The You I Never Knew

by Susan Wiggs

  “Do you think he wants something from you?”

  She thought about the way Sam had touched her, the way he’d said good night. A shiver passed over her. “Like… what?”

  “Like visitation rights or something.”

  A terrible chill touched the base of her neck. “I have no idea. It all came about so fast. He hasn’t asked for a thing.” Yet. But tonight she had seen the questions in his eyes.

  “Well, if he gets some idea that playing the dad is all fun and games, remind him of what college tuition costs these days.”

  “It’s not a matter of finance.”

  “Sweetheart, everything is a matter of finance.”

  “Not this. I’m going to let Cody get used to the idea and… see what happens. Oh, God, Brad, what if he wants to be with his father more than he wants to be with me?” She poured her fears into the receiver.

  “Why would he want that?” Brad sounded genuinely baffled. “Look, don’t worry. You’re good to Cody. He loves you. He’s just having a tough time right now, like any kid.” Brad changed the subject easily enough, and she let him, grateful for once to hear him ponder the merits of Kauai over Maui. After making the appropriate murmurs, she said good-bye and hung up.

  The conversation left her with a vague, ineffable sense of dissatisfaction. Why can’t Brad be as decisive about us as he is about vacation property? she wondered.

  Restless, she finished her tea and made a second cup, knowing the caffeine would keep her up, but she was past caring. For a long time, she gazed at the small framed picture of her mother, which she carried in her briefcase everywhere she went. Sharon Turner stood swathed in a Dior gown, her hair and makeup perfect as she blew a kiss to someone behind the camera. “Miss you, Mom,” Michelle whispered. “I sure as heck would like to hear your voice right now.” She drummed her hands on the phone. She knew who she was going to call. She knew she’d probably regret it, but she was going to do it anyway. She punched in the number and waited.

  On the third ring, a voice said, “Hello?”

  “Natalie, sorry to call so late. It’s me.”

  “Michelle!” she squealed in unfeigned delight.

  “Are you busy?” Michelle asked, though she knew that whatever Natalie was doing would come to a halt, because she was that sort of friend.

  “I’ve been practicing arpeggios on my cello. Very exciting. But I love house-sitting at your place. Awesome hot tub. Now you, sweetie! What’s happened? How’s it going?”

  Aside from Cody and Brad, Natalie was the only one Michelle had told about the transplant. It wasn’t the sort of thing to be discussed with casual work acquaintances. And with Gavin Slade for a father, Michelle had learned to keep quiet lest the media sense a story.

  “I’m all set to go into the hospital Saturday for one more procedure. If that checks out, we’ll get a thumbs-up for surgery on Monday.”

  “When’s Brad going over? Will he meet you at the hospital in Missoula?”

  Soft leather creaked as she shifted position on the sofa. “Brad and I had a long talk about this before I left. I can’t decide what I need from him. Maybe I don’t even need him to come at all.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You’re taking this I-can-cope-on-my-own crap too far. Of course he needs to come.”

  “If Brad’s around, I’ll worry about what he’s doing and thinking, pacing the halls of a hospital in a strange city. I’ll go nuts wondering if he and Cody are getting along. It might be better to let him stay in Seattle, keep him posted by phone. Anyway, he’s on standby. He promised that if I decide I want him with me, he’ll drop everything and come.”

  “Brad’s never dropped a thing in his life. Except maybe hints that I should take a hike.”

  There was a grain of truth in that. Brad and Natalie drove each other insane. “My dad and I are prepared. Everything will be fine.”

  “You’re going to save your father’s life. I’m getting a rush thinking about this.”

  “Don’t knock yourself out, Natalie. It’s just a surgical procedure.”

  “Just? Just? Not hardly, sweetie. I know you don’t believe in this stuff, Michelle, but it’s real. You’ve got to think about the spiritual aspect of it. You’re giving life to the father who gave you life.”

  “I’m giving a kidney to the father who gave me a monthly check.”

  “No, listen, you have to listen.” Michelle could picture Natalie sitting forward in that in-your-face way of hers. She wondered what color her friend’s hair was tonight. Natalie had discovered hair mascara and hadn’t been the same since. “There is a deeper meaning to this. It’s not just plumbing.”

  “Natalie, it is. And thank God that it is, because that means it can be done at all. If it required magic and miracles, we’d be in big trouble.”

  “Okay, at least think about this. Physiologically, it is just plumbing. But you have to stay open to the possibility that something more is going to happen to you. Something amazing. You’re going to connect with your father on a cellular level.”

  Michelle laughed, trying not to spray tea. “Yeah, Nat, that’s the part I’m really looking forward to.”

  “You wait and see. How are you and your dad getting along?”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but we’re like a couple of cordial strangers. He’s embarrassed and apologetic about the whole thing. Like he committed a faux pas by getting sick. And now that we’re together again, it’s…” She paused, feeling a sting of regret. “Let’s just say there’s been no cellular connection.”

  “There will be. I bet he went bananas over Cody.”

  This time she almost choked. “Natalie,” she gasped into the phone, “you’re killing me.”

  “What? Your dad’s never seen Cody. It must be wonderful, bringing them together.”

  “It’s like bringing together Johnny Depp and Charlton Heston. Cody’s being horrible, my dad doesn’t know what to make of him, and they’re both inches from exploding.”

  “Oh, Michelle. I’m sorry. Let me talk to the Cody-boy.” She had known him since the day he was born—literally. As Michelle’s birthing coach, Natalie was the one who, sobbing as hard as Michelle was, had cut the umbilical cord. She decided then and there that she loved him, and her love hadn’t wavered since.

  “He’s asleep. He had a little accident.”

  “Accident? You bitch, why didn’t you call me?”

  “It was minor. He cut his head.”

  “How?”

  “On… a horse’s hoof.”

  “Hold the goddamned phone, Michelle. You’re telling me he got kicked in the head by one of your father’s horses?”

  “Actually, he got kicked in the head by one of his father’s horses.”

  “Michelle!” She could picture Natalie now, totally agitated, pacing up and down in her designer living room, shrieking into the phone. “Do you mean to tell me the cowboy’s there?”

  She had never told her any more than she told Brad or Cody. “He lives in the area now.”

  “Get out. Did you know he was there?”

  “No, it was a complete surprise. He’s actually a physician now.”

  Silence. Complete and utter stunned silence. It was rare, a totally quiet Natalie, and Michelle grinned, enjoying the novelty of it.

  “Holy goddamned horseshit,” she said at last. “So let me get this straight. The no-account cowpoke who knocked you up came back to town and is now a respected citizen and doctor?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “And your dad never thought to tell you?”

  “We never spoke, Natalie.”

  “Okay, get to the good part. Is the cowboy doctor married?”

  “No.”

  “Involved?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If he was, you’d know. What did he and Cody say when you told them?”

  “It’s… complicated.”

  “Fine. I’m coming.”

  “What?”

  “Probably
take me a day and a half in the Volkswagen.”

  “Natalie, you can’t—”

  “I said, I’m coming.” She slammed down the phone.

  Though she knew it was fruitless, Michelle hit redial a couple of times, but she got the expected voice-mail pickup.

  “Nat, I’ve got enough going on without you showing up,” she said, knowing her friend was ignoring her as she flew around the town house, flinging mismatched, inappropriate clothes into a woven Costa Rican shoulder bag. “I think,” Michelle said, speaking to the tape, “there’s such a thing as being too good a friend.” She went on in this vein, trying to dissuade Natalie, but she knew it was useless.

  When she hung up the phone, she felt strange and sort of disoriented. She was happy Natalie was coming. She was dismayed that Natalie was coming. She couldn’t make up her mind how she felt. But one thing was certain. Natalie was the sort of person who got everything out in the open. And she knew Michelle better than anyone else in the universe.

  Natalie would take one look at Michelle when Sam was around, and she’d know. Natalie would know that Michelle couldn’t stop thinking about him, and that she had no idea what to do about him.

  Michelle kept reminding herself that she had a life. She had Cody and Brad and her career. That was what she needed to focus on. That, and getting through the surgery.

  She lay down on the sofa, shut her eyes, and suddenly the ideas started coming. There was a part of her, a wild, out-of-control part, that had some very explicit ideas of what to do about Sam McPhee, and if she knew what was good for her, she’d ignore them.

  Wednesday

  Chapter 21

  Cody was glad his mom didn’t demand some big explanation when he said he wanted to go to Sam’s in the morning. All he had to tell her was that his head felt fine, he’d wear a hat, and he wanted to see the foal he’d helped deliver.

  Her face took on that tight, nervous expression she got when she suspected he was up to something, but she drank her coffee in thoughtful silence. He wondered what she was thinking. Then he decided he didn’t really want to know.

  Cody waited, stiff and apprehensive, while she called Lonepine. But she didn’t talk to Sam. She talked to that Indian guy, Edward Bliss. Edward was okay, kind of goofy but not too bad. He said it was fine to come, so by nine o’clock Cody was jumping out of the Range Rover and heading for the barn. The dog—Sprout? No, Scout—came churning across the snow to accompany him.

  He heard his mom calling stuff after him—keep his hat on, call if he started to feel bad, all that crap—but he simply waved without turning. It was rude to blow her off, but if he didn’t walk away, she’d sit there for an hour telling him be careful of this, watch out for that, and he wasn’t up for maternal lectures this morning.

  “Hello,” he called as he stepped into the barn. Scout trotted around, sniffing loudly, acting important. The central breezeway was dim and a little warmer than outside thanks to some heat lamps hanging from the rafters.

  He poked his head into the cluttered office. “Anyone here?”

  No one in sight. He figured Sam was probably at work, and Edward was either out on the range somewhere or still in his cabin across the way. The Border collie found a heap of old blankets by the wood-burning stove and curled into a ball for a nap.

  “Excellent,” Cody said under his breath. It felt good to be alone, away from everybody. He didn’t like people hovering over him.

  Outside the office, he put on the boots he’d worn the other day. He picked up a set of tan coveralls and stepped into them. Stomping his feet to warm them, he was glad there wasn’t a mirror around, because he was sure he looked like a complete dork. As he pulled on a pair of gloves, he quit thinking about how he looked. He wanted to see the mare and her foal.

  The birthing stall had its own set of heat lamps in all four corners. The light from them fell at an angle over the mare and the baby, and for a second Cody gawked at them with a hitch in his throat. Sylvia stood calmly in the middle of the stall. She made a noise, like someone clearing her throat, when she spotted Cody. It was a friendly sound. At least, he was pretty sure it was friendly. Then she used her big muzzle to nudge at the foal, which was sleeping curled up like a kitten near her feet. The little one lifted its head, then staggered up, all wobbly. First it splayed out its front legs, then its hind legs, and after a minute it figured out how to get up on all fours. Cody was tempted to help, but Sam had said it was best to let the baby get up on its own.

  It lurched against its mother, lips nibbling comically at her belly. She nuzzled it some more, twisting back to guide it to her udder. After a while, the foal stuck its head in the right place. Cody had never expected the sound of nursing to be audible, but it was—sucking, swallowing, gurgling. He’d probably be embarrassed if anyone else was around, but he had the moment all to himself, so he leaned on the stall door and grinned.

  The soft morning light, the little drift of steam from the mare’s nostrils, the funny sucking sound made by the foal and the way its skinny legs splayed out. Aunt Natalie—she wasn’t his real aunt but his mom’s best friend—would get all gushy at this point. But hell, Natalie got gushy over Hallmark commercials on TV.

  When he’d talked to Claudia last night, he’d tried to describe what it was like seeing a foal being born, but she’d just said “Gross” and started nagging him about the pain pills. He sort of wanted to tell her about finding his father, but he couldn’t figure out a way to bring up the topic. Sometimes he wished Claudia was the kind of friend he could tell this stuff to, but the fact was, she never really seemed interested in heavy personal stuff. She was too into having a good time, and when Cody was with her, that’s what he wanted, too. But sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have someone he trusted, someone he could really talk to, because some days, like today, he had news burning a hole in him.

  Maybe he couldn’t unload about Sam, but he’d try to find a camera somewhere, take some pictures of the horses to show Claudia. The filly was so goddamned cute, how could anyone not want to see it?

  His mom used to draw awesome pictures of horses. He thought of the paintings stacked in the closet of her study at home. The large, flat folder was filled with old sketches and watercolor and acrylic studies. When he was little, he had asked her about them, paging reverently through the stack and regarding the horse drawings with astonished admiration. “What are these, Mom? Did you do these?”

  “Years ago, baby.” She always used to called him baby, sometimes even slipped and did so now. “I don’t have time for that kind of drawing anymore. I’m too busy drawing for work.”

  “I like these better than work.”

  She’d looked at him with big, sad eyes and tousled his hair. “So did I, baby. So did I.”

  She had never said much more about those pictures, but Cody used to look at them in secret sometimes. Now that he’d seen his grandfather’s ranch, he knew where those drawings came from. Horses and mountains and a rushing river. A tall fir tree next to a salt lick. A nest of loons in a marsh, the still water mirroring a snow-peaked mountain. They were all pictures made while she was at Blue Rock Ranch.

  Sam’s mare and foal would have fit right in with those pictures. His mom could have made a hell of a drawing of those two. But she had given up painting when he was a baby, and he had no memory of her doing anything but agency work. Still, she kept her old pictures.

  One Fourth of July when he was about ten, Cody had been awakened by the boom of fireworks over Elliott Bay. He’d gone looking for his mom, and he’d found her in her home office, the drawings spread out on the floor. She was drinking a glass of wine and silently crying. Disconcerted, Cody had crept back to his room.

  Now he knew the source of her memories and her sadness. When she had lived at Blue Rock Ranch all those years ago, she’d met Sam McPhee.

  His father. His goddamned father.

  Cody scowled the thought away. He actually did some work, cleaning the lines and pans of the wat
ering device. The contraption served all the stalls, filling with fresh water when one of the horses pressed its tongue against a bar in the center. He filled the wheelbarrow with manure from empty stalls and hauled it outside. He kept stopping to check on the mare and foal.

  After a while, the filly quit nursing. The mare started doing motherly things, like sniffing it all over, giving it a lick here and there. Cody wondered if he’d be welcome in the stall. The kick in the head had been an accident. A reflex. Even with his limited experience, he knew that.

  When he lifted the latch of the stall door, his hand trembled a little, surprising him. He didn’t think he’d be afraid. That was stupid. He made himself open the half door and step inside, boots sinking into the soft layer of straw. He made a smooching sound with his mouth, the way he’d heard Edward and Sam do.

  The filly shied, but the mare looked up, nodding her head in a funny way that made him smile. “Hey, Sylvia,” he said softly. “How you doing, girl?”

  She grunted, then stretched out her neck so her big soft muzzle nudged his shoulder. And Cody, the most self-conscious kid ever born, forgot to be self-conscious. He rubbed her nose, and her bristly chin, and her neck, murmuring soft nonsense. She sighed with contentment when he scratched her between the ears.

  The foal kept watching them, tail flicking, ears pricked forward. Cody held out his hand, low with the palm open. “C’mere, little one. I won’t hurt you. C’mere…”

  The foal lurched to its feet. Cody went down on one knee, moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle her. She sniffed his hand, nose twitching, and jerked her head back. He held his hand steady, keeping up a low-voiced monologue. The foal sniffed and pulled back a couple more times. Finally, she allowed Cody to give her a rub between the eyes. She pressed forward in clear acceptance, letting him rub her muzzle and head. He laughed out loud when her small pink tongue came out and licked his hand. She latched on to his finger, sucking away. She was so damned cute, shiny as a new penny, cuddling up to him like a regular pet. Completely lost in the moment, he looped his arms around the foal’s neck and pressed his cheek to her warm, smooth face.