They ate in silence until Char couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “So what happened? They were apart for all these years then suddenly got back together? Can you talk about it?
He took a bite and chewed. “I could, but I’m not going to. Know why?”
She moved her chin from side to side.
“Because I’d either tell you what I think you want to hear…or I’d lie.”
She hid her smile with her mug. He got you that time, Chickadee. Hooeee, I do believe I like this boy.
Me, too, Char agreed. Me, too.
Eli had never been to San Francisco, but he didn’t expect to like it. The freaking air temperature felt colder than the snowy clime he’d just left—even though a big sign on a billboard claimed it was fifty degrees.
And the damp moisture that wasn’t rain—according to Char—collected on his eyelashes and cheeks, making his nose drip.
“You don’t like the fog, do you?”
He also hated being transparent. He didn’t answer.
“Don’t get surly. I’m not in charge of the weather. Besides, the fog will burn off in a little while and then it’ll be warm and sunny.”
He didn’t believe her. And how did someone like her get to be so city smart? He didn’t ask because the more he learned about her life, the more he liked her. Like led to friendly, friendly led to knoodling, knoodling was the first step on a slippery slope that would surely lead to a bad, bad ending. Another bad ending. One was enough.
“Here we are,” she said, her cheerful voice breaking through his attitude, as bleak and cheerless as the sky.
She stopped before a waist-high wrought-iron gate. The unusual fence appeared to be made out of old metal headboards—some painted, some rusting.
“Are those…?”
“Uh-huh. Some of these headboards supposedly were pulled from the debris of the 1910 earthquake. I adore the Painted Ladies.”
He looked up at the narrow, three-story corner home. The house appeared to be touching a similar home on its left. The right side followed the street, and he could see a tiny garage set under the home. “Is your aunt’s partner rich?”
Char’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Carlinda’s family owns another place on Knob Hill. But don’t worry. Carly’s not a snob. She’s a surgeon, a teacher and a political activist for gay rights. She’s amazing.”
Eli followed her through the gate. While she climbed the steep steps to ring the bell, he studied the building’s unusual paint job. He didn’t know how purple, green, orange and a couple of other odd shades he couldn’t name managed to look complementary, but the combination worked on this impressive-looking structure.
“Char,” exclaimed the tall woman who opened the door. “Welcome, dear heart.” A gust of air made the woman’s long, wavy silver hair fly about in every direction. She brushed it away impatiently. “Come in. Come in. Pam is so excited about your visit. She actually seemed to understand who was coming. It might be the new meds. It might be you.”
Once inside the huge, two- or three-story entry, the two exchanged a long, obviously heartfelt hug. “Carly, this is Eli. He and I were in school together.”
“Ah…” the woman said, her lively green eyes checking him out from head to toe. “The plot thickens.” She shook his hand, firmly but warmly. “I knew there had to be a man involved. Char is never this impulsive.”
Eli looked around, hoping he didn’t make a fool of himself by gaping, open-jawed. The place was a real-life mansion, complete with white marble floors, a dramatic winding staircase and a gigantic crystal candelabra-type light fixture that looked like it had been there forever.
“I’m so sorry we don’t have a bed to offer you,” Carly was saying when Eli tuned back into the conversation she was having with Char. “Our exchange student’s family is visiting from Honduras. You just missed them. They’re doing Alcatraz this morning.”
She looked at Eli as if intending to say more. He braced himself for a comment about the notorious prison’s occupation by members of the American Indian Movement, but she didn’t. Eli was grateful. For one thing, that part of his father’s people’s history was long before Eli’s time. For another, he hated it when strangers made assumptions about him based on his ethnicity.
“No problem,” Char said, shrugging off her coat. She’d left the bright purple one at home, opting for a more practical black slicker-type with a hood. Eli sorta missed her bold colors. Demure didn’t go with her hair. “As I told you on the phone, this isn’t a pleasure trip. It might even be a wild goose chase, depending on what Pam tells us.”
Carly, who was dressed in black wool pants and a white sweater that looked casual but probably would have taken the better part of Eli’s last paycheck to buy, reached out and touched Char’s arm. “I wish I could be more encouraging, honey. The new drug she’s taking seems to target the short-term memory. She’s able to maintain a more even keel on a day-to-day basis, but I haven’t seen any great improvement in her long-term memory.”
Char looked at him. “That’s what I told Eli, but he was hoping Pam might have saved some old files or paperwork from the early 1990s.”
Their hostess looked thoughtful. “Well…there might be some of that sort of thing down in the basement. You know what a pack rat your auntie always was. Just like you, if I remember correctly.”
Eli pictured Char’s cluttered hall closet and nodded. She gave him a stern look that made him bite back a smile. Her secret faults were minor compared to some people’s. His ex-wife’s, for example.
Char opened her purse that doubled as a backpack and dug around a moment. “I brought some goodies. Buffalo jerky and chokecherry jelly.” She’d transferred the latter out of her checked luggage at the café. “You can dazzle your South American guests when they come back.”
Carly seemed genuinely delighted. She motioned for them to follow her down a short hall to a bright, high-ceiling kitchen. The yellow walls and black and white tile looked like something Eli might have found in the pages of the home decorating magazines Bobbi adored.
“Coffee?”
Both Char and Eli declined.
“Well, sweets, I hate to run off, but I have a meeting at the hospital this morning. Your aunt’s upstairs. We have a practical nurse who looks after her during the day. She takes Pam for walks and drives her to therapy. Her name
is—”
Suddenly, she stopped. Her polished façade dissolved and she reached out for the counter to keep from crumpling. Char rushed to her side.
“Carlinda? Are you okay?”
The older woman took several deep breaths and gave a weak smile. “Yes. I’m fine. Healthy, if that’s what you mean. But emotionally I’m very close to the edge. As a doctor, I know that caregivers often suffer from depression and are prone to breakdowns. I honestly didn’t think it would apply to me because I have a financial cushion and a wonderful support system of friends and family. But…” She looked up tearfully. “None of that helps when you’re watching the person you love disappear behind a cloud that you’re powerless to obliterate.”
Char rubbed her back supportively. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” Carly said. “I lied earlier. I’m not going to a meeting at the hospital. I’ve decided to move Pam to a full-care facility. Her primary physician has been advocating this for months, but I couldn’t bring myself to consider it.”
Eli looked at Char to see her reaction to the news. “To be honest, Carly, I knew this day was coming. You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. I only wish there was more I could do. If you need me to stay…”
Carlinda shook her head. “You’re a doll. Thanks for offering, but everyone says it’s best for the patient if we make this a clean break. Once Pam enters the home, I’m taking a cruise through the Greek isles.”
The two embraced then, heads touching. “You’ve fought this disease with every weapon in your arsenal, Carly. Now, it’s time for Pam to follow her path, and you to stay on yours. No one w
ill judge you for that.”
The self-imposed locks Eli had clamped over his heart sprang open like a child’s Jack-in-the-Box toy. He’d never met anyone as kind and generous of spirit as Char. He liked her. A lot.
But it was also clear a few minutes later when they entered a spectacular suite of rooms on the second floor with a knock-your-socks-off view of the Bay Bridge, that Char’s patience and goodwill didn’t extend quite as magnanimously to her aunt.
“Hi, Aunt Pam,” Char said, cordially. “It’s me. Charlene.”
There was a nasally twang to her pronunciation that he’d never heard before. “How are you? Same great view. Boy, I bet this never grows old, huh?”
She walked straight to the whiskey-color leather chair where a small, stocky woman with short gray hair was sitting. Dressed in a navy-blue jogging suit and Uggs, her aunt appeared as normal as any of them. Until she turned her head to look in their direction. Then Eli saw that something was missing. Any spark of recognition for one thing.
A woman in her mid-forties wearing baggy white pants and a brightly colored smock acknowledged them from the doorway of an adjoining room but pointed to the cell phone she had to her ear. Eli had a feeling the call was from one story below them. The nurse gave a little wave and closed the door between the two rooms.
Eli appreciated the privacy. Bad enough he had to interview a woman who was obviously in a place far, far away from reality without airing his and Char’s dirty laundry for a crowd.
“Aunt Pam, I brought someone along to see you. This is Eli Robideaux. He went to school with me. Back in South Dakota,” she added, motioning him closer.
He took off his jacket and joined Char on the leather sofa adjacent to her aunt’s chair. The grouping was situated to take advantage of the view.
“Hello, Miss Jones. Nice to see you again.”
“Miss Jones?” her aunt repeated. She looked at Char in obvious confusion.
“That’s your last name, auntie. Pam Jones.”
“Pamela Edwina. After my father.”
Char looked at him in surprise. “That’s right. Granddad’s name was Edward. I’d forgotten. Do you remember my mother’s name? Your baby sister.”
“Charlene?”
“Nope. That’s me. My mother’s name was Gloria. You called her Glory.”
The tiny glimmer in the woman’s eyes went out.
Char made a couple more attempts to connect with her aunt, but it was obvious to Eli that her patience had been tapped out.
He cleared his throat. “I think I could use another cup of coffee, if the offer is still open.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
“I’m giving you an out before you turn into the bad cop.”
Her smile seemed genuine again. “I keep remembering the way she was. ‘A force to be reckoned with,’ my mom used to call her. Once Pam decided on a course of action, there was no stopping her.”
He heard a hint of anguish in her tone.
“You make her sound like a bully.”
Char stared at the woman who appeared to have no interest in them whatsoever. Pam’s gaze never left the horizon, which was finally showing hints of sunlight as the fog burned off.
“Honestly? I hated her for a really long time. When Mom married her last husband and moved to Arizona, I moved in with my girlfriend’s family rather than live alone in the same house with Pam.” She looked at her aunt for several heartbeats, then she sat up straighter and added, “In hindsight, that was probably mean, but it all worked out for the best. Pam met Carlinda at a medical conference and a few months later sold Grandma’s house and moved. She shared the money equally with Mom, Aunt Marilyn and me. She didn’t have to, but she did.”
“Out of guilt?”
She shrugged. “I doubt it.” To her aunt, she asked, “You never felt guilty about anything you did, did you?”
“Nope,” Pam answered, almost as if she knew what she was saying.
Char lingered a few minutes longer then jumped to her feet and hurried away. Eli scooted over to where she’d been sitting so he could face her aunt directly. Char’s warmth lingered on the leather and he savored the sensation for the tiniest of moments before reaching out to take the woman’s hands.
In a strange way, the disease that had ravaged Pam’s mind made her appear younger than Carlinda, who, according to Char, was the same age as her aunt. Everyday stress and worry was gone from Pam’s face. She seemed placid, lost in some other world beyond the veil.
“Pam,” he said. “I don’t expect you to remember me, but you remember being a nurse-practitioner, don’t you? People counted on you to fix them up. I need your help now, Pam. Char had a baby boy. You were there for her. Can you think back to that time, Pam? When you lived in Pierre.”
“Pierre is the capital of South Dakota.”
A tiny zigzag of hope skittered through his extremities. He squeezed her hands gently. “That’s right. You lived there. You took care of people. You helped Charlene give birth to your great-nephew.”
She looked straight into his eyes. “Black hair and gray eyes. Strangest thing I ever saw.”
Eli was afraid to breathe for fear he’d lose their connection. “Who’d you give him to, Pam?”
Her gaze started to drift away. He squeezed her hands a tiny bit tighter.
“He flew away.”
“The baby?”
“The captain. He took the baby and flew away.”
The captain? A pilot? Maybe in the Air Force? “What was the captain’s name? Do you remember?” Going on gut instinct he started rattling off men’s names. “John. Mark. Paul. Robert. Tony.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “Italian.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell Charlene. She made me promise he was Indian. Like you.”
The blood in Eli’s ears rushed noisily as adrenaline shot into his system. He might not have a name, but he had a start. And that was a helluva lot more than he’d had ten minutes ago.
She yanked her hands away and tried to get up. He could tell her balance wasn’t quite right. “Um…hello? Nurse? Help?”
The door to the next room opened and the attending nurse hurried over. “There you are, Pam. Are you ready for your walk? I hope so. The sun is out and I need some fresh air. But you still need a coat, my dear. No arguments.”
Eli moved out of the way and smiled his gratitude as the woman helped her charge toward the hall. They paused to let Char enter. Char set down the cup she was carrying and gave her aunt a light hug. A moment later, she joined him.
“See?” she said, pointing to the view. “I told you the sun would come out.”
He took a drink of coffee. High end. Better than the cup that cost them four bucks. “Does the hotel you booked have Wi-Fi?”
She nodded. “Why?”
“We have a name. Sorta. Maybe.” He didn’t want to get her hopes up. “I wouldn’t take it to court, but my gut says it’s a lead worth following.”
She looked at him, a bemused smile on her lips. “Well, then, let’s go. And you know the best part?”
He shook his head.
“It’s downhill all the way…to the hotel,” she added with a hint of mischief.
Chapter 9
They had a name.
The pieces weren’t easy to come by, but slowly, after calling in a few favors, Eli had managed to put the puzzle together. He was ninety-nine point nine percent sure his and Char’s child was named Damien Martelli. The boy currently resided with his mother, Wanda Johnson, a widow, who had remarried six months earlier. The boy’s adoptive father, Anthony Martelli, had been career Air Force. He’d died in a plane crash while on active duty in Iraq two years ago. But what made this scenario so attractive, Anthony Martelli and his wife had lived at Ellsworth Air Force base, near Rapid City, South Dakota, from spring of 1990 to mid-1992.
“Can you believe it? He lives in Seaside,” Eli exclaimed, skimming down the map on the screen. “That’s only a few hours sout
h of here, I’m guessing.”
“Well, his mother does,” Char said, her excitement noticeably more restrained than Eli’s. “You know yourself that family dynamics change when a woman remarries.”
He paced to the window of their hotel room. They’d checked in four hours earlier, but the street six stories below seemed as busy as it had at noon. “True. But according to the father’s bio, Damien has two younger siblings. And he’s only seventeen. I’d put money on him still living with his mother, even if there is a new dad in the picture.”
Char had read aloud from Colonel Martelli’s obituary, which had been published online in his hometown newspaper. There’d been a fuzzy photo of the fallen war hero’s burial in Arlington National Cemetery. A mother and her brood all in black. The tallest of the children was the same height as the woman.
“Do you have a current number for her?” Char asked.
She was sitting at the corner desk, her attention focused on the laptop. Her voice seemed strained.
They’d traded places back and forth all afternoon. Him on the laptop pursuing leads, her on the cell phone making calls. He’d watched her sweet talk and cajole, laugh and fume. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d had to walk into the bathroom to escape the attraction he felt toward her.
Like now. A part of him—a very foolish part—wanted to walk across the room and pull her into his arms. To celebrate. They’d done what they set out to do. They’d cracked the bureaucratic code. They’d found their child—or had a general idea of where and who he was. Weren’t they entitled to a couple of high fives and hugs. Maybe a kiss or two?
That was what he wanted. What he did was nothing. Because, damn it, Char deserved better than an emotional basket case looking for any port in a storm. He was a boatload of hazardous waste material rudderless on the crest of a tsunami.
Either that or you’re a durn coward.
“No,” he said sharply. Not that voice again.
She looked at him, her head tilted to one side. “Okay. But Johnson is a pretty common name. Do I start at the top of the list and work my way down?”
Black Hills Native Son: a Hollywood-meets-the-real-wild-west contemporary romance series (Black Hills Rendezvous Book 5) Page 11
