by Sally John
They protested that idea.
He smiled. “Remember, it was the Factory when I bought it. I called it the Rib House for years before adding the Flying Pig because the wife thought it needed some pizzazz.” His expression turned somber again, and he muttered something to himself. “I need to quit beating around the bush.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is, Ellie has breast cancer.”
Jasmyn imagined his wife, several years younger than Danno, a vivacious redhead who was involved in theater, mostly in Rockville where they lived. When it came to the Valley Oaks community and barbecue ribs, she was usually absent. She and Danno seemed mismatched. Somehow, though, they had made their marriage work. They never had children. The restaurant and Ellie were his life.
As Jasmyn and Quinn began to sympathize and ask questions, he held up his hands. “They got it early, but this is it. She means more to me than the Pig. It’s time to retire. She’s already moved down to Florida where her sister lives. She’ll have surgery and treatment there. So, ladies, I am leaving.”
Jasmyn stared at him.
He nodded. “In two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. That messes with the timetable.”
Timetable? What timetable?
Suddenly Jasmyn realized that her eager-beaver return was all about some fuzzy future. It was not about two weeks from now.
She looked over at Quinn, who mouthed, Red flag.
Seventy-Two
The Valley Oaks Library resembled absolutely nothing Sam had ever seen before. Which was, surprisingly, a positive.
It fell somewhere between her childhood library—three shelves in a doorless closet off the community meeting room—and the bibliophile’s dream-come-true at UCLA. Valley Oaks was a happy medium with an old-fashioned card catalog, a few computers, and, most importantly, books on local history.
Sam sat at a table alongside tall, sun-filled windows, lost in the thickest book titled simply Patrick County. It contained the county’s history including photographs, a few from the 1860s. She flipped pages in search of a Hannah Susanne Carlson born in 1924.
Sam muttered, “How can there be so many Carlsons in one place? I should start with her parents’ names. Or the grandparents.”
“What you need is the genealogy collection.”
Sam jumped at the squeaky voice behind her and turned to see a very small bird of a woman in a wheelchair. “Excuse me?”
“The genealogy collection. It’s in the basement.” She scowled, jerked on the wheel, spinning it toward the front desk, and called out, “Gloria! Gloria! Go get her the genealogy collection.”
The librarian, a fortyish blonde who had helped Sam find the local history books, stepped from behind the counter and came over to the table. “Hattie, what do you need?”
“I don’t need a thing. She needs the genealogy collection.”
The librarian smiled at Sam. “Which township?”
“I don’t know. Whichever one Lynn Center is in.”
Hattie shouted, “Denkmann Township! The red-bound ones on the east wall. Do I have to get them myself?”
“Would you like to? I’ll take you on the elevator.”
“No, I would not like to! You know they made me retire. I don’t work here anymore, missy.” In a huff she wheeled herself away.
The woman chuckled. “When I was a kid she was the librarian, always shushing me and my friends because we whispered too loudly. How can I help you? I’m Ann, by the way, not Gloria.”
“I’m Sam, and I guess I want the genealogy collection for Denkmann Township, red-bound, on the east wall.” She smiled.
“Actually, Hattie helped collect and organize the information on local families ages ago. I’m sure we have more details than you can find online. I’d ask Hattie for help, but she doesn’t seem to be in the mood today. Do you have an idea of the years you want? Some of the families are in several books, depending on when they settled here and how long the descendants stayed around.”
“My great-grandparents were married in 1920 in Andover. Does that help?”
“It’s a good start. Who were they, by the way?”
“Hilma Sofia Bengtson and Charles John Carlson. My grandmother was Hannah.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m from a town west of here. Let’s see.” She scanned the large room. “Ah, perfect. Do you see that gentleman over there, reading the newspaper?”
A white-haired man sat in a corner, in a grouping of armchairs around a coffee table.
“That’s Otto Green. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” She smiled at Sam. “He’s eighty years old but still one of the sharper knives in the drawer.”
Ann introduced Sam to the white-haired man and left them to fetch the red-bound volumes.
“Have a seat, young lady.” Mr. Green folded the newspaper and removed his glasses. “Now tell me, who was your family?”
Sam slid onto a chair next to his and told him names and dates.
A playful smile grew on his face. “Of course I remember Hannah Carlson.”
Sam slumped against the chair, stunned at the idea that this man had known her grandmother. “Really?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid only from afar. She was older and our paths never crossed. She lived over in Lynn Center and came into town here for high school. That building has been torn down, by the way. Let’s see, I must have been in the eighth grade when she was a senior. I noticed her because she was one of the stars, you know. Won all the smart awards, so her picture was in the newspaper a lot. She was a vision, let me tell you, with golden curls and a grin that would melt the meanest heart. And tall, like you.” He shrugged. “She went off to college and I started paying attention to girls my own age.”
“You don’t know where she went to college?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Girls didn’t go that often. We were still coming out of the Depression. But, like I said, she was smart. She wasn’t going to stay around here for long. I bet you’re a smart one.”
Sam smiled. “I do all right.”
He laughed. “Where did Hannah eventually end up?”
“She moved to Arizona and taught school.”
Hattie wheeled up to the low coffee table before them. “We got newspapers!” she snarled. “If you’re talking Depression era, they’re still in microfiche. Town can’t come up with enough money for us to finish our work around here. It all ought to be online by now. Tell Gloria to take you downstairs.” With that, she spun around and rolled away.
Mr. Green sighed. “Some days I want to park my golf cart in the middle of that ramp outside so she can’t get her chair up to the front door.” He grinned. “But then I’d probably carry her inside because I’d feel bad. I took her out once or twice before the war. At least I think I did.”
They chatted a few minutes about his time in the navy and the bride he brought home from Virginia who loved his hometown. Sam could have listened to his stories for a long time, but Ann appeared with a stack of red-bound volumes. She and Mr. Green went to the table, where the librarian explained their contents.
The pages were photocopies, obviously from a variety of sources, some of them even handwritten. Ann and Mr. Green helped her find the book that contained the lineage of her grandmother’s father. They left her to peruse lists of names and dates. It seemed a silly thing to wonder at, but her imagination took hold.
She had grown up learning about her Navajo heritage, how scholars disagreed on the people’s origin, how they were hunters and gatherers and migrated in the 1500s to the Southwest. She learned the legends of the Diné and the four sacred mountains. She learned about the wars with Spaniards, Apaches, and Americans. She learned of the Long Walk in 1864 to New Mexico and back to the homeland in 1868 when the reservation was established. A great-great-great-grandfather had been a part of it.
Those facts had never been enough. Half of her had always been a blank slate, a blank canvas. But now…an artist stood before it, dipping his brus
h into his palette and, with great sweeping motions, painted the colors of sunrise and sunset on it as she read Charles John Carlson, born in Sweden, 1864.
As one ancestor was being forced to march across Arizona and New Mexico another was a baby in Sweden.
Somehow the paths of the descendants of these two men crossed, and Samantha Whitehorse was alive today.
Good grief. Jasmyn would have a heyday with this one.
Jasmyn indeed had a heyday with Sam’s information as they ate dinner at the Flying Pig, a cozy den of tasty comfort food with a Beau-like owner making the rounds. Danno was a bit gruffer around the edges but obviously a gentle guy who knew how to make customers feel welcome.
Jasmyn clapped her hands. “See, Sam? What did I tell you? Your grandma went to Arizona to meet your grandpa so your dad could be born so—”
“I get it!” Sam chuckled. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Why would you want to? Liv would say accept it as a love note from God.”
“Liv would, huh?”
“Okay, I would too.” Jasmyn picked up a rib dripping with sauce. “Even if it does break down when I try to factor in a half sister who doesn’t want anything to do with me, I still accept that. Is this too much?”
“No. It’s amazing. Not overly spicy or sweet.”
“Not the sauce. I meant talking about God, and how I think He loves all of us and that reassures me that everything is going to be okay, no matter what it looks like.”
Sam knew what Jasmyn had meant. The only aspect that seemed too much was that it was not too much. “It’s not too much.”
None of it was too much. God talk, Jasmyn’s maple syrup voice, the too-short bed, Quinn’s constant interruptions as she alternately served them and joined them, the library that closed at noon and kept its red-bound volumes behind locked doors, thoughts of Beau every time Danno passed by…She bit into a French fry.
Jasmyn eyed her over the rib in her hands, a spot of sauce on her cheek, surprise written in the raised brows.
She wasn’t the only one surprised. Sam smiled and pointed to her own cheek.
Jasmyn laughed and grabbed a napkin from the pile on the table. “There is only one way to eat these, and it’s messy.”
“But worth it.” Sam picked up another fry. “Did you know the library closes at noon on Tuesdays?”
“And it’s closed all day on Wednesdays. You have to wait to look at the newspapers. Will you go back to Rockville?”
Sam had found her way to the so-called big city about forty minutes away and spent the afternoon in that library, mostly online. Ann, the librarian, had been right. Valley Oaks was leaps ahead when it came to local history. “I have something better to do.”
“You’re having lunch with Otto Green and Hattie.”
“Not quite. They gave me an idea, though. They think the house Hannah grew up in might still be standing. Neither of them know the exact street, but they figure that Ruthie Moore will know it. She’s lived in Lynn Center for eighty-eight years. Ann gave me her number and address, and Otto promised to call her to say I’d be dropping by.”
“That town hasn’t changed at all. You’ll be walking exactly where Hannah walked.”
Sam nodded and felt again the thrill she had earlier while reading about her ancestors.
“Maybe you’ll even see her house. Whoa! Maybe you’ll even go inside it.”
Sam stared at her. “I hadn’t thought of that. I could just knock on the door and explain— Maybe not. I’m beginning to feel like that baby bird in the kids’ book who asks every animal ‘Are you my mother?’ ”
She smiled. “Since you have an introduction to Ruthie Moore, start there and win her confidence. She can put in a good word for you at the house. If there is a house.”
“With someone in it. Want to come with me?”
“I’d be as much a stranger as you are. You’ll be fine. I have some things to take care of and then I have to work. Why do you keep looking at Danno?”
“I don’t.” She glanced at him. Again. “He reminds me of Beau.”
“Danno?”
“Size-wise. Maybe.”
Jasmyn looked over at her boss. “I guess I can see that.”
“He seems, uh, nice.”
“He is, but with Beau you get that right away. Danno hides it. You’re thinking about Beau?” Jasmyn gazed at her a little too intensely.
Sam shook her head a little too vigorously and changed the subject. She pretended that all was well, that she did not miss Beau Jenner. She pretended her life had not turned downright messy.
Seventy-Three
Jasmyn and Sam lingered at the Pig after hours, drinking decaf coffee and tea. It had been a slow night. Cleanup did not take long. Danno told them to lock up whenever. He and the rest of the crew said good night and left.
Coffee mug in hand, Quinn slid onto the bench seat next to Jasmyn. “What’s up?”
Sam said, “She was just telling me about—”
“Beau Jenner.” Jasmyn winked. “At least I tried to.”
Sam seemed flustered again but clamped her mouth shut. Maybe she decided to finally give up dodging the subject Jasmyn had been attempting to discuss for a while.
Quinn said, “Beau, the handyman.” She glanced back and forth at Jasmyn and Sam. “Ah. He’s something more, huh?”
“We’re not absolutely sure,” Jasmyn said.
Sam raised her hands in surrender. “I’m absolutely sure. I have a crush on the guy. Okay? I do. Nutty as that sounds. And I can’t believe I said it. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself. Good grief! What was in that barbecue sauce?”
“Truth serum.” Quinn smiled.
“Well, it worked.”
Jasmyn figured a combination of things was at work in Sam that had breathed life into her. She was clearly excited about the whole family history thing. Taking a vacation had to have helped. Jasmyn hoped her information would not pop the whole bubble. “Sammi, it’s obvious he likes you too, but something has come up.” She paused. “I talked to Liv today.” She stopped again.
“Okay. And?”
“And she said that Beau left. He went to Hollywood for a week. Or two.” Popping bubbles was such a painful process. But Sam needed to know. Didn’t she?
“So?”
“It might be nothing. But you should know. I think.”
Quinn blew out an exasperated breath. “Albright, say it already. Why did he go to Hollywood?”
“I don’t know why. All I know is that his ex-fiancée lives there.”
Sam sank against the back of the bench seat. Her face sort of went blank, as if a shade had been pulled over it, darkening the light. She resembled the chic, aloof woman Jasmyn had met that first day at the Casa.
Quinn said, “Uh-oh.”
Jasmyn said, “Maybe it’s not related.”
Quinn added, “Yeah, he probably went to take one of those movie star home tours.”
“Or maybe Liv heard wrong. He went somewhere in Los Angeles to get some tools he couldn’t buy in…” Her voice trailed off.
Sam straightened. “Or else he went to see her. It really doesn’t matter.”
Jasmyn said, “I’m sorry. When you brought him up earlier, I thought, oh no. Absence has made your heart grow fonder. I thought I’d better tell you what I know.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Did Liv tell you this?”
“No. She doesn’t know anything except that he went to Hollywood, which seems to have upset her. When I first met Beau, I asked him how he got from Kentucky to Seaside Village, and he said he came with his fiancée, his hometown honey. She’s an actress and she made it big. Because he lives in San Diego and she doesn’t, my guess is they split.”
Quinn said, “Curious that he told you.”
“I caught him at the right moment. Her latest movie had just been released, and I think it bothered him.”
“Jazz, who is she?”
Jasmyn hesitated. Hollywo
od was a big deal to Quinn. She would make the fuss Beau wanted to avoid.
Quinn sighed. “Like I don’t live three thousand miles away.”
Jasmyn looked at Sam.
“You know I can keep my mouth shut. And honestly, I’m fine. We weren’t exactly seeing each other. If he’s hung up on someone else, I don’t want us seeing each other.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “What good is a crush if you can’t dream about taking it to the next level?”
Sam frowned. “I was nowhere near dreaming that. I never asked him how he got from Kentucky to Seaside Village because he annoys me to pieces.”
Jasmyn wasn’t sure she bought into Sam’s words. There was still a hint of emotional shutdown in her face.
Quinn said, “So? Who is she?”
“Tallie Shay.”
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Quinn almost squealed.
Sam said, “Who’s Tallie Shay?”
Quinn said, “One of the hot new ones. There’s talk of her being nominated for best supporting actress in her latest movie. Even before that, her face was plastered everywhere. Some of it was tabloid stuff.”
“Hmm.” Sam’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s Beau’s style?”
Jasmyn smiled gently. “I can’t really see it.”
“Well, he had me fooled.”
Quinn huffed. “Men.”
“Speaking of which. Of whom? Anyway.” Jasmyn hesitated. “While we’re on the subject…” Her voice faded out. Her thoughts tumbled like clothes in a dryer. What was there to say?
The other two stared at her, waiting.
At last Quinn said, “The subject is men.” She gestured for Jasmyn to get on with it. “Come on. You can do it. Does he have a name?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Mr. Kung Fu Dude.”
Quinn grinned. “The guy with the last name for a first name. The angel, knight, kung fu dude who doesn’t talk much. The one who gave you that jacket lying there next to you.”
Jasmyn glanced down at the purple folds on the bench seat and vowed to stop wearing the jacket. “He’s weird. He lives far away. I’ll stop thinking about him eventually. A week or two. Three, tops.”
“It was the kiss at the airport,” Sam said. “That wasn’t fair.”
