Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
"What? What? "
"Where the hell is your phone?"
"In my purse."
"Sweet mother, why can't you use a regular phone like everyone else?"
In seconds she was back, carrying the sequined evening bag she'd left in the bedroom. She pulled out the cell phone. He strode across the room and almost yanked it out of her hand. Without saying a word, he punched in a number and waited, staring at the ceiling while he wiped a thin layer of perspiration off his upper lip.
Caroline began pacing.
"Who's this?" Mick demanded. "What are you doin' up so early? A pause. "Yeah, me, too, but I need to speak to Sheila. Is she up?"
Another pause.
"Mum, it's Mick." He waited. "No, I left the ranch a while ago." He rolled his eyes. "Everything's fine, it's just that Caroline and I need to see you right away." At that declaration, Caroline stopped pacing.
"No, she's not going to ask you for my hand," and that made them both smile. "Right now? No, in about an hour. I need a shave and shower, and she has to get dressed." Caroline gasped. "Don't say that! It makes it sounds like we—"
Mick waved a hand to quiet her. "No, Mrs. DeSantis, I did not spend the night with her. Can we come by in an hour or not?" He shook his head while he listened. "Okay, okay, we'll eat breakfast, but we have to talk to you privately, not with a 249
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bunch of cousins buzzin' 'round us." A final pause. "Thanks, Mum, we'll see you then."
He cut the line and headed for the door. "I'm catchin' a shower," he said over his shoulder. "I'll meet you at the car in twenty." Then he pointed to the postcard and birth certificates. "Don't forget those."
* * * *
CAROLINE HAD NEVER showered and dressed so quickly in her life. Working as if she had four pairs of hands, she French braided her hair, put on make-up and dressed without any thought to what she'd thrown on. She was downstairs waiting beside Mick's Jeep before he hit the top step. The postcard and birth certificates were tucked safely in the purse slung over her shoulder.
No longer barefoot, Mick wore jeans and a short-sleeved pullover identical to the one worn by last night's valets, with the insignia of The Calla Lily Inn above the breast pocket. Resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of gold wireframe glasses. The shower had done more than leave him refreshed and tidy, he'd relaxed enough that when he saw Caroline's gaze zoom to his glasses and away again, he grinned. "I lost more than my heart in the gazebo last night. I lost a contact, too." He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her before opening the door for her. Neither acknowledged the barrier that now stood between them, one that would crumble away if they were lucky, or explode into an 8,000-pound gorilla if they were not. So they 250
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rode in silence, occasionally commenting on the beautiful morning and the cooler weather.
Crews of workers scurried about the Golden S & T when Mick turned into the drive. They were tearing down the tents and disassembling the dance floor and bandstand. In the distance, Caroline saw the outline of the boarded-up gazebo and involuntarily felt the thrill of the memory of Mick's desire. The main house, to Caroline's surprise, was larger inside than it appeared from the front walk. Every detail, from the polished wainscoting to the rococo moldings and the crystal chandeliers, bespoke the care, grace, and elegance used in its design. The homey touches caught Caroline's eye—a quilt that hung in the foyer, replicating the drawings Sheila's children had made in grammar school, hand-knit afghans thrown on couches and chairs, stray toys and dolls, and a coloring book and crayons scattered on an enormous mahogany dining room table. This wasn't just a magnificent house, it was a magnificent home.
"Caroline, how wonderful to see you again." Sheila DeSantis put down her newspaper and held out both hands to Caroline as she and Mick entered the living room. She looked rested and relaxed, with no hint that only a few hours ago, she'd hosted a party for 300. "Mick, good morning." Although Sheila was tall, she still had to stand on tiptoes to accept Mick's kiss on her cheek. "Do you want to talk in here, or would you prefer the library?"
"The library, please."
"Can't I get you something first? Juice, coffee?" Both shook their heads and fell into step behind her. 251
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The library was a circular room perhaps thirty feet in diameter, but it rose the full three stories of the house. The lower portion of the west wall was glass and looked out on the pool, the vineyards, and the mountains beyond. The rest of the walls were packed solid with books of all types, accessible by a winding staircase that led from floor to floor to the top.
Sheila motioned for Mick to close the door behind them, then she pointed to a loveseat and two wing chairs grouped before a still fireplace. Caroline chose one chair, Mick, the other.
"All right, darlings, what's so urgent that it couldn't wait until we'd all had a chance to regroup?" Suddenly tongue-tied, Caroline turned to Mick with a look that cried, Help! I don't know where to begin. He reached across the small lamp table that separated them and took her hand. To Sheila, he said, "D'you still keep the family albums in here?"
She pointed to a spot behind him. "Third shelf on the left—
a pictorial history of the Mahoney Family, from 1963, the year I married your father, 'til present. Any event or year in particular?"
"Caroline?"
"1975."
At that, Sheila's smile faded. "A good year and bad. We celebrated Brian's second birthday and remembered the anniversary of your dad's death in the same week." 252
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"A month later, you married Tony," Mick added. Although there was nothing pejorative in his tone, Caroline sensed an undercurrent.
"That was a long time ago," Sheila said. Words spoken softly but with an unmistakably defensive edge. "Tony always loved you like you were his own, Mick. Gabe, the twins, and Brian. He's given you everything a child could want or need." Before Mick stood, he said, "I know, Mum, and I love him, too. He was a better dad than Michael might have been, but I still miss my father and always will."
"I know that, darlin'. You worshipped each other. Sometimes when I look at you, especially at the age you are now, I see the man who swept me off my feet. Michael took foolish, reckless chances. It could have been you who died in the accident. I would never have forgiven him that."
"We're not here to rehash the bad times."
"I'm glad, Mick, because I wouldn't allow it. Now what can I do for you?"
He left Caroline and walked to the wall where photo albums filled the third shelf. Mick ran his finger along the spines until he'd found the one that chronicled the family's activities through the spring of 1975.
"The dates, Caroline?"
"April eighteenth through April twenty-first." He handed the album to Sheila and sat down beside her.
"D'you remember anything important going on at that time?
Anything significant?"
If the dates meant anything to Sheila, neither Mick nor Caroline read it in her face. She spread the album across her 253
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lap and leafed through the pages. "You were almost ten, and in the fourth grade." She found his class picture and broke into a smile. "There you are—black eye and all." She looked up at Caroline. "My eldest was seldom without a shiner."
"What about Easter?" Mick asked. "That would have been March or April."
Sheila thumbed several pages back. "Here we are. That's Tony and you, right next to the Jungle Jim he'd just built. And see, there's Brian in his playpen, and Gabby and Mikey on the swings."
Mick cut to the chase. "How 'bout a picture of you, Mum?" Caroline's hands had grown damp waiting for this moment.
"That's a hard one," she said. "I u
sually took the pictures instead of posing for them."
Disappointment stabbed at Caroline. She thought she saw Mick pale beneath his tan. Was it possible that at nine or ten, Mick would not have known his mother had been pregnant? A brilliant little boy with four younger siblings?
Sheila turned several pages then smiled. "Glory be, Mick, I'd almost forgotten this one."
Mick looked at the photo, then motioned from Caroline to join them. In the picture, Mick stood between Sheila and Tony, next to a display of some sort. All three were beaming at the bright blue ribbon with gold lettering that proclaimed the project had been awarded first place. A banner announcing the 1975 Sebastopol ISD Science Fair stretched behind them, with the dates clearly visible: April 15-16, 1975. A proud mother, looking adoringly upon her eldest son. She 254
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stood tall, thin as a reed, and definitely not pregnant or ready to give birth.
Caroline's knees went weak with relief. Mick had slipped his arm around her shoulders, and now she let him support her fully.
"Are you all right, Caroline?" Sheila asked, obviously sensing that something more serious was happening than Caroline overreacting to one of Mick's perennial science fair wins.
Caroline didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, overjoyed because she had photographic proof that Mick was not her brother, but still saddened that the mystery remained. Sheila closed the album with a thud and a quizzical glance.
"All right, you two, first place in a science fair is noteworthy but not enough to bring someone to tears almost thirty years later. Will one of you please tell me what's going on?"
* * * *
IT TOOK CAROLINE almost an hour, but a toasted bagel with cream cheese and two glasses of orange juice later, she'd related to Sheila and Mick most of the details of her life.
"You can see now why I thought I was at least a distant Mahoney. I grew to a tad under six feet tall, my brother's only five-eight. My dad was even shorter and Mom barely made it to five-four. Mom was part French, part Greek, and Dad was Swiss, but they both looked Italian. There I was, too tall and thin, a pumpkin head with purple eyes." Sheila nearly choked on her tea. "I've never heard quite that description before. Although I'm sure, Caroline, you 255
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wouldn't be surprised by some of the ways people have described my eldest son."
Mick cleared his throat and folded his arms. "Enough of that, Mum," he scolded. "Caroline doesn't need to hear halftruths or innuendo."
"Half-truths is right, Mick," Sheila countered. "I'm sure I was spared at least half the details every time you were suspended and I had to plead your case with Sister Clarita Marie."
"Lies, all lies. I was a model child."
"A model for what?" Chuckling, Sheila passed a fresh cup of coffee to Caroline. "Don't be surprised by the truth, Caroline. If you visited the county where Mick's dad was born, you'd find many a redhead, tall beyond average, with eyes the same or near the color of yours."
"Really?"
"Fact is," Sheila lowered her voice, as if sharing a special confidence. "Our Annie could pass for kin, too, and she's no blood relation. A Mahoney in name only."
"What?" Mick looked up. "I thought Annie was my cousin at the very least."
"There were several years you were convinced she was your sister." To Caroline, she added, "For as bright as he is, Mick can be dense about some things."
"Who is Annie to me?"
"Besides someone you love with all your heart?" Caroline heard a snippet of envy in Sheila's tone.
"That, too."
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"Mick's father couldn't get away from the family business after our wedding, so we'd postponed our honeymoon for five years. By then, Mick was in school and Gabe in diapers. We flew to Ireland to meet each other's families since we'd grown up in different counties. Michael was one of twelve children, all boys, but spannin' a huge age difference. His eldest brother Seamus had married for a second time a year before. His first wife had died givin' birth to Annie. He'd claimed her as his own, but Annie's mother, to her credit, never lied about the fact that the child had been conceived before they ever met. Seamus loved Annie, but his new wife neglected her fiercely. It broke my heart to see this wild child wearin' filthy clothes and half-starved. Michael and I convinced Seamus to let her return to the States with us for a wee visit. She never went back until we sent Mick, after his father died." Mick chewed on a chunk of toast and between swallows said, "You'd told me that story before, but I never believed it."
"I'm sure along the way Annie told you a dozen different versions as well. She lied about everything and made up so many stories, if I hadn't witnessed the truth, I wouldn't have known which way the wind blew, either. So you see, Caroline, Annie looks like a Mahoney from head to toe, just like you, but by blood she's no more kin than you." Sheila cut them a shrew glance. "Isn't that the answer you're seekin'?" 257
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Chapter Nineteen
"SOMETIMES MUMS ARE too smart." Mick dabbed his lips with his napkin and laid it beside his plate.
"Sometimes lads are too transparent," Sheila countered before turning lovely green eyes on Caroline. "I'm not sayin', Caroline, that somewhere in the way distant past a cousin of yours didn't hook up with a cousin of Mick's dad. We all know how traits can show up after many generations. If it's true, it happened a long time ago, and those similarities have surely thinned in the gene pool by now. That is what you're concerned about, isn't it?"
Not usually shy, Caroline struggled for an answer. The Springs never spoke openly about anything, especially not sex. How did she answer a woman who was giving her tacit permission to sleep with her son?
"There are still so many unanswered questions," she said, looking first at Mick then at Sheila. "Someone went through a lot of trouble to convince me that I'm a Mahoney." She picked up the postcard and turned it to face Mick's mother. "And to lure me to Sebastopol."
Sheila offered Caroline her open hand. Her finger were long and slender, her skin soft and warm to the touch. "I can't begin to understand how confusin' this must be for you." Her gaze swept to her son then back to Caroline. "Whatever brought you to us, Caroline, we're all very glad you're here. If we can help you learn the truth, you need only ask." 258
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Caroline felt her eyes sting with the tears she'd denied since she'd found Adina's hidden papers. Everything she'd grown up believing had been a lie. For Travis, too. "Thank you," she whispered.
Sheila squeezed her fingers gently, a show of understanding. "The postcard troubles me for a different reason. Our last reunion was two summers ago, at Golden Gate Park in the city. Look closely at the picture, Mick? Does that look like the park to you?"
Mick took the postcard from Caroline, studied it for several moments, then with a surprised look said, "You're right, Mum. Someone's done more than paste Caroline's likeness on this. Those are the trees where we hung the banner, but that's not Golden Gate Park. There's two photos scanned to create one picture."
Caroline, who had no idea where they'd picnicked sat quietly, taking in every new detail.
"Don't you think there's something very familiar about the garden behind us, too. And the wall?" Sheila took the postcard from her son. "I can't seem to place it." She glanced at Caroline, who saw both concern and doubt in her eyes.
"You're right, child, someone's playin' a trick on you, and one on us as well." She slid the postcard back to Caroline, then placed a hand over hers once again. "Caroline, whether Mick's smart enough to tell you so himself, I know he's awfully glad you're here, too." She pushed her chair back and stood.
"Now, darlings, there's a pack of hungry Mahoneys I'll be hearin' from soon, demandin' their lunch. I'm sure you have other things you'd rather do
, but you're welcome to stay. This 259
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evenin', of course, we'll be havin' a little send off for Brian and Ramona."
"Thanks, but I have to go into the office today—" said Caroline. Sheila waved aside her excuse. "I don't blame you. I'd be up to here with Mahoneys, too, if I'd had to suffer through what you did last night—Monsignor and all." Caroline smiled. "I had a lot of fun, though they were intimidating at first."
"I know that bunch almost as well as I know my own kids, and they still intimidate me at times." She turned to her son.
"Mick, will you be needin' anything else?" He looked first at Caroline then at Sheila. "No, Mum," he answered, "I think we have all we need."
* * * *
CAROLINE DIDN'T KNOW what she expected on the return trip. Mick stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Her hand rested on the leather grip at the bottom of the gearshift, only an inch away from his. Still, she might as well have been sitting in another vehicle for as much attention as he paid to her.
"Compared to yesterday, it's really cool today, isn't it?" she said, hating how ridiculously pointless that sounded, especially after they'd beaten the weather to death on the drive over. At least her words created some sound. Two hours ago, he'd been shouting at the top of his voice because she hadn't spend the night with him. Now that they'd been given the genetic green light, he said nothing. Kept his eyes trained on the road and his hands glued to the steering wheel. With a sinking heart, Caroline wondered if Mick craved the chase 260
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more than the deed. Would they be spending the night together, or had he lost interest now they it had become a
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