The Cannon (Swift Book 3)

by Leslie Pike

  “Brick. Your wife wants you to come say goodbye to her cousins who came from California,” she says.

  “Okay, after I drop these off. See you two tomorrow. Coming for dinner?”

  “We’ll be there.” She gives her brother a peck on the cheek and I open the door for her to get in.

  “Hi, George.”

  “Miss Bristol.”

  “Hello you,” I say leaning in for a kiss. “How was the shower?”

  “Fun. It was a good group.” Her chin dips and her eyes look to the heavens. “Think we raised the decimal level to ear shattering.”

  Pulling away we head for the church.

  “I bet about now the kids are getting excited. Did anyone back out?” Bristol asks.

  “Not really. Well, one dad said he couldn’t bring the boy to the church, so I arranged for one of the other parents to pick him up.”

  My cell sounds an email. Reaching into my pocket I retrieve the phone.

  “I’ve got to look in case it’s one of them.”

  When I access the mail it’s not from a foster family, or a friend. It’s from Ancestry.com. “What’s this? Probably just advertisement.”

  As I begin to read, a warmth travels up my spine and down my arms. What? This can’t be.

  “What? What is it?” Bristol says.

  “It’s from Ancestry.com. They’re saying they found a genetic match. Sibling.” As soon as the words leave my lips the tears well. Oh God. I can’t hold it back.

  Bristol takes me in her arms and holds me tight. “It’s okay. Cry. It’s so wonderful. I’m going to cry too.”

  And she does. The tears run down her face and mix with mine.

  “We’re a mess! Is this for real?” I choke the words out.

  When I look up I see George looking in the rearview mirror. Our eyes meet and his dart away.

  “Let me see!” Bristol says taking the cell from my grasp.

  I’m in shock. Could it really be Anne?

  “It says they found a ninety-nine percent genetic match. Oh, Sawyer. It’s her. I think it must be.”

  “Ninety-nine? Wouldn’t it be a hundred percent?”

  “Not necessarily. Siblings each get their unique DNA mix. But it would be close. See here,” she says. “There’s another category called Close Relative. They didn’t put you in that one. You two are identified as siblings.”

  “What do I do now? Can I contact her? Do you see the name?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. At least I don’t think it does. We’ll read more when we get home.”

  I hadn’t realized, but we’re arriving at the Baptist church.

  George turns in the first driveway and I see the group of kids and whoever’s dropping them off.

  “Let’s table this for later when we can concentrate,” I say.

  She leans over and turns my face to hers.

  “I’m so happy for you, Sawyer. I can hardly believe it. She’s obviously looking for you too.”

  The ride to the theater was a little awkward at first. I recognized the silence and remembered I was the same way back then. Closed off. First of all, it’s a new experience. Secondly, these kids don’t know what to expect.

  I just kept talking. Bristol jumped in whenever I needed to take a breath and had run out of small talk.

  I’ve got my eye on the smallest dark-haired boy, Jude. He’s ten but looks younger. Mostly he looks down and has hardly said two sentences since meeting at the church.

  Both answers were prompted by my questions. I hate that I see something familiar behind his eyes. Like he’s seen too much, heard too much. I know. I wore that look.

  The two girls, Eva and Mollie know each other. The twelve-year-olds haven’t stopped talking. And even though the boys wish they’d pay less attention to them, they’re laughing.

  Looks like the two oldest boys are getting on. Twelve-year-old red-headed Richard already established he plays baseball and basketball at his neighborhood park. He told eleven-year-old Robert to just show up next Saturday at one and they could shoot some hoops.

  Jude’s silence is making him invisible. Bristol sees it too. To that end we’re trying to include him in the conversations.

  Now that we’re here things will improve.

  The Memphis Children’s Theater looks newly built. The heart of downtown seems a prime location. The matinee crowd mills around the entry, and the smiles on the faces of kids and adults alike warms me. As soon as we pull up the excitement inside our van rises.

  “Cool! Is that what we’re seeing?” Richard says reading the marquee.

  “Yep. The Addams Family. Sound good?”

  Four voices sound their approval and one nod.

  “I’ll text you when we’re ready to be picked up, George.”

  “Alright. I’ll be parked nearby.”

  “Okay, everybody out. Stay together on the sidewalk,” Bristol says.

  She leads the caravan out the van and next to the playbill board displayed at the box office. The rest follow, and as we exit I lay a hand on Jude’s shoulder. He shakes it off. Okay, I hear you.

  “I’m so excited!” Mollie says with a high-pitched call.

  “Me too! I didn’t know there were plays this cool,” Eva adds.

  “Everybody accounted for?” Bristol counts the heads.

  “I’ve got your tickets.”

  I pass them out to each child.

  “Make sure you hold on to them. Let’s go inside.”

  Walking into the theater is a new experience for us all. Children are obviously part of every faction of the theater. First thing, a kid checks our tickets. Our groups’ eyes are wide, not sure where to look first. The colors? The lights? The costumed characters wandering the lobby?

  I see a barely teenaged Mortitia Addams navigating the room in her tight black dress with the long train. A pitch-black wig, white face and purple nails sell the look.

  “There’s Uncle Fester!” Robert points to the other side of the room.

  A boy wearing a bald cap and a padded bodysuit talks with a group of giggling youngsters. His dark circles under his eyes don’t scare the kids even though they’re young. They look about seven and eight and the adult accompanying them is laughing at something they said.

  “This is charming,” Bristol says.

  Then we spot the character that connects instantly. Cousin It. He or she, can’t tell who’s under there, comes waddling across the room. Towards our group. Long thick strands of hair covers it head to toe. Somehow the kid sees where they’re going.

  “Here comes It!” Eva calls.

  She opens her arms to take it in a bear hug. But the child knows how to handle it. Instead of getting too close and having it affect the costume, he starts dancing in front of our group. Side to side he sways. Much to everyone’s delight.

  The Addams Family theme song plays on a loop, and I’m sure this dance has been done many times.

  I take a peek at Jude. There’s a barely there smile. No, not a smile. A slight lifting of a corner of his mouth. Okay. It’s a start.

  “Does anyone need to use the bathrooms?”

  Of course Bristol thought of that.

  “I do,” I say raising a hand. For some reason it amuses the kids.

  “Me too,” says Richard.

  “Yeah,” Robert agrees.

  “I’ll go,” Eva says taking ahold of her girlfriend’s hand.

  “Okay. Let’s all go. Meet back here. Right here,” Bristol says.

  “Okay, Mom,” I tease.

  That was a hit with the kids. Especially when Bristol gives me a pretend mad face.

  The Rainforest Café has brought the kids to a fever pitch. Between the tropical rainforest décor and the rain and lightning effect it’s been a big hit. I think it’s better to introduce new foods slowly. Get them to trust us first, then we’ll take them to an Indian or Thai restaurant.

  Good thing we kept the group relatively small. Five people under the age of thirteen is enough. They’
re fun though. Bristol and I have been laughing since we sat down.

  The clown of the group is Eva. Her dry wit at twelve is sharp. Even the boys find her funny. Especially Richard who has that twelve-year-old boy look on his face. Girls are on his radar already. He’s like I was back in the day.

  She got a laugh out of Jude when she pointed out the fact that the balloon animal meant to be a dog more closely resembled her math teacher. Richard’s reaction was a little too over the top. In time he’ll learn to be more subtle.

  “One more check, just to make sure. Does anyone have allergies of any kind? Nuts, shellfish, anything,” I say.

  “I’m allergic to bees,” Richard says.

  “Don’t order the beehive pasta,” Eva jokes.

  “Did you all try to pick at least one thing you’ve never tried?” Bristol asks.

  “I did. Coleslaw comes with the ribs. Never tasted that before,” says Robert, scrunching his face with disgust.

  “It’s good. I like it a lot. But if you don’t like it that’s okay too. The thing is to try,” I say.

  “What about you, Jude?”

  Bristol lays a hand gently on his shoulder. This time he doesn’t shake it off. But it looks like it’s almost painful for him to speak.

  “I’m going to have the Beastly Burger,” he says softly.

  I’m not about to say a word challenging his choice.

  “Good one. That’s what I’m having too,” I say suddenly changing my pick.

  I want him to be comfortable with us and I think that was a good call. Because I get an actual smile.

  “Are you ready to order?” The young female server walks up between Bristol and Jude but looks directly at me. I recognize the expression. She’s figured out who I am.

  “Yes, I think so,” I say. “We’ll start with the Awesome Appetizers Adventure. Then when it’s served we’ll put in our entrée orders.”

  “Sounds good. You’re a Maverick, right? Sawyer Tom?”

  The kids are paying close attention. Robert elbows Richard and Mollie whispers in Eva’s ear.

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  “Oh! I’m so excited to meet you. My mom and sister and I love watching the games. We’re always looking for you.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sandy.”

  If she smiles any wider her face is going to break.

  “Well, thank you so much. And thank them both for me, Sandy.”

  Some weird kind of sound comes out of her mouth. Half squeal, half contained yell.

  “I will, I will! Oh my god. Okay I’m going to go get your order started. Can I give you a hug?”

  I angle my chair in her direction and open my arms. She comes in for the longest hug of the century. When we part I see her tears welling.

  “Thank you so much!”

  She heads for the kitchen, but reluctantly.

  “I’m not sure she recognized you,” Eva says sarcastically.

  There’s a beat where the other kids think she’s serious. Then she lifts a corner of her mouth, and the entire table gets the joke.

  Chapter 14

  Bristol

  Sawyer’s at an away away series. Looks like the Mavericks aren’t headed for the playoffs in October. It’s only the beginning of August. But with a starting pitcher, third baseman and biggest hitter injuries this year, things don’t look good. They can’t all be stellar seasons.

  The last few days I’m catching up with things I’ve been neglecting. Only my work has remained as before. I’m just as focused and devoted to my practice. It’s everything else that’s suffered.

  Fortunately, my friends and family don’t take it personally. I think I’ve earned some extra points by being predictably reliable for so many years.

  Now things seem to be changing. Morphing into the new me. And the funniest part of it all is that the people who love me are thrilled. Was I an asshole before? When I joked about it to Atticus, he said, “Not an asshole Sister, just buttoned up. We never knew what was happening in your life.”

  After I punched him in the arm for telling the truth I thought about what he said. From my viewpoint it wasn’t that I intentionally kept things from them. I just didn’t have anything really interesting to report. That sounds both pathetic and accurate.

  I’m getting used to sharing my personal life. With my family and with Kara. She hears more than the rest. Nothing too intimate, but more of what I’m feeling, like a teenager who can’t stop talking about her boyfriend.

  Think I’ll call her to tell her about Sawyer’s DNA results. As I reach for my cell it rings. Oh, Sawyer!

  “Hi, baby,” I say.

  There’s a pause. “Did you just call me your baby?”

  I’m scrunching my face up and squeezing shut my eyes. “I think that was me.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve called me that. I like it, honey.”

  I relax into the moment, twirling my hair as I pace my bedroom. “I didn’t have the bravery to do it in person.” That’s the absolute truth.

  His laugh makes my toes curl.

  “When you coming home? I’m lonely. And horny,” I giggle.

  “Girl, you’re killin’ me. What are you wearing right now? And be slow when you describe it.”

  I look down at my timeworn home workout clothes. Faded yoga pants that I’ll never throw away, and my college T-shirt with tonight’s pizza sauce stain.

  “I was just trying on my new lingerie,” I fib.

  A low moan escapes his luscious lips. It spurs me on. “I bought something just for you today. It’s pale yellow, like a buttercup. And it’s part lacy.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “Well, it’s see-through. Just a whisper of the finest fabric.”

  “Is it bra and panties?”

  A quick intake of air tells me how much he’s enjoying my fictional story. So I continue.

  “No, baby. It’s a short nightgown. No panties at all.”

  Lord, I’m turning myself on too. Sawyer’s breathing is more labored now than when we started.

  “Are you touching yourself?” he asks hopefully.

  I hear the intake of his breath.

  “Yeah I am. Stroking my dick thinking about your pussy. Oh Jesus. Lift the hem up. Let me see.”

  Ring! Ring!

  Crap. Fuck! “I’ve got to get this, Sawyer. It’s the family emergency number.”

  He accepts the new information, but there’s a little plead when he says, “Call me back.”

  I end the call and accept the one from my mother.

  “What’s happening?”

  “January is in labor. Your father and I are headed for the hospital.”

  “All right. Great! I’ll be there in an hour. Is there anything I can bring for you and Dad? Did you have dinner?”

  “No. Grandma packaged up a basket to bring. There’s plenty for us all. Oh, Brick’s calling. See you there.”

  I disconnect and call Sawyer. He picks up on the first ring. “Everything okay?”

  “January’s having the baby. Finally. She’s two weeks overdue. I’m headed for the hospital.”

  “Oh. Glad it’s good news. I’ll be back in the morning. If you’re still there I’ll bring coffee.”

  “Bite your tongue. Hopefully she’ll have delivered by then. And you don’t have to come. You’re going to be beat.”

  “I’m coming,” he says with no room for argument. “You’re going to need a shoulder to cry on, I think.”

  I exhale the deep sigh I didn’t realize I was holding in. “How come you’re so smart? And compassionate?”

  “You bring it out in me. Text me. Keep me posted.”

  “All right, I’d better get going.” I sigh. “As much as I don’t want to go.”

  “Bristol. Don’t forget where we left off. I want to see you in that yellow thing.”

  Oh fiddle dee dee. Now I need to buy a sexy yellow nighty I just fibbed about.

  Parkland Hospital is fam
iliar to me. The corridors and the cafeteria. The surgical suites and pediatric floor. It’s all part of my world. But this floor, labor and delivery is less so.

  The elevator doors open, and I head for the closest nurse’s station.

  “Hello. I’m looking for January Swift’s room.”

  The surprisingly fresh faced at ten o’clock nurse looks at the board. “303. Second room on the right.”

  Rounding the corner, I see my parents in the corridor.

  “Hello, darlin’,” my father says.

  I give cheek kisses to them both.

  “The nurse is examining her, so we stepped out.”

  “Brick here?”

  “He won’t leave her side. I think he’s more nervous than January,” my mother says.

  The door to the birthing room opens and the nurse walks out.

  “You can go back in.”

  Walking into the large room and seeing all the equipment needed makes my stomach flip. Not because it freaks me out. I’ve seen much worse on a weekly basis. It effects the mother in me. I’ll never go through this. No matter what my life is going forward. It won’t be part of my story.

  “There’s the little mother. Who looks this good delivering a baby?”

  Brick moves from the side of her bed to me. We kiss our hellos.

  “How you holding up, brother? Are you remembering to breathe?”

  There’s a slightly nervous look on his face I’ve never seen before. I won’t laugh, but it’s comical at this point. Nothing has happened yet.

  January reaches out a hand.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Bristol. By the time the baby comes your brother is going to need CPR,” she chuckles.

  I come to the side of the bed and give her a kiss on the head.

  “So what’s the status? Are you having contractions?”

  “Yes, but I’m still only dilated to four. I’ve got a long way to go.”

  Fifteen hours later we look like the first settlers who crossed country in covered wagons. My clothes are wrinkled, and I’d love a shower. But I should have gone home for a break sooner. Now the big event is getting close. Only January looks the same. Especially after the epidural. Brick’s eyes are bloodshot, and he seems ten years older. Dad’s half asleep on the long couch and my mother has positioned herself in a chair next to the head of the bed.