by Lynn Lorenz
Brian held out his opened PI license case to her. “Yes, ma’am. May I come in?”
She glanced at it, sighed and stepped back. “Might as well.”
He entered the cozy room. No doilies on the overstuffed furniture, but they were covered in a quiet, flowered chintz and the air was sweet with the smell of gingerbread.
She motioned to the couch and sat in a chair. On the low coffee table, a plate of cookies waited. “Can I offer you some iced tea?”
“That would be very nice, yes.” Brian sat on the end of the couch, sinking into the cushions. His knees bumped the coffee table. Seemed she didn’t have too many tall visitors.
The room was clean and neat. On the walls were a few scattered pictures. None of people, they were all generic landscapes and still lifes. He glanced around the room for family photos but didn’t find any.
“So, what do you want to know about Lydia?” She carried a tray with two glasses of iced tea, a bowl of sugar, and two spoons and placed it on the small table between them.
“Mrs. Waters, did you know Lydia had a child before she died?” He watched her face for her reaction.
As she lifted a glass to him, she froze. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Lydia had a child?”
He took the glass from her before she dropped it. “Yes, ma’am. A son. His name is—”
“I don’t want to know his name,” she cut him off, shaking her head.
Brian sat back and watched her. He’d have to go carefully. He’d given her an obvious shock, and from his experience, there was no telling what some people would do or say when that happened.
“All right. Can you give me some information about Lydia?”
“Why? This kid hire you to find me?” Her eyes narrowed.
“He hired me to find his family, yes.”
“What’s he want? Money?” She glanced around the modest home. “I don’t have any.”
“No, ma’am. He just wants to learn about his family. Lydia gave him up when he was two years old.”
Her head jerked up, but she remained quiet as she added a spoon of sugar to her tea and stirred it slowly.
“Mrs. Waters, Sammi was given up for adoption. That never happened, and he spent most of his life moving from one foster home to another.”
Without looking at Brian, she said, “What’s wrong with him?”
He blinked. “Probably the same thing that was wrong with your daughter, Mrs. Waters.” It was a chance, but he took it.
Mrs. Waters slumped back in her chair and ran her hand over her face. When she brought her gaze up to meet his, she appeared much older than the mid-sixties he’d placed her. He waited for her to speak.
“Lydia was a difficult child. She tested us, me and Walter, my husband.”
Brian nodded, encouraging her to continue. He decided not to pull out his BlackBerry to take notes, thinking it would hamper her in getting the story out.
“She was a lovely child, really. Small, petite like me, but with Walter’s blue eyes. A real beauty. But troubled.” She glanced at Brian and gave a quick smile.
“She heard voices?”
Her eyebrows rose, then she nodded. “Yes. From the time she could first talk, she told me about the voices. Imaginary friends, I thought at first. But it was more.” She bit her lip and halted.
“She could hear your thoughts.”
She gasped and her hand clutched at her throat. “How did you know?”
“Like mother, like son.” He shrugged.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he’s getting some help.”
Brian ignored that and pushed on. “Tell me what happened.”
“She ran away from home when she was fifteen.” Her face crumpled and her eyes welled with tears. “And we let her go. Never reported it. Walter didn’t want her back.”
“She scared him,” Brian added.
“Yes.” Tears spilled. “Imagine being afraid of your own child. He thought she was evil, as if the devil himself had taken our beautiful little girl and made a monster of her.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“They didn’t get along?”
“To put it mildly. Lord, the fights. The screaming and yelling. It made my heart hurt. I tried to get her to stop talking about it, shoving it in Walter’s face, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“So she ran away.”
She wiped away more tears. “I suppose I should have done more, but by that time we were just so relieved she was gone. That sounds horrible, I know. But…” She shrugged.
“How did you know about her death?”
“The police. They found her body. She had her driver’s license in her purse.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
She took a long sip of her tea then wiped her thin lips on a paper napkin.
“Suicide. She drove her car onto the 610 Loop, parked, got out, and jumped over the side. Hit the concrete road below.” She’d repeated it as if reading from a newspaper, or the police report. “We had her buried in a cemetery on I-45, far from us. I had to fight Walter for that.”
“He didn’t want to claim her even after she’d died?”
She stared out of the window. “He was a hard man.”
Sammi’s life had been part of a larger tragedy going back in time to his mother. Even she had been a stranger, unwelcome in her own home.
“This young man. Sammi?”
“Yes. Samuel James Waters,” he repeated the name on the birth certificate.
“Samuel. He hears voices, too?”
“Yes, but he’s handled it well. Realized that he has a gift, not a curse. He’s not a monster. He’s…” Brian searched for a way to describe his best friend’s lover. “He’s decent, hardworking, caring, sensitive and determined.”
She shook her head. “He wants to meet me?”
“He wanted only to know about his family. I told him that it was up to you whether or not he could contact you.”
She grimaced as if she didn’t believe him.
Brian leaned forward, hands grasped together. “It’s the truth. I won’t force you into it, and I won’t give him any information about you, if you don’t want me to.”
She stood, signaling their meeting was over.
“I need to pray on this. I’ll call you with my decision, Mr. Russell. In the meantime, please don’t tell him any information about me.”
Brian stood and placed his tea on the tray. “I’m going to give him the info about his mother. He has a right to that.”
She gave him a small nod then walked him to the door.
Brian turned and extended his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Waters.”
“Of course.” She took his hand, clasped it briefly.
“Again, I’m sorry for your loss,” he added.
She gave him a curt nod and shut the door.
He’d just have to wait for her call. Until then, he was going to look up Lydia Mae’s death certificate.
He sat in his SUV outside Sammi’s grandmother’s house and considered his choices. He could hunt through the newspapers for a report of Lydia’s death, could go down to City Hall and repeat his earlier search, or he could go to the cemetery and check through their records.
He pulled out his BlackBerry and did a search on cemeteries on I-45. Lucky for him, there was only one. A day in a graveyard beat the hell out of an hour in City Hall. He started the engine and pulled away.
Forty minutes later, he turned into the cemetery and drove down the black asphalt road to the large funeral home that held center stage. The grounds were well kept, with low rolling hillocks dotted with stone markers in neat rows. In the near distance, an open grave waited, a large green canopy beside it, and chairs set up underneath.
There were quite a few cars in the parking lot. He found a space in the rear, parked and made his way to the front of the building. Brian opened the door and stepped into quiet darkness, his feet sinking into thick carpet. Somewhere, muffled organ mu
sic played. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The place was as cold as a meat locker.
At the office, he spoke in quiet tones to a young woman in a two-piece suit, her blonde hair drawn back into a tight bun.
“I want to locate someone buried here in the eighties.”
She motioned him to take the chair in front of her desk. “If you tell me the name of the deceased, I’ll try to locate the grave for you.” She spoke slowly and sympathetically, the way one does to people who are bereaved over the loss of a loved one.
“Lydia Mae Waters. Died, nineteen eighty-six.”
“Let me see what I can find.” She swung over to her computer and typed. Her nails were short, unpolished and neat. No overworked sigh, no rapid typing. Her movements were slower, as if her typing showed the same respect for the dead as her lowered voice.
It must be hell to spend your whole day whispering. At the end of her day, did she get in her car, crank up the stereo and sing to it at the top of her lungs?
“Here we go. Lydia Mae Waters. Section thirty-four, row fifteen, marker three.” She handed him a map of the cemetery. “If you follow the main road to the back, turn at the first left and go straight. You’ll see the section markers.”
He stood, brochure in hand. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. And my condolences.” She gave him a sad smile, probably the same one she gave everyone who came in here.
He imagined her going home, changing into something other than the plain black suit she wore, and going out to a bar, where she could dance and laugh the night away. He hoped her life was more exciting than this.
He got back in the SUV and followed her instructions. Minutes later, he parked, got out and counted off the rows, then counted the markers.
Lydia Mae Waters
Born August 23, 1969
Died November 2, 1986
That was all. No “Beloved Child of…” No “Rest in Everlasting Peace”.
Brian’s eyes teared and his throat constricted. He hoped that when his time came, there would be more on his marker than his birth and death dates. That someone would care enough about him to remark on his passing that he would be missed and was once loved.
He lowered his head, said a brief prayer for Lydia and left.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m sorry, Sammi. The most I can tell you is what I’ve already told you about your mother.” Brian tapped his pencil against the keyboard of his computer.
“But this woman. My grandmother…” Sammi’s voice faded. “She doesn’t want to see me? Ever?” His voice cracked on the last word.
Brian’s heart broke for the kid. “That’s not what she said. She needs time to think about this. She didn’t know about you. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”
“I understand. I would probably remind her of my mother. It would probably dredge up a lot of bad memories.” Damn, Sammi, but he was always so sensitive about other people’s feelings. Must be due to hearing so many thoughts and feeling all those emotions.
If it had been him, Brian would have railed about the old woman’s selfishness.
But Sammi had been abandoned by the ones who were supposed to love and care for him his entire life, so he was probably used to it. Then he’d met and fallen in love with Mitchell, the only person ever to go back for him, the only one who believed Sammi was worth fighting for.
“That may be part of it, but give her time. She might surprise you and come around.”
“I have so many questions I want to ask her about my mother. Do you think she knew who my father was?”
“I don’t know. And Sammi?” Brian couldn’t let any false hopes build inside Sammi—it would be too cruel. “You may never get that sort of information.”
“I know. Thanks for everything, Brian. You did a great job. More than I dreamed of, really. Without you I wouldn’t know my last name, be able to go to college, or get my driver’s license. Which I did!” Sammi squealed. “Did Mitchell tell you I passed the test on my first try?”
“He didn’t. Congratulations!”
“Thanks. It’s all because of you. Thanks. Drop by and give me the bill for all the work you’ve done, okay?”
“Sure. Tell Mitchell hi for me.”
“Will do. Bye.” Sammi hung up.
Brian closed his phone and tossed it onto the desk. At least finding Sammi’s records had done some good for the guy. He could get on with his life.
Damn, he’d wanted this next part to turn out good for Sammi, he really did, but it seemed as if the cards might be stacked against him.
The alarm chirped on his desktop and an alert popped up.
Dinner with Rush in two hours.
Time to get ready for his date. Brian pushed out of his chair and headed for his bedroom, whistling as he walked down the hall. He reached his room and undressed.
He stepped under the hot shower, stopped whistling and started scrubbing. After getting clean and a fresh shave, he changed the sheets on the bed and put the bottle of Spanish sparkling wine he’d bought in the wine cooler to chill.
Soon, Rush would be in his arms and in his bed. Nothing was going to ruin his plans for tonight.
* * * *
Rush checked himself in the hall mirror. His second ‘date’ with Brian was only two hours away, but this night had taken what seemed like ages to get here. His clothes were fine, and this time, he’d wear his hat.
He stepped out on the porch, locking the door behind him. The truck was spotless, inside and out. He’d taken extra care cleaning it.
Everything was perfect.
Almost everything. This was only their second date, and already he knew he couldn’t stand being away from Brian. How could this continue, with him at the ranch and the man he craved in Houston?
His mind circled its wagons around their problem of distance.
Liar. It’s your problem, not Brian’s.
Brian was out, openly gay. Rush’s fear of discovery kept them apart, ruined all of it, and would leave him heartbroken and ultimately alone.
Rush jogged down the steps and almost made it to the truck, when Manuel came up and leaned against the side, blocking him. “Off to Houston again?”
“Yep. Can you feed the dogs in the morning?” Rush tried not to blush as he reached around Manuel and opened the door. Manuel stepped back.
“Sure. Didn’t you go last week?” Manuel lit a cigarette and blew smoke from between smiling lips.
“Yep.”
“Truck all shiny and damned if you don’t look good enough to go to church.”
“So?” Rush barked, tossing his hat on the seat next to him.
“So. Must be one hell of a woman.” He shook his gray head.
“I told you, there’s no woman.” Rush growled as he started the engine. “And besides, it’s none of your damned business what I’m doing.”
Manuel’s eyebrows shot up and he held his hands out in placation. “Okay, boss, okay.” He stepped away from the truck.
Rush slammed the door, threw the truck into reverse and shot backward, spun the wheel, then tore down the road in a haze of dust, leaving Manuel scratching and shaking his head.
“Shit!” That had been close. He’d really lost it back there, yelling at his foreman. Manuel didn’t deserve that treatment. Feeling guilty and hating it, he vowed to apologize to the old man on Monday. He hated feeling guilty about seeing Brian and it shouldn’t ever feel bad, but lying about it sucked.
Even when he’d gone to Houston all those times before, he’d never lied about it. Just told Manuel he’d be gone Friday evening and that was that. It hadn’t mattered because he hadn’t cared about those other men.
Now, he cared. He cared a whole lot and it was scary as shit.
Rush settled back in the seat, punched up some music and tried to forget about the ranch and the narrow minds of Spring Lake. He was heading to Houston to have dinner with the man of his dreams and damn it, he was going to enjoy every moment he and Brian had together.<
br />
Before they were just a memory.
* * * *
Hoping it was Rush, Brian opened the door. It was early, but he didn’t care.
“Mitchell? What brings you here?” he greeted his best friend.
Mitchell barged past him.
“Why don’t you come in?” Brian said to the air. Then he shut the door and followed Mitchell into the living room. Mitchell paced the length of the room then threw himself into a chair.
“How could you do that to Sammi?” The look on Mitchell’s face was etched agony.
“Do what?” Brian blinked.
“Tell him that he had a family and then not tell him who or where they were?” Mitchell glared at him, anger burning in his eyes.
Brian sighed. “Mitchell, you know how it goes. I can find them, but if they don’t want to be contacted, I have to respect that.”
“But it’s Sammi, damn it.” Mitchell hit his fist on his thigh.
“I know who hired me.” Brian lowered his voice as he struggled to keep it under control. No sense in both of them going off. “And by the way, that’s confidential information.” He sat on the end of the couch near Mitchell.
“Sammi told me.” Mitchell glanced up, defensiveness in his eyes.
“I’m sure he did. Is he really upset?” Brian reached out a hand and touched Mitchell’s knee. Mitchell’s hand reached out and closed over his.
“He’s devastated. He won’t talk about it, but I can tell.” He swiped his hand through his thick brown hair.
“I’ll bet. That kind of emotion must be very strong.”
Mitchell shook his head. “No, that’s not it. It’s worse. He’s cut me off.”
“What?” Brian sat up. “Cut you off, how?”
“It’s like that time with Donovan. He’s cut his emotions off. I can’t feel him anymore. I can’t hear his thoughts, his desires.” Mitchell’s expression appeared bleak, and it tore Brian’s heart to think of the pain his best friend was going through.
“He’s only trying to protect you.”
“I know. He’s so…so…” Mitchell’s words failed.
“Yeah. He loves you so much, Mitchell.”