The Marine (Semper Fi; Marine)

by Cheryl Reavis

  “Just what?”

  “Nothing.” He looked at her, then frowned. “You look more like your picture than I thought at first.”

  “What picture?”

  He drew a quiet breath instead of answering. Clearly, she was continuing to say the wrong thing.

  “I’ve got your picture,” he said. “It was in the file at Social Services.”

  “You couldn’t possibly have a picture of me.”

  He leaned forward and took his billfold out of his back pocket. After a moment he located the photograph and handed it to her.

  She took the photo and looked at it. She could feel the sudden rush of blood to her face, feel her heart pounding.

  “It’s not me,” she said, abruptly handing him the picture and the baby. She stood, knowing that Kinlaw was watching, but she didn’t look in his direction. Her entire focus was on getting away from a situation she didn’t begin to understand.

  She didn’t stop until she’d reached the car, then she got in and drove, mindlessly, trying to make some sense of what had just happened.

  Sandra Kay.

  The photograph was of Sandra Kay. Grace had no difficulty recognizing it. When she was sixteen, she had found that very same picture tossed in the kitchen garbage can. She had rescued it, thinking to put it and a photo of herself into a locket for Aunt Barbara for Mother’s Day, a way to carry “her girls” around with her.

  Goody-Two Shoes and The Grifter.

  Grace had stuck the photograph in her red wallet, the one that had been lost a few days later.

  Lost.

  Or stolen.

  He couldn’t be Sandra Kay’s son.

  Someone could have found the wallet and used the driver’s license for identification. Except that it was so like something Sandra Kay would do—stick it to Goody Two Shoes one more time. They had never gotten along. What Sandra Kay had interpreted as Grace’s penchant for brownie points had been, in actuality, rampant worry. Grace had never gotten past the fear that she might lose what little family she still had. It was a fear that had clearly been lost on Sandra Kay.

  Grace kept driving, stopping at stoplights, making turns without conscious choice, until she found herself at the beach house.

  This is crazy, she thought, staring at the house. All this time, she’d thought that the cottage was the only tangible remnant she had left of her family. Now she might have Sandra Kay’s child and grandchild, as well.

  No. She was jumping to conclusions here. Sandra Kay was reckless and uncontainable, but this was much worse than conning a bunch of fisherman out of their pocket money. This was full of repercussions for everyone involved. Getting at the truth was going to involve DNA tests, lawyers, money.

  And then what? What if Sandra Kay really was his mother? Grace had Allison and Lisa to think of and her response would have to be limited, even though she believed in the concept of “family” with all her heart. Where would she have been as a child if her Aunt Barbara hadn’t taken her family obligations seriously?

  Grace gave a quiet sigh. Unfortunately, jumping to a conclusion didn’t necessarily mean that it was wrong. Sandra Kay must have taken the wallet. She must have used Grace’s name.

  Grace kept trying to remember what Sandra Kay had been like around the time she ran away from home. She couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary—no morning sickness or unexpected moodiness. If Sandra Kay had been pregnant, why hadn’t she told anyone? Aunt Barbara and Grace would have helped her and this lost-looking young man might have had a much different life.

  No. She was making assumptions again. She had no idea what kind of life Josh Caven had had. The question was what to do now. Joshua Caven deserved to know what could very well be the truth of his situation. And Sandra Kay deserved . . . a good poke with a very sharp stick.

  It was unbelievable how easy it was to resurrect all the stressful emotions her wayward cousin brought out in her. Grace did not want to have to worry about Sandra Kay. She’d done enough of that in her life. There was more to unraveling this mystery than simply identifying Josh’s real mother, and Grace needed to go home and make some decisions, before things got any more out of hand.

  Allison was waiting on the porch when Grace pulled into the driveway. “Mom,” she said with obvious relief as Grace got out of the car. “You were gone a long time.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, Mom, you were. Can I carry something?”

  Grace looked at her blankly.

  “Uh, the groceries, Mom? You went grocery shopping?”

  “No. Actually, I didn’t,” Grace said, heading for the house.

  “But we’re out of stuff,” Allison said. “Peanut butter and . . .”

  “We’ll survive. Where’s Lisa?”

  “She’s awake, so she must be on the phone.”

  Grace walked immediately to the kitchen table and began looking through the stack of letters and papers she hadn’t gotten around to sorting and throwing away. “Where is it?” she said under her breath, going through the stack again.

  “Where is what?”

  “Nothing,” Grace said, still moving things around.

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  “Lisa is right. You do act weird.”

  Chapter Five

  “YOU WANT TO TELL me what happened?” Kinlaw asked.

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Right. One minute she’s holding Spike and chatting away and the next minute she’s all but running down the pier.”

  “Okay, I scared her off—with a picture.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of her.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Nothing—laughing.”

  “Well, what did she say?”

  “Nothing. She just handed Spike over and took off.”

  “So what’s the contingency plan?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Then I suggest you get one.”

  Kinlaw’s cell phone rang. Josh looked toward the horizon where there was absolutely nothing to see, shifting his sleeping daughter to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. Kinlaw was right. He did need a plan. Badly.

  He thought Grace James had to be the best damn liar on the planet—except that Angie had a lock on that. He wondered if all females were born liars. He hoped not. He hoped Spike—Elizabeth—would be able to tell the truth, especially to the men who belonged to her.

  “Got a message for you,” Kinlaw said, putting his cell phone back into his shirt pocket. “You and Spike are invited to dinner. The James’ residence. Seven o’clock.

  “MOTHER, YOU HAVE got to be kidding!” Lisa said. Again.

  “No,” Grace said, handing Lisa the napkins. “I’m not.”

  “But why?”

  “I told you. We need to have a family meeting and he needs to be in on it.”

  “I don’t understand. If he’s not our brother, then what for!”

  “To get this mistaken adoption thing settled once and for all. We’re going to eat, and then we’re going to talk.”

  “This is so crazy.”

  “Yes, it is,” Grace agreed. “And I’m trying to fix that.”

  “You’re using the best china?” Lisa said incredulously, as if doing so would somehow ruin her life.

  “Second best. And real starched and ironed linen napkins if you ever finish setting the table.”

  “Mother, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

  “I’m weird. Remember?”

  Grace left Lisa and the napkins to check on the dinner she had cooking. Nothing fancy. Basic comfort food—with an eye toward the somewhat toothless state of one of the guests. Mashed potatoes. Peas. Meat loaf and gravy. Biscuits. She w
asn’t all that certain Josh Caven and his baby daughter would actually come, given the situation and the very short notice, even though Kinlaw had assured her that he would call her back if her invitation was refused. So far there had been no calls.

  Grace looked up because Lisa was standing in the doorway, the napkins still in her hand.

  “I hope he doesn’t come,” she said.

  “I hope he does,” Allison called from the window where she’d been keeping watch for the last fifteen minutes.

  “The last thing I need is a faux-brother,” Lisa said.

  “Lisa, he’s not your brother, faux or otherwise, and that’s enough,” Grace said. “Joshua Caven—if he comes—will be a guest in our home. I hope you won’t forget that.”

  “There he is!” Allison said, jumping up suddenly from the window. “I’m going to go get Lizzie!”

  “Lizzie?” Lisa said, throwing up her hands in profound exasperation.

  But Allison had no time for her sister’s dramatics. She pushed past her and ran out the door, leaving it wide open. In a moment, Grace heard her coming back again—carrying the baby as if she were an old hand at it, Josh Caven following in her wake.

  “Come in,” Grace said to him. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  He was wearing civilian clothes, but he had on his sergeant’s face. It wasn’t quite the same one she’d seen earlier on the pier when he was dealing with one of his “guys,” but still one that meant business. He was wary about coming here, she thought—as he should be.

  “This is Allison,” Grace said, “in case she hasn’t told you.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “My other daughter is Lisa—I’m not sure where she got to.”

  “Look at her little dress, Mom,” Allison was saying. “It’s so cute. She is so Baby Gap.”

  Something about the way Allison said it elicited an unmistakable baby giggle and Grace couldn’t help but smile.

  Allison led the way into the den, though Lisa still hadn’t put in an appearance. Lisa was upset enough to boycott the dinner and the family meeting, but Grace had no intention of letting her.

  Allison directed Josh to Trent’s comfortable easy chair and sat down with the baby on the floor. Elizabeth promptly pulled up at her father’s knees and sidestepped from there back to Allison and then to the nearest piece of furniture.

  “She’s going to be walking soon,” Grace said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Look, I don’t—”

  “First we eat,” Grace interrupted. “Okay?”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Okay. This is your operation.”

  “My daughter, Lisa,” Grace said, catching sight of her in the dining room. Lisa actually stopped placing napkins long enough to acknowledge the introduction with a small, uncommitted wave. She was hardly bursting with enthusiasm, but at least she wasn’t overtly surly. She even came to stand in the doorway after she’d finished setting the table, watching as Allison played with the baby on the floor.

  The arrival of a new person was of immediate interest to little Elizabeth, and she stepped along holding on to Allison’s fingers until she could reach Lisa’s legs. Clutching at the denim ruffle on the hem of Lisa’s skirt, she smiled up at her. Surprised and clearly pleased, Lisa held out her hands, and Elizabeth immediately responded to the offer, bouncing and grinning broadly as Lisa bent to lift her off the floor.

  “Hey, Lizzie,” Lisa said. “Love your dress. It is you.”

  Elizabeth grinned as if she agreed completely, and it was obvious to Grace that, as hard as Lisa might try to hold on to her earlier bad mood, it was rapidly dissipating in the warmth of Elizabeth’s unabashed delight. Clearly she liked everything about Lisa, particularly her necklace of shiny marcasite-studded moons and stars. Elizabeth studied it closely, touching a star with a chubby finger, then working out the logistics of how to get it into her mouth. Lisa immediately distracted her with a different array of baubles, the colorful plastic bangle bracelets she wore on one wrist.

  And all the while, Joshua Caven watched, his face full of emotion—until he realized that he had Grace’s attention.

  “I need to check on dinner,” Grace said, withdrawing to the kitchen. She stood for a moment in front of the stove and took a deep breath before she began lifting pot lids and turning off burners. Every now and then, she heard Lisa laugh and Josh say something in response to one of Allison’s deluge of questions.

  So far, so good, Grace thought. She began to fill the serving bowls, and when she looked up, Josh was standing in the doorway.

  “Can I carry something?” he asked.

  “Um . . . yes. The meat loaf platter and the mashed potatoes.”

  He picked them up and took them into the dining room.

  “Anywhere in particular?” he asked as she followed with more bowls.

  “Wherever it will fit,” she said.

  “Looks good. It’s been a long time since I had a meal like this. I always liked . . .”

  He didn’t continue and Grace didn’t press him. She brought in the biscuits and the pitcher of iced tea, calling the girls who were already in a discussion as to who would get to hold Elizabeth at the table. The baby settled the argument herself, reaching for her father as soon as she saw him.

  Josh took her and waited for his seat assignment, clearly avoiding the head of the table.

  “Sit here, Josh,” Allison said, pulling out the chair next to her, across the table from where Lisa always sat. “Can I help Elizabeth eat?”

  “Yeah—she does a pretty good job of feeding herself. Unless you want her to use a spoon.”

  “Fingers are good,” Allison said.

  “I forgot to put out the little bowls for her,” Lisa said, hurrying into the kitchen to get them.

  Grace made one last check to make sure everything was on the table before she sat down, realizing as she did so that this was the first time she and the girls had eaten in the dining room since Trent had died. For a moment, she had to work to push a pang of regret and sadness aside.

  “Whose turn is it to say the blessing?” Grace asked as Lisa set the small bowls she and Allison had once used next to Josh’s plate and took her seat.

  “Mine,” Allison said. “Unless Josh wants to.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said.

  The prayer was simple, to the point, and sincere, Grace thought. He looked at her when it was over and she realized suddenly that he was just as determined to get through whatever this gathering was about as she was. But, as the meal progressed, she actually thought he might be enjoying himself. He was definitely enjoying the food. It was readily apparent that both he and his daughter loved mashed potatoes.

  Grace had made baby-friendly banana pudding for dessert—the complicated kind with cooked instead of instant vanilla pudding and a meringue topping baked in the oven. Elizabeth managed to get a blob of it in her hair almost immediately, as well as in Allison’s.

  Allison didn’t mind in the least. “We don’t care, do we?” she said to the baby. “We still look good.”

  Elizabeth gave a squeal of agreement and they all laughed. It was a good moment, as if they’d always been together this way.

  Like a family.

  “So where’s your husband?” Josh asked when Grace was about to offer him the mashed potatoes again. Immediately, the laughter around the table died.

  “I . . . he was killed,” Grace said quietly. “In a car accident on Highway 17. Over a year ago.”

  A year, nine months and ten days.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t see it in the paper. I must have been gone then.”

  He glanced at Lisa and Allison. “I know it’s hard for all of you. I worry about that—with Elizabeth. If anything happens—” He br
oke off again and looked away. Elizabeth strained to reach his fork, and he moved it to the other side of his plate.

  “Everybody get enough to eat?” Grace said to cover the gap in conversation. “Josh, there’s a bathroom through there if you want to wash the pudding off Elizabeth.”

  “Yeah,” he said, getting up. “I need to get it done while I can still recognize her.”

  He carried the baby out, and both girls began to clear the table—without squabbling for a change. It was clear that neither of them felt like talking. For a while, they had forgotten the reason for this gathering. For a few hours, they had forgotten their father was gone.

  By the time Joshua returned, the table had been cleared and Grace was putting lids on containers of assorted leftovers in the kitchen.

  “I want you to take these with you when you go,” she said.

  “Now, you mean,” he said.

  She looked at him. “No, not now. Now we’re going to have a family meeting.” She put the containers into a paper bag and set it in the refrigerator.

  “I’m not family,” he said.

  Grace ignored the remark. “We always have our meetings in the dining room.”

  He seemed about to say something more, but he didn’t. The girls were already seated at the table and waiting. Neither of them looked in Grace’s direction as she and Josh sat down.

  “Look,” Josh said. “I’m willing to have some kind of test—DNA—whatever you need.”

  “Mom . . .” Lisa protested, but Grace held up her hand.

  “I wanted this meeting so we could try to figure some things out—and so Allison and Lisa would know what’s happening and won’t need to go off on their own looking for answers.”

  “And?” Josh said when she didn’t go on.

  “And, the bottom line is this. I’m not your mother,” she said. “But I . . . could be a relative.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked ahead of Allison, who, Grace thought, was more than ready to jump into the discussion.