on my balcony and just watch the surf. And then one morning, I looked out, and there in the sand in these big letters was written: 'Alexandra, will you marry me?.'" Alex laughed at the remembrance. "I almost fell over the railing… I raced down to the beach, but I didn't see your dad anywhere. Then I noticed there was a heart drawn above my name. In the center of the heart was my engagement ring, mounted in a seashell." She toyed with the diamond that after forty years, still encircled her finger. "As I picked it up and looked around again, your dad was about fifteen feet away, down on one knee, holding a bouquet of tiger lilies, which are my favorite flowers."
The memory slowly faded, as did the happiness from Alex's face, and she hung her head. "I can't believe he let you find him like that," she whispered in horror. "I can't believe how Harlan could inflict so much pain on him and make him lose sight of how important you were to him. I let you both down, Rita. I should have come back. If I had come back I would have found you. Both of you..." Taking several deep breaths, Alex drove the thoughts from her mind with a fierce determination. "God, I miss him… But, you know what? Last night was the first night in thirty-one years that I didn't miss you." A radiant maternal pride beamed in her eyes, as she offered her daughter a brilliant grin.
Rita stood up and tightly embraced the woman who for Rita's entire life had lived only in the realms of her imagination. She felt like a child, yet she felt safer than she had in a very long time, or possibly ever. "I'm out of practice in being a daughter," she confessed, "especially yours."
Alexandra stroked Rita's chestnut hair, which was just a shade darker than her own. "I've lost a lot of time," she counter admitted. "And I find myself asking, 'do I know how to be your mother?'"
Rita giggled impishly and stepped back. "Well, whenever you're in doubt, just remember how well you handled me when I started that paint fight with Christopher!"
Hillcrest Cemetery, West Palm Beach
Alexandra Fontana laid a bouquet of fresh flowers at the foot of a granite headstone engraved with the names of Tom and Sue Lance. She knelt down, and drawing in a ragged breath, she gathered her thoughts. "What could I possibly say to you both?" she whispered. "How could I ever repay you? I look at my – I look at my daughter… My precious child… And I see a woman who was given as much love and support and guidance as her father and I would have provided, had we been given the opportunity. I am truly indebted to you. I am proud, so very proud, that Rita took your name."
Rita watched the silent tears of the woman who had been cheated out of a family, as she knelt at the actual grave of her husband. For Donald's widow, knowing the truth of his real death was, in a sense, like losing him all over again. Alexandra sighed heavily. "Oh, Donald… I am so sorry." Through her sorrow, she managed to smile.
"We're together now, dear, Rita and me. You should see her, Don… She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's strong in character. She's everything we ever dreamed for our child. And, she's a cop, sweetheart! Can you believe it? I know you were laughing when I found that out – I can just hear you. I wish you were truly here with us… Watch over us, Don." Alexandra brought a long-stemmed red rose up to her lips before laying it across the headstone and, in the language of the songs she always danced with her husband, fervently whispered a plea for her love to wait for her. "Aspettami, amore mio."
Alexandra stepped back, and Rita took her place. She laid her rose and the poem attached to it, on top of her mother's. "Guess what, Daddy? I've been hanging out with Mom – and I didn't even know it. She's amazing…I – I understand why you loved her so much. We miss you, Daddy…and we love you…" Rita stood up. She closed her eyes, and her mind echoed the mingling voices of a time long ago, as she and her dad had memorized the nursery rhyme she now placed upon his headstone:
For every evil under the sun,
There is a remedy or there is none.
If there be one, seek till you find it.
If there be none, then never mind it.
Though Rita and Alexandra could not remedy the evil begotten to Donald Fontana, thereby undoing his death, they had remedied the evil that kept them separated. Now it was time to reveal the remedy to the Evil itself responsible for their years of pain. Their next stop would be to the Dade Correctional Institution Annex…to descend upon Harlan Cameron.
Alone, Rita strolled casually into the infirmary, high heels echoing determinedly.
Harlan Cameron, hooked up to oxygen and various monitors, spotted her immediately and leered, "why Rita Lee! What a surprise! Have you come to wish me a joyous parole? You do know that I'll be granted parole, don't you?"
"Oh, I wouldn't be packing my bags just yet, if I were you, Cameron," Rita drawled, before sweetly adding, "you're never going to see the light of day again!"
"Come now, you can't still be harboring bad feelings toward me simply because your father lacked good investment sense."
Rita stopped herself just short of physically lashing out at him. Cameron's audacity and twisted logic, with which he removed his personal involvement, infuriated Rita to the core, though her outward appearance remained unfaltering. "Well, since you mentioned the past, that's exactly why I'm here. See, my partner had a wonderful little chat with your old friend, Doctor Mitchum."
At that, Cameron's heart monitor made a series of erratic blips, thrilling Rita immensely.
"You remember him, don't you?" She didn't bother to wait for the response. "Of course, you remember him. You made him Chief of Research for Cobalt Obstetrics – once he helped you carry out an elaborate little scheme against both my parents."
Cameron wheezed, angrily exclaiming, "I have no idea what you're talking about!"
Rita made a tsk-tsk sound as she slowly shook her head from side to side. "See, now that's the wrong answer, Cameron. We both know your power of recollection is perfectly intact." "But just the same, I'll help you remember. See, you decided to play God with our lives. You turned on my father. Almost everything he cared about…you wiped out. You broke my mother's heart. You made her think she was alone in this world – that the two people she loved more than life were gone. You stole both of my parents from me. You ended my childhood when I was only seven years old."
Rita had reigned back her fury and pain, keeping her tone neutral as a sign of sheer defiance, but she now returned to the sweet, sardonic timbre that intensified her mental attack. "Still can't recall? Well, maybe this can jog your memory."
Another pair of unwavering, high-heeled footsteps was approaching. Alexandra Fontana came into sight, causing Harlan's eyes to widen and the monitor to beep rapidly.
"Surely, you remember my mother?"
Pure hatred was clearly visible on Alex's face. "Well, well, Harlan. The years certainly haven't been good to you." She gave a snort of contempt. "I'd apologize for my impertinence, but I think my daughter has been more polite to you than you deserve, you bastard. Donald and I trusted you! Do you have any idea what kind of hell you put us through?!" Alex, too, refused to let Cameron interrupt. "Do you honestly think they're not going to keep you chained up in here for the rest of your pathetic life?"
Harlan made a last-ditch attempt at control. "I have very powerful friends! I –"
Rita's eyes flashed with a predatory gleam. "You might have had the upper hand when you were out in Palm Beach, but you're part of the justice system now. This is my territory. My game."
Alexandra held her head high, filled with a deep pride at witnessing the flare of her child's authority and internal strength. "Take a good look at us, Cameron. Your life is over…ours is just beginning. I want the last thing you remember about the outside world to be the knowledge that you failed." She wrapped her arm across Rita's shoulders. "We're together. And you failed." With a triumphant smile and a purely saccharine tone she added, "I hope you rot in hell."
As mother and daughter turned to leave, Rita paused. All sarcasm left her features, as she prepared to deliver her final blow of vengeance for her father's death and her mother's pain. She looked back at Harlan, her purely venomous glare making him physically flinch in fear. "Oh, and Cameron? Now Little Miss Rita has closed the books."
Music, laughter, and screams mingled with the mechanical roar of the rollercoasters, the spinning lights of the smaller rides, and the smell of food that was signature for amusement parks. Chris returned to the picnic table with his third chilidog, causing Alex to gape at him in wide-eyed fascination.
"You're really gonna eat another one?"
"What?" Chris asked innocently. "This is a carnival, ladies. You're supposed to eat more than one corn dog and a bottle of water."
"Hey, we had cotton candy, too!" Rita protested in their defense.
"You tell him, Rita!"
Muffled, familiar voices approached. "Oh, Hesch, I'm so proud of you."
"What, proud? I'm going to be sneezing whipped cream for a week, Fran."
The Sams couldn't help but laugh at the sight of poor Harry: a towel draped over the collar of his trademark white dress shirt with its rolled-up sleeves; his dark hair slicked back after rinsing out all the offending pastry ingredients from his beat at the pie-throwing booth. And then, of course, there was the ever-bubbly Frannie, hugging his arm and guiding him toward the table.
Chris, Rita, and Alex stood up. "There, see, Cap?" Chris quipped. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"
His answer was the inimitable above-the-glasses stare.
"Cap? Fran?" Rita asked quietly. "I'd like to introduce you to…my mother, Alex."
Harry's demeanor softened, and he shook her hand. "It is truly an honor, Alex." To his detectives he barked, "Lance! Lorenzo! What kind of cops are you, huh? You mean to tell me that you couldn't see from the start that Alex's the spitting image of Rita?"
Before Rita could reply, three of her kids from Night Moves physically whisked her away to ride a coaster with them.
Knowing that Alexandra and Frannie still had to meet, Harry and Chris moved back so as not to interfere.
As they made eye contact, something passed between the two women, and they knew a handshake would not be sufficient. As they embraced, everything was said, though no words were exchanged.
It was Alex who first moved to verbally emphasize their silent conversation. "I hope you realize just how important you and your husband are to Rita. You both are family to her."
"I can't even imagine your pain, Alex. Losing your child – especially one as special as Rita…" Fran shook her head, in a rare occasion of feeling speechless.
Alex watched as Rita dissolved into laughter as she was dragged to a shorter line. "I can't believe how amazing she is, Fran…" Alex turned her attention back to extraordinary woman in front of her. "Thank you…mother to mother…for taking care of her. And please, please continue to do so. I know Rita wouldn't have it any other way."
"Will you be a part of her life, Alex?" While Frannie may not have been bound to Rita by blood, she was bound by two years of loving her as if she was her own. Rita had been through so much in her short years, Fran felt obligated to protect her from any additional heartbreak.
"If she'll let me," Alex replied wistfully.
The correct answer given, Fran beamed and turned Alex's words right back around on her. "Honey, she wouldn't have it any other way."
From their removed distance, Chris and Harry watched the interaction between the two older ladies. "I'm proud of you, kid," the Cap complimented sincerely. "You did a hell of a job. You do know that this was probably thee most important case you've ever worked – or will work? You gave Rita back a very important piece of her heart. Something she's never had…"
"Thanks, Captain," Chris responded softly. "You've gotta watch them together, Cap. It's so natural, it's like they've never been apart." Watching Alex talk to Fran, Chris was taken aback by how much more than just her smile she shared with Rita. "She really is phenomenal… And I've never seen Rita so happy."
Suspended high above the ground, Chris and Rita sat in an enclosed car at the top of the Ferris wheel. From their perch in the sky, they could see the rolling ocean and the twinkling lights of the city.
"You're quiet," Chris mumbled as he dragged his lips across the soft skin of Rita's neck.
Rita opened her eyes and pulled away, waiting for him to look at her. She offered him a smile filled with more love than he had ever seen. "I want to thank you, Chris," she drawled once she had his attention, "but I'll never be able to thank you enough. What you've given me…" There were simply no words. Instead, Rita resorted to a searing kiss that offered him her heart and soul. She raked her nails up his thigh and, at his sharp intake of breath, broke off the kiss with a sultry grin. She nuzzled his ear, taking it briefly between her teeth before promising in a husky whisper, "I'll make it up to you for the rest of our lives."
"I love you, Rita."
"And I love you."
Miami International Airport
"Now boarding: first-class passengers, flight 2293 for Atlanta, Georgia."
"Well, I guess this is my ride," Alex remarked with a sigh. "I'll give you a call when I get home."
Smirking, she narrowed her eyes and regarded Chris with a mother's scrutiny. "When Rita was only my friend, I thought you were perfect for her. But, that was before thirty years of unused maternal instinct came crashing through me, and I didn't have a daughter to protect…" Her smile broadened and her gaze softened. "I'm glad I got to know you, Chris, before I learned about everything else. I can't be certain that I wouldn't have gone insanely critical on you if things had happened in the reverse order." More seriously, she appealed, "if I haven't earned the right as a mother yet, I ask you as a friend: take care of her. Be good to her, and treat her right."
Chris looked with sheer respect to the woman who had endured so gracefully the pain of loss and the astonishment of reunion. Her charm and fire and spirit were no less captivating than that of his precious Sam who shared its inheritance. "I promise you, Alex," he vowed wholeheartedly.
Alexandra Fontana embraced the cop whose investigative skills had restored her soul; the man whose spellbinding love would undoubtedly make him her son-in-law. "I came out here to repair a building… But thanks to you, I repaired my heart. I will be eternally grateful to you, Sergeant Christopher Lorenzo."
She turned to Rita. "And you! My beautiful baby girl... Thank you so much for letting me into your life, and for giving me the crash course of your experiences." Laughing away fresh tears she exclaimed, "I can't believe I have to leave already!"
Rita concentrated hard on the ability to speak. "I just got you back, and…" Unable to finish the sentence, she paused to collect herself. "You'll be back in three weeks for the seminar with Homicide and Vice?"
"Yes, and you'll be getting lots of calls and emails from me throughout those three weeks, too, I assure you." Alexandra took hold of her daughter's hands, looking deep into the emerald eyes that mirrored her own. "I, uh, I don't know how much this will mean to you, but I am so proud of you, Rita."
Once again Rita reeled from disbelief and delight. With a fierce veracity she answered, "it means everything to me."
As of one accord, the Fontana women embraced, locking into memory the tangible, precious hold that was denied to them for so long.
"I love you, Mom," Rita whispered.
Alexandra let out a soft cry.
"I have waited my whole life to hear that from you – to be called that by you! God, I still can't believe this! I love you, too, sweetheart."
"Now boarding: passengers in rows 25 through 30…"
Alex groaned. "Oh, all right, already!" She separated from Rita, and picked up her attaché case – only to go right back for another quick hug. "Be well, Rita. I will see you soon. Bye, Chris!"
"Take care, Alex."
"Have a safe flight," added Rita.
When Alexandra Fontana disappeared from sight, Rita and Chris draped an arm around each other and moved to stand in front of the terminal's fully glassed wall.
Looking out at the docking area, Chris suddenly remembered. "By the way, Sam, when I was talking to Keisha at the start of all this, she said to tell you that your dream came true."
"What did she mean by that?"
"Well, I don't know, really. She wouldn't tell me, but she said to remind you about foster children."
As the realization struck her, Rita ducked her head and slowly nodded. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she whispered, "I guess she's right…"
Chris nudged her with his shoulder. "So?"
"Ah… Well, when Keisha and I got together during Michael's case, she asked me how he was related to me. I explained that he was my foster brother, but his real mom eventually came and got him. All foster children have this dream that their real parents will come and get them. Michael's dream came true…"
"Ah," Chris exclaimed, finally understanding. "So, in a way, Keisha's right. Your dream did come true."
Rita watched her mother's plane taxi to the end of the runway and take flight.
"Yes… It did."
The End
Behind the Scenes
The making of 'Closing the Books' – the methods to my madness:
For me, the research I put into a story is as fun and frustrating as the writing itself. It's all about details…
* For starters, how about the fact that Rita didn't and couldn't know Alex's last name? Well, as you may recall, Rita only uses her first name when she answers the phone at Night Moves (Natural Selection). We know Suzanne's last name because she was a suspect in her husband's murder (Ghosts of the Past). I always thought that the absence of last names reflected a sense of anonymity and casualness that would be essential to the Night Moves cause. Is it completely plausible that Rita never heard 'Fontana?' Probably not. But this is fan-fic, and it's the only way my premise would work.
* Next up, Alex's career/personality. The birth mother of Rita Lee Fontana was going to be successful. Her achievements in a once male-dominated profession would parallel Rita's. She was going to be strong. She was going to embody many of the amazing qualities we know and love in her daughter.
* Now, what about Alex teaching architecture at the Academy? Flight of a fan-fic author's fantasy? Not entirely. I have seen architecture listed in Cadet curriculum. Whether the material includes anything Alex mentioned, I am not sure.
* And Chris' involvement? It is common knowledge to the nth degree that Chris is an extremely important, ever-present aspect of Rita's life, and vice versa. Therefore, the true identity of "Alex" was to be discovered by Chris himself. But, before that, I wanted him to connect with the woman that would turn out being the love of his life's mother. The connection would be Chris' favorite baseball team, the Atlanta Braves (Hardcopy), which was the reason Alex had to be from Atlanta.
* Okay, the baseball stats. The games mentioned were played in 1994. Technically, the story cannot take place in 1994 due to all the inferences made to Brother's Keeper, which aired January 22, 1995. Well, I researched the Braves for 1994 because I associate 4th season Silk (the timeline after 'The Three Faces of Fate') with 1994, and wrote up the entire scene before questioning the air date of Brother's Keeper. I've justified keeping the error because by the time the Braves played in 1995, Chris and Rita were probably already getting tense with each other and gearing up for the real 5th season timeline and factual sparks/fireworks.
* And speaking of timeline errors, I stopped just short of making another one. As you will later read, the original idea for this story was centered on the music box that Rita is listening to in Into the Fire (right before Chris brings her his Italian penicillin). Well, I almost included in this story how Rita had brought it out when she thought Eric was dead…but then I realized: Rita never dated Eric in my stories! 'Three Faces of Fate' created a bypass for that lil misadventure, so I most certainly couldn't mention ol' Eric in 'Closing the Books!'
* Now, one of my favorite fun facts: the date on Donald Fontana's death certificate. September 29, 1971 was chosen simply because it was a Wednesday, and therefore a school day. As we all know, Rita raced home from school and found her father dead (Going to Babylon). She states she was seven when he died (Ask the Dust), so that would mean seven years from her birth date – which we don't know, so Mitzi's is the most logical choice.
* As for the cemeteries, Boca Raton and Hillcrest are actual Florida cemeteries and the closest to Palm Beach.
* Similarly, the Dade Correctional Institution Annex is also real, and would hold a prisoner like Harlan Cameron.
* Miami International Airport is also referenced because of its proximity to Palm Beach, and Alex's flight number… Well, 2293 is the address of the condo in San Diego that doubled as Rita's apartment.
* And lastly, but most importantly: a beautiful name, a classic name, befitting the mother of Rita. 'Alexandra' was used by permission, as I simply cannot imagine any other name for her. She debuted in the powerful, remarkable "Shadows of Remembrance" by our most loved ResAuthor. As for her middle name… Well, her middle name had to be something from which Rita's 'Lee' could be derived. A lasting legacy and presence in her daughter's identity. 'Lilia' was the most beautiful and enchanting choice. A name that when pronounced correctly in the language of its origin, is the very definition of Italian elegance. Above all else, if you like Alex's full name, please, please, please write me and tell me.
Getting back to basics:
This story was uncharted territory for me, as I was forced to hone the skill of dialogue and strip away the descriptive style to which I am well-accustomed. Man, that was hard!
The initial inspiration for this story came to me while watching Into the Fire. When Rita is hunched over her music box, I got to wondering if it could possibly be her mom's. That lead to 'what if her mom came back and realized it was hers?'. The Muse had struck. Well, a nonchalant mention to Lia led to an extensive jam session that turned a sweet, short story idea into a plot of cunning deception and challenging, complicated angles. So much for simplicity! But, throughout all my stalemates (and just plain stalling), Lia was the driving force, quick to remind me that Alexandra's story needed to be told. Her encouragement was constant, her 'jamming' was crucial, and for both I thank her immensely.
It is to the great *L* "C" B that I dedicate 'Closing the Books.'
Special note:
Additional inspiration for this story came from sitting…on Rita's beach, while staring at the condo that was Rita's apartment. It doesn't get much better than that! I offer a heartfelt 'thank you!' to Lorry The Navigator and Lia The Driver for the precious opportunity to join them for Silkfest 2002, in the very Land of Silk.