A Father for Danny

by Janice Carter

  Her brisk march along the carpeted hall to the main door was met by raised eyebrows from Mrs. MacDonald, sitting behind the reception desk. Sam passed her with scarcely a glance and exited onto the front steps, where she stopped to catch her breath.

  He was right, of course. That was what bothered her so much. She’d completed the task she’d been asked to do and had no further reason to stick around. It was his peremptory dismissal of her that rankled. As if she were a delinquent student and he the school principal. She felt embarrassed at how passively she’d left, without a single word of reproach. But then, she’d never been good at the smart comeback. That was Skye’s forte.

  She continued on to her car, wondering exactly what she’d tell Emily and, especially, Danny, about Chase Daniel Sullivan. She wished she’d pinned the man down, made him say exactly when and where he’d meet Danny. Then she pictured that meeting. A cool, perhaps reluctant father and his desperate, vulnerable son. Someone a lot stronger than Emily Benson needs to be on the scene, too.

  By the time Sam reached her car, she’d decided to be that person, and even the sight of a parking tag fluttering beneath her windshield wiper failed to dampen her resolve. Then she realized that she had no idea where Sullivan lived or, worse, if he would actually follow through and meet with Emily and Danny. She snatched the parking tag off the window and got into the car.

  Her options were to go back and demand some kind of commitment from the man or drive on meekly home. Not much of a choice. A third option occurred to her. She quickly started up the engine, backed out and drove to the street, where she parked about fifty feet from the Harbor House driveway. When he left, she’d see him and follow.

  She saw the front door of the nursing home open. A tall figure stood in the doorway, his back to the street. It was him. Sam slouched down in the seat as Chase headed for the sidewalk. She raised her head enough to watch him through her side mirror. He stopped for a second at the foot of the circular driveway, and Sam stiffened when she saw him look at the space where she’d originally parked. There was no way he knew what her car looked like because she’d arrived at the home ahead of him.

  After a few seconds, he strode up the street away from her. Sam sat up and watched him. He seemed to be examining all the vehicles parked on both sides of the street. Looking for her? she wondered. Would he turn around and come back her way? Her heart thumped a bit more vigorously. But he stopped beside a pickup truck, his hand on the door. Suddenly he spun around and headed her way again.

  Sam ducked her head enough to watch him walk back up the circular driveway and into Harbor House. She considered her next move. Assuming the truck was his, at least she could get the license-plate number for Skye to check out. She turned over the Acura engine and, with one last glance at the nursing-home front door, drove toward the pickup.

  She stopped just short of it, jotting down the plate number on the back of her parking tag before driving off. She had no doubt at all that she’d be meeting up again with Chase Sullivan. No way was he going to have the last word. Metaphorically, anyway, she thought, recalling her last words to him. Something about wealthy blue bloods. Judging by the sad shape of that pickup truck, the “wealthy” bit wasn’t apt.

  “DID YOU FIND what you were looking for?” Mrs. MacDonald asked pleasantly as Chase entered the front door.

  “Hmm?” he asked, preoccupied with how Samantha Sorrenti had vanished so quickly. He still had no idea why he’d run after her. Just that the instant she’d walked out the door he’d realized he really knew nothing about her. He hated the feeling of someone having information about him while he was left in the dark. Suppose he wanted to get in touch with her—God forbid!—or at least needed to contact her?

  “Whatever you left in the truck?” Mrs. MacDonald prompted.

  “Oh.” He’d already forgotten the excuse he’d given her for his sudden rush out the door. “I was afraid I’d left the keys in the truck, but I hadn’t. A bit forgetful today,” he explained, and started down the hall to the conservatory.

  “Mr. Sullivan?”

  He turned around. The receptionist was standing up and grinning. In her right hand was the box of patties. Chase hoped he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt.

  “Thanks,” he said, striding back to the desk to collect the chocolates.

  “She’ll be expecting them,” she said with a soft smile.

  “For sure. Thanks again.” He was grateful for the long, winding hallway to the conservatory, as it gave him time to compose himself. His mother was keenly sensitive to the moods of others and would mentally shut down if she detected a whiff of stress.

  He stood at the entrance to the room whose decor mimicked a small concert area, with a highly polished piano in one corner and a musical stand beside it. Several folding chairs were stacked along one wall to accommodate patients and their guests when musical events were held. But now the area was scattered with wheelchairs, their occupants staring passively out the floor-to-ceiling bank of windows that looked out on the grounds behind the home.

  Spotting his mother, whose chair was angled inward, Chase headed her way. Although he waved his fingers as he approached her wheelchair, she didn’t focus on him until he was standing directly in front of her.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  She didn’t respond to the kiss, but at least she didn’t flinch, as she did occasionally. “For me?” she asked as she noticed the box of patties in his hand.

  Chase smiled. The weekly routine had begun. “For you,” he said, handing the box to her. He unfolded one of the chairs and set it beside her wheelchair. Then he reached over to help her take the plastic wrap off the box. After he opened it and she held a patty in one trembling hand, her watery blue eyes met his and she asked, “Who are you again?”

  He stroked the back of her other hand, resting on her lap. “I’m Chase, Mom.”

  She frowned. The name obviously triggered some faint memory, but not one she could connect to the man sitting next to her.

  “The peppermint patty man,” he clarified.

  She smiled sweetly. “I love peppermint patties,” she said, and nibbled delicately on the one she was holding.

  Chase watched her savor the chocolate. He still remembered the first time he’d brought her a box and the gleam of delight in her eyes. The confection was the only bond between them. That fact had saddened him in the beginning, but now he accepted it and was content to simply watch her enjoy herself. He knew the nursing staff, for nutritional and health purposes, managed to spirit away the leftovers every week. His mother likely forgot about them, anyway, the instant they were out of sight. But he clung to the ritual, afraid of losing even that link with her.

  When she finished eating a couple, he dabbed her lips with a tissue from one of the ubiquitous boxes in every room and made an attempt at conversation. But as always, her attention drifted. After a few minutes, he bent over to kiss her goodbye. “See you next week, Mom,” he whispered. He set the box with the remaining patties on a table and headed out the door. He never looked back to see if she noticed he was leaving.

  By the time he got to the truck, he’d decided to forgo his weekly latte fix. He needed some quiet time away from people to think about what had happened that afternoon. Driving away, he impulsively made a right at the first intersection.

  The tree-lined street wound up the hillside above Harbor House and Magnolia Boulevard. He hadn’t been along this route for years, but little had changed. Some of the larger homes had been subdivided into apartment units, but the cul-de-sac he turned onto hadn’t changed at all. Especially the house at the very end. Chase pulled over and switched off the engine.

  Funny that he could view the vine-covered stone exterior and the wrought iron gate with so little emotion. Even now most of the memories of the place were unhappy ones. He wondered who lived there now. Not that it mattered. When he’d been away all those years after his father’s death, sleeping in grungy boardingho
uses or sometimes in the rough, he’d often imagined the dark, wood-paneled interior and polished hallways. The quiet, too.

  As a child he’d seldom had friends visit. His mother had suffered from migraines and couldn’t bear the noise and exuberance of children. When he was a teenager, he began to spend more and more time away until he’d eventually disappointed everyone—or perhaps no one—by moving out altogether. Then he couldn’t get enough noise and bright lights and loud, raucous people.

  Chase wiped a hand over his face. He’d awakened that morning anticipating the customary routine of his weekly visit. Mother first, then a stop at the nearest Starbucks for his latte. On to his favorite hardware store to browse or perhaps pick up an order. If he had time, he’d stop at the market and buy croissants at the bakery he loved best.

  Over the past few years impulse and spontaneity had given way to order and routine. He’d made a new life for himself. Not the one he’d expected to have as a teenager, but still…a life he could handle. Now it was going to be blown apart, shattered and reformed into something he had no vision of, much less feeling for.

  He’d given up on the notion of a family for himself years ago. That acceptance had led to a couple of broken relationships, which he’d regretted at the time. It was ironic that the one-night fling he’d had with Emily Benson had produced exactly what he’d sworn never to have. A child. Chase lowered his forehead onto his hands, clutching the steering wheel. Omigod. A twelve-year-old son.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SAMANTHA WAS DUE at her mother’s for dinner by six, so, figuring that would give her enough time for a visit with Emily Benson, decided to drop by the hospital on her way. As she rode up to the palliative-care ward, she hoped that Danny would not be there. She thought he might have a lot more questions than his mother and she wanted to avoid having to answer one in particular. Why didn’t you get Chase Sullivan’s address and phone number?

  Of course, she could explain that she’d immediately called her FBI sister and left a message asking her to get an address from the license plate. But she had a feeling Danny would consider the excuse lame. And it was.

  Sam was relieved to find Emily alone, sitting up in bed and leafing through a magazine. She looked a hundred percent better than she had the last time Sam had seen her.

  “Hi, Emily.”

  “Sam, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Emily murmured, a look of apprehension in her face.

  “Mind if I close the door?”

  “Leave it open a crack. The nurses like to be able to look in on me.”

  Sam did so. She ought to have thought of that. A patient in palliative care could have a crisis at any moment. When she sat down, Emily turned the magazine over on her lap and quietly asked, “Good news or bad?”

  Right to the point, Sam thought, just like her son. “I’ve found a man called Chase Daniel Sullivan whom I believe to be Danny’s father.”

  “Chase?”

  “Yes. His father was Winston Daniel Sullivan, but he died about thirteen years ago. He lived here in Seattle and was an owner of an import-export business.”

  “Uh-huh. And this man…Chase? Have you met him? What makes you think he’s Danny’s father?”

  “I have met him. Same eyes,” Sam said at once. “Hair color, too. Plus, he remembered you.”

  Emily looked away. Sam waited for her to digest this very significant piece of information. Finally Emily asked, “How did he look?”

  The question didn’t really surprise Sam. Most women would have wanted to know what an ex had said about them. Not Emily. She either didn’t care or knew it was irrelevant. Likely the latter, Sam thought.

  “Short hair. No sign of a pierced ear, but I can’t report on the tattoo because his arms were covered.”

  Emily smiled. “I remember that tattoo. Some kind of Tibetan prayer, I think. You’d have thought from his appearance, that it would be a snake or a big heart with MOM in the center.” She waited a moment. “So…uh…what did he say when you told him about Danny? Or did you?”

  “He was obviously shocked, but he didn’t deny the possibility of being Danny’s father.”

  “But what did he say?”

  Sam played back the scene mentally, but it came out as a swirl of emotion rather than facts. She recalled her frustration when he peremptorily dismissed her. “He was more concerned about you,” she said finally, telling herself that wasn’t really a lie so much as an assumption.

  Emily looked away toward the window again. “I’ve been thinking about all of this the last couple of days. Now I’m not so sure I want Danny to meet him.”

  Those quietly spoken words bounced around the room. “Why not?” was the only response Sam could manage, but she was thinking, a bit late for second thoughts now.

  Emily gazed out the window a few seconds longer, then returned her gaze to Sam. “I don’t know if you’ll understand.”

  “I can try.” Or I could scream, which wouldn’t do in a palliative-care ward.

  “As much as I hate the thought of Danny being in foster care, I’m scared about him being with a man who may be torn about having a son suddenly forced on him. I mean, unless Danny—Chase—has drastically changed, I know he’d do the right thing by my Danny.”

  Sam thought back to Chase’s end-of-conversation remark that Danny was his business now. Business. “I got that impression, too,” she understated.

  “So that’s not the issue. It’s more…what if he comes to resent Danny later? This is going to affect his whole life. And maybe he already has a family.”

  That hadn’t occurred to Sam, and not for the first time, she marveled at how she’d screwed up. When Danny had pressed her to look for his father, he’d certainly had far more faith in her investigative skills than she deserved. Plus, there was the other thing—the small matter of an old FBI inquiry into the family business. She really knew nothing about Chase Sullivan. Maybe Emily was right. On the other hand, there was Danny, clinging to his dream.

  “But isn’t this about Danny? He’s so determined to find his father and if Chase is his father, then he’ll do the right thing. He’ll adapt. Isn’t that enough?” Sam’s gut feeling was that Danny had to know.

  “Adapt. I think Danny deserves more than a father who just adapts. And he’s a tough kid, you know? I think he can adapt, too. There are a lot of great foster homes out there and hopefully I’ll have time to be involved in helping Children’s Services look for one.”

  “But it’s not the same, is it? As being with your own father?”

  Emily’s sigh indicated more fatigue than frustration. “No, it’s not the same. But it may not be worse if that father really doesn’t want you. And I don’t want Danny to have to deal with that. I won’t be here to help him.”

  Sam stared at the floor. She could say nothing about the undeniable truth of that last sentence, but she had to make one last pitch. “I just think Danny deserves to know. He’s old enough to handle the problems that will come with this change in his life.”

  Emily thought that over for a moment. Finally she said, “Yes, but he’s still learning how to handle losing one parent.” She stopped then and looked down. A huge tear landed on the magazine on her lap.

  Sam wanted to comfort her. But she also knew words would change nothing and, besides, she knew what Emily was saying. Losing his mother was going to be traumatic enough for Danny. Realizing the father he’d been looking for might be less than enthused about his newfound son would be devastating. Still…

  “Emily,” she said once she could trust herself to speak. “Give the idea some more thought.”

  Emily dabbed at her face with a tissue. “All right. I suppose I need time to absorb this, too. So let’s not tell Danny just yet.”

  “No. But soon we have to tell him something.”

  Emily nodded. “Soon.” She sank against her pillows.

  Sam got out of her chair. “I’ll come by in a couple of days, all right?”

  Another nod.


  Sam closed the door gently behind her. On the elevator ride down, she realized something that made her catch her breath. She’d have to find Chase Sullivan before he found Emily and Danny. And she doubted he’d be happy to see her again.

  SAM KNEW the question would come but still braced herself when it did.

  “So what’s the latest with that boy?” Her mother was pulling items from the refrigerator and missed the look on Sam’s face. “The one whose mother is dying. And how is she doing, by the way? How much more time does she have?”

  As usual, Nina was tossing out questions too quickly for Sam to answer any of them. “I don’t know, medically, anyway. I visited this afternoon. She looked better than the last time I saw her.” At least until I had my talk with her.

  Nina glanced up from salad preparation. “Does that mean you’ve decided to take on the case?”

  “Yes, Mom, it does. And I took your suggestion and called Skye. She gave me some information.”

  Nina appeared to mull that over. “Good for you. So what’s happening now?”

  “Well, thanks to Skye, I think I’ve found Danny’s father.”

  “Already?”

  “It wasn’t that hard.”

  “You said, ‘think.’”

  “There’s been no DNA test, but he looks a lot like Danny and he didn’t deny that he is the father.”

  “Still, it’s not an indisputable fact.”

  Sam chewed the inside of her cheek. “No, it’s not. Want me to set the table?”

  Nina raised an eyebrow. “I thought we’d eat right here, at the counter. If you don’t mind.”

  Sam shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  While she retrieved cutlery from the drawer beneath the work counter, Nina added, “So what now?”