Joshua

by Beatrice Sand

“Don’t worry. I got you covered in that area, guapo.”

  I pull back my head. “See you soon, okay?”

  “Okay. And Josh,” she says, still panting, “thanks for giving me your precious time and boosting my confidence. I needed that.”

  “Anytime, sweetie.” I lower my head and press a kiss onto her forehead. “Sunday. Ten o’clock. Three recipes.”

  I leave through the swinging doors, wave goodbye to Emma, and switch my jacket for my chef’s coat.

  “Andre,” I shout at the busboy as I wander into the kitchen, “there’s a Kitchen Aid countertop mixer somewhere in the stockroom. I want you to get it and take it to Camila’s Kitchen across the street.”

  “I’m on it, chef!”

  “How we looking?” I ask my team with Teresa’s sweet taste still lingering on my lips. I don’t want to keep my distance, and I refuse to let a lowlife criminal run my life. If he wants dime, he can have it. I’m not going to waist any more of my time on this money-hungry vulture. And then, when he thinks he got away with it, we’ll assign a detective to it, and then we’ll put him in the ground.

  CHAPTER TEN

  joshua

  “You have reached your destination.”

  I park my jeep on the asphalt and turn off the GPS and ignition. Feeling nervous, I reach for the bouquet of red flowers and climb out of the car, happy to stretch my legs after hours of driving. It feels like going on a date for the first time – a date with an approximately sixty-year-old woman, who hopefully can shed a light on my mother’s past. Can shed a light on my father’s identity…

  I’m halfway across the cobblestone walkway leading up to a little cottage with a tilted roof when the door opens. A small gray-haired woman in a pink knitted poncho-like garment steps out on the enclosed front porch. It’s weird to think my mother, whose vision in her late thirties is engraved in my mind, would have aged like this woman. I never thought, not consciously anyway, about how she’d look like in her sixties. Just can’t imagine her with gray hair.

  “Joshua Vandenberg,” she says with a warm smile. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  I smile up at the tiny woman who I last saw at least twenty years ago. I never would have recognized her. “Hello, Sharon. How are you?” I give her a light handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too, Joshua. Please, come inside, you must be freezing.”

  I hand her the fresh flowers. “These are for you. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Oh my, Amaryllises...” She sniffs the bouquet. “They’re so lovely. It’s been a while since I last got flowers from a handsome young man. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Take off your jacket, and then go warm yourself by the fire. The living room is that way. I’ll put these beautiful darlings in water and then I’ll be right with you. Can I get you coffee or tea? Are you hungry?”

  “Just coffee would be fine. Thank you, Sharon.”

  I hang my jacket on a peg and open the door to a warm and cozy living room. I stand by the wood-burning stove to warm my hands as I take in the place, smiling when I spot a sitting Buddha statue on the coffee table on top of a stack of art books. I have a buddha image tattooed on my left arm as a memory of the bronze-colored meditating Buddha we used to have in our suite. I believe Jaz has it now.

  A few moments later, Sharon steps into the room, holding a fully loaded tray.

  “Can I help you?”

  “No, I got it, please sit.” She puts a tall glass vase with the flowers, two steaming coffee mugs, sugar and milk, and a plate with cookies on the coffee table. She places the tray underneath it. “You take milk and sugar in your coffee?”

  I shake my head. “Just black and bitter for me.”

  She pours a dash of milk in her own mug and sits down next to me on the couch.

  I smile at her. Her warm welcome has shut down my nerves somewhat, but I just don’t know what to expect from this day or with what, potentially devastating, information I’ll walk out with.

  “How’s your sister, Jaz?”

  “She’s great. She’s a saxophonist in a women’s band. Soul music.”

  “My God, really?”

  I nod. “Quite successful too in Europe. She’s touring there right now. Last time she called she was in Berlin. Next stop is Copenhagen.”

  “How wonderful.”

  “Yeah, I’m proud of her. Miss her, though. You know, twins.”

  “I can imagine. It’s great to hear how the two of you have found your way in life, and both so successful. It’s not that I know everything about you, Joshua, but sometimes I come across an article about the Vandenberg family, and I read you’re an accomplished chef.”

  “Since a few years I run my own place. I love my job. I belong in a kitchen.”

  “It’s great to have a passion. You and Jaz are fortunate to have found it.”

  “Yeah, I think so too.” It’s quiet for a while, and I’m dying to find out about the little statue. It keeps drawing my attention. “Can I ask you something?” I ask, feeling shy all of a sudden, now that I need to ask her intimate questions.

  “Relax, Joshua,” she says as she briefly touches my arm. “You can ask me anything. It’s what you’re here for, right? If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t have invited you.”

  I clear my throat. “Okay.” I point at the meditating Buddha. “Why do you have a statue of the Buddha in your house?”

  She follows my gaze and keeps quiet for a moment. “It was a gift from your mother.”

  “Ah.” I guess that makes sense. “We have, had, one too.”

  “I know. It was a gift from me to your mother.”

  “Really?”

  “We bought it for each other during our travel through India.”

  India…

  “You met my mother in India?”

  Sharon shakes her head as she stirs her coffee. “Martha and I met at yoga in Boston in the early 1980’s. We quickly became friends since we shared the same passion: Buddhism. Or spirituality if you like.”

  “You came to the hotel where we lived. I remember you and my mother meditating, as if you were in a deep trance.”

  Sharon takes a sip from her coffee. “We kept in contact after she moved back to the States. I stayed another few years in India, but I visited her a few times in Boston once I got back too.”

  Here comes my first burning question. “Were Jaz and I born in India?”

  Sharon drops her gaze to her coffee mug and falls silent for a while. And just when I think this question will go unanswered, she says, “Yes. You were born in India.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Why was that so hard for you to tell me?”

  “Because your mother didn’t want you and Jaz to know. Maximilian, your late grandfather, forbade her to tell you about your or her past.”

  I cock my head. “Why?”

  She shrugs, looking a little bit shy. “I went to India for a few months, and Martha came to visit me in 1984, just for vacation. Maximilian just bought her her own hotel to run, and she simply hated it. Her whole life was marked by your granddad’s business. She never had any family life, and there was just never time to do anything with the family. And it’s not because her parents didn’t love her; they just didn’t have time. It was only this ongoing, never-ending hotel job. Your mother had to raise herself, and her only escape was our weekly yoga class where she was able to breathe.”

  “I had no idea it was that hard on her.”

  “Even harder. She couldn’t go to school, but was forced to work in her father’s hotel in Boston, his first hotel. Their work ethic cost your grandmother her back, and then her life.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I heard the hotel life took a toll on her. I remember my granddad, but never met my grandmother.”

  “Martha didn’t want that kind of life for herself, but Maximilian would disinherit her if she wouldn’t work in the family business.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “Yeah, it
came down hard on her. Anyway, that year she visited me in India, her first vacation ever. We traveled through the country and then found this lovely village near the Ganges.”

  “Rishikesh.”

  Sharon looks up in surprise. “Yes.”

  “I came in possession of a picture.” I take my phone out of my back pocket and show her the picture.

  “My God...” she utters, and her eyes water. “I took that picture.”

  “That’s great, picturing you behind the camera. Because of this photograph I found out.”

  She nods, taking her eyes off the picture. “We never left the village again.”

  “I thought so. Until 1992, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Jaz got sick. Is that why she came back?” I ask, starting to fit the pieces together.

  “Yes,” she admits again. “Jaz got infected with a bug that went into her bloodstream. At first we thought it was the flu, but she became sicker by the hour with high temperatures. We finally took her to the hospital, but the medication didn’t make it any better, only worse. In a desperate state, Martha called her father. Maximilian, of course, didn’t even know his daughter had two children, or where she stayed for that matter. She asked to send money so she could take Jaz to a better hospital or fly back home, but he refused.”

  “Bastard,” I mutter against the fist I’m holding in front of my mouth, then apologize for cursing.

  “It’s okay, Joshua. It was my initial reaction too at the time. We were in complete shock. With her back against the wall, she reached out to her oldest brother, Max. He wired her all the money she needed, and then arranged plane tickets to fly all of you back as soon as possible. He even informed the hospital you were coming. Martha snatched Jaz from the hospital bed, sick as she was, and went straight to the airport with the two of you. It saved Jaz’s life. She was on the brink of dying. There was nothing they could do for her anymore, apart from hoping for a miracle.”

  “My God... how can we not know about this?”

  “It was a very traumatizing time for everyone involved. Maximilian never forgave Martha for staying away all those years. I believe he genuinely loved you and Jaz.”

  “He probably just saw a next generation growing up to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Probably, yes. Max took your mother under his wing, took care of the three of you, and gave her a job when she wanted to work. She had no experience in the business, and where she once had the opportunity to run her own hotel, she now had to start at the bottom, but she was fine with that. Maximilian acknowledged you as his grandchildren, and set up a trust fund for you and Jaz, on condition your mother never left again and never talked about the past to anyone. He wanted for you to have an all-American upbringing, go to American schools, etcetera.”

  “Why did he change our place of birth? It’s still Greek to me why it’s such a big secret to the outer world, to us, for crying out loud, that our cradle stood in India. Not that it’s of anyone’s concern, but why does it need to stay under wraps?”

  Sharon’s blue eyes penetrate mine. “Because your mother and I lived in a commune.”

  “Like hippies, you mean?”

  “Disciples.”

  “Disciples?”

  “Followers of a spiritual master.”

  “What?”

  “We were two young women exploring alternative ways to live life through spirituality, far away from mainstream society and the materialistic, consumer culture. We loved the concept of free love, living together in harmony, chanting, meditating, more or less like Bhagwan. Well, I’m sure you get the picture. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t his followers, but were simply attracted to the lifestyle of living in a commune.”

  I nod slowly while my flabbergasted brain processes the information, my hopes of knowing the identity of my father decreasing by the second, as free love equals open relationships equals screwing around with whoever the fuck you want, whenever, however. Great way to catch a STD. Thank fuck I’m healthy.

  “Maximilian was ashamed and afraid if it all came out, a mother with two children who raised her children in a commune with an absent father, it would damage his reputation as hotelier and hurt his business. It would attract the wrong kind of attention. He tried hard to erase those last eight years, and your mother agreed, wanting only what was best for you. After Jaz got sick, she knew she would never return to India again, and that her bohemian way of living was over. She would never risk your health again.”

  I place my coffee on the table, trying to find a way to grasp it all. “You think that killed her, that she took her own life because she couldn’t adapt to a conventional lifestyle?”

  Sharon places her mug on the table too and takes my hand in hers. “I can’t tell you that, Joshua. I’m sorry. The few times I saw your mother, she was a different person to me. Not the free spirit she once was. Like someone distinguished the fire inside of her, but she held on for you. I don’t know what went through her head that awful day she went missing. We both firmly believed that happiness is a state of mind. It doesn’t matter where you are, where you live, or how rich you are. Of course, we need basics, but true happiness you can find only deep within yourself, not inside our large shopping malls. It’s not for sale. It’s also easy to believe that when you’re in a happy place, living the life you want. Your mother was happy with her twins in India, but I’m afraid she couldn’t find that happy place within herself when she went back.”

  “We weren’t enough for her,” I say bitterly.

  She squeezes my hand and then releases it. “Believe me when I say she loved you. She gave up her lifestyle and saved Jaz when she did. She tried, Joshua. I just know she gave everything to make it work. She adored you and your sister.”

  Somehow that’s hard to believe when she leaves two children at the age of nine behind. “So you don’t happen to know the identity of my father?” I ask, swallowing back a lump in my throat. “You know, considering the sexual freedom and all.”

  “Would it matter if I did?” she answers with a question of her own.

  “It would change everything. Jaz and I, even though we have a great, supportive family, feel...abandoned, I guess. By both our parents. But we don’t know his story.”

  Sharon releases another deep breath. “Don’t go there, Joshua.”

  I’m taken back in surprise. “So you do know?”

  “Yes, but I truly believe you have more than enough information to process right now.”

  “True. But I think you’re the only person who knows who he is. If I ever–”

  “No,” she says, adamant. “There’s no chance you can ever meet him. Forget about him. He never played a part in your lives. He’s not important.”

  “Jaz and I always wondered. It took a heavy toll on us not knowing who he was when my mother left us. I hated her for years. Hated her for not telling us who he was.”

  “Hate is a strong word.”

  “I know. It’s how I felt as a teenager. I hated the world and everyone in it. The feelings have softened over the years, and maybe, in time and if I understood more of our backgrounds, I’ll even learn to forgive her.” I sigh. “It’s terrible not knowing who your father is, not knowing where you come from, especially if you have four cousins growing up with loving parents.”

  Sharon smiles softly. “Why don’t you tell everything I just told you to your sister when she’s back from Europe? Ask each other, discuss how important it is in this stage of your successful lives to know the identity of a strange man who never bothered taking care of you.”

  Christ… “So he knows about us?”

  “If he’s alive and reads the tabloids, followed the news when Martha disappeared…” Then, on a sigh, “If he’s ever seen a picture of you, seen your eyes, he should know.”

  “I look like him that much then?”

  “If you insist knowing about him, then you come back another time and take your sister with you. I’d love to meet her. I’ll tell you bo
th.”

  I get up from the couch and walk toward the window, running my hand through my hair. I can’t push Sharon for more even though I’m dying to find out. What happened over there in Asia? Were we born out of love, or were we a freaking accident?

  I turn around and face the older woman on the couch. She already opened up so much, more than I ever expected. “Earlier you said my mother and granddad didn’t want us to find out what happened. Why have you told me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t respect your mother’s wishes, Joshua. She couldn’t cross her father or she would jeopardize your trust fund, but more importantly she wanted to protect your youth, so people wouldn’t stare at you and Jaz if they knew you were born in a commune. You come from an illustrious family, Joshua. You’d be the talk of the town, the country even. The paparazzi would be all over you and your sister.”

  And now there’s someone out there who knows, I think.

  “Your mother and grandfather aren’t with us anymore, and you and Jaz are adults now. You have a right to know. I only hope your uncle will forgive me, because he clearly didn’t tell you.”

  “No, he didn’t. He raised us, and I’m sure he thought the same about the paparazzi and all. Why he hasn’t told us now, I don’t know.”

  “Maybe not to stir up the past. Sometimes things are better left in the past.”

  “I guess so, but I can’t thank you enough, Sharon. I’m glad I have a better understanding of my mother now.”

  “You’re very welcome, Joshua. I’m proud to see what you’ve become, and that I was part of your life for four years. I even changed your diaper every once in a while,” she says proudly, flashing me a wink, then a small smile. “Well, everyone living in the commune changed your diaper, I’m afraid.”

  Laughing, I sit down again. “Not sure if I want to hear this.”

  I spend the first years of my life in a commune with a bunch of idealistic, Om-chanting bohemians, reliving the freaking Summer of Love.

  Fuck me…

  ***

  After a quick meal at a roadside diner and gassing up, I begin the last stretch home. I turn up the volume when “Whole Lotta Love” on my playlist comes on, but my mind has long since wandered off to the man who didn’t care enough to stick around, just like Mom, in the end. Yes, maybe my granddad played a huge part in her state of mind, I think, fighting back tears, but I’m still not ready to forgive her, and I wonder if I ever will.