Finding Their Son (19 page)

Damien looked skeptical. “What kind of assignment?”

“Fill in the missing blanks on this family tree,” Eli answered, handing him the paper. “Both sides of the family—Char’s and mine. I’ll put you in touch with my uncle Joseph. He knows a lot of stuff—just don’t let him talk you into smoking
anything
.”

Damien smirked. “How am I supposed to find out about Char’s family, if she doesn’t know anything? Her mom’s dead and her aunt’s loopy.”

“Not loopy. Pam has Alzheimer’s. But there’s another aunt. I’ll help you find her number.” Eli thought a moment. “In fact,
she
might be the one who has that book I was telling you about. I’m sure Char would have mentioned it if she had it. And Pam doesn’t seem the type to care about that sort of thing. You can start there.”

“Great,” Damien said facetiously. But beneath that attitude, Eli sensed a tiny hint of interest.

Eli wasn’t sure where this hunch of his would lead, but he hoped it might be the icebreaker he needed to contact Char.

He put on his son’s fancy, noise-canceling headphones but didn’t start the story. Instead he tried to imagine what he would say to her when he finally saw her again.

“I love you, Char. It took me nearly eighteen years to realize that. Please tell me I’m not too late.”

Her answer wasn’t a sure thing, but he knew what he hoped she’d say. Soon. Very soon.

“A
RE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS
?”
Char asked as Rachel made the final connections on the Web cam and microphone she’d installed on Char’s computer. The gift from Carlinda had arrived a few days earlier with a note that read:

Your aunt is doing great. The staff at the new facility has given us the green light to open communication with her. I gave high-tech a try and it worked pretty well. Hope you’ll have good luck with it, too. Greece is amazing.

Love, Carly

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Rachel said, adjusting the funny little camera perched so it was trained on the person sitting in the chair. “Besides, I backed up all your files on a portable hard drive while you were in California and cleaned up a couple of pesky viruses. Didn’t you notice how much faster your computer is working?”

In the week and a half that Char had been home, she’d come to admire Rachel’s facility with computers and numbers. More than that she’d come to like and respect Jack’s sister. She’d even invited Rachel to join the Wine,
Women and Words book club, after running the idea past Libby.

Rachel motioned Char to sit. “If your dementia-inflicted auntie can do this, you have no excuse, kiddo.”

With Libby and Jenna in California and Kat stressed about her student teaching and preparing for a wedding, Char had found herself relying on Rachel as a sounding board. “Maybe she’s having turkey dinner.”

Rachel chuckled. “Nice try, but as you well know, it’s earlier on the West Coast, not later. Go on. Boot this puppy up. I want to make sure it works before I leave.”

Char sat, but she looked around the store as if hoping for a reprieve. Unfortunately today was Thanksgiving and the shop was closed. “Oh, okay. One quick hi and bye.”

Rachel twisted her thick, pretty brown hair into a knot and quickly pulled on a knitted stocking cap. “Wish I could stay. Your conversation with your aunt might be better than
Frost-Nixon
, but my future sister-in-law would freak. I told you my mother was coming, right? Poor Kat.”

Rachel had moved out of Char’s spare room and into Libby’s guesthouse the morning after Char got back. But that first night home, the two women had spent a productive evening talking and getting to know each better after helping William unload the new heaters. Char had half expected to see some sparks between the two, single, extremely attractive and eligible people, but nada, nothing, zip.

“Don’t you think William is charming, in a less-bumbling Hugh Grant sort of way?” she’d asked Rachel after her third glass of wine.

“Yeah. He’s gorgeous. I was going to say Jude Law-ish. But I am
so
not interested in handsome men. Don’t get me
started. Lame, bookish, near-sighted, hook-nose, hirsute and hunchback is more my type.”

Eventually Char heard about Rachel’s bitter, heart-wrenching divorce from her husband—a too-handsome-for-his-own-good pro golfer. Over a second bottle of wine, they’d compared notes on the inequities of romance and bonded.

And yesterday, when Rachel showed up to install a new router just moments after Clive, Sentinel Pass’s regular mail carrier, delivered a copy of the Black Hills State Spring Semester course catalog, she became the first to hear about Char’s tentative plan to return to school.

“Too bad I can’t hire you to manage the store while I’m in class,” Char had told her.

“My reformed workaholic brother swears he’s only going to work half days once he opens his new practice. Maybe I could sub for you here, too.”

Char had been delighted, and hopeful. And on Char’s first day back behind the counter, Pia had called to ask for extra hours, citing her desire to pay for acting lessons. With any luck, Char would be able to hang on to Native Arts while she went to school.

She still had the money she’d been saving for Damien, since Wanda convinced her Damien’s college costs were covered. But Char didn’t feel right using the fund for herself. Having a business to fall back on in case she couldn’t make it as a student seemed like the smart way to go.

Rachel looked at her watch. “Ooh, I have to run. Promise me you’ll do this. I read an article that said video conferencing with the elderly was really catching on,” she said. “But I should warn you, since the person you’re
talking to is looking at your image on their screen instead of the camera it can be a bit disconcerting. And the voice delay is jarring at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Char doubted that. “Go. Tell everyone I said hi.”

Rachel walked the short distance to the back door. “You’re sure I can’t talk you into coming with me? It’ll be fun…except for the part where I stuff turkey down my mother’s throat to keep her from saying something obnoxious about her son marrying a woman he barely knows.”

“Poor Jack. Maybe it won’t be so bad. All your mother has to do is look at them to see how in love they are.”

Rachel nodded so vehemently her stocking cap slid down over her forehead. “I agree, but you haven’t met my mom.” She readjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves. The same snow that fell the night Eli first arrived was still around. The nights had been long and cold; Char missed him more than she thought possible. “Speaking of love…have you heard from Eli?”

Char rotated her chair to face the computer. “No. But Damien e-mailed to let me know they’re in South Dakota. I’m sure I’ll hear something soon.”
Or I’ll hunt them both down and raise a little hell.

She didn’t like being out of the loop where Damien was concerned, but she was trying to give Eli the benefit of the doubt. He’d probably had his hands full since his return.

“Okay,” Rachel said with a wave. “I’m outta here. You know where to find us if you get a sudden hankering for turkey.”

Once the door was closed, Char sat forward to examine the high-tech-looking little camera. She felt obligated to give it a try after all the effort Carlinda and Rachel went through to make this happen. A few minutes later, with the
help of a nurse’s aide who seemed well-versed in telecommunication protocol, Char found herself seated opposite a grainy, far-from-vivid color image of her aunt.

“Hi, Pam. It’s me, Charlene. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Pam looked the same as when Char last saw her—with one difference. She seemed less anxious—even with a Web cam in her face.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” Pam said. Her tone seemed more like the old Pam, confident and focused. “My sisters and I always called it turkey day because it was hard to feel thankful for much when Daddy was around. He was such a pill.”

Char remembered her mother using that phrase to describe some of the men she dated.

“Aunt Marilyn used to say that Grandma was a saint for putting up with Grandpa,” Char said conversationally.

Pam seemed to reflect on that comment a moment. “Mama never argued or fought back. She didn’t like to draw attention to herself. She was happiest in her garden.”

Char had only vague memories of her maternal grandparents, but she pictured her grandmother as a small woman with a gentle touch. “She grew fabulous gladiolas and roses, didn’t she?”

Pam’s short locks bounced forward and back as she nodded. “That’s what I told the boy who called.”

Char wasn’t sure if Pam was still in the present or slipping into some other plane. She was about to ask, “What boy?” when Pam added, “He said you were his mother. When did you get married? I must have forgotten.”

“Damien contacted you? Really? When?” Knowing her aunt had lost all sense of time, she changed her question. “I mean, why? What did he want?”

Pam started to fidget, as if Char’s tone made her uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Aunt Pam. I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you remember what you and Damien talked about?”

Pam’s gaze drifted sideways. Her lips moved but it took a moment for her words to come through on Char’s end. “He asked about Mama’s family. About them being Negroes. Daddy told me the truth. To be mean. He didn’t want me to love her so much. But I did anyway. More than him. That’s for sure.”

Char shook her head. Now she was positive her aunt had slipped into some parallel universe. Her grandmother wasn’t black.

How do y’know, chickadee? She mighta been passin’.

Pam suddenly stood, effectively ending their video conference. Char tried calling her aunt’s name but the camera fell sideways and a moment later the attendant leaned down and said, “I think that’s it for today. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Char’s throat was bone-dry and her hands were shaking as she turned off her computer. Talk about unfair. Even if she wanted to check out her aunt’s wild assertion, she had no one to call. Her mother was dead and Aunt Marilyn had written a note in her Thanksgiving card saying she’d be ministering to the poor in Helena today.

She paced back and forth, trying to think of someone else to ask. Would Eli’s uncle Joseph know?

She grabbed her cell phone off the desk and was in the process of scrolling down to Eli’s name when she heard a knocking sound coming from the front of the building. She glanced at the surveillance screen of the parking lot. A large, unfamiliar black SUV was parked in the disabled spot.

Phone open—in case she needed to hit 9–1-1—she started across the room. Two men in parkas were standing in the shadow of the overhang. She recognized them even without seeing their faces. Eli and Damien.

She let out a yelp of excitement and rushed to unlock the dead bolt. “This can’t be happening.”

Sure it can, chickadee. And it’s about time.

She opened the door.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” they shouted in far from perfect harmony. Between them rested a large ice chest and they each carried a grocery bag in one arm.

“We brought dinner,” Damien said, a mischievous grin on his handsome face.

Char felt so many conflicting emotions she couldn’t keep them straight. Shock, surprise, hope, love. And fear. She’d let herself believe in this possibility before.

“What’s going on?”

Eli set his bag on the cooler and removed his gloves. “I wanted to call, but I got voted down. It was three to one in favor of surprise.”

Three?

“We spent the night with Uncle Joseph and his girlfriend, Mae,” Damien explained.

“She lives near Sturgis, remember?” Eli asked. “I was headed there and wound up here.”

She remembered their first encounter all too well. She’d relived that wild, impulsive kiss about a thousand times in her mind.

“Okay. So…you were in Sturgis and suddenly decided to surprise me with a Thanksgiving dinner?” She pointed at the cooler. “If there’s a turkey in there, I hope one of you knows how to cook it. I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”

Damien juggled the bag in his arms. “Naw. It’s a venison roast. Already cooked. Joseph said it was bad manners for Lakota men to go visiting without bringing a gift of food—preferably meat. We got up at dawn to start the coals and do a little prayer ceremony. Wild, huh?”

“At least we didn’t have to kill and dress the deer,” Eli said. “My bow skills are a little rusty. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have a license,” he added. To Char he said, “Can we come inside? It’s cold out here.”

Char stepped back to let them in.

“Cool place,” Damien said. “I like the teepee.”

She was so overcome by emotion she had to clear her throat twice to be able to speak. “Thanks.”

“You’re not working, are you?” Eli asked. “We were going to drive around back when we noticed your lights on.”

She locked the door behind them. The aroma of roasted meat filled the air, making her mouth water. “I was on the Web cam with my aunt Pam. She told me the strangest thing. I—”

Eli exchanged a quick look with Damien before breaking in. “Sorry to interrupt but Joe wrote out specific instructions about how to finish cooking everything. Can we talk while we take this stuff next door?”

She reached for the bag Eli carried. “Sure. Of course.” She spotted two bottles of wine wedged between several plastic containers and a loaf of bread.

“Awesome spears,” Damien exclaimed as they wound through the displays. “They could do some damage.”

Char stifled a grin. “I’ll introduce you to the artist who carves them. How’s your hand, by the way? No lingering problems with your fine motor skills?”

“I’m better than a hundred percent. In fact, I’m two hundred percent. Unfortunately some people don’t believe that. Some people won’t let me drive until I get written clearance from a doctor. Can you believe it?”

The two men argued about law versus common sense and personal liberty the entire time it took to unpack the cooler and the bags. Char loved every minute of the quick-witted, good-natured exchange. She wondered if this was the way real families were supposed to act.

“So, Char,” Eli said, handing her the last of the cold stuff to put away while Damien slid the roast into the oven and closed the door. “We wanted to—”

“Wait. Are these cranberries?” she asked, cracking the lid on the small plastic container.

“Yes, but they’re made with chipotle peppers. Mae says the recipe is killer with venison.”

Char looked at Damien. “Interesting. Learn something new every day.”

Damien picked his backpack off the floor where he’d dropped it and said, “Should we tell her now?”

Tell me what?
A sudden jolt of panic made her lose her grip on the bowl. It would have hit the floor if not for Eli’s quick reflexes. He put the container on the table after giving Damien a scolding look. “Did you set the timer?” he asked. “Joseph was adamant about not letting the meat dry out.”

Damien fiddled with his cell phone a moment. “Set. Now can we tell her?”

Eli took her hand, drawing it to his lips as if to reassure her not to be afraid. “Why not? Shall we go into the living room?”

A minute later, they were gathered around her glass and
pine coffee table. She and Eli sat beside each other on the couch; Damien was across from them in a chair. “What’s going on, guys?”