Arizona Homecoming

by Pamela Tracy

  Her phone pinged. She’d been getting messages all day, mostly from her dad and sister. She already knew that Eva loved breastfeeding, that her dad thought Naomi was going to be left-handed like her grandmother had been and that Naomi liked to sleep.

  That seemed obvious and a silly thing to text, but Eva wasn’t even a full day recovered from a twelve-hour labor. She could be forgiven.

  Checking her texts, she read one from Eva: Jesse is not sharing when it comes to holding Naomi. Be ready to fight. Dad texted for Emily to make sure the sign saying the restaurant was closed went back up. Elise texted, The baby smiled at me!

  No fair.

  Quickly, Emily donned a new shirt and hurried out of her room, down the hallway, through the lobby and into the restaurant. The signs were up, but the restaurant wasn’t empty.

  Donovan stood where the game center was, watching the television and motioning for her to join him. Something about the way he stood worried her. She could hear the television now. He was watching the news. Something she never did because it depressed her.

  “Emily, hurry.”

  She made her feet move quickly, stopping next to him and not protesting when he put his arm around her, his eyes still riveted to the screen.

  “Age progression,” she breathed, “on Billy Wilcox.”

  * * *

  If not for a wealthy homeowner and a builder with a few minutes of time on his hands, Billy Wilcox would still be buried. Donovan wanted to look away from the television. This kid, because twenty-four was still a kid, had been buried where Donovan had worked. He looked at Emily, so sensitive, hurting even. What had she said about the skeleton, even before they knew who it was? The skeleton belongs to somebody’s son, brother, father, husband. We don’t know. That means there’s someone else out there who doesn’t know.

  “I took a class,” Emily said softly, “at Arizona State where an instructor had us read a case history about an eight-year-old girl taken from her Native American family in the 1920s. The girl went missing when she was ten. Eighty years later she was reunited with her family thanks to age-regression photos and DNA.”

  “Amazing.” It was the only thing Donovan could think of to say.

  “We looked at faces all the time in South Dakota. At first, I wasn’t interested in forensics. But, after digging up all those bones, I wanted to see their faces, try to imagine their stories.”

  “Did you ever identify one of the skeletons you unearthed?”

  “No, we registered them with the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, but there were too many and no reason. Unlike Billy, there was no murderer to bring to justice.”

  Someday he’d ask her to tell him more.

  “What they’ve done with Billy’s likeness is fascinating. On one hand,” Emily said, “it would be easy for a forensic composition specialist to progress him agewise. His last school photo would have been at seventeen, so the shape and appearance of his face wouldn’t change drastically.”

  “He looks a lot like Karl,” Donovan observed. “A much younger Karl.”

  Emily stilled and then pulled out her cell phone. Soon Donovan heard her ordering Elise to “make sure Karl doesn’t watch the news alone. He does not need to be caught by surprise watching his son age on television.”

  The conversation was quick, so Donovan assumed that Elise must have hurried into Karl’s room. The news story changed from Billy to a weather report.

  Donovan turned off the television and said, “I’m impressed with how quickly they got this progression done.”

  “Digital age,” Emily mused, “but then there wouldn’t be any digital photos. They’d have to use a print. I wonder if there’s an archive somewhere that automatically keeps up with the likeness of missing children.”

  “Only for a brief time did the news show Billy as a child.” Donovan had paid attention. “It mainly showed what Billy would have looked like when he died, about age twenty-four. His nose was bigger than it was in his school picture, and a little bit of a mustache shadowed above his top lip.”

  “I don’t think Karl ever had facial hair.”

  “And,” Donovan added, “they flashed a phone number three or four times, asking people to call if they recognized the young man.”

  “So they never said his name?” Emily asked.

  “They didn’t.”

  Emily walked from the room, turning off a few lights and checking the doors.

  “You heading for the hospital?” Donovan asked.

  “I am. Want to come?”

  “No, there’s a few things I need to do tonight. I’ll be in Phoenix, though. If I finish early, I’ll come by.”

  She shrugged, the casual kind of shrug that meant to relay little to no concern. Donovan knew, though, that she was curious. No way did he want to tell her he was having dinner with Randall Tucker.

  * * *

  The only reason Donovan wanted to meet in Phoenix was to get away from prying eyes. Since the Sunday lunch at the Miner’s Lamp, he’d been expecting Emily to ask him about his meeting with Tucker and the blueprint the man had spread across the table.

  Either Emily’s friend Jane had been in the kitchen the whole time Tucker had been showing the blueprint—possible—or she hadn’t had time to tell Emily—more likely.

  This time, thanks to the news story, Donovan arrived five minutes late. Tucker had chosen an upscale restaurant, one where a sixty-dollar tab for a party of two was the norm. Thankfully, it was also one where you left feeling as though you wouldn’t need to eat for a week.

  Tuesday night wasn’t busy. Tucker had snagged a corner booth. He already had a salad in front of him and was on his cell phone, but he motioned for Donovan to sit across from him.

  Donovan did, picking up the menu and giving the man time to finish the call.

  Apparently, Tucker had a daughter, one who exasperated him in ways only a female could manage. “I’d love for you to come to Apache Creek,” Tucker said, “but there’s nothing to do. Why don’t you go stay with your aunt and uncle at the beach house? You’ve always loved doing that.”

  Then, Tucker spent a full minute nodding while he listened. Finally, he got to talk again.

  “There’s horseback riding and a museum. I think you could even go on a gold-panning expedition.”

  This time Donovan could hear the excited female tone.

  “I’ll book you a room and see you tomorrow.” Ending the call, Tucker looked across at Donovan and said, “Well, that was unexpected. My daughter wants to come stay with me for a few weeks.”

  “You’ll be in Apache Creek that long?”

  “I purchased a home here back when I bought the Majestic. Then, I had some dealings in Maine. I got back about two weeks ago. I intend to stay for a while.”

  “How old is your daughter?” Donovan knew that Tucker was older. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a ten-year-old who now needed watching. The museum and gold panning were usually “just once” activities.

  “She’s twenty-one and about to be a senior in college. We go through this every summer. She finishes up a session of summer school, gets offered the beach or Europe, and chooses to come stay with me wherever I am.”

  “What about her mother?” Donovan asked before he really thought about how much he actually wanted to know about the man.

  “She died when Betsy was four. I hired a nanny, one who could travel, and up until Betsy was in high school, she lived in thirteen different states while I worked.”

  “What happened in high school?”

  “I asked her where her favorite place we’d lived was. She said San Diego. We moved there, she went to school and I took a much-needed break.”

  It was a side to Tucker Donovan hadn’t found during his internet research. The true test, of course, would
be when Donovan met the daughter. Would she be like Olivia or would she be like Emily?

  Donovan ordered. For a while, the two men talked about Apache Creek and the Superstition Mountains. Then, once the waitress cleared their table, Tucker took a blueprint from the seat beside him.

  “These are just preliminary sketches. I’ve indicated where homes could go. I’ve also allotted more square feet per home. I think if you were willing to design each home so it blended with the background of the Superstitions, we could raise the asking price and make even more than if we simply did a development with multiple, similar houses.”

  “When were you thinking of going forward with this project?”

  “In the next month.”

  Donovan shook his head. “Karl just received devastating news. I’m not willing to add to his distress. He might agree to sell to you now, but I’m not sure he wouldn’t later come to regret it.”

  “I agree,” Tucker said, surprising Donovan. “I intend to find another half parcel. I’ll limit the number of houses to eight an acre, unless you have something else to suggest.” He tapped on the blueprint.

  Sure enough, a half parcel had been loosely designed.

  “And this is going to be a retirement community?”

  “Yes. You’ll see that I’ve paid attention to—”

  “Apache Creek doesn’t have a hospital.”

  Tucker nodded. “Yet, each winter over a thousand snowbirds occupy the RV parks. The lack of a hospital hasn’t deterred seniors from making this a part-time home.”

  “Your development might not cater to snowbirds.”

  “True. Phoenix is next door. It’s not that much of a drive. How far did you have to drive to the hospital when you were growing up in Mytal, Nebraska?”

  The hospital was down the road from the high school, over an hour away.

  “You’ve spent some time researching me,” Donovan said.

  “And I liked everything I found. I like even more what I’ve personally watched. Instead of sulking when the Baer job came to a halt and old Tate didn’t send you anywhere else, you immediately got a job on your own. And, if I’m not mistaken, it’s not the job or the Superstition Mountains that draw you to this area.”

  Donovan wanted to say that nothing drew him to an area. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to stay anywhere. There was too much to see. He’d have loved following his family to thirteen different locations while growing up.

  “Emily Hubrecht is a lovely young lady.”

  “Emily doesn’t think much of you,” Donovan said honestly.

  “No, she doesn’t. But first impressions can change. Look, you left our meeting on Sunday giving me an ‘I’ll think about it.’ We’re talking a job that might take up to five years because I’ll probably buy another parcel. That’s how much I believe in this area.” Tucker handed over the blueprint. “Take it, look at it, play with it, make it your own. This meeting today, well, I’m hoping I’ve given you more to think about.”

  Five years near Emily, without his job affecting Karl or the land on Ancient Trails Road?

  Donovan didn’t hesitate this time. “I’m definitely interested.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emily knew the exact moment Donovan entered Eva’s hospital room. It was as if the air changed, got fuller, more buoyant. She made herself more comfortable in the faux-leather green chair and tried to act nonchalant as he made his way to her side.

  “I finished my meeting early,” he said.

  “Baer going to start building again?” Jacob asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll tell you the minute I know.”

  Emily refused to let that declaration ruin the mood she was in. “Come look.” She led Donovan over to a tiny crib where Naomi, oblivious to her surroundings, lay sleeping. “Eva says we can’t hold her for another hour.”

  “She needs to sleep without being held or we’ll be holding her for the next three years,” Eva protested.

  “I volunteer,” said Jacob.

  Emily thought she’d never been more in love with her own father. “Were you like this with us?”

  “Yes, he was,” Eva said. “I remember when you were born. I was a little older than Timmy. Mom was always telling him to let you sleep in the crib. She kept telling me the same thing, too. I’m going to grab one of the nurses and see if I can’t talk her into letting Timmy see Naomi. There has to be a way. We’ll stand behind glass or something. You,” she said to Emily, “had no rules concerning respiratory viruses. I think they even let Elise hold you, and she picked her nose!”

  “I did not!”

  “You were a beautiful baby,” Jacob said to Emily.

  “You probably said that about all your daughters.” Jilly tucked a corner of the baby’s blanket so it more firmly cocooned her.

  “You have children?” Emily asked. Sometimes she forgot that it had only been a year since Jilly purchased the old house just a mile from the ranch. Plus, these past few days she’d been so focused on the baby, on the museum and on Donovan, that figuring out what was going on between her father and Jilly had been more or less second thought.

  “Some fool nurse,” Jacob said, “tried to instruct me on proper infant holding.”

  “My husband died just a few months after we married. I’ve—” she smiled Jacob’s way “—not found anyone to compare in a long, long time.”

  There were no places to sit. When Emily moved from her chair, Elise snagged it.

  “Where’s Cooper?” Donovan asked.

  “Down with Karl,” Eva answered. “Timmy’s there, too.”

  “I’m glad you saw the news,” Elise said. “I hurried to his room and changed the channel. He’s grumbling about not getting to see it, but I told him he needs cheering up.”

  “What is he watching?” Jilly asked.

  “Scooby Doo with Timmy.”

  “We could go down there and visit,” Emily offered. “Karl’s awake. He’ll get out tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that,” Donovan said.

  “We’re taking him to stay with us. He’ll sleep in Eva’s old room.”

  “Please,” Eva urged her dad, “call it the guest room. I’m not moving back.”

  Jacob sat up straight. “No, when Karl gets better and returns home, I’m turning it into a children’s room. Naomi will spend the night often because I’ll put in a crib. And then when you have little Jacob...”

  “Hmmph.” Jesse lifted his head and turned to face his father-in-law. “We’re not promising to name the next one Jacob.”

  “Next one?” Eva said.

  Elise spoke up, “Cooper and I will name a son after you, Dad.”

  “There will be nothing left for me,” Emily protested.

  “Better get her downstairs and visiting Karl,” Jesse advised Donovan. “Once this family starts planning, you just might find yourself part of the plan whether you want it or not.”

  Eva proved that she’d not forgotten the pillow-throwing wars from childhood. Jesse merely took the extra pillow, stuffed it under his head and closed his eyes.

  Elise wound up accompanying them. Karl’s room wasn’t as crowded. Timmy sat on the bed playing checkers with Karl. Garrett slouched in a chair texting on his phone.

  “Girlfriend,” Cooper mouthed from the other chair, where he’d been reading a magazine but now stood to give Elise the seat. He shot a look at Garrett, who immediately stood for Emily’s benefit.

  Cooper and Elise exchanged a look.

  “Timmy, are you guys about done with the game?”

  “Oh,” Karl said, “I beat him soundly a good five minutes ago. We’re just practicing moves now.”

  Elise sat on the edge of the bed. Cooper motioned for Garrett to end the texting.

  “Kar
l, there’s no way to avoid this. You’ll be watching the news sometime this week and they’ll probably show some photos of Billy.”

  “I know,” Karl said sadly. “They were on earlier today. He looked a lot like me.”

  Elise and Cooper exchanged looks Emily interpreted as all that worry for nothing.

  “You’re all right, then?”

  “It was just the shock the first time. I just wasn’t expecting it. I guess I thought I’d never know. And to think, he was twenty-four and trying to come home. I hope they find whoever did this.”

  Elise took his hand. “Me, too, Karl.”

  “Let’s pray,” Cooper suggested.

  Emily noted that Donovan looked a little surprised when she reached for one of his hands and Garrett reached for the other. But he bowed his head and seemed to listen intently as Cooper prayed for everyone involved, including whoever had buried Billy Wilcox.

  “You hungry?” Emily asked Donovan after the prayer.

  “I could eat.”

  “Good.” Emily didn’t invite anyone else. It seemed sometimes as if she and Donovan were rarely alone. She wanted to be. If this thing with Karl and Billy was solved, her life would be back to perfect.

  The hospital cafeteria was closed to a hot-meal option. There was, however, a convenience section. Emily chose bottled water, a packet of cookies, plus a salad and packet of ranch dressing.

  “You didn’t take anything?” she accused. “You were hungry.”

  “Maybe I was hungry for good company.”

  She ate in silence, just enjoying his presence across from her. Others came in and sat at the tables nearby. Some were families with fear on their faces; others had joy. Now and then a single person came and sat. The doctors and nurses always seemed in a hurry.

  “I like your family,” Donovan said when she’d finished the last bite.

  “I like them, too.”

  “I can see why you don’t want to work anywhere else.”

  “I had a job offer a week ago,” she shared. “It was perfect. It was for the Native American Heritage Museum. I wouldn’t be curator, but I’d be an assistant.”

  “You turned it down,” he guessed.