by HELEN HARDT
“Interesting.”
I’m not sure Brendan finds it interesting at all. He’s a bartender, not a sommelier. Still, in his profession, he needs to know a fair amount about wine.
“It’s lovely on the nose. I’m getting black fruit, of course, and then cedar and a touch of coffee.” I pour him a tasting portion. “See if you agree.”
Brendan picks up his glass and swirls the wine expertly. Then he lowers his nose into the glass and inhales. “Hmm. Dark plum, I think. Blackberry. And yes, the cedar. I’m not getting coffee.”
“It’s subtle. Try to push the dark fruit to the side and concentrate on what’s left.”
He sniffs the wine again. “Still not getting it, but I’ll defer to the expert.”
“Not all noses work the same,” I say. “I think mine goes on overdrive sometimes because of my synesthesia.”
“No kidding? You have that?”
“I do. Don’t tell me you actually know what it is.”
He nods. “One of my aunts has it. She sees letters and numbers in colors.”
“That’s the most common kind,” I tell him. “Mine’s a little more complex. Sounds have colors and colors have sounds. Sometimes tastes have colors. My senses are really intermingled. I’m used to it for the most part, until something really jumps out at me.”
“Like what?”
Like Dale Steel’s voice. But I’m not about to share that with Brendan, who’s still a virtual stranger to me.
And I’ve successfully managed to stray off topic again.
I bring the goblet of Latour to my lips and take a sip, letting the lush liquid sit on my tongue. It’s so full and vibrant that it almost feels gelatinous against the inside of my mouth. I swallow, relishing the warmth in my throat.
“It’s wonderful,” I say after swallowing. “The tannins have softened with time, but they’re there, and they’re exquisite. But they pale in comparison to the black fruit. Currants are forefront, with some pepper and coffee on the finish.” I take another taste. “Delicious. Beautifully delicious. Thank you so much for sharing this with me.”
Brendan takes a sip as well. “Yes, it’s wonderful. I doubt I appreciate it as much as you do, but I swear it goes down like mother’s milk.”
“It does.” I pour us each a full glass and raise mine. “To a lovely dinner, a wonderful wine, and good company.”
He clinks his glass to mine. “I’d hardly call burgers lovely, but I’ll take it. To many more dinners together.”
I smile. Perhaps he wants more from me. More than I can’t give, as I’m in love with someone else. But we can be friends, for sure.
And friends talk.
Something I’m counting on.
Chapter Sixteen
Dale
Silence looms between us for a while.
Maybe, just maybe, my father will level with me. Tell me why he adopted Donny and me all those years ago.
He rescued us, for sure, but why was he there on that remote island where we were held captive? He and Uncle Ryan carried us to safety, and we ended up…
My God.
We ended up in a house. A house that looked just like the main ranch house—the house I grew up in.
Images form in my head—images I’ve tried my hardest to forget.
Thoughts. Talks with my brother.
Our…
Fuck.
Our suicide pact.
Donny almost drowned in that replica house. Aunt Ruby performed CPR and saved him.
Why was she there? Why were my dad and uncle there? And that older guy…? And the lady…? The baby she carried…?
These were things I never shared with Aunt Mel or any of my other therapists.
These were things I didn’t even recall until this moment.
Fragmented pictures—like looking in a broken mirror—fly through my consciousness.
“Dad…”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to say anything more? Or leave me hanging?”
He clears his throat. “I don’t know, son. First, I should tell you why I came over here.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“I made arrangements for your father to go into rehab in Grand Junction.”
“You’re my father.”
“I know that, and you know what I mean.”
“Call him Floyd, then. Not my father.”
“Of course. Floyd has agreed to the treatment. It begins tomorrow. It’s a three-month in-house program.”
I feel nothing. Not a damned thing.
“It’s nice of you to help,” I force myself to say.
“He gave me my sons. I owe him.”
I shake my head. “You owe him nothing. I owe him nothing.”
“You owe him your life.”
“So he shot sperm at the right time. It doesn’t take a genius to do that.”
Dad laughs. “I don’t blame you, Dale. I have no love lost for my own father, but I recognize what he did for me, and the first thing he did for me was give me life.”
“He didn’t do it alone,” I retort.
“No, he didn’t. I owe the same to my mother.”
I nod. I know so little about my grandfather, and even less about my grandmother.
“Your father died in prison.”
“He did. And he deserved to be there. But he also did a lot for me before then, when I was growing up.”
A touch of sadness laces Dad’s tone, and I’m unsure what to make of it.
“My father denied me things I needed at certain times in my life, but he did teach me how to run the ranch, taught me the value of money and a hard day’s work. I owe him for that.”
“Those are things fathers are supposed to do. You did them for me.”
“I did. I’ve tried very hard to be the father my own father wasn’t.”
“You’re a great father.”
“Thank you. That means the world to me. But I’ve kept things from you. I had my reasons at the time, and I’m too old now to second-guess my actions.”
I stare at him, our gazes meeting.
“I expected you to look surprised,” he says, “but you don’t.”
“I didn’t question much when I was a kid,” I say. “I was just glad to be out of that horrendous situation and living in a wonderful place with people who cared about me. But as an adult…”
“As an adult, you question my motives.”
“Not so much your motives. I mean, what you did was amazing, and Donny and I can never hope to repay you.”
“Children don’t have to repay their parents.”
“But we weren’t your children, Dad. You made us your children, and while I’m ecstatic that you did, I never quite understood why.”
“I cared about you. Grew to love you.”
“Of course you did. I’m not questioning that. But you were newly married with a baby on the way, and you took in two troubled boys. Not the easiest thing to cope with. You didn’t have to do it.”
“What might have happened to you if I hadn’t? Your mother was gone, and we couldn’t find your father.”
I sigh. “You had resources most don’t. You could have found Floyd Jolly.”
“We tried, son.”
“Did you?”
He smiles weakly. “Maybe not very hard. Since his name didn’t appear on your birth certificate, we didn’t need his permission for the adoption.”
“And it would have made the adoption process more difficult if he showed up.”
Dad nods. “I doubt he’d have resisted, since he abandoned you years before, but it was one less thing we had to deal with to finalize the adoption.”
“He might have asked for money,” I say.
Dad wrinkles his forehead. “He might have, but has it occurred to you that he hasn’t asked us for anything since he found us?”
I part my lips but then realize I can’t refute his claim. He didn’t ask us for anything when we showed up at his home. He didn’t ask us for anything when
we dragged him to a lab the next day for the DNA test. And he didn’t ask for rehab. Dad offered it.
“Doesn’t change what he did in the past,” I finally say.
“You’re right. It absolutely doesn’t.”
“I can’t forgive the abandonment.”
“I understand.”
“I mean, do you forgive your father for everything?”
Dad’s lips form a flat line. He shakes his head. “No, I can’t. I never did.”
“Then why—”
He gestures me to stop talking. “I’m not forgiving your father—sorry, Floyd—for anything, but he needs help. He didn’t ask us for it. He hasn’t asked us for anything. All he’s done is try to find his biological sons.”
“Why now?” I ask. “The whole thing perplexes me to no end.”
“It does me as well,” he agrees. “Maybe, once he’s sober, we can find out.”
“Maybe. Honestly, I don’t care one way or the other. I’m more interested in the motives of my real father. You. You said you’ve kept things from Donny and me. Maybe it’s time I know the whole story.”
He sighs. “Haven’t you guessed by now?”
“No.”
But it’s a lie. Things occur to me from time to time—things I can’t bear to bring to the forefront of my consciousness.
Things I’ve gone through. Things my brother has gone through. Things countless others have gone through.
Things that maybe…
Possibly…
God, I don’t want to go there.
But I must. Maybe the truth will help set me free.
“I haven’t allowed myself to think of reasons that might make sense,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t want to acknowledge them.”
“Then you already know.”
“How? How is it even possible?”
“It’s a long story,” he says. “Long and complicated. My brothers and I have covered things up as best we can. It took a lot of money and connections, but we buried that part of our past for our children’s sake.”
“Part of me doesn’t want to know. Never wants to know. I can’t bear the thought of something so heinous happening to you or anyone else.”
“You wonder why I couldn’t forgive my father,” he says. “My father played a significant role in what happened to me, and when it was over, he covered it up as I did, but with one difference. He didn’t get me the help I needed when I was young. I was determined not to make that same error in judgment.”
Briny bile crawls up my throat. I swallow down a dry heave.
It’s true, then. Everything I could never allow myself to face.
Because I could give you what you needed.
Those words Dad uttered meant more than just the best therapy money could buy.
He could also give Donny and me his understanding. Practical understanding.
“How?” I ask again. Then, “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so fucking sorry.” I bury my head in my hands.
Tears don’t come. I’m dry. My throat is like a hot desert.
“I’ll tell you. You and Donny both.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “Leave Donny out of it. I spared him all I could when we were in captivity, and I’ll spare him this now.”
“Oh, Dale,” Dad says, his tone laced with sadness. “It’s not up to you to save your brother. You can only save yourself.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ashley
Small talk.
I’m so sick of small talk, but that’s all that’s happening as Brendan and I finish our dinner and the Latour. Somehow, I’ve got to get him back on the subject of Dale and the Steels.
It doesn’t happen, so I check my watch. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got work early.”
“You can’t leave yet,” he says. “There’s dessert.”
“Oh?” I clutch my stomach. “I’m sure I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I’m sure you can. I bought a peach pie from Ava’s bakery. Made with Steel peaches.”
Steel peaches are the bomb, but I wasn’t fabricating. I am actually pretty full. Still…this is a chance to get him talking again. The pie itself is a segue back to the Steels.
I smile. “You’ve convinced me. Her hamburger buns were excellent, and I already know I love Steel peaches.”
He rises and pulls the pie out of the refrigerator. He slices two pieces, plates them, and brings them back to the small table, sliding one in front of me. “You’ll love it. I’ve never had anything from Ava that isn’t top notch.”
“Tell me more about Ava,” I say, spearing a piece of the pie with my fork. “How did she leave the Steel family?”
He laughs. “She didn’t leave. She’s still very much a part of the family. She just wants to do things on her own, and she’s not interested in any of the Steel ventures.”
“Not all the Steels work on the ranch. Donny and Diana don’t.”
“No, but they’ve still got the Steel money behind them. Who do you think paid for their education and training? Donny wouldn’t be a lawyer and Diana wouldn’t be a budding architect without the Steel money.”
“I don’t think you can say that,” I say. “Scholarships are readily available for qualified applicants.” I should know, I add in my head. But I’m still not ready to divulge too much of my past to Brendan.
“But who needs to qualify when the Steels can just pay?”
“Are you saying Donny and Dee aren’t qualified?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying at all. They’re both bright. All the Steels are. But they were spared the pain in the ass of applying for aid.”
I can’t disagree. Applying for financial aid and scholarships was a giant pain. By the end, my fingers nearly filled in all the information on autopilot. My perseverance paid off, though, in free college and grad school.
“I see,” is all I add to his comment.
“Nothing against being loaded,” Brendan says. “I’d love having no student loan payments.”
I say nothing this time. I’m spared student loan payments because Mom and I were so financially destitute that I received grants as well as scholarships for my undergrad. What was left, Mom and I both worked hard to pay. Mom doing hair, and I waiting tables on weekends.
The fact that Brendan has student loan payments means only that he was better off than I was during his college years—something I’m still not willing to share.
Yet I get it. He’s not begrudging the Steels their fortune, or Donny and Dee their lack of student loan repayment. He’s simply stating fact. I perceive no purple envy in his tone. Yes, to me envy is purple, not green—something that always astonished my mother.
“The luck of the draw,” I say simply. “We can’t all be born into ultrarich families.”
“Or adopted into them,” Brendan says.
Hmm. Now there’s a little purple in his tone. He’s Dale’s age, went to school with Dale. The envy is understandable. I don’t hear any resentment, really. Just a little “gee, it’d be nice if I’d had his luck.”
Indeed, it’d be nice if I’d had a little of his luck as well.
But I turned out okay, and by the looks of things, so did Brendan.
“So we’re back to Dale,” I say. Which is exactly where I want to be. “Tell me more.”
“About Dale?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve told you all I know. He’s a good guy, but he’s…unreachable in a way.”
“Did he have a girlfriend in high school?” Already I’m smacking myself in my mind. That question sounded really immature, but there’s no taking it back now.
“Not really. He dated now and then, went to dances. But never anything serious.”
“Dale went to dances?” My jaw drops. I can’t even imagine Dale dancing in a gym full of students.
“Sure. We all did. Remember, Snow Creek is a tiny little town. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone participates in the social activiti
es.”
“He just doesn’t seem the type.”
Brendan laughs. “I can’t disagree, but he was there. We all were.”
“But he never dated seriously?”
“To my knowledge, he still hasn’t. Some of us wondered if he might be gay, but we abandoned that theory a long time ago when a friend of mine who is gay debunked it.”
No, definitely not gay. I simply nod.
“Tell me more about why you think the Steels covered something up,” I say.
“I’ve pretty much told you all I know. Grandpa Steel died in prison, and his wife killed herself when Talon and the others were young.”
I gasp. “She killed herself?”
“Yeah. But there’s no record of that either.”
“No death certificate?”
“Oh, there’s a death certificate. But people wonder if it was forged.”
“Why would anyone forge a death certificate?”
“I don’t know, but the Steels can do it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because they forged one for Brad Steel himself. He faked his own death.”
Colors, sounds, emotions descend around me in a psychedelic, discordant waterfall. What kind of family have I wandered into?
“Shocked?” Brendan asks.
“Of course I am. Who the hell fakes their own death?”
“Brad Steel, apparently. And he probably faked his wife’s too.”
“But you said Brad Steel died in prison.”
“He did. But before he went to prison, he came back from the dead, so to speak. Twice.”
I’m incredulous. “Twice? Why?”
“No one knows.”
“There are prison records. Court documents.”
“There should be, but there aren’t.”
“When did Brad Steel die?”
“About twenty-five years ago.”
“Ample time for all records to be covered.”
“Exactly.”
“But didn’t anyone ask at that time?”
“Probably.”
“But no one got an answer?”
“The only answers,” Brendan says, “lie with the Steels themselves. If anyone else still lives who knows the truth, they’ve probably been handsomely paid to keep quiet.”
