Sara made a face. “How’d Bo take that?”
A fluttery sensation akin to panic made Claudie reach for her locket—her touchstone. But it was gone. Her one tangible proof of her journey. Then she remembered something. She fished in her purse for the little disposable camera. She’d used the last shot to get a picture of Matt at the airport. “Sara, could we drop this off at the one hour photo place on the way home?”
“Sure,” Sara said. “And Ren can pick them up when he gets done with class. When I told him you were coming home, he insisted on a welcome home party. A little barbecue. Then a dip in the hot tub. Okay?”
Soothing water and a glass of wine sounded tempting. So did the idea of talking to Ren. Who better than Bo’s best friend to tell her if she did the right thing?
ON THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY, as the residents of One Wish House were preparing to join the Bishops for Thanksgiving dinner, Claudie ducked into her office. She sat down at her desk and picked up the hand-made Thank You card that had been waiting on her desk when she got home Monday night. Beside it, Claudie’s photos lay scattered, including the three shots of Sherry that made Claudie’s heart soar.
“You saved her,” Maya said softly, taking Claudie by surprise. She hadn’t heard her approach. “I knew you would.”
Davina and Sally Rae joined them before Claudie could respond.
“She’s so beautiful. And tall. Are you sure she’s your sister?” Davina asked.
“Did she like you?” Sally Rae asked. “I mean, you know, did you tell her about…” Her expressive complexion turned bright red.
“What I want to know is why’d you have to give her your car?” Rochell complained, sweeping into the room in an impressive African caftan. “How’re ya gonna get around?”
Claudie chuckled. “I didn’t actually rescue Sherry. I told you—my stepdad’s dying of cancer. They’re moving him to a hospice Saturday.”
The low cheers were meant to be supportive, but Claudie was saddened by the image of Garret that came to mind. “The important thing is Sherry’s great, and I gave her my car because my mother left me enough money to buy a new one. I’m going to start looking as soon as Bo—” she bit off the thought. “As soon as we get past this dim sum thing.”
This, of course, set them all off on their favorite topic, but Claudie held up her hand for silence. “Let me finish. As to whether or not Sherry really is my sister—yes. She has our mother’s eyes and smile. And, Sally Rae, she’s going to come visit after graduation. I can’t wait to introduce her to all of you.”
Claudie had received two e-mails from Sherry—including an update on Garret’s condition and had forwarded both to Val, hoping to reconnect those two. And Claudie planned to keep in touch with her brothers, too. Particularly, Zach. In fact, she hoped to talk to Ren today about Zach’s postprison options.
Ren had already helped Claudie by giving her some perspective about Bo’s situation. “One thing I know,” he’d told her that night in the hot tub “is, no matter how much you love a person, you can’t fix him. Ultimately, that has to come from within. Give him time, Claudie. He’ll understand that you did what you thought was best for him.”
Claudie hoped so. But so far, he hadn’t returned any of her calls.
Something Sally Rae was saying suddenly sank into Claudie’s consciousness. “Wait. Did you say Babe has a date?”
Sally’s blush returned. “I overheard her on the phone. She said it isn’t really a date. He’s an old friend, and he asked Babe to help his church serve Thanksgiving dinner to the needy, so they’re only coming to Ren and Sara’s for pie.”
Rochell hooted and rolled her eyes. “I swear all this do-gooder stuff is going to come back and bite her in the butt. Rich people can’t mingle with us common folk for long without something bad happening.”
Claudie would have argued the point, but Sally beat her to it. “Hogwash. Money sets people apart, but a good heart can overcome that. Babe told me her father was a grape farmer, Rochell. She was the Grape Queen before she met Ren’s dad. And I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell her I blabbed.”
The room fell silent.
“Babe’s real name is Beulah. Beulah May Smith.”
Rochell’s gaze met Claudie’s. “My grandma’s name was Beulah.”
“My father’s name was Smith,” Claudie said softly.
On the way to the airport Matt had handed her a computer printout with a name and a bunch of dates on it. “I know this isn’t any of my business,” he’d said apologetically. “But it’s what I do.”
Claudie smiled picturing that paper. Her father’s name was John Lowell Smith. Knowing that meant more to her than she ever could have imagined. Sadly, the one person who would most appreciate the significance of it wasn’t speaking to her.
A car horn sounded in the driveway. Everyone scattered to collect last minute items to take to the feast. Claudie hurried, too, but she’d have been more thankful if Bo would have called that morning.
Maybe he’ll call Sara’s, she thought trying to smile. Maybe.
THE SMELL OF roasted turkey warred with the antiseptic smell of the hospital room. Matt had dutifully carted three plates loaded with all the traditional Thanksgiving fixings to the hospital to share with Bo and his mother. Bo’s father was on a restricted diet and showed no real interest in food. In truth, Robert showed no interest in life, and Bo found his meager supply of compassion sliding beneath an overwhelming sense of frustration.
“Your mother is the best cook in the world,” Ruth told Matt, wiping the corner of her mouth with a floral napkin. “I love her yams.”
Matt smiled. “That’s what Ashley said when she found out she wasn’t having dinner at my mom’s.”
Bo thought Matt looked inordinately pleased by that. “Is she at Sonya’s parents’ today?”
Matt shook his head. “Alan’s mother’s place in Connecticut. I just talked to her on the phone. She said there are a million little kids around but nobody her age, so she’s bored out of her mind.”
Bo eyed him thoughtfully. “Tough break. Guess she’ll look forward to next year with you, right?”
Gnawing on a drumstick, Matt nodded grinning.
Bo’s low chuckle was interrupted by a sharp, unintelligible outburst from his father. The first time Robert had tried to make himself understood, only meaningless sounds had burst forth—guttural and strange. Irene explained that this was common for a man whose brain had suffered such an extreme trauma, but the knowledge made it no less unnerving.
Bo rose from the corner table where they were eating and walked to the bed. “Awake? Good. I think they have pureed turkey for you today. I’ll call the nurse.” Bo realized his formal tone probably sounded phony, but he didn’t have the first clue how to talk to this man—a stranger in his father’s body.
He started to turn away, but his father suddenly grabbed Bo’s hand in a grip far stronger than Bo would have imagined. “Whoa, somebody’s been pressing iron when our backs were turned.” He leaned toward his father. “What can I get you, Dad?”
“Scotch.”
The clarity, as much as the word itself, took him aback. “Mother, did you hear that?”
Ruth and Matt joined him. Bo felt his father’s grip lessen. “He answered my question. He wants a drink.”
Ruth frowned. “That’s not possible, dear. You’re on a lot of medication.”
Robert’s eyes closed. His fingers went slack.
“I don’t think he was serious, Mom,” Bo said. “But he sure got our attention.”
She pressed a kiss to her husband’s slack lips then said, “I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow we start looking into rehab centers.”
Bo was shocked. They’d discussed the timing of this decision at great length but not in front of his father. “Matthew, you may start moving into Robert’s loft tonight, if you wish.”
“Are you sure Uncle Robert’s going to be okay with that?” Matt asked, eyeing Bo’s father nerv
ously.
Ruth patted her husband’s shoulder and smiled. “It’s for the best. We’re both too old for any more nonsense, and the location will be perfect for your new office.”
Bo agreed wholeheartedly. “It’ll be great, Matt,” Bo said. The disposition of his father’s apartment had been bothering him until his mother suggested renting it to Matt. There was still the matter of boxing up his father’s personal items, but at least this relieved Bo of having to find a renter.
They returned to the table and sat down to finish their meal.
“I don’t have to move in right away,” Matt said, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. “I could wait until after the first of the year.”
“The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned,” Ruth said. “Once we get Robert settled, Bo will be free to return to California. And Claudie.”
Bo rubbed his thumb across the bump in his pants pocket. Her locket. The one tangible reminder of their night together. The longer they were apart, the less real their time together seemed.
Matt pushed his plate away and crumpled his paper napkin on top of it. “I guess you’re right. I’ll go home and start packing.” He rose. “If you’re not too tired, Cuz, stop by and give me a hand. Or are you going out to my mom’s, too?”
It had been decided that Ruth would spend the night with her sister-in-law. Bo planned to stay until his father was asleep for the night then go back to the apartment. “Mom? Is it too late to change my mind and go with you?” he teased.
Matt gave him a light poke on the shoulder. “Don’t come empty-handed. Bring boxes.”
Once he left, Bo and his mother ate in silence until she said, “How’s Claudie?”
A bite of stuffing lodged in his windpipe. “Umm…I haven’t actually talked to her.”
Ruth’s brow rose. “And why is that? It’s been three days.”
Bo let out a raspy sigh. “I…don’t know what to say.”
She snorted. “I doubt that very much. You’re the product of two people who never shut up. Robert once said the thing that kept us married so long was our ongoing dialogue—and the fact neither of us listened to a word the other one said.”
Bo chuckled, but his smile faded when she gave him a stern look. “Call her. Now. Wish her a Happy Thanksgiving and tell her you miss her.” She stood up. “Enough nagging. You’ll pick me up at Irene’s in the morning, right? The first rehab place I want to visit is on Long Island.”
Bo was dreading that almost as much as calling Claudie. What could he say? I’m sorry? For what? For having a father like his? That went without saying.
After his mother left, Bo rose and stretched, stiff from so much inactivity. He glanced at his watch and subtracted three hours. “So, whatcha doin’, Claudie girl?” he said aloud, drawing her image into his mind. “Just sitting down to eat?”
A moment later a voice said gruffly, “Crazy. Talk. Self.”
Bo spun to face the bed. “God!”
His father shook his head. “Dad.”
Bo laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The shock of hearing his father speak rivaled the realization he’d just laughed out loud at something his father said—a miracle that hadn’t taken place in twenty years.
Bo stepped closer. “Must have been that turkey juice they gave you. You look better.”
Robert closed his eyes and breathed in. On the exhale he said, “Still want drink.”
Chuckling, Bo walked to the moveable bed stand and poured some ice water into a plastic cup. “Here you go. Whisky and water. Light on the whiskey.”
Feeling awkward, he put one hand behind his father’s bony neck and helped guide him to the glass. A trickle made it past Robert’s flaccid lips. Excess drops fled down his cheek, getting caught in the bristly white stubble. When Robert closed his lips to indicate he was finished, Bo gently placed his father’s head back on the pillow and used a towel to wipe up the spills.
“Not bad,” Robert said.
Bo placed the cup on the tray and moved back, resting his hip on the bed near his father’s thigh. “Mom and I are going to look at a couple of extended-care facilities tomorrow,” Bo said, feeling a need to say something.
Robert’s eyes flew open, a look of panic visible in his gray green irises.
“It’s temporary, Dad. Just until you can walk and talk again. One of the places has a hydro pool and offers Swedish massage. I’ll ask to meet the massage therapists. I know you prefer tall, buxom and blond.” Bo tried to keep his tone light, but even to his ears it sounded snide.
As his father’s breathing evened off, Bo picked up his coat and left. He planned to call a cab from the lobby, but once he picked up the receiver he made the impulsive decision to call Claudie. His mother was right. He was making a bad problem worse. He knew she made it home safely because she’d called his mother’s and left a message on the machine. He’d played it a dozen times, alternating it with the recording he’d saved from his office.
“Twisted,” Matt had said, catching him in the act. “Severely twisted. Maybe that old lady you told me about on the plane was right. Maybe you are a stalker.”
“Shut up.”
“You know, you deserve it if Claudie never talks to you again. Notice she called your mother, not your cell phone.”
“You have my cell phone,” Bo pointed out.
“She hasn’t called it.”
“I only have your word on that. Aren’t you supposed to be picking up your daughter from her riding practice?” he’d snarled, hating the way Matt could provoke him. Matt was even more annoying than Ren.
Matt had left, but the disquiet his observations raised lingered.
Bo punched in his memorized calling card code, then Ren and Sara’s number. He knew from Ren’s call that Claudie and the girls from One Wish House were spending the day with the Bishops.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” a deep masculine voice answered.
“Yeah, whatever,” Bo returned.
“Hey, Bo, what’s happening?”
“Not much. Is Claudie around?”
His attempt to sound casual came off as cool as a teen asking for his first date.
“Nope. She’s not here. After we finished eating, Claudie and the others offered to take Brady to rent a movie.”
“Damn.”
“Can I have her call you back?”
Bo sighed. “I’m helping Matt move into my dad’s loft tonight. We’ll be in and out. And my mom took my cell phone in case the hospital calls.”
Ren was silent a minute then said, “You know, Bo, this is none of my business, but Claudie was trying to do the right thing by giving you time alone with your dad. How’s he doing, by the way?”
Bo briefed his friend on his father’s progress, ending with, “He seemed more like his old self tonight.” Then trying for levity, added, “I guess that personality transplant thing is still in the experimental stages.”
Ren’s laugh sounded good, but it made Bo homesick. He missed his friends. He missed Brady. He missed Claudie.
Bo’s gut churned. “Do you know where she’ll be tomorrow?”
“She and Sara are going to be at the bookstore all day because Daniel’s skiing in Utah. You know how busy the day after Thanksgiving is for retailers. It’s the start of the Christmas rush.”
Damn! Just what I need—another lousy holiday to add to the equation.
“Just tell her I called. Monday I’m getting a second cell phone for Matt, so she can call my number if she wants to get hold of me.”
Bo hung up feeling more conflicted than ever. His mother needed him, and for the first time in Bo’s life his father needed him; but he needed Claudie—who was back where she belonged.
STILL A BLOCK from the video store, Claudie squeezed the little hand she held, smiling down at the curly crown of the child walking beside her. She’d missed Brady so much when she was gone, but it hardly compared to what she was feeling at this moment for Bo. His presence had been glaringly absent from the long, festive dinner t
able in Sara and Ren’s recently remodeled dining room.
Claudie thought she was doing a good job hiding her true feelings until Sara cornered her in the kitchen. “We miss him, too, Claudie. But Ren says Bo’s father’s prognosis is good. Bo will be home in no time,” she’d whispered. Nearby, Maya and Sally Rae were mashing potatoes—a joint effort since neither seemed too familiar with the process.
“I know,” Claudie had tried assuring her. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, right. Me, too. Except I’m pregnant and you’re miserable.”
Claudie had patted her friend’s rounded tummy. “How are my godchildren?”
“Bo’s kid is great. Yours is only so-so.”
Claudie knew Sara was joking, but she blanched at the thought that something was wrong with one of the twins—babies she and Bo felt they’d had a hand in conceiving. After all, Ren never would have met Sara without Bo’s investigative skills, and Sara wouldn’t have moved in with Ren without Claudie as a chaperon. Close to tears, Claudie had grabbed a napkin just before Sara scooted her out the patio door.
Claudie refocused on the present when Rochell ushered them into the brightly lit video store. She absently picked up a video.
“Claudie?” Brady asked, tugging on the leg of her khaki slacks to get her attention. “For me?”
She glanced at the four other women who were looking at her expectantly. Claudie looked down and saw she was holding a movie. She hadn’t even realized she’d picked one out. When she read the title, she laughed. “I guess this will do. What do you think, ladies?”
She held up the box with its highly recognizable title.
Maya gave an inscrutable shrug.
Sally Rae sighed wistfully and said, “I used to watch that with my big brother. He always reminded me of the cowardly lion.” She frowned. “He got hit by a car and died when I was fourteen.”
“Let’s get it,” Davina said with enthusiasm. “I never got to watch the whole thing. Ever.”
Only Rochell gave it a thumbs-down. “Those flying monkeys give me the creeps,” she muttered.
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