Fortune's Family Secrets

by Karen Rose Smith

  “You sound excited.” He took her hand in his as they walked along the path.

  “Oh, look! Look at the peacock.” She pointed to the bird that walked not ten feet from them.

  “They’re not in cages,” Nash said as if they should be.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned to him and saw he was looking at her. His eyes dipped down, and she felt as if he was taking in every inch of her, from her sneakers to her lime green shorts, yellow blouse and colorful, beaded necklace.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, capturing her gaze again.

  She might have given a little gasp, she wasn’t sure.

  “Why do you look so surprised?” he asked. “You are beautiful. Don’t you know that?”

  “I don’t think of myself like that. I’m just like any other woman trying to make my way, make a living, follow my dreams.”

  “Well, it becomes you.” He squeezed her hand a little tighter. This feeling she had whenever she was with Nash always took her by surprise. It was a giddiness that seemed to infuse her whole body.

  They walked for a long while without speaking, stopping often, enjoying the antics of all the animals. Soon they were at the exhibit of hybrid wolves. The sign read FRISKY—Husky Wolf Mix. “One thing I like best about this zoo is that they rescue animals who’ve been neglected. Somebody probably found this guy as a cub. But as he grew they realized he’s more wolf than husky. I’m glad he’s found a home.” Maybe she liked this zoo so much because she felt a kinship with the animals who’d been rescued. The difference was that she’d rescued herself.

  “I like watching the animal population,” Nash said as he observed the wolf. “It can give an insight into human behavior. Sometimes I think the animals have it right and the humans don’t. In fact, sometimes, I prefer the animal population. My buddy Dave’s dog is so good with his kids, and he’s loyal.”

  “What kind of dog is he?”

  “A yellow Lab. When I’m around him, I can forget about what I’ve seen on the job. I’ve seen things on the streets I never want to see again.”

  This time Cassie squeezed his hand. He let go and curled his arm around her waist. As they continued walking, Cassie felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to any human being. How was that even possible, she wondered, given that she hadn’t known him that long.

  How close would you be if you told him the truth about your life?

  Unable to ignore that voice in her head, she thought about her mother in prison. Her mom had tried detoxing several times over the years, but she’d never been successful. She’d needed something to live for other than a drink to get through the next few hours. Cassie had never been able to help her. She hoped her mother had gotten help now.

  Deciding to dip her toe into dangerous waters, Cassie suggested, “Maybe criminals are like these animals. They need to be rescued and rehabilitated.”

  Nash shot a quick glance at her. “The difference between animals and humans is that humans have intelligence. That’s why if someone commits a crime, they need to suffer the consequences.”

  “But if we could rehabilitate instead of incarcerate—”

  “There are cages here, Cassie, for a reason. The same reason there are jails for people. The truth is, states and counties don’t have enough money, resources or volunteers to even think about rehabilitation instead of incarceration. Jail isn’t a solution but at least it gets criminals off the streets.”

  Cassie pulled away from Nash, using the obvious excuse of wanting to get closer to the next enclosure. She had no doubt now that Nash would back away from her completely if he knew about her mother. She’d been entertaining a dream that she should have known was as elusive as smoke.

  Swallowing the bitter disappointment, she walked from exhibit to exhibit, forcing herself to enjoy the day. She genuinely loved seeing the animals and the wonder on children’s faces as they observed the creatures.

  “Look at that little boy,” she said, pointing to a child who walked up to the tiger enclosure beside them. “No matter how many tigers he sees in a book, it can never prepare him for the reality of the real thing.” She pointed to a white Bengal tiger. “They’re my favorite,” she said. “They’re endangered. It’s such a shame.”

  “You care about everything, don’t you?” Nash asked, studying her.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Most people go through life letting the majority of what they see and hear slide by them almost as if it didn’t exist. But you’re not like that, not about humans or animals. You’re in the present most of the time and it’s such a good thing.”

  Cassie had always had to live in the present because she’d never known what to expect next. She could come home one day to an empty apartment. She could come home the next with her mother drunk as a skunk. And then there was the odd night when her mom would be sober. Then she’d talk to Cassie like any mother would, asking if she wanted to invite friends over. That wasn’t something Cassie could ever do because her mother was too volatile, too unpredictable, too enamored with a bottle of whiskey instead of her daughter. Maybe Cassie cared so much about everything because her mother had seemed to care about nothing. She wished she could say that to Nash, but of course, she couldn’t.

  “I guess I live in the present so I don’t worry so much about the future, and I don’t think about the past.”

  “It seems like I’m always thinking about the past or the future,” Nash admitted. “Even when I’m chasing down a witness, I think about what his testimony will mean in the future. And as far as the past goes, I suppose I never realized how it affected me until you said I should see my mom more.”

  “I didn’t mean to criticize.”

  “No, you were thinking about her. In a way, I was punishing my mom because of my memories of Sara. How stupid is that?”

  Turning toward him, Cassie said fervently, “You’re anything but stupid. Life is like this path we’re walking on with twists and turns that we never expect. We make our way the best we can and hopefully we learn as we go. I guess that’s the secret for being successful in life, learning as you go.”

  Cassie pointed to a magnificent male lion sleeping in the sun in the adjacent exhibit. At least she thought he was sleeping until he became aware of them, opened his eyes and yawned, exposing all of his huge sharp teeth. Then he stood, showing off the majestic creature he was.

  “Now that guy has a confident attitude,” Nash joked. “And probably a roar to match.”

  When Cassie laughed, Nash encircled her with his arm again. This time she didn’t pull away. This time she was just going to enjoy the moment because that might be all she’d ever have with Nash.

  Chapter Ten

  In the afternoon the following day, Nash established photo files with Cassie’s paintings. As he thought about their trip to the zoo and everything they’d talked about, he decided he wanted to do something for her. They’d had fun together, enjoying all the animals. There were the animals you just looked at, but then there were some you could feed, like the goats and the llamas. They’d laughed a lot as they’d done that.

  Beside his laptop on the desk in his room, he’d laid out the business cards he’d picked up at the arts festival. He’d pocketed about ten of them. He remembered what Cassie had said—that her paintings weren’t good enough. That was a bunch of hogwash. He didn’t know who the judges had been who had decided that, but he imagined everybody had different opinions. The same would be true for the gallery owners. Maybe, just maybe, she could score with one of them.

  The first thing he did was compose a letter. He did it in his own name, acting as her agent. Then he attached the file. He made sure he wrote each letter individually so it had a personal touch. When he was finished, he sat back and felt as if he’d accomplished something.

  As opposed to all
his research on the Fortunes in the last three weeks?

  He had to admit, all that work hadn’t gotten him far. Maybe he would have to consider how he could speak to a Fortune incognito. But that would happen only as a last resort.

  He decided to go downstairs for cookies and coffee. As he did, he heard the ringtone on Cassie’s cell phone. He was familiar with the ding-dong ring now.

  He heard her answer. As he went to the coffee urn and filled a mug, he recognized the strain in her voice. “Yes, that’s right. His mother added me as a contact, and yes, I can pick him up.”

  Nash grabbed a napkin and stacked three oatmeal cookies on it. Anything Cassie baked was good and he had no doubt these would be, too. He listened to her phone conversation again.

  “He was in a fight? That’s not like Danny at all.” She checked her watch. “I can be there in about twenty minutes.” Again she listened for a few beats. “Yes, I’ll stop at the desk and show my ID. He’ll be in your office? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  After she ended the call, she looked over at Nash. “Danny’s mom asked me if she could add me as an emergency contact at Danny’s school. Apparently, she has meetings when she has to turn her phone off, and Danny’s dad doesn’t answer his cell phone when he’s in court. When the school couldn’t reach either of them, they called me. Danny got into a fight at school. They, of course, want to conference with his parents but they think it’s best for Danny to leave the premises for now.”

  “You say this isn’t like him?”

  “Absolutely not. He’s not the least bit aggressive and not even assertive enough. His mother brought him to me for lessons, hoping that his art could bring him out of his shell.”

  “Sometimes the quiet ones are keeping the most anger hidden.”

  “Maybe so, but I’ve got to get going.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “If any of the guests come back, just have them sign in that they’re back. And could you answer the landline if it rings? I don’t want to miss a chance at a reservation.”

  “I can do that. I know you’re in a hurry, but drive carefully.”

  She gazed at him with soft, brown eyes that seemed to wake up every part of him that had been frozen, or maybe asleep. That included his heart and soul.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took her purse from a drawer in the kitchen, dropped her phone into it and hurried out the door.

  * * *

  About an hour later, Cassie entered the bed-and-breakfast with Danny. Beside her, the boy was sullen, his eyes cast downward to the floor.

  “Danny, go over there to the sitting area and get yourself some cookies. I’ll bring a glass of milk over. I think we should talk, don’t you?”

  The boy shrugged his shoulders and went to the table where the jar of cookies stood.

  Nash was in the kitchen when Cassie went for the milk. She kept her voice low when she said, “He wouldn’t talk to me about it. He kept silent the whole ride back. The nurse put that bandage above his eye. The principal said it was a surface scratch.”

  “Do you think we should just leave him to himself until his mom or dad gets here?”

  “I called his mother and left a voice message that he was here. I texted her, too.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “Not really. I’d like Danny to tell me himself if he will.”

  “Do you want me to sit in?”

  “I don’t think it will hurt. If I can’t get him to talk, maybe you can.”

  Cassie carried Danny’s glass of milk to him. He’d picked up two cookies but they were sitting on the occasional table beside him. Cassie sat beside Nash on the sofa across from Danny, who had seated himself in an armchair. “I left a message for your mom that you’re here. I didn’t want her to worry.”

  “She worries a lot,” Danny mumbled.

  “I’ll bet she doesn’t usually worry about you when you’re in school.”

  Then he gave another shrug.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Cassie asked.

  “No,” Danny said solemnly.

  Nash sat forward a bit. “Danny, you know that explanation’s not going to work with your mom. You could practice on us.”

  Danny looked at them and blurted, “I’m never painting again.”

  Cassie was shocked by that idea. “What do you mean you’re not going to paint again? You have talent, Danny. I’d like to see you paint more, not less.”

  Nash had an understanding expression on his face. “Do you have a favorite sport?” he asked Danny.

  “I like to watch basketball.”

  “I like to watch baseball. I dreamed about being a major leaguer someday.”

  “You were that good?” Danny asked.

  Nash laughed. “Not at the beginning. I was never a major leaguer, not even close. But I did win a few games for my team.”

  “What position?” Danny asked.

  “Pitcher, mostly. But the point is, when I first went out for Little League, I didn’t know how to do much. I didn’t have a dad. My mom tried to throw a baseball with me, but she wasn’t very good.”

  Danny nodded as if he understood.

  Cassie wondered where this story was going.

  “Anyway,” Nash continued, “I was terrible at practices, especially with batting. There were two older boys who kept making fun of me.”

  “What did you do?” Danny was listening intently now.

  “I would have liked to have clocked them,” Nash confessed. “But I got to know a police officer who often came to the school to talk with the kids. He told me the only way I could show up those boys was to get better. He offered to spend one night a week practicing with me.”

  “Did it work?” Danny wanted to know.

  “It did. I soon started hitting balls instead of striking out, and my pitching arm got quite good. I guess what I’m trying to say is that fighting doesn’t get the job done because nothing is resolved. There’s always a way to settle a dispute without violence.”

  Cassie imagined Nash’s story explained why he’d become a cop. But as a cop, he’d seen violence and that was why he had this philosophy.

  Danny seemed to think about what Nash had said. “There’s this one boy in art class who always makes fun of my drawings. I got really tired of it and pushed him. Then he hit me, and I hit him.” He touched the bandage on his head.

  “What are you going to do when you go back to school and have art class again?” Nash prodded.

  “I don’t want to go back to school. I want to drop art.”

  Now Cassie sat forward, too. “Danny, how would you feel if you could never paint again?”

  “Terrible, but if people are just going to make fun of it...”

  “Art is one of those things that you can’t predict how people will react to,” Cassie told him. “Look at me. I submitted my work for the arts festival and got turned down. Yes, it made me feel bad but I still want to paint, even if nobody else sees it. It helps me feel better.”

  “Painting and drawing help me feel better, too,” Danny mumbled.

  “Then why would you want to give it up?” Nash asked. “Because some dolt is jealous and knows you’re better than he is?”

  Danny’s expression said that thought had never crossed his mind. “You really think that’s the reason he picks on me?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Nash answered. “Your teacher might be able to shed light on that. I’m sure she’s going to want a conference with your parents.”

  Danny’s face fell.

  “There is something else you could consider,” Nash added. “Karate.”

  “I’ve only seen it in movies.”

  “Movies glamorize it a bit,” Nash responded. “But there are maneuvers you can learn in karate that can help y
ou deal with someone like a bully without actually hurting him.”

  “Really?” Danny asked.

  Nash just nodded.

  Suddenly the front door flew open and Danny’s mom rushed in followed by a man Cassie had never met.

  Dorie took one look at her son, saw the bandage on his head and hugged him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mom, really I am,” Danny assured her.

  The man who had come in behind Dorie was frowning. “I’m Paul Lindstrom, Danny’s father.” He looked directly at Cassie. “I suppose you’re the one who picked him up?”

  Cassie squared her shoulders, not knowing exactly why. “I am.”

  “I’ll be complaining to the school. You’re a perfect stranger. I’ve never even met you before. What right do you have to pick up my son?”

  “Paul, don’t talk to Cassie that way,” Dorie protested. “I put her name down as an emergency contact.” She looked at Cassie apologetically. “I told him to meet me here if he wanted to be included in this discussion.”

  “Of course I’m going to be included in this discussion,” Paul Lindstrom blustered. “My son was involved in a fight and got hurt.”

  “From what I understand, Mr. Lindstrom,” Cassie said politely, “the other boy was hurt, too. He has a black eye.”

  Paul went to Danny and clapped him on the back. “Good going there. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Cassie could have socked him, no matter what Nash said about nonviolence. Or maybe she just needed a few karate moves aimed at the right part of Danny’s dad’s body.

  To Cassie’s surprise, Danny stepped forward and faced his father. “Nash told me I don’t need to hurt anyone. He said when words don’t work, then karate moves might. I’d like to take karate along with art lessons.”

  “From what I understand, it’s the art lessons that caused this whole problem. Somebody didn’t like what you drew,” his father reminded him.

  “They were making fun of what I drew,” Danny said, his eyes on his sneakers now.

  “And what was that?” his father asked.

  “A totem pole. They’re real art objects, Dad. I saw a few of them online. But the boy I fought with said the Native Americans aren’t real Americans and I said they were.”