“I can’t help it, Char. I keep picturing you alone with a frozen dinner on Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t,” Char said. “I’ll be fine.”
Jenna gave Libby a one-armed hug. “You can’t expect Char to hang around here for another week, Lib. She’s got a business to run.”
Char mouthed a silent “thanks.” To Libby, she added, “If I’m overcome by an urgent need for poultry and stuffing, I’ll barge in on Kat and the boys. I promise.”
Char couldn’t explain her almost overwhelming need to get home. Today was Monday—only a week had passed since she and Eli arrived in California. She’d gotten a text message yesterday from Wanda saying Damien was out of the hospital. But Char knew he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the state until he and Eli went before a judge. A process that could take days, maybe weeks.
“Don’t worry about Lib,” Jenna said. “She’ll be fine once you’re safely in the air. I think she’s going through a little separation anxiety. I shudder to think what will happen when her poor kid starts school,” she added, leaning down to pat Libby’s belly.
Libby brushed her hands away, but in a happy, I-know-I’m-acting-silly sort of way. Char felt a funny tug on her heart. She knew she had a reputation for being less “touchable” than her friends. She wasn’t a hugger. But something had changed since Eli came back into her life. She didn’t know if she was more comfortable in her own skin or if she felt more deserving of physical closeness, but to everyone’s surprise, she walked over to Jenna and Libby and hugged them both.
“Thanks for your support, guys. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I mean it. A free trip back—that’s sort of above and beyond the call, don’t you think?”
Libby sniffled delicately. “I already told you you’re doing us a favor.”
“Yeah,” Jenna added. “It’s not that we don’t trust William to deliver all this stuff for Kat’s wedding safely, but he is a man.”
The three looked at each other and laughed.
“Besides,” Libby put in, “since you offered to let us use the teepee for the wedding, you can make sure everything is stored where you want it.”
Jenna nodded enthusiastically. “And with Rachel there, it just couldn’t have worked out better.”
Char had suggested using her teepee to hold Kat’s wedding to Jack after her third glass of wine two nights earlier. Libby and Jenna had jumped at the offer.
“And leave it to Shane to solve the heating problem,” Jenna said, pointing toward the plane. In the light of day the next morning, Char had brought up the issue of her completely ineffectual space heater. “See those four boxes? Patio heaters the studio bought for the shoot he has planned in January. How totally synchronistic, huh?”
Char was impressed. When things fell together that easily, you tended to believe they were fated. Like her trip with Eli to find Damien. Everything went along as if scripted by some divine planner—until Eli pulled the proverbial rug out from under her.
To distract herself from thoughts of Eli, she said, “Did I tell you I talked to Rachel this morning? She’s completely revamped my Web site to take advantage of more search engine—What?”
Jenna looked over her shoulder to check on the men then said, “Libby and I think you should sell Native Arts.”
Char’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
“Because you have more to offer the world than someone else’s arts and crafts,” Libby said, as if carefully picking her words. “You’ve done a great job with the store, but this might be the perfect opportunity for you to explore some other options careerwise.”
Jenna nodded. “Libby said you told her a long time ago that if you had it to do over again you’d become a social worker.”
“I did?” Char looked toward the hazy mountains in the distance. She couldn’t remember sharing that secret dream with anyone.
Libby touched Char’s shoulder supportively. “You’d make a great counselor, Char, because you’ve been there, done that.”
“And Damien is proof you made the right decision,” Jenna added.
She looked at her friends for a good minute then opened both arms. “Group hug. You guys are the best, and you’ve given me something to think about. It’s a long flight back. Maybe I’ll have a whole new perspective by the time I get there.”
“You have your new book club book, right?”
Char patted her purse. “Sounds interesting. Morgana picked it? I like her, by the way. I bet Megan’s jazzed about coming here for Thanksgiving.”
“We’re ready,” a masculine voice called.
Char’s heart rate escalated a tiny bit. She loved to fly, she reminded herself. And according to Shane, William was a very accomplished pilot. He would, in fact, be flying Libby’s brother and niece back to California in a few days.
“So am I,” she returned.
And it struck her that she was more than ready. She was eager to get started. She didn’t know exactly what the future might hold. Damien. She was fairly certain they’d established a lasting connection. As for Eli? While she wouldn’t put money on her odds, she couldn’t help clinging to a tiny glimmer of hope that he might eventually return to her. But she wasn’t going to mope around waiting. Her friends were right. She had options, and the next great adventure was out there waiting.
“HOW’S THE BOOK?”
Damien was sitting in the window seat. The man on Eli’s right was elderly, with a hearing impairment that had been obvious from the moment the flight attendant helped him to his seat. He and Eli had nodded and smiled, but that was the extent of their communication.
So far—about forty-five minutes into their flight—his seatmate to the left had been equally mum.
“Not bad,” Damien muttered. “Char gave it to me.”
In profile, Eli could see Char’s contribution to their son’s looks. Damien’s nose was shorter than Eli’s and tilted slightly upward on the end. And Damien’s hair, which was beginning to grow back after being shorn to disguise the large shaved spot around his temple, was a similar color to Eli’s but a different texture. Eli was certain he detected some curl, like Char’s.
“Did she tell you about the book club she belongs to?”
Damien grunted something that sounded like an affirmation.
“I can’t tell you the last non-work-related book I picked up,” Eli confessed. “Probably Harry Potter. E.J. really got into that for a while.”
They’d finally had the these-are-my-other-kids talk a few nights ago. Damien even visited E.J.’s MySpace page.
Damien turned his chin to look at him. “My dad and I were listening to them when he died. We didn’t get to finish the whole series.”
“Like books-on-tape?”
“Downloaded. I think the third one’s still on my MP3 player.” He hesitated. “Do you want to listen to it?”
Eli swallowed. He knew an olive branch when he saw one. “Sure. Why not? I’ve never listened to an audio book.”
Damien reached under the seat in front of him for the worn Miami Dolphin backpack he was using as a carry-on bag. He seemed to know exactly where to find the small silver unit and high-end headphones. The cop in Eli couldn’t help but wonder if Damien had purchased them with illicit gains from selling drugs.
“Noise canceling,” Damien said, pointing to the logo on the small black earpieces. “Dad got them in Japan the last time he was there. State-of-the-art at the time.”
His pride was evident, as was an underlying edge of grief. Eli felt guilty for assuming the worst. He didn’t put them on right away. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t have the faintest idea how to begin.
So much for the wisdom of making me the guy in charge, he thought, remembering his bitter exchange with Char.
You start by listening, chickadee.
The voice was back. He hadn’t heard it in days. Since Char left, actually. Instead of feeling alarmed, he was relieved. He knew at some level that the voice and Char were connected. He did
n’t know how. He didn’t care.
“Your dad sounds like a pretty cool guy,” he said. “Didn’t you live in Japan, too?”
“Uh-huh. Kyoto. Dad liked to explore places that tourists didn’t go. The real city, he called it. We ate stuff you were better off not asking what it was because then you’d throw up.”
Eli laughed. “I went to Tijuana once, but other than a couple of seedy bars, I can’t say I saw the underbelly of the place. I tried menudo though. Do you know what that is?”
Damien nodded, but he didn’t look too impressed by Eli’s sampling of the lining of a cow’s stomach. Eli couldn’t remember the flavor or anything about the meal, only that he’d been forced to eat it because he’d lost a bet to his buddy. He gave up gambling after that.
The awkward silence returned. Eli could tell Damien felt it, too, by the way he fiddled with the book cover. Eli picked up the headphones but didn’t put them on. “Is there anything you want to ask me? About my…um…life or what to expect when we get home?”
Damien didn’t answer right away, then he said, “Your family is Sioux Indian and French, right?”
Eli blinked, surprised. Not the question he’d been expecting. “And Irish, English and German on my mother’s side. She grew up in Oklahoma, but her family came from Illinois. She died when I was thirteen. Cancer.”
“What about Char’s family?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
Damien closed his book and leaned down to poke around in his bag a moment. When he sat up he had the box Char had brought with her to give him. A knot formed in Eli’s throat as his son opened it. “That’s the thing,” he said. “She made this family tree, but it’s…it’s pathetic. It doesn’t go anywhere. My dad’s uncle researched the Martelli family back to the freakin’ Roman emperor times. Look at this.” He handed Eli a sheet of parchment with the faint outline of a sprawling oak tree embedded in the paper, each branch identified with a white line for the appropriate name: mother, father, grandparents, great-grandparents.
Not unexpectedly, the paternal side was blank. But the Jones side was equally sparse. Only a few names, with no dates or places of birth included.
He looked at Damien. “Her parents divorced when she was real young and then her dad died. Maybe her mom failed to get that kind of information until it was too late.”
“I know, but look,” he said, pointing to an empty branch on the Jones side. “She doesn’t even know her maternal grandmother’s maiden name. That’s kinda sad, isn’t it?”
Eli agreed, but it felt disloyal to say so. He was about to hand the paper back to Damien when a thought entered his head. A memory. “I met her grandmother once. I think I was a sophomore. We had this gung-ho social studies teacher who made us go out into the community to record oral histories of elderly residents.”
“Can you remember anything about her?”
Eli shook his head. “Not really. She was old, of course. And real tiny. Her hair was pure white. She wore it pulled back in a bun, tight to her head, but little curlicues stuck out in places like a dandelion flower gone to seed.”
He couldn’t believe he could remember that, but the scene seemed to develop in his mind like a photo coming into focus. “We sat in her garden. And I swear, the whole time we were talking these little birds would come and sit on the back of her chair, like they were worried about her or something. It was the weirdest thing I ever saw. That must be why I can remember it.”
Damien frowned. “What did she tell you?”
Eli tossed up his hands. “I have no idea. My teacher published everybody’s stories in a book, though, and he gave one to each of the people we interviewed. Maybe Char still has it.”
“Don’t you have a copy?”
Eli snorted. “Are you kidding? I was a jock…in a new school.” He hated to admit the truth to a kid who was going to be starting fresh in a new place very soon. “I did my schoolwork and I got good grades, but I didn’t tell anyone. It wouldn’t have fit with my image.”
Damien gave him a sardonic look as if to say “big surprise there, Dad.”
“Can I ask you something, Damien?”
“Maybe.”
“How come you didn’t register on that adoption Web site Char told me about? I mean, you obviously have more Internet skills than me or Char. Weren’t you ever curious about the circumstances around your birth or your birth parents?”
Damien shifted uneasily in his seat. He turned his face toward the window for a moment, then finally answered. “I’m not the one who gave their kid to strangers. Mom told me what she knew about my birth mother—too young to keep me and all that, but I figured if I was an accident that nobody wanted seventeen years ago, why would you want me now?”
A painful weight pressed on Eli’s chest. He’d made so many stupid mistakes in his life; he really wanted to make the most of this chance. “Have you given any more thought about school?”
Eli had gone over Damien’s transcript and had been shocked to see the depth and breadth of the courses his son had taken—and aced—over the years. Damien was not only a brilliant student, but he’d been in an advanced placement track since elementary school. Eli worried that the high school E.J. graduated from the previous June wasn’t going to provide the intellectual challenge someone like Damien needed. And Eli knew only too well that a bored kid was a kid who went looking for trouble.
Creditwise, Damien could graduate now. But Eli didn’t think that was a good idea. Emotionally, socially, Damien needed another year with his peers. And Eli sure as hell wasn’t ready to send his newfound kid off to college when the new semester started.
“Not really. You said I didn’t have to decide right away.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean you can sit around on your duff and do nothing. How ’bout if I give you an assignment?”
Damien looked skeptical. “What kind of assignment?”
“Fill in the missing blanks on this family tree,” Eli answered, handing him the paper. “Both sides of the family—Char’s and mine. I’ll put you in touch with my uncle Joseph. He knows a lot of stuff—just don’t let him talk you into smoking anything.”
Damien smirked. “How am I supposed to find out about Char’s family, if she doesn’t know anything? Her mom’s dead and her aunt’s loopy.”
“Not loopy. Pam has Alzheimer’s. But there’s another aunt. I’ll help you find her number.” Eli thought a moment. “In fact, she might be the one who has that book I was telling you about. I’m sure Char would have mentioned it if she had it. And Pam doesn’t seem the type to care about that sort of thing. You can start there.”
“Great,” Damien said facetiously. But beneath that attitude, Eli sensed a tiny hint of interest.
Eli wasn’t sure where this hunch of his would lead, but he hoped it might be the icebreaker he needed to contact Char.
He put on his son’s fancy, noise-canceling headphones but didn’t start the story. Instead he tried to imagine what he would say to her when he finally saw her again.
“I love you, Char. It took me nearly eighteen years to realize that. Please tell me I’m not too late.”
Her answer wasn’t a sure thing, but he knew what he hoped she’d say. Soon. Very soon.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” Char asked as Rachel made the final connections on the Web cam and microphone she’d installed on Char’s computer. The gift from Carlinda had arrived a few days earlier with a note that read:
Your aunt is doing great. The staff at the new facility has given us the green light to open communication with her. I gave high-tech a try and it worked pretty well. Hope you’ll have good luck with it, too. Greece is amazing.
Love, Carly
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Rachel said, adjusting the funny little camera perched so it was trained on the person sitting in the chair. “Besides, I backed up all your files on a portable hard drive while you were in California and cleaned up a couple of pesky viruses. Didn�
�t you notice how much faster your computer is working?”
In the week and a half that Char had been home, she’d come to admire Rachel’s facility with computers and numbers. More than that she’d come to like and respect Jack’s sister. She’d even invited Rachel to join the Wine, Women and Words book club, after running the idea past Libby.
Rachel motioned Char to sit. “If your dementia-inflicted auntie can do this, you have no excuse, kiddo.”
With Libby and Jenna in California and Kat stressed about her student teaching and preparing for a wedding, Char had found herself relying on Rachel as a sounding board. “Maybe she’s having turkey dinner.”
Rachel chuckled. “Nice try, but as you well know, it’s earlier on the West Coast, not later. Go on. Boot this puppy up. I want to make sure it works before I leave.”
Char sat, but she looked around the store as if hoping for a reprieve. Unfortunately today was Thanksgiving and the shop was closed. “Oh, okay. One quick hi and bye.”
Rachel twisted her thick, pretty brown hair into a knot and quickly pulled on a knitted stocking cap. “Wish I could stay. Your conversation with your aunt might be better than Frost-Nixon, but my future sister-in-law would freak. I told you my mother was coming, right? Poor Kat.”
Rachel had moved out of Char’s spare room and into Libby’s guesthouse the morning after Char got back. But that first night home, the two women had spent a productive evening talking and getting to know each better after helping William unload the new heaters. Char had half expected to see some sparks between the two, single, extremely attractive and eligible people, but nada, nothing, zip.
“Don’t you think William is charming, in a less-bumbling Hugh Grant sort of way?” she’d asked Rachel after her third glass of wine.
“Yeah. He’s gorgeous. I was going to say Jude Law-ish. But I am so not interested in handsome men. Don’t get me started. Lame, bookish, near-sighted, hook-nose, hirsute and hunchback is more my type.”
Finding Their Son Page 19
