by Trevor Scott
His aunt greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks and then a warm hug. She did the same with Robin.
Then Aunt Anna introduced her friend.
“This is Doctor Kamala Sen, a brilliant orthopedic surgeon from Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center,” Anna said.
Max and Robin shook the woman’s hand, which was cold but strong. He had to remember not to squeeze too hard, considering this woman used her hands for her livelihood. The surgeon wore more simple attire—jeans, a sweater and a Columbia jacket. Instead of pumps, she wore running shoes.
“What type surgery?” Max asked her.
“Mostly sports injuries,” the doctor said. “Knees and shoulders.”
“She’s being modest,” Anna said. “She repaired the knee of a famous Patriots football player last year. We can’t say the name, of course, since that would be a privacy violation.”
The doctor seemed to demure with these accolades.
“How do you two know each other?” Robin asked.
Dr. Sen said, “Anna sits on our Board of Directors. I’m a physician on the board.”
Martha, the manager, came over to the two women and handed them each a key. “You have adjoining end rooms. Anna is the frog and the doctor is the penguin.”
“We should drop off our bags in our rooms,” Anna said. “Then we’ll come down for drinks. Do I smell dinner? What time is that?”
Martha said, “Dinner within the hour.”
Max moved closer and said, “Let me help you with your bags.”
Neither of them complained, so Max picked up both bags and headed upstairs—his aunt and the doctor following him closely. At the top of the stairs, the hall lights came on automatically providing light for them. Glancing to his right, he could see the frog and the penguin holding the two end doors open. They were just a door away from his own room.
He set his aunt’s bag down in her large corner room and then went to the doctor’s corner room. Both rooms were right above the living room.
“Thank you so much, Max,” the doctor said, taking off her coat. “Do I tip you?”
Max waved his hand. “I’ll probably ask you about old war wounds later tonight.”
“Thank you for your service. Anna says you retired recently.”
“Almost two years ago now.”
“And you and your sister are twins about to celebrate forty years. I’m thirty-eight.”
He noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that could have something to do with her profession. “Based on your name, I’m guessing you are from India.”
“Yes. More precisely, I’m Bengali.”
“Northeast India,” he said.
“Impressive.”
“Not so much. I flew through India a number of times on my way to.” He hesitated a beat. “Missions.”
“Still. Most people can’t point out India on a map.”
Max started to leave and then stopped and said, “We have beer, Scotch and rum.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “We came prepared for this weather.”
“Outstanding.” He left and went back downstairs. She was an impressive woman. An orthopedic surgeon. Brains and beauty, he thought.
Robin was away from the fire, which had somehow gotten a new life and was threatening to pour out into the parlor.
Max grabbed a beer and slipped next to his sister, whispering in her ear. “Someone trying to burn the place down?”
“Professor Global Warming thought we needed more heat.”
“The polar ice caps are weeping,” he said.
“Did you put a mint on their pillows?”
“Not exactly. Just being a gentleman.”
“That doctor really gave you a look.”
He didn’t see that. “She was probably checking out my flawed joints. I’ve been told I have the knees of a geriatric woman.”
“That’s a lie,” Robin said.
Max shrugged. “They took a beating in the Air Force climbing all those mountains.”
“Don’t blame the Air Force entirely. You did build a cabin in the Ruby Mountains.”
Damn it! His sister had a point.
“I’m starving,” she said. “I hope we don’t have to wait for the others to eat.”
“Who’s left?”
“Cousins Frank and Bobby, and Anna’s husband.”
“Isn’t he flying in from Boston? They’ll be grounded with this weather. Also, there’s a plate of cookies out in the foyer in case you want to carb up.”
“All right,” she said. “I’m going for it. Want me to bring you one?”
He shook his head and watched her leave the room. Max could hold back no longer. He went to the fireplace to fix the professor’s work.
13
Frank Aldo had delayed his arrival to the Winthrop Inn for as long as he could without sending up negative signals to his mother. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet his new cousins. He did. But, since his days in the Navy, where personal space was nearly impossible to find in the tight quarters aboard a ship, he had become more and more intimidated by large gatherings of people—even if these people were his relatives. He knew himself, and he complied with his internal monitor of events.
His stop in Killington had been part of his delay tactics. Frank’s supplier of his favorite herb lived just outside of that ski resort town, where he provided distraction to those hitting the slopes in the winter and the mountain biking trails in the summer months.
It had taken everything within Frank’s power to hold off lighting one up before he got to Manchester, where he linked up with his cousin Bobby in the city center. Bobby had been supplying his honey to a couple of local shops that carried his amber gold.
Now, the two of them sat in Frank’s truck cab sharing a thick joint, the cloud of smoke contained all around them, while the rain came down in a sheet outside. He had parked down the hill away from the main estate, and they watched what must have been Frank’s mother driving up the hill in the doctor’s BMW almost a half hour ago.
Frank glanced at his cousin Bobby and said, “What’s your excuse?”
“Excuse for what?” Bobby took the joint and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for maximum impact, and then letting it out in a near cough. “This is some strong shit.”
“Killer Killington,” Frank said.
“No wonder.”
His cousin was a slight man who had recently turned thirty, a couple of years younger than Frank. Bobby’s father had not wanted his only son to go into the military, and Bobby had complied with that demand willingly. Some people had a hard time complying with societal standards. Which is probably why Bobby worked alone with his bees. In the winter, he worked for a large maple syrup conglomerate that was partially owned by Frank’s father and a group of investors from around New England. There was big money in honey and maple syrup. But Frank would have a hard time working with either, since he was tactile averse to sticky things. He even wore rubber gloves daily on the job working with electrical systems.
“Answer my question, Bobby,” Frank said.
Bobby shook his head and his long hair covered his eyes until he pulled it back behind his ears. “My sister can fall quickly for a shiny new object. Our new cousins are like glitter to Christina.”
“She talked with me extensively about them,” Frank said. “They sound pretty cool. Although Max might be a bit rigid and not like the idea of us smoking before dinner.”
“Why?”
“He’s retired Air Force,” Frank said. “But the last ten years of his service were spent as a federal agent. A guy who would bust airmen for doing this.” He lifted what was left of the joint and then took a short hit on it before handing the remainder to his cousin.
Bobby finished off the joint and said, “I’m getting hungry.”
“Wonder why. What’s for dinner?”
“I don’t know. We don’t normally serve dinner at the Winthrop unless it’s a special o
ccasion like weddings, murder mystery weekends, and family reunions. So, I had to find a chef on short notice. I just gave the guy a stack of cash and he went out to buy what he needed.”
“No recommendations?”
“The manager, Martha, knew about the guy.”
“Is she related to us in some way?” Frank asked.
“Not you, but me. By marriage. Somewhere down my dad’s family tree.”
“I don’t know how that works.”
“I mean, I could fuck her legally. But she says she has a boyfriend. I’ve never met the dude, though.”
“Alright,” Frank said. “Are you tuned up enough to meet your new cousins?”
“I’m spitting cotton,” Bobby said. “I know you have beer in this truck somewhere.”
Frank smiled. “You got that shit right, cousin.” He reached behind the front passenger seat, popped open the lid of a cooler, and came out with two bottles of cold beer, handing one to his cousin.
“Zero Gravity? Nice! That’s about how I feel right now. Floatin’ like a butterfly.”
Frank opened both bottles with a church key on the same ring as his truck keys. “I can’t drink that crap your dad drinks.”
“He’s old school,” Bobby said. “Christina bought him a cappuccino machine and he still drinks that thick stuff he brews in a pot. The machine sits in a cupboard. A microbrew would boggle his mind.”
Frank turned over his truck and put it in gear. “Time to face the new cousins.”
He drove back up the hill to the estate parking lot. Then he got out and slung a small backpack of clothes over his shoulders before heading to the main building.
“I should probably go down to my place to piss,” Bobby said.
The rain had slowed somewhat, so it wasn’t like they were getting that wet.
“Bullshit. Piss out here or wait until we get inside.”
“You forgot the beer,” Bobby said.
“The truck is open. Could you get that?”
Frank wandered up to the main house, finding relief from the rain under the carriage cover over the entrance. He waited there for Bobby to come with the cooler, taking in the fresh odor of a new rain. At least the moisture had knocked down the pollen, he thought.
Bobby came with the beer, struggling to carry the medium-sized cooler. “A little help, dude.”
Frank took one side and the two of them went inside. Their sort-of relative, Martha, met them at the little desk in the foyer. Sounds of people talking came from the parlor area, and Frank felt a tightness in his chest from the prospect of having to deal with so many people at once.
Martha handed Frank a key with a zebra on it.
“The Zebra Room?” Frank asked. “I’ve stayed there before.”
Martha smiled at him. “I know. You said you liked it. I saved it for you.”
He wasn’t sure, but she seemed somewhat flirtatious toward him tonight. “Something smells awesome.”
She leaned closer to him and said, “All I can smell is something on your clothes. I sure hope someone can share with me later.”
Frank agreed to share and then they wandered into the living room toward the loud conversation.
Bobby saddled up next to Frank and said, “Martha wants your nuts.”
He ignored Bobby when he saw his cousins. Max looked like he could break necks with his bare hands. He was buff and sinewy altogether. But his eyes really concentrated on Robin, who looked like a damn supermodel. She was tall and fit and her breasts were more than ample.
“Holy crap,” Frank said to Bobby under his breath.
“My sister said she was hot,” Bobby said. “But I don’t always trust her judgement. She got it right this time. Too bad we’re related.”
Christina got up and ran to her brother and cousin, giving both men a strong hug. “So glad you finally got here.” Then she whispered, “You boys have been toking.”
“A little bit, cousin,” Frank said.
Then Max came over and nearly crushed their hands with a strong shake. Once he was done with them, his sister laid an equally strong hurt on them. They grew them strong out west, Frank thought.
“I’m so glad to meet you two,” Frank said. “Nice to have another military guy in the family.”
“Did your father serve?” Max asked.
Christina giggled.
Frank said, “No. He was too busy with the family business.”
Before they could converse further, Martha came into the living room and said that dinner was ready.
They all wandered toward the dining area, and Frank couldn’t help comparing his cousin Robin’s butt to that of the flirtatious Martha. His thoughts might have been entirely lecherous, but his intentions to one could be fulfilled this evening. And it had been far too long to remember his last encounter with the other sex.
14
Max and Robin wound their way toward the main dining room. From the looks of it, there was a larger area in a four-season room that had not been part of the original estate structure. It must have been where they hosted much larger events, like weddings.
He whispered to his sister, “What do you think of our new cousins?”
“Smelled like pot,” she said.
“Besides that.”
“We’ll see.”
That was strange for her, he thought. She usually had strong opinions on people she met. Robin was tactfully opinionated.
They sat at a large table that would have been big enough for five more people. The manager, Martha, seemed to have a plan for the seating. She placed everyone around the oval table in a precise pattern, which was mostly boy girl. Max was on one end with Christina to his right and the doctor to his left. Robin was almost across the table from Max, to the right of the man at the head of the table—their Uncle Pasquale. Obviously, the Italians were still a patriarchal clan.
Martha and another young man carried out their food, starting with a salad. When they got to their main course, the chef helped with the plates.
The chef said, “Roast Bison with a red wine demi-glace. Red potatoes and grilled asparagus. Bon Appetite.” He nodded his head and left the room.
“Bison?” Aunt Jackie said. “Are we Cowboys and Indians?” She glanced at Max and the doctor and added, “Not your kind of Indian.”
Dr. Kamala Sen said, “Our people don’t normally eat beef. So, I guess bison is a compromise. Truth be told, since coming to America, I have been known to enjoy a good burger.”
Max said, “Where I live in Nevada, I have to drive to Reno or Salt Lake to get good Indian food.”
“In the Hanover and Lebanon area, we have a couple of good Indian restaurants,” Kamala said. “One was started by a colleague of mine at Dartmouth-Hitchcock. I order my spices online. Bengali food is more Bangladeshi than Indian.”
“I’ve never had Bengali,” Max said. “But I’m open to try anything.” After he said it, he realized he could have been talking about women as much as food, which embarrassed him slightly.
His sister smiled at him wryly from across the table. Then she covered her smirk with a piece of bison.
Based on the smile on Kamala’s lips as she sipped her red wine, she was feeling the same as Robin.
Moving on, Max said, “We are so happy to meet our cousins. Robin and I thought we were alone in this world. The last of the Kane clan.”
Uncle Pasquale pointed his knife at Max and said, “You might consider changing your name to Borelli.”
Max exchanged a glance with his sister, but he didn’t need to have a special bond with his twin to know what she was thinking. He said, “That is a cool name. But I’ve been a Kane for almost forty years. I’m not sure I want to change my name at this stage of my life.”
“I agree with my brother,” Robin said. “I changed my name when I married my husband, and then changed it back when we divorced. It’s not a fun task.”
“Besides,” Max said, “Robin has established a relationship with her law practice in Salt Lake.�
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“Not to mention our investigative business,” Robin said.
Pasquale said, “I’m yanking your chain.”
For desert, they had strawberry shortcake and vanilla ice cream with honey. Max guessed that was Bobby’s idea.
When they were finished, they all got up and dispersed to all points. Most said they needed to go to their rooms to freshen up. Max tried not to read into that. He ended up in the living room again, messing with the fire to get it to the optimal Goldilocks level—not too hot and not too cold.
The first to return to the living room was Max’s Uncle Pasquale, who had gotten a beer from his cooler.
“You want one of these, Max?” Pasquale asked. His uncle sat in front of the fire. “If so, they’re over there in the cooler.” The old Army guy smiled at him.
“You’re a dick just like my dad was,” Max said.
“I’ve seen these qualities in you as well.”
“Must be genetic then.”
“In all honesty,” Pasquale said, “I’m really glad you and Robin looked us up.”
“Same here,” Max said.
“I hear my ex-wife gave you a computer gadget with some information on it,” Pasquale said. “You get a chance to look over that?”
Max felt his pocket and said, “Not yet. What’s on it?” A little lie.
“Old photos mostly,” his uncle said. “Jackie knew your mom in high school. But she’s also done research on various family trees, so she has records that go back for many years, from when our family entered the country. It’s not her family, but she did this for her children.”
Some of the PDFs must have contained family trees, he thought. Max’s phone buzzed and the first thought he had was to ignore it. He guessed it could have been his sister looking for advice or making some smartass comment. Reluctantly, he checked the message. It was a partial message from the young girl he had found recently hiding in Reno. It read, ‘I’m sorry. My father. . .’
Seconds later, another text came in. This was also from the girl, saying, ‘You lied to me.’
Thinking quickly, Max knew this was not from the young girl. It was from her father. He had her. Damn it! If he was closer to Portland, he might be able to do something to help the young girl. But now there was no way to do so.
