“If we’re going to have this conversation, I need to sit down.” The background noise from the TV grew quiet. “We needed money,” she started. “Everything was behind—the car payments, the rent. I told him my parents would give us a loan, but Christopher was too proud for that. He went out every day looking for work, and when a man in a suit offered him a thousand dollars a week to do odd jobs, your father said yes.”
Kendall would have been immediately suspicious. “That’s a lot of money for odd jobs.”
“That’s what I said, but, bless his heart, your father was as naive as he was stubborn.”
Kendall smiled at the Southernism. She may have left South Carolina, but she’d taken the language with her. “So how did odd jobs lead to driving a car for Elijah Teller?”
“It was a natural progression, I guess. He started out doing basic maintenance-type work, on buildings first and then on different people’s cars. A few months in, someone handed him an envelope full of cash and told him to go buy himself a nice suit. The next day, he was Elijah’s driver.”
“How much did you know about the events that brought us down here?”
“Not enough,” she answered emphatically. “For one, I didn’t know until we got there that the old man was part of the package. As for the island, your father made it sound like paradise, as I’m sure Ray had painted it out to be. The second I stepped foot on that sand, I was ready to go home. But Christopher was all in. I think in some twisted way, it reminded him of the farm he’d grown up on back in Kansas.”
“Dad grew up in Kansas?” How did Kendall not know this?
“He did. That’s one of the things I liked about him. He wasn’t anything like the city boys I’d always dated. Christopher was . . . softer, I guess. Though he’d hate to hear me say that.”
Soft was not a word Kendall associated with his father. At six foot five, he’d loomed above most men, built many of the homes still standing on the island today, and never backed down from a fight. Then again, he only ever fought when someone smaller than he was needed defending.
“Anyway,” his mom said, “I was not living in a shack, in fear every day that an alligator was going to eat my child, so we compromised and found a little rental in Charleston. The one thing I’ll say for Ray is that he had the vision. He believed there was money to be made on that island, and the one promise he upheld was splitting the land with your father. You’re in the position you are today thanks to the rare generosity of one of the most selfish and manipulative men I’ve ever met.”
That Ray and Jacqueline James didn’t like each other had always been obvious, but Kendall had never known the source of the animosity. Mom had never praised Ray or feigned any fondness for him, but she’d also never said a bad word about him. At least not in front of her son. Until now.
“When did you know about the fake explosion?”
A pause came from the other end. “Explosion?”
So Kendall hadn’t been the only one left in the dark. “Dad helped Ray create an explosion that would make it look like they’d both been killed. That’s why Ray changed his name when we got here. So the Mafia family he’d worked for couldn’t hunt him down.”
He could almost hear his mother’s teeth grind. “God, that man was a fool. Christopher told me that Ray gambled with the wrong man’s money, and if he found him, he’d take payment any way he could. That’s why he refused to leave the old man’s side. But there had been no mention of an explosion.”
Money laundering and gambling weren’t exactly the same thing, but there was a thin line of truth in this newest version of events. Amazing that two men could spread so many different versions of the same story and never get caught in the lies.
“After thirty years, we may never know exactly what happened.” Ray hadn’t volunteered any more details, and Kendall had to assume the people he’d run from were long gone. “But thanks for answering my questions.”
“You’re welcome, son. Though it sounds like you know more than I do.”
One more question came to mind. “Mom, did you know Ray’s family? Or Elijah’s, I guess.”
“I didn’t really know them, but they invited us for a cookout once. Mrs. Teller was a sweet woman. Quiet, which was the complete opposite of her husband. His son was less friendly, but the daughter-in-law was nice. They had a little girl you played with.”
Kendall sat up straighter in his chair.
“A little girl?”
“I don’t remember her name, but she had a head full of blonde curls. And she clung to her mother’s leg, as if she was afraid someone might steal her away. You did your best to coax her into the sandbox, and she finally sat on the edge, watching you build a fort.” After a brief silence, she added, “I wonder what happened to her.”
Ray happened to her. Kendall slid the top onto his cooler and stood to fold up his chair. “Have a good time at the cookout, and I’ll call you next week.”
“Kendall,” she said, halting his movements, “you need to know that I don’t regret marrying Christopher. He was a good man and a good father. And though it might not have always seemed like it, I did love him.”
He hated to admit the truth, but he’d doubted that fact more than once during his life. “I’m happy to hear that, Mom. I know he loved you, too. Talk soon, okay?”
“Talk soon. Happy Fourth, buddy.”
“Happy Fourth to you, too.”
Ending the call, Kendall finished gathering his things and headed for his cart. The main fireworks display would start soon, and he didn’t want Amos to be alone.
Chapter 25
Conveying the entire story of her Haven Island adventure had taken two hours, and though Liza had been careful not to mention Kendall except when absolutely necessary, Vanessa had not been fooled. Liza had then cried her way through the third hour amid empty coffee cups and greasy pizza boxes.
As if reading Liza’s mind, Vanessa had said, “I can’t believe he didn’t ask you to stay.”
Liza’s sentiments exactly. Looking back, she saw the short, painful exchange as if she were floating above the scene, witnessing the words practically written across her forehead.
Ask me to stay.
Instead, Kendall had offered to help her leave. But as Liza played the encounter back again, she realized one important element she’d been too emotional to see at the time. It was an ending without an ending. There’d been no argument. No bitter fight or hateful words exchanged. Just I’m leaving and Let me help you go.
Not that Kendall had looked happy to send her off. In fact, her own pain had been reflected in his eyes. If only he’d said the words.
In the days after Liza’s return, she took Vanessa’s advice and buried herself in a new book. But contrary to how her mind had worked on the island, she found herself ignoring the new ideas and studying her notes on the memoir. Liza wanted to know if the things Ray had told her had been true. From the names of his parents, which she shamefully had never heard before, to his years in the service.
Research had always been Liza’s favorite way to pass the time, and in this case, it served as a helpful distraction for her aching heart. If she was digging into Elijah Teller’s past, she couldn’t torture herself wondering what Kendall might be doing. If he missed her. If Amos missed her. She deeply missed them both.
Her first instinct had been to call her father, but she had to tread lightly. Liza had debated for days whether or not to reveal all and, in the end, decided that until she knew everything, she would tell the family nothing. To prevent arousing her father’s suspicion, she called Aunt Julia, Ray’s youngest sister and only living sibling.
One brother and two sisters, all younger. The clues had been so obvious. How had she missed them?
As the genealogist in the family, Julia could provide documents to prove or disprove the information Ray had shared. She would also, hopefully, be willing to discuss her brother’s death. Something Liza had never heard her father do.
There was th
e added bonus that Julia was Liza’s favorite member of the family. A younger, female version of Elijah, but less boastful and more likely to shine a spotlight on others instead of herself.
Within days, Liza had been engrossed in census records, marriage records, birth certificates, and obituaries. As far as she could tell, every detail Elijah had shared was accurate. A fact that revealed two things—Liza knew far too little about her own family history, and the memoir project may not have been a ruse.
Why go to the trouble? Why not put her off entirely, traipsing Liza about the island with one excuse or another about getting to the details later? Even on days when Elijah hadn’t felt his best, he’d arrived at the table ready to talk. Another sign that he really had wanted her to write the book.
A conclusion that made her feel better about the proposal she planned to offer Vanessa.
A boom outside Liza’s window drew her attention away from the mounds of printouts and notebooks spread out on her comforter. She’d forgotten. Today was a holiday. Another pop and the sky lit up, celebrating her country’s independence. Watching the red-and-blue sizzling streams fill the air, she thought about Elijah going off to war.
A naive eighteen-year-old who’d never stepped foot outside New York City was handed a gun and shipped off to the other side of the world. Then she thought of Kendall in the same situation. Though not as naive as a boy who’d grown up in the ’30s, he was still only a boy.
A kind, loving, unselfish boy who deserved happiness and laughter. Not tanks and body armor.
The fireworks finale kicked into high gear, filling the apartment with noise and the air with smoke. Liza pushed herself away from the window and brushed a tear off her cheek before pulling the laptop back onto her lap.
July turned hot and muggy, with daily showers rolling into heavier storms several times during the previous week. Kendall hated this time of year. The wind off the water felt like a hair dryer blowing in his face, and even in the air-conditioning, he could barely get cool.
The rain led Amos to track mud through the house. After getting caught in a sudden downpour two days ago, the spoiled dog had squirmed past his towel-wielding owner and dashed straight to the bedroom to dry himself on the comforter.
Once the weather cleared, Kendall had been relieved to get back to work. If he was working, he couldn’t think about Liza. As much. Though twice she’d invaded his mind and nearly cost him dearly. The first time had been when a tourist walked by a public marsh dock that Kendall was repairing. She’d been wearing the same scent as Liza, and when the perfume hit his senses, he’d missed the nail by more than an inch, nearly smashing his thumb to smithereens.
The second time, Kendall had been driving. Rounding the corner in front of the Welcome Center, he had spotted a cart parked on the side of the road. Blonde curls dancing in the breeze, the driver, a woman in a bright-blue dress, had been staring at her phone. Kendall’s heart had stopped, but his cart hadn’t, and he nearly plowed into a family of four. When a horn sounded, the blonde had looked up, revealing the face of a stranger, and Kendall had been forced to swerve to avoid the collision. If Amos had been with him, he no doubt would have landed in the female driver’s lap.
Or worse, been truly injured.
After the last incident, Kendall realized that for the safety of himself and those around him, he needed to call Liza. What he would say was yet to be determined, but in the unlikelihood that she did accept the call, he should probably come up with something. As Francine continued to insist, Liza deserved to know that her grandfather was dying, but Kendall wasn’t to open up with that.
Hi. How are you doing? Your grandfather is dying.
Definitely not the way to go, but he’d be damned if he knew what was. If he ever figured out what to say, Kendall considered the idea that she might want to talk to Ray. If that happened, he wanted to oblige her.
“Ray?” he called, letting himself in when no one answered the door. “Ray, are you here?”
He’d probably gone out—with Francine or one of the other locals who’d been helping keep an eye on him—and failed to pull the door closed behind him. That’s what Kendall hoped, anyway, but some sixth sense pushed him to search the house.
“Hello?” he said louder, as Amos trotted into the kitchen and found something edible on the floor. The dog sniffed around for more crumbs while Kendall moved into the living room. “Is anyone here?”
No response came. Kendall checked Ray’s room. The blankets were tossed back, but the room was empty. The hairs on the back of Kendall’s neck stood up. This wasn’t good. After a quick check of Ray’s bathroom, he returned to the kitchen and noticed Amos sniffing around the back door. Stepping around the island, Kendall could only see the dog’s back half in the doorway to the back deck.
“What is it, buddy?” Crossing to the door, he spotted Ray lying on the deck and Amos licking his forehead. “Amos, move!”
The dog obeyed but stayed close to the unconscious man. Checking for a pulse, Kendall reached for his cell, relieved to feel a faint beat beneath his fingertips. Selecting the rarely used number in his contacts, he tucked the phone against his ear and felt around Ray’s head for any obvious injuries.
The instant someone answered the call, Kendall snapped out orders. “Emergency at Ray Wallis’s house. Bring the medical truck, and get the ferry headed this way. And find Aadi Patel. He needs to get here now.”
This was why Liza rarely left her house. New York was just too . . . people-y.
Especially Manhattan, where she ventured only when Vanessa couldn’t meet her closer to home. At least today, she had positive news to share. She hoped.
“Sorry for the delay,” the agent said, leading Liza into her office. “I didn’t expect that last call to take so long.” After shifting a stack of folders off the center of her desk, she gave the client her full attention. “What’s the verdict?”
Taking a deep breath, Liza squared her shoulders. “I’m going to write the memoir, but with compromises.”
Dark brows shot up, and Vanessa leaned forward. “What does that mean? Compromises.”
Liza took a deep breath, assuring herself she was doing the right thing. “The original plan had been to tell the life story of Ray Wallis, from start to finish. That was, of course, before the man going by Ray Wallis became Elijah Teller.”
Vanessa nodded. “I remember.”
“Now that I know who he really is, I’ve been able to learn more about his life from the people who knew him. Well,” she hedged, “from a person who knew him. My aunt Julia—that’s Elijah’s youngest sister—has filled in more of the years before Elijah left town. The man I’ve discovered does not deserve to have his story told.”
Green eyes blinked several times. “But you just said you’re going to write the book.”
“I am. Stay with me.” Liza continued the pitch as she’d rehearsed. “Elijah comes from immigrant parents and grew up in New York City during one of the most progressive eras in the city’s history. At eighteen, he joined the military and entered World War II, serving in the Pacific. I know he kept a journal during that time, and I might be able to get ahold of it.” Cooperating with her now was the least the man could do. “Regardless, his is a classic American story, and I believe I can turn the early years of his life into a compelling read.”
Fingers steepled, Vanessa considered the idea. “What about the rest? What about the faked death and disappearing for three decades? That’s where the story is.”
Liza settled her hands in her lap. “Someone else will have to write that book, and I’m willing to share my research. But the story I’m writing will be about an ambitious Jewish boy who survived the Depression, defended his country, and met the love of his life on a blind date at the Bronx Zoo.”
Lips pursed, Vanessa tapped a bright-red fingernail on her blotter. “Your mind is made up?”
“It is.” Liza held her breath, awaiting the agent’s response.
After what felt like an
eternity, the agent finally shared a response. “Then let’s run with it.”
Liza could have cried with relief, but she didn’t want to get too excited. She still intended to return Elijah’s money, so piddly or not, she could use the advance from Sudberry.
“Do you think the publisher will agree?”
Vanessa waved the question away. “Leave that to me. Now I’m taking you to lunch. You look like you haven’t eaten in a month.”
Between stress over the book, and constant thoughts of Kendall, Liza hadn’t been very hungry. “I’m not that thin.”
“Yes, you are.” She nudged Liza out of the office and closed the door behind her. “Hayley, I’m going to lunch. Reschedule my one o’clock, and move the three-thirty meeting to four.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Liza didn’t want to throw off her agent’s day. “We can do lunch another time if you’re busy.”
With a hand on her shoulder, Vanessa pushed her forward. “Hayley will take care of everything. Besides, now that the book issue has been resolved, it’s time we tackle your man problem.”
Liza nearly stumbled over an invisible speed bump. “I don’t have a man problem.”
Striding into the Manhattan heat, Vanessa said, “Not for long, you don’t.”
Why were hospital waiting rooms always so damn uncomfortable? If there was any room in the world where comfort should be the number-one priority, the space where family and friends waited for their loved ones to live or die should be that room. They’d taken Ray back an hour ago. An hour of Kendall sitting alone, in some baby-blue plastic chair, with nothing to do but remember the last time he’d been in a hospital.
The night his father had passed away.
That was a short list when he thought about it. Lots of people would feel that only two hospital visits in eight years was a pretty good run. Then again, hospital visits didn’t have to be a bad thing. Good things happened there, too. Life started there, after all. Children were born. Families were made.
Ask me to Stay Page 22
