by Patricia Fry
“Huh?”
“Yeah, all that tomfoolery held us up for a good three hours and, as you can imagine, it drained us. So we didn’t drive as far as we’d hoped yesterday.”
After partially digesting Michael’s story, Keith said, “Gosh, I’m sorry to hear about all that. Let’s hope the rest of your trip is trouble-free.” He chuckled. “Hey, you might want to send Savannah and Rags ahead by plane. Sounds like you’d have a less eventful trip.”
“I might consider that,” Michael said, chuckling. “See you soon.”
“Hey wait,” Keith said. “I’m curious; how did Savannah convince the cops that she didn’t steal Buffy?”
“Well, thank goodness someone up the road, where the real catnappers had stopped for gas or something, recognized them. These people evidently overheard what they considered to be a confession and they called it in. The officer who was ready to arrest Savannah heard about it from his superior and he let her go, with an apology.”
“And… um… the missing person?” Keith asked, hesitantly.
“Oh yes,” Michael said, shaking his head, “Rags led us right to her body, which was buried behind an abandoned home.”
“Holy moly,” Keith said. “Unbelievable. Well, be safe on the last leg of your trip. Let’s hope it’s smooth sailing from now on.”
“Yeah, thanks. Hey, see you soon.”
****
When the brothers spoke again that evening, Michael reported, “We made good time today.”
“Nobody threw anything at your car or tried to arrest your cats, huh?” Keith joked.
“Nope. We seem to be home free. We should pull in at your place shortly after noon tomorrow.”
“Great. And not a minute too soon.”
“Huh?” Michael said. “Has something happened?”
“Well, we have a meeting with our… um… sister, Brenda, tomorrow. She’s coming to the house. She has something she thinks might be useful in our search for Scott Hanson—or, as she knows him, Frank Bloom.” He paused. “Michael, she thinks she knows where he is.”
“Interesting. Okay, we’ll get a good night’s sleep and see you tomorrow for the next step in our who’s-the-father search.”
****
The Iveys arrived at Keith and Holly Pettit’s home just after lunchtime the following day. Michael parked the car and pulled out his phone. “Hey, Keith, we’re in front of your house.”
“Oh yes, I see you out there.” He waved from a window.
Michael pointed and said to the women, “There’s Keith. Everyone wave to Keith and Cassie—oh, and there’s Bethany.” He turned to Lily. “Do you see Uncle Keith and the girls?”
Lily strained to look out the window, then began waving.
Michael continued his conversation with Keith. “I thought you could show us to our place and we can unload there.”
“Sounds good,” Keith said, stepping out the front door. He pocketed his phone and approached the car.
Savannah started to lower her window, then turned toward the backseat. “Mom, can you snap Rags’s leash onto his harness?”
“Hi there, Rags,” Keith said minutes later when the cat jumped into the front seat and pushed his head out through the open window.
“Settle down, Rags,” Savannah said, holding firmly to the leash.
After petting Rags, Keith squeezed Savannah’s shoulder. “I hear you tried out a new set of bracelets a couple of days ago.” When she looked confused, he held his wrists together in front of himself. “Handcuffs.”
She gazed disgustedly at her husband. “He told you about that, did he? Yeah, wasn’t that bizarre? Sure didn’t see that coming. Humiliating, that’s what it was.”
Michael grimaced. “Yes, unfortunate, for sure. And a bit frightening to know that cops can get it so wrong.” He took a deep breath and spoke with more enthusiasm, “So where do we live this week?”
Keith pointed. “Straight ahead in the center of the cul-de-sac.”
“Really?” Savannah said, wide-eyed. “It’s beautiful. Gosh, the Internet videos don’t do it justice.”
“It’s really nice inside too,” Holly said, joining them.
“Hi,” Savannah greeted, reaching a hand out to her.
“It’s great seeing you guys,” Holly said excitedly.
Just then, Cassie moved from behind her parents and peered into the window at Savannah and the others. She petted Rags.
“I want to see,” three-year-old Bethany said, whining to be lifted.
“Hi girls,” Savannah greeted. “Come on over to our house and show us around, will you?”
“Yay!” Cassie shouted. The six-year-old then looked more seriously at Savannah. “It’s not actually your house. It’s Shannon’s and Stevie’s house. But they went to Utah with their mom and dad to live for the summer, so they said you can stay there while they’re gone.”
“That’s nice of them. Meet you up there,” Savannah said as Michael drove slowly away from the curb.
After touring the house and assigning bedrooms, the women gathered in the cozy living room with the children while the men unloaded the car and some of the necessities from the trailer. “I’ll finish unloading the trailer tomorrow so we can return it,” Michael said as he and his brother carried in the last load, “unless you have something scheduled for us in the morning.”
“No,” Keith said. “You should have time to do that. I’d like to head up to the mountains where the clues seem to be sending us, maybe tomorrow afternoon.” He looked at Michael. “What do you think?”
“Sure. Sounds good. What time will the daughter… ahem… our sister be here?”
Keith looked at his watch. “You have a little over an hour to finish getting settled. Want to walk down to our place—say around two?”
“Sure, buddy,” Michael said. He offered his hand. “Thanks for the help and your patience. Glad we finally made it.”
“Me too,” Keith said, smiling.
****
“Please come in,” Keith invited an hour later when Brenda Bloom-Fairfield arrived. “I’m Keith. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, hello,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Brenda,” he said, ushering her into the living room, “this is my wife, Holly, and our daughters, Cassie and Bethany.”
“How nice to meet you,” Brenda said, graciously. She looked at Lily, who sat on the sofa between Savannah and Gladys. “Who’s this little cherub?”
“This is Lily. These are her folks, Michael and Savannah, and Lily’s grandmother, Gladys.” Keith pointed toward a stroller off to the side of the room. “The newest family member is snoozing over there.”
“Hi, everyone,” Brenda said. She looked from Michael to Keith and exclaimed, “Twins!”
The men nodded.
“Cool. I have twin brothers.” Brenda pondered her declaration, then said, “Presumably.”
“Yeah, presumably,” Holly said. She motioned toward a loveseat. “Please won’t you sit down?” She looked at Brenda and asked, “Your married name is Fairfield?”
Brenda nodded.
“I know Bessie Fairfield.”
Brenda smiled. “My husband’s mother. Yes, she lives in one of those restored homes in the Stewart tract, not far from here. I plan to stop in and see her before going home this afternoon.” She cocked her head. “How do you know Bessie? Do you go to St. Francis Church or belong to the theater group?”
“No,” Holly said. “We met at the park. She comes there with her grandchildren.” She tilted her head. “Not your children…”
“No, her daughter’s kids—Trace and Autumn.”
“Yes. Small world.” Holly chuckled. “But then, it’s a small town. Hey, can I get you something to drink?”
Brenda glanced around the room and noticed that some were sipping iced tea and others had water bottles. “Water, please. I forgot to bring some.”
“How far away are you?” Michael asked. “Was it a lo
ng drive?”
“Just shy of a hundred miles.” Brenda smiled. “But I love the drive. It’s easy and pretty and it gives me a chance to listen to my books on tape—you know, audio books.” She stared at Michael, then Keith. “You guys sure look like Dad—I mean when he was younger.” She pointed at Keith. “I think it was you who told me I look like my grandmother—Aggie, right?”
Keith nodded. “Uh-huh, GranGran.”
Michael agreed. “Yes, you do resemble her.” He smiled. “Have you met her yet?”
“No.” Her face brightened. “Is she here?”
“She’ll be here sometime next week,” Holly said, handing her a bottle of water. She abruptly turned and reached for a photo album. Opening it, she pointed. “Here are a couple of pictures of Aggie. What do you think?”
“Oh!” she said, obviously startled.
Savannah moved closer and studied the photos for a moment, saying, “Yes. I can see it.”
Brenda smiled across the room at Keith and Michael. “Gosh, I sure do look like her.”
Michael watched as the young woman continued to examine the photos, then he leaned forward in his chair. “So when did you find out…?”
Brenda finished his sentence. “…that my dad isn’t who we all thought he was?”
Michael nodded.
“About a year ago. I guess it was a year before that when Dad’s amnesia began to lift. After some minor surgery, he started to remember things about his early life and his family. He even looked up his brother in Connecticut. But that was as far as he could go.” She laughed. “Me? I would have dug as deeply as I could to discover more about my roots. I’d want to meet my family. But not Dad. It seemed as though it was upsetting to him, somehow.”
Brenda glanced around at the others. “I guess you’d consider him an introvert. He never had much of a social life—even the work he did was generally at night, behind the scenes, as if he were hiding.” She thinned her lips. “Thinking back on it, I believe he was hiding from himself. He was so uncomfortable with the fact that he had amnesia.” She took a sip of water. “He explained to me once how lonely it is to be without a personal history—one that you can remember, anyway. When his memory began to come back, he said it was impossible for him to accept it. He got confused. He said once that he felt as though he was caught somewhere between the truth and the lie he’d created.” She lowered her head. “I don’t think he took much pride in the life he’d made for himself. Know what I mean?”
Savannah was first to speak. Quietly, she said, “But he certainly had things in that life to be proud of—you children, for example.”
Brenda stared at Savannah for a moment. “I’m sure he was proud of us in his way.” She winced. “I’m afraid my brother isn’t as understanding and forgiving of our father’s… um… memory disorder.” She sighed. “It took some counseling sessions and work for me to come around.”
“Come around?” Michael asked quietly.
“Well, yeah,” Brenda said. “Living with Dad was kind of like living with a robot. He seemed to go through the…” she chuckled, “…motions without the E. Know what I mean? There were limited emotions. It could be that, along with the amnesia, there was brain damage. Or it was the trauma and the experience that caused him to crawl so far inside himself.” She thought for a moment, then said, “It was like he was afraid to care or to show that he cared.”
“What about your mother?” Holly asked.
Brenda smiled. “Mom was a trouper. She was amazing. I’m not sure what kept her from seeking a more exciting life, but she seemed contented and she did love Dad. They were the proverbial odd couple. But somehow they clicked and they kept clicking until cancer took her.”
“Is that when your father… um… presumably our father…left again?” Keith asked. “As I understand it, he was there in the home all of your life.”
“That’s right. It wasn’t until Mom died that Dad left. By then, Drew was in the military and I’d launched out on my own to...” she smiled “…make my fortune.”
“Have you heard from him at all since he…?” Michael started.
“Since he went into hiding again?” Brenda nodded. “Yes. As I said, he came to me some time after he’d had the surgery and told me that he thought his memory was coming back and he needed to go where he could think and figure things out. That was about a year ago. I haven’t seen him since and I don’t expect to. He pretty much said his goodbyes before he left that last time.”
“But you have an idea where he might be?” Keith asked.
“Maybe.” Brenda dug into her large purse and pulled out a leather-bound book. She held it close and stared down at it for a moment, then handed it to Keith. “This might give you some insight into our father, and he does mention in there some places in our mountains here and in the east that he remembers. It’s a pretty complete journal—almost publishable.” She pointed at the book. “That’s actually what helped to boost my awareness about what’s in Dad’s mind and what makes him tick the odd way that he does. There are hints in that… um… journal indicating that he’s always been somewhat different from most boys and most men.”
“Brenda, have you tried to find your dad?” Savannah asked. “I mean, since he left this time?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve come to terms with the fact that if he wants to see me, he knows where I am. Sure, I’m sad. It’s hard to lose both parents, but I need to respect Dad’s space.”
“Do you think we’re wrong to go after him?” Keith asked.
“No. As I understand it, he wants to see you and he hopes you’ll find him. You’ll see it in there. That was one of his last entries, as a matter of fact.” Brenda shook her head. “No, it’s not wrong. You boys need to find him. It could be that you’re the antidote he needs and that he has searched for all of his adult life.”
“Antidote?” Holly questioned.
“To help him come to terms with himself so he can finally heal.” She glanced at the others. “Well, I’d better go. Like I said, I want to visit my mother-in-law and I’d like to get on the road home before dark.” She smiled. “I’m eager to listen to the last chapter of that audio book. I’m dying to know who done it.”
After Brenda left, the others gathered around Keith and peered at the journal.
“Looks like it’s pretty substantial,” Holly said. “Could take a while to go through.”
“But it should make our search easier if he actually gives information about some of his mountain haunts,” Keith said.
Michael nodded. “I hope it also provides a peek into the man who could very well be our father.”
Chapter 3
“Do you know where we’re going?” Michael asked as Keith drove his four-door Jeep Wrangler along a winding road through a canopy of pine, aspen, and fir trees late the next morning.
“I hope so,” he said. “Actually, all we really know for sure is the location of some of the places where Scott Hanson has been—where he’s lived and foraged.”
“And thought about things,” Michael added. “You know, contemplated.”
Keith nodded. “According to his writings, he’s done a lot of that.” He glanced at Michael as he drove. “It’s anyone’s guess as to where he took off to this time—an old haunt or someplace new?”
After thinking about it for a while, Michael said, “Since he left the journal and he told Brandt, in so many words, that he wants to meet us, my guess is that he won’t be hiding as much as he’s simply…”
“Yeah, returning to the womb.”
“Womb?” Michael questioned.
Keith nodded. “Where he feels safe.”
“So you want to visit the… what’s it called… Ridgecrest Inn?” Michael asked.
“Yup. He mentioned it a lot in his journal. I think it’s a good place for us to start.”
Michael tightened his lips, then said, “I wonder if he made any friends there. He doesn’t sound like much of a soc
ial butterfly.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Keith agreed. “But, hey, maybe when he’s in his element up here with his—you know, cronies and other misfits, he might open up.”
Michael laughed. “Did you just call Dad a misfit?”
“Well?” Keith said, his eyes flashing mischievously as he glanced at Michael a couple of times. He then said, “You know, it could be that we’re chasing a dream and this guy isn’t our father, after all.”
Michael nodded. “It would be nice to find out.” He turned to Keith. “Do your adoptive parents—the family you grew up with—do they live near you?”
Keith smiled. “Yes, ten miles east in a small town. It’s actually reminiscent of where you grew up in Connecticut—back-woodsy, quaint, Norman Rockwell-ish.”
“How do your parents feel about you taking on this project?”
Keith smiled. “They support and encourage me to seek out my roots if I want to. They’ve pretty much always left it up to me. They think it’s rather interesting, this adventure—this challenge we’ve launched out on to find Scott Hanson.”
“Did they know the Hansons were possibly related to you…to us?”
“No. That was a surprise to them. They didn’t actually know many people in Connecticut, although they’d heard of and read about the Hanson family during the time they lived in the area.” He faced Michael briefly. “We’ll get together soon with my folks. I think you’ll like my mom and dad. They’re good people. They saw to it that I had a great, all-American childhood.”
“Sound like nice folks.” Michael checked his watch. “I hope we come across that eatery pretty quick. I’m getting hungry.”
“Should be right around the bend,” Keith said. He chuckled. “At least one of these bends.”
****
Keith was right. The Ridgecrest Inn was around one of the bends, and they arrived at the front door an hour later.
“It’s not much to write home about, is it?” Michael observed as they walked up the wide wooden steps.
“Yeah, unless you’re hungry and at least eighty miles from another restaurant.”
