Free Shattered by Karen Robards Page A

distress her, so she was careful to paint everything that happened in the rosiest possible light. "He sends you his love."
    "Such a--smart boy. I always knew--he 'd be a success."
    Robin snorted expressively. Neither she nor Andy was a big fan of Scott's. Of course, he 'd had the stigma of his background to overcome as a youth, and they'd rarely seen him as an adult. But years ago, when he 'd been a favorite of her mother's, Lisa suspected they'd also been jealous.
    "Now, Robin. You know he's--really made something of himself," Martha reproved. Robin grimaced, but at least she did it so Martha couldn't see.
    "He certainly has," Lisa agreed cheerfully, forbearing to add that he was also, more often than not, an overbearing jerk, which was beside the point anyway. No one could deny that Scott had done good.
    "District attorney," Martha marveled. "Whoever would have--thought it."
    "Once poor white trash, always poor white trash," Robin muttered.
    "I think we 're finished with the soup now, Robin." Lisa shot her favorite old family retainer a quelling look. Rolling her eyes, again out of Martha's view, Robin took away the soup bowls and returned with plates of baked fish and salad. Her mother's had been chopped so finely that it was almost unrecognizable. Lisa fed her a bite of the near mush, then made sure to eat some of her own supper. If she didn't, her mother would notice and refuse to eat until she did.
    "Did you--have a good day?" Her mother was focused on Lisa now.
    Knowing that Martha genuinely wanted to know, Lisa smiled and nodded and related a highly edited version of her day--no need to report that the Jag had broken down, or that her mother's golden boy had threatened to fire her, or that she was in the proverbial doghouse at work--as she got Martha to eat her meal. As they talked and ate, Lisa found herself watching her mother. Not for the first time, she noted how little they physically resembled each other. This was, however, the first time it bothered her. But, she told herself, though their features and coloring were not similar, she shared many of her mother's mannerisms and facial expressions. Leaving aside the effects of her mother's illness, their voices even sounded much the same, and everyone said they had the exact same laugh. Still, the image of Angela Garcia would not leave her. It was ridiculous to think that the fact that a figure in a grainy, thirty-year-old photograph looked so much like her meant anything--what could it possibly mean? At most, that they were distantly related. What other alternatives were there? That she was Angela Garcia reincarnated? That she was little Marisa Garcia, having been secretly adopted and then somehow age-regressed? How idiotic was that? But the resemblance nagged at her enough so that at the end of her recitation she added, pseudo-carelessly, "Oh, I have to ask you something: What was the name of the hospital where I was born?"
    "Saints Mary and Elizabeth's." Martha's reply was prompt. Her face softened as she smiled reminiscently. "It was the happiest day--of my life. I got--my own precious--angel baby. When they handed you to me, I--cried." Her eyes sharpened fractionally on Lisa's face. "Why--do you ask?"
    "I had to fill out a form at work today," Lisa answered evasively. "Mother, eat another bite of this."
    Her mother shook her head. "I'm--full." She smiled hopefully at Lisa. "I have pictures of the hospital--in your baby book. Would you like to see them?"
    Martha liked nothing better than to look through the numerous photo albums she'd compiled of Lisa's life, and as a result, Lisa had seen enough pictures of herself growing up to last through several lifetimes. Before her mother had gotten sick, Martha had only to pull out a photo album for Lisa to find that she had somewhere else she needed to be. Since she 'd returned home, though, she 'd been much more patient, and thus she'd been treated to numerous photographic trips down memory lane, which she'd endured