Dammit, he should have worn the linen pants. They made him look more sophisticated, less like just some guy. But he was just some guy. His job didn’t define him. Yet, he felt the need to lead with that. Hi, Mike Fuller. I’ve been offered partner. How do you like me now? Great. Now he was quoting country music lyrics in his mind. Stop. Get focused. You can do this without looking like a fool—without screaming, please like me. Please love me.
The road steepened as he made his way slowly up the hill. It was another quarter mile until he reached the house. Surrounded by firs and maples, it was enormous, with sand colored stonework and a gray roof. How rich was this guy? Landscaping around the house was precise and orderly: a trimmed hedge, a brick walkway, and various shrubbery. The surrounding acres, however, were unspoiled. Firs, pines, and maples made up a forested area beyond the house. A half-dozen horses grazed in a meadow. Long grasses and wild pink roses grew alongside a white fence. He rolled down his window. The air smelled of freshly mown grass and sun-drenched rose petals.
He parked in front of the garage doors and grabbed the photos and letters he’d tucked inside an envelope. At the door, he froze. Should he use the rather intimidating steel knocker or the doorbell? It doesn’t matter. Just pick one.
He rang the doorbell. Seconds later, the sound of footsteps grew ever closer. I should have worn the linen pants. Why didn’t I ask Lizzie’s advice?
The door opened. A man dressed in a flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots stood in the doorway. He blinked. His features seemed chiseled from stone. Eyes the color of faded jeans peered at Grant. The man ran a hand through his hair—white with just a hint of brown. Rugged. A man’s man.
They stared at one another for a moment before Mike spoke. “Hello hardly seems like a big enough word.”
“No sir.”
“Mike Huller.”
“Grant Perry.” They shook hands. Callouses. Firm grip.
“Come inside. Sharon made coffee and muffins for us.”
Grant entered, taking in the winding staircase, dark hardwood floors, and cathedral ceilings. It smelled of baking apple pie. Mike gestured toward the formal living and dining rooms. “Newly decorated by my wife. She has excellent taste. Made me get rid of my stuffed deer head, though, so I’m a little miffed. But what you gonna do? Happy wife, happy life.” Neutral paint, white trim, and traditional furniture gave the house a formal feel that didn’t match Mike’s cowboy vibe. Wives did that to houses.
In the kitchen, a glass table was laid with two place settings, a basket of muffins, and a vase of white peonies. Large windows looked out to the yard and view of the valley.
“Have a seat. How do you like your coffee?” Mike asked.
“Black, please.”
Mike brought two steaming mugs of black coffee to the table and sat in the chair across from him. “Before you showed up this morning, I thought there might be a small chance you were mistaken about us. I thought about all the possibilities. You could’ve been premature and no one ever told you. Or, she could’ve gotten pregnant from someone else. A rebound guy after we broke it off.” He stood and walked over to a small desk and grabbed a picture frame with a black and white photograph in it. “But after meeting you, there’s no doubt in my mind.” Mike handed it to him. “This is my father around the same age as you are now. What do you see?”
“I see someone who looks like me.”
“I’m happy to take a paternity test so that we know for sure, but when I saw you, I knew.”
“I thought we might know, like we’d have some instant feeling either way,” Grant said.
“I guess you were right.” Mike sat once more. “Where do we begin?”
“I have no idea.”
“How about you show me the photographs.”
Grant handed him an envelope. “There’s not much here, but it was enough to find you fairly easily. It seems everyone knows who you are here.”
“Yeah, whether they want to or not.” He peered at the photographs. “We were so young.”
“Early twenties?” Grant asked.
“That’s right. Wasn’t she beautiful?” He turned the photograph over, tracing the writing with his index finger. “I can remember the exact moment this was taken. The weather was warm—one of these perfect days we get here in early spring when all the plants and trees are green and blooming. We’d gone for a walk down to my river spot here on the property. Your mother made sandwiches, and we drank cold beer by the river and talked and talked. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It sounds downright cheesy to say, but I swear she bloomed like the flowers. When we got back to the house, the man who looked after my horses was here and I asked him to take our photograph with my new camera.” Mike gazed out the window for a moment as if he could see Grant’s mother just beyond the glass. “She was fragile. Like a beautiful piece of china. I felt this need to protect her. And then I was the one who hurt her.”
Like Lizzie. She was a fragile and precious and he’d crushed her with his dysfunction.
“We met on the river. Not ours here, but Smith River. You have to drive that route to get here from the coast.”
“I drove it a few days ago,” Grant said. “I’d forgotten how pretty it was. The whole drive, for that matter.”
“One of my favorite places in the world. Clearest water anywhere around. The green of that water—well, it’s something. Anyway, I’d had a rough time of it. As you gathered from the letters, my wife left one day. Completely out of the blue. I’m an idiot, but I don’t think anyone could’ve seen it coming, other than she complained a lot about my town here. Too small. Hicks. Nothing to do. That kind of thing. So she left. Took up with some hippie who looked like Jesus. And, I had these two little boys. I felt truly screwed. And scared because stronger than anything was how much I loved them. Downright crazy about them. More than anything in the world, I wanted a good life for them. A good family like I’d had. My dad was the best man there ever was. Don’t get me started on my mama. But I didn’t have one iota of a clue about how to care for these two little boys. I’m not proud of it, but I’d never even changed a diaper or fixed a meal.”
“Different times,” Grant said.
“That’s right. So, I was down there on Smith River with my pole in the water thinking about what the hell I was going to do with my life and feeling real sorry for myself when your mother shows up with a blanket and a book. Plops down a little way from me with her back against a fallen log. I can see her, but she can’t see me.”
“Tell me what she looked like. Everything you can remember,” Grant said.
“Sure, yeah. Let’s see now. She wore a yellow sundress and brown sandals. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had earrings on, and every so often, they’d catch the light just right and glint in the sun. When she opened her book, she leaned against the log with her feet stretched out in front of her.”
“She loved to read.”
“I can remember the book. The Great Gatsby. That right there told me she was smart. Too smart for me.”
Grant fidgeted with the button on his cargo shorts. Do not cry. Mom, what happened to you?
“After about an hour of spying on her, I had a fish bite my line. I let out a little yelp, having forgotten about fish with Lily sitting there looking so pretty. When I yelled, she realized I was there and came closer as I reeled in a trout. She cheered when I got him in, which I liked quite a bit. We started chatting about fish and how to cook them. Next thing I know, I’ve cleaned the trout while Lily made a fire and we roasted that darn thing on a stick. Best fish I ever had. And while all this was going on, I told her my story and she told me hers.”
“What was her story?” Grant wiped under his eyes with a napkin. I only know how her story ended.
“She lived with her very religious mother. Her dad had left them when she was a little girl, and her mother never remarried. She was enrolled in community college and worked nights at a Denny’s.”
“Community college?” Grant asked. “
I never knew that.”
“She wanted to be a teacher.”
“My sister’s a teacher.”
“I take it Lily never made it through school, then?” Mike asked.
Grant shook his head. “She had me instead.”
“If I’d known…why didn’t she tell me?”
“You were back with your wife by then,” Grant said. It was too late to tell him by the time she discovered she was pregnant. His mother was a proud woman. She wouldn’t have wanted to ask for help. “She had no choice but to marry my dad. Her mother would’ve kicked her out of the house. She felt like she couldn’t go back to you.”
Mike cleared his throat. “I expect that’s right. Lily was smart, but she had no skills to speak of and a job at Denny’s. Can you imagine how hard it would be to raise a baby on her own?”
“She had to get someone to marry her and fast if she was to keep her secret. My dad was the only choice.” My dad that isn’t my dad.
Mike leaned back in his chair crossing one leg over the other. “If I’d known, I would’ve taken care of you both. I would’ve figured something out.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s no way I would have been able to let her go then. Or you.”
“She didn’t want you to choose her simply because she was pregnant.”
“I suppose.” Mike was silent, staring into his hands. “My father had died the previous year, and it was up to me to keep the mill running. My mother wasn’t in the best health either, and I was relying on her too much. She wasn’t strong enough to take care of two little boys full-time. Anyway, I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my family together. As it turns out, I was wrong.” He paused, sipping his coffee. “When my youngest was a junior in high school, Wendy left again and moved to Florida. My older son, Todd, was already at college by then, but Zac took it hard. He’d always tried to win his mother’s affection, but she wasn’t one to give it easily.”
“That sounds like my dad.” Grant tore a muffin into pieces.
“Yeah?”
“He was a mean drunk who worked on the docks all his life. Beat the crap out of me every chance he got. I guess I know why now. I moved in with my best friend’s family when I turned sixteen. It got to the point where one of us wasn’t going to live much longer if I stayed.”
“I’m thankful for them taking you in,” Mike said.
“He never touched my sisters. Just me. He knew I wasn’t his. That’s obvious to me now.”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“It’s not your fault,” Grant said.
“Well, that’s not exactly right, now is it?”
“I’m not after your money. I want to make sure you know that. I do quite well. And I don’t mean to disrupt your life.”
Mike looked up at him. “You’re disrupting the hell out of my life. I’m crushed I didn’t know. All the wasted years. I could’ve gotten you out of there if I’d known. Is it possible for you to forgive me? I’d spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“What about Sharon and your sons? They might not see it the same way.”
“They might be a little shocked, I’ll give you that. But you’re family now. They’ll get used to it pretty quick.”
“Just like that?”
“Damn straight. That’s how we do things in this family. We own our mistakes, and we do our best to right them. Given the chance, I’d like to be the father you deserved.”
Grant nodded. This can’t be happening. He wants me. “I was offered an equity partnership at my law firm.” What the hell? Why had that popped out of his mouth?
“I want to hear all about that and all the rest of your accomplishments. It’s already hot. You want to take a swim? I can take you down to our river spot. This land is yours now. It’s a part of me, which makes it a part of you.”
“Can I swim in these?”
“Nah. Too heavy. I’ll grab you a pair of swimming shorts. Looks like we’re about the same size.”
The same size. I’m the same size as my dad.
Mike excused himself to fetch the swimming trunks. Grant wandered out to the patio while he waited. He leaned against the railing, looking out at the view. From this height, he could see miles in every direction. Yellow hay fields and grapes in straight rows, the buildings of the town, the mountains.
**
A few minutes later, dressed in swimming trunks and t-shirts, they headed out in Mike’s truck down the gravel road that ran past the house. “Sharon thinks there’s something magical in the water, like it washes away regret, sin, remorse—stuff like that. She’s from the city with all kinds of crazy ideas.”
“Gennie thinks the same,” Grant said.
“Well, she’d know,” Mike said. “You don’t wear a ring. No wife?”
“I’m divorced. Pretty much the biggest disaster of a marriage there ever was.” Grant shared a succinct version of his former wife and their marriage.
“Divorce is tough, no matter how you slice it. But you’ll find someone right, eventually. I was divorced over a decade before I found Sharon.”
Grant asked how they met.
“She came here to help with city planning, so we started working together. I was smitten, but I didn’t think she’d want an old coot like me. She’s classy and intelligent. But once I convinced her to let me take her to dinner, it moved fast. I was in an unhappy marriage for a long time. No idea it could be like this. Don’t be like me, though, and wait so long. You might like to have a family one day.”
“I do. And there’s someone in my life. I think, anyway.”
“You think?”
Grant warmed, as he always did, when talking about Lizzie. He told Mike the story from the beginning, how he’d messed things up, and the latest development. “She’s agreed to give me another chance. Which, if you knew Lizzie, is a miracle. I hurt her very badly.”
“She sounds like a good girl. You treat her right this time and she’ll forgive you. Women have a bigger capacity for forgiveness than we do.”
The gravel road had turned to dirt by the time they reached the river. It was a parking lot of sorts, big enough for at least a half-dozen cars. Through a wooded area, he spotted the sparkle of the river. When he exited the truck, he caught the scent of the river. As they walked down a narrow trail through firs and pines, Grant described his work and his relationship with Raymond.
“Darn shame about his wife,” Mike said after hearing of Raymond’s abrupt retirement.
“He said he wishes he’d spent more time with her instead of at work,” Grant said. “The years slipped by him.”
“Darned if the years don’t speed up in direct proportion to your happiness when you love someone,” Mike said.
They were at the river now. The “spot” was a strip of sand between tall rocks. The river widened into a deep, still pool, perfect for swimming. On the cliff above, a rope swing hung from a tree.
“You going in?” Mike asked.
“I’m hot, so yeah.” He discarded his t-shirt and slipped out of tennis shoes. He waded knee deep into the water. “Holy God, it’s cold.”
Mike laughed as he took off his shoes and shirt. “It gets warmer as the summer moves along. This time in June it’s still colder than a witch’s tit.”
A witch’s tit?
Mike jumped in and swam out to a rock that jutted three feet out of the water. He hoisted himself onto it with his arms and settled down with his feet dangling in the water. “Come on out.”
Grant held his breath and dove in. When he surfaced, he let out a warrior type cry before reaching the rock. Imitating Mike, he scaled the rock and plopped onto the hot surface, panting. “Witches tit, indeed.”
Mike laughed. “I spent half my childhood down here. By the end of the summer, we were brown as berries—my mother’s saying. I never have seen a brown berry. This river’s part of who I am. My boys grew up swimming here too. They loved it. Still do, I suppose.” He sighed. “But they never felt about this plac
e like I do. My older son, Todd, lives in Seattle—has a big job like you. He’s a doctor. So, not much time to spend with us down here. I’m proud as punch about him, but I miss him.” Mike hesitated, churning water with his feet. “Zac was here for a long time after he graduated high school. Got into some trouble. Drug use, then dealing. Got in with some bad people. Dangerous people. But we got him into a fantastic treatment program and he’s doing great now. He lives on the beach in California and owns a surf shop. I doubt he’ll ever come home. I always thought my boys would leave and then come back, but I don’t think they ever will, other than for visits. Todd told me recently that this town feels too small to him now.”
“I miss living in a small town. Traffic in L.A.’s terrible. Then there’s the smog. It’s so dry there the hills are brown.”
“You ever think of leaving?” Mike asked.
“Not really. My work’s there.”
“This partnership offer’s a big deal, I’d guess? Tons of money and prestige. Like the blue ribbon at the fair for a man your age.”
Grant smiled at the image of a blue ribbon around his neck. “Yeah. It would be an insane amount of money. We’re one of the top firms in L.A.” Don’t brag. But I want him to know how well I’ve done.
He admitted what he hadn’t been able to articulate until now. “I’ve worked harder than I ever thought I could to get here and now that’s it’s here, I’m unsure. Something’s not right.”
“Not right?”
“Nothing nefarious. My gut tells me it’s the wrong move.”
“I’ve learned to listen to my gut,” Mike said. “Almost every mistake I’ve ever made has been from the times I didn’t.”
“My gut told me to go to law school. And I love the work. This sounds pretentious, but it feels like my calling. Raymond taught me that it had to be about something bigger than myself because after you earn a certain amount, money is no longer a strong enough motivator. Work should mean something.”
“By golly, that’s exactly right. To feel that way about your work’s a blessing. Some of my cronies think I should just sit up here on my hill and count my money and feel happy that I don’t have to rely on anyone. But that’s not what gets my old body out of bed every morning. It’s being part of something bigger than myself. This town. These people here. They matter to me more than my own pockets. Not that I don’t have more than my share. In fact, I’m obligated to do more because I have more.”
Riverstorm Page 18
