by Sally John
“Brake lights, two cars up.” River thrust his foot against the floorboard and braced his hand on the dash.
Maiya laughed. “Got it under control, Riv. Hey, did you know there’s no brake pedal on that side of the car?”
“Ha-ha.” He relaxed as she slowed the car in the nick of time. “Hey, did you know there will be no driving privileges if you insist on kissing the bumper ahead of you at every single stoplight?”
“Hey, did you know there are no traffic lights in Camp Poppycock and absolutely no traffic?”
“You’re saying you’re out of practice.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get back my LA skills in no time.” She glanced at him with her best smile of cooperation, an innocent expression she’d developed long before he had met her.
It still caught him off guard, though. He really was much better with boys. “Did you get a DMV appointment?”
“Two weeks from Thursday.”
“Nothing before that?”
“I could get one next Friday, but I don’t want to miss the auction setup.”
“Maiya, getting your license is a huge deal. You don’t need to postpone it any longer. There will be plenty of help, and you’ll be there on Saturday.”
Although the academy boys worked for weeks on collecting and organizing items for the annual fund-raiser, the day before always became crunch time. It had grown into a staff family event with spouses and children pitching in on last-minute touches. Teal would take off half a day from work and pull Maiya out of school early so they could help.
He said, “Besides that, you’ve missed enough school for one semester, don’t you think?”
“Guess what? We get out early that day because of a teachers’ meeting.”
River wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like teaching in a public school with all the extra days spent without the students. He’d probably be bored silly.
She said, “You know how much I like the auction weekend. Speaking of kissing . . .”
“We were talking about kissing?”
“Bumpers.” Traffic moved and they were off again. She focused on driving, but like her mother, the queen of jabberwocky could talk and do three other things simultaneously. “Jake and the new girlfriend are history.”
River did some mental gymnastics and caught up with her train of thought. “Jake’s available again and he’ll be at the setup with other grads.”
Maiya glanced at him. “But I’m not interested.”
“But you want to be at Saint Sibs Friday because he will be, and if your mother’s not looking, your paths may cross.”
“Okay, so I’d like to talk to him. I need some closure, you know? That’s all.”
“Will this involve kissing?”
“No. That was just my clever segue.”
“Cute. Have you been in touch with him?”
“No way! Amber caught me up. She got it from Claire, who got it from Ben, who got it from Heather, who got it from Pablo, who knows him.”
It was like an endless begat list from the Old Testament.
She went on. “But what’s up with his trial? Nobody knows.”
That was good to hear. The details were as crazy as a soap opera and did not need to get twisted into wilder stories. Some girl unrelated to the whole business had been arrested for something. As part of her plea bargain she outed Jake’s now ex-girlfriend as the one who let him inside the high school building that fateful day.
River measured his words. “This isn’t for public consumption yet.”
“Got it.”
“It looks like he’ll be put on probation. He hasn’t been in trouble since he was a juvenile. He has a good job and work ethic.” He stopped himself from further extolling Jake’s good characteristics. Talking Maiya into liking him wasn’t the point. “Other than that stupid stunt at the school, his record is clear. But about talking to him, you’ll have to bring your mom in on that discussion.” He wasn’t getting anywhere near giving Maiya permission to see Jake. “Or I will. I won’t keep secrets from her.”
“Nope. Got enough of those going around.”
He held in a snap reply. You got that right.
She signaled and turned into a lot. “The outlet store is here. They’ve got the best gift bags and they’re cheap.”
It was a strip mall, Sunday-afternoon crazy busy. River let her find a spot by herself.
He had offered to run errands with Maiya; Teal had offered to stay home and do laundry. Although they had gone to church together that morning, he felt they were both more comfortable with some distance between them. Last night’s discussion lay heavy on him. The dark circles under her eyes said it did likewise with her.
Fine. If she wanted to wallow in her delusional idiocy, that was her own fault.
Maybe there was some anger in him.
“River.”
Her use of his full name got his attention. “What?”
She turned off the engine and looked at him. “Will it hurt your feelings if I say I want to know who my dad is?”
“Maiya, no, not at all. I’ve told you that.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to make double sure.”
He nodded and unhooked his seat belt. “It’s for double sure. You and I have a good relationship, right?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m not threatened, hon. Your heart has room for both of us.”
She smiled wistfully. “Kind of like yours with Mom and Krissy?”
Oh, man.
“And with me and Sammy.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“You won’t leave Mom, will you?”
“Why—? No, never. I love you two. I hated it when you were gone.” He figured her real question had to do with abandonment. Would her surrogate dad leave her like she thought her biological father had? “Minnie McMouse, I promise I won’t ever leave her or you.”
“But all you two have been doing lately is arguing, and Mom and I were away for so long, and . . .” She shrugged.
This line of thinking was most likely a remnant of conversation with her friend. Amber came from a solid family. Her parents had been married years before the birth of their two daughters. The Prices did not separate for long periods of time. Or even short periods, now that he thought about it.
He gently tugged Maiya’s ponytail. “You know your mom and I don’t shy away from disagreeing. The lawyer in her won’t allow it, and I’m not about to back down from some opinionated Xena just because she’s the most beautiful, intriguing woman in the world.”
Maiya giggled.
“Listen, this is just life. Granted, being away from each other was a tough one, but we’re learning from it. It’ll pass.”
“If I knew who my dad was, maybe it’d pass sooner.”
“This is not your fault.”
She shrugged, unconvinced. “But if I knew . . .”
“Didn’t you tell your mom you don’t want to know?”
She looked away and frowned. “I felt so bad about making her go and meet Dutch. That was my fault. She so totally lost it. Seeing her like that really scared me. I can’t make her do something else she doesn’t want to do. I won’t.”
River groaned to himself. I can’t. I won’t. Was she Teal’s daughter or what?
Maiya said, “And if Bio Dad is like Dutch, I don’t ever want to meet him. But—” she turned to him, her eyes wide and her youthful face a picture of hope—“Nora got me thinking. She said maybe he’s not like Dutch at all. Maybe he would care about me. Maybe I even have grandparents and half siblings! Imagine that! They’d probably be younger. I’d be a big sister. That would be cool. As long as the stepmother wasn’t one of those ugly ones from a fairy tale.”
He thought his heart might break in two. He could dispel Maiya’s angst in a flash. With one phone call to Will, he could have the man’s phone number. In less than ten minutes, Maiya could conceivably be talking to her biological father. She would learn that yes, indeed, he was a decent
guy and that she did have half siblings. From the sounds of it, the stepmother might even be wholesome and welcoming.
After that, she could talk to her grandparents. She could say “grandma” and “grandpa” to them instead of “Nora” and “William.”
But his hands were tied. This was Teal’s bailiwick.
“Riv, do you think he’d like me?”
Now his heart cracked open. He held his breath, willing his chest not to let go of the sob sitting in it.
“I mean,” she whispered, “as a fortysomething dad, you might have an idea?” Her forest-green eyes reflected the Oregon pines.
He imagined Staff Sergeant Cody Janski’s eyes were that same shade.
“Maiya, I know he would like you very much. What is there not to like?”
“Oh, lots.”
“Bunch of hooey.” He paused. “Hon, if you want to know who he is, then you have to tell your mom.”
“Nooo.” She paused. “Will you tell her?”
He shut his eyes and struggled with how much he could reveal and yet not malign his wife.
“Please, please, River?”
He looked at her. “Hon, I already have told her. So let’s give it a rest. Give her time to think about it. Okay?”
Maiya’s lips trembled, but ever her mother’s daughter, she rallied. “’Kay. Thanks.” She held up her hand for a high five. “WFM.”
He slapped her palm. “Works for me, too.”
For now.
Three times a year, River visited the cemetery. In March, on Krissy’s birthday. In June, on their wedding anniversary. And today, October 11, the day he lost her and their unborn son.
He sat on a concrete bench in front of a marble block about the size of a large playhouse. The mausoleum still seemed newfangled to him with its rows of marble frontispieces. Eight up and eight across on all four sides. Open to the elements, not exactly a building per se. Only ashes were allowed to enter.
He let the memories come. Those first hours and days after the accident—and no, he would not call it a divine appointment—were hazy. The single moment of clarity was when he said, “Cremation. Entombment.”
Krissy had been steeped in practicality. As a liaison for the Environmental Protection Agency, she told people how to dispose of trash. She would laugh, saying no one could get more practical than dealing with garbage. They met when she gave a seminar at San Sebastian Academy.
With her pregnancy, Krissy had gotten more practical than ever. They needed a will. He needed to know that she wanted her body to be cremated. A green urn in a corner of his closet would suffice, or working the ashes into their garden was even better.
But he couldn’t. He wanted a place to visit like he had with his parents and so he had said, “Entombment.”
He glanced around now, inhaled the dry scent of a sycamore that shaded the area. Krissy would approve, in part, anyway. The drought-tolerant desertscape majored on rock, cacti, succulents, wildflowers. Not a blade of grass was visible around her and Sammy’s place.
He looked at their names chiseled on the gray marble square, grateful for his sister’s input. Jenny had brought him to this spot before the funeral and pushed him onto a bench. The mausoleum was a fairly new structure; spaces were available in every row on every side. “Eye level,” she had said. “Choose where you can see without getting a crick in your neck.”
And so he always sat in that same seat and gazed straight ahead, first square on the left, third row up. Kristina Ann Samuel Adams. Her dates. Samuel River Adams, Son.
She hadn’t been sure of the first name. He insisted it was perfect to use her maiden name. She said Samuel Adams was the name of a beer. He said that first and foremost he was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. She said okay, but only if they used River’s name in the middle. He hadn’t fully agreed to that until it came time for the engraving.
Eleven years had passed. The intensity of the image of Krissy had lessened as time went on. He looked less often at her photo. His imaginary conversations with her grew infrequent. But three times a year he could sit and distinctly recall her face and her voice.
Teal knew everything. His habit of taking half a day off if necessary to visit the site. His emotional upheaval the night before, his need to hold her in the quiet predawn hour. She would walk with him out to his truck, kiss his cheek, and hand him a small bouquet that fit perfectly in the tiny vase attached to the frontispiece. She would tell him she loved him.
That had not happened today. None of it. Teal was up before dawn and out the door soon after, harried, preoccupied. With work or the Cody thing or the unsettledness between them, he had no clue.
He drove Maiya to school, calming her concerns about it being her first day back after the long absence. Would everyone accept her? Had she become a pariah? Would they want to traffic with someone who had caused the school to shut down?
Not that Maiya was aware of the date. But still . . . neither one of them?
Stop your whining, River. It’s so not you.
He smiled at the thought of Krissy’s voice. She had been good at calling him on the ridiculous.
“It’s mourning.”
Baloney. It’s self-indulgent hoo-ha.
“Give me a break.”
She laughed and laughed until he joined in.
“Oh, I still miss you, Krissy. I miss you very much.”
He hoped she knew.
Chapter 44
The three men seated across from Teal in a conference room at her law firm on Thursday morning could easily have passed on the street for identical triplets.
James Parkhurst, his attorney, and his attorney’s assistant were tall, good-looking, muscular men with square jaws, deep voices, designer suits in black, power ties in red designs, French cuffs, manicured nails, and classic gold wedding bands.
She had addressed the lawyer, Mr. Smith, as Mr. Parkhurst at least twice in the last five minutes. The assistant’s name was nowhere to be found in her memory bank. The higher echelons of Hollywood, even in triplicate, did not intimidate her. No. It was simply her mind. It had gone for a hike and had not come back.
As they waited for some technical issue with the video equipment to be resolved, Pamela slipped her a note. Out. Now. Now was underlined.
Obviously her assistant had noticed her fumbling attempts at coherent speech.
Teal excused herself and followed her out the door.
She scurried to keep up with Pamela, down the hall, around the corner, and into the ladies’ room, where she sank onto a damask chair. It was such a soothing place with overstuffed chairs, muted wallpaper in shades of pink, lavender-scented potpourri, and vases filled with silk flowers. A part of her wanted to stay put until six o’clock.
In contrast, Pamela was in full-on business mode. Mother Hen was nowhere to be seen. Her hair seemed particularly steely iron in color, its blunt angles extra sharp. It suited the expression on her face. “Girl, you have got to get your act together.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She sat in the other chair and leaned forward. “You can’t keep their names straight.”
“Don’t they seem like brothers? Like identical triplets?”
Pamela pursed her lips. “Parkhurst, main guy, reddest tie. Smith, less main, receding hairline. Marxon nicked himself shaving this morning.” She pointed to the right side of her neck. “A mark, here.”
“Okay, got it.” The clues flittered away like moths. “No, I don’t. It’s because they’re so much alike. They’re all just so nice. Genuinely nice. Not the ogres Hannah portrayed.”
Pamela leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I noticed. Give me a jackass any day over nice.”
Teal smoothed her black skirt and took a deep breath. “All right. We’ve identified the problem. We will stay on task and do our job. It’s not like the questions have changed. We ask what we have to ask. Reddest tie is the only one I need to address, and his name is Parkhurst. Mr. Parkhurst.”
Pamela
squinted, critically studying Teal. “You talk big, but your game face is still AWOL. Did you leave it up in Oregon or what?”
Nope. On the kitchen floor. Saturday night. When her husband had seen right through her.
“Teal, if you can’t do it, say so. Zoe is available. She’ll step in.”
Just what she needed. A boss not happy about her long absence covering for her. “No. This is my case. I promised Hannah I would take care of the depo.”
“Then go get him, tiger, or else I’ll stomp on your tail under the table.”
Teal’s smile slipped. She was unnerved, almost as badly as in the early days, when she would go home from the office and literally cry on her neighbor’s shoulder.
What she needed right now was a good dousing in Gammy Jayne’s faith, the kind that acted upon God’s immanency. He was right there, right now, available. Just talk to Him. Tell Him what you want.
What she wanted was for God to erase Saturday night. To delete that moment when River Adams—the closest physical rendition of God she had ever seen—saw how reprehensible she truly was.
“Teal, you can do this.” Pamela’s expression softened into an understanding smile.
That got her out of the chair and down the hall.
Back in the conference room, after a few taps of Pamela’s toe against her leg, Teal settled into what she knew best.
She asked the questions, the equipment recorded, the court reporter did her job, Pamela took copious notes. Whatever word or facial nuance Teal missed, she could find later. Considering she was probably missing three-fourths of them, this encouraged her, and she fell into a rhythm.
James Parkhurst cooperated, disclosing every fact she already knew. Name, age, address, marital history, work history, finances, the nature of his relationship with Hannah Walton.
He maintained eye contact, not once glancing at his attorney for help. There were flashes of charm, but the gentlemanly sort without smarmy condescension. He smiled when he spoke of his current wife. He winced at his description of himself calling Hannah a slut to her face. He blamed it on fear that the pregnancy rang the death knell of his marriage, which he admitted was all but over anyway. In reality, he said, he probably was more concerned about his money than his marriage. A pregnant girlfriend would muddy the divorce waters.
