An Innate Sense of Recognition
By Anna Scott Graham
Copyright 2012 by Anna Scott Graham
Cover design by Julie K. Rose
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For the 2012 World Series Champion San Francisco Giants who proved that love and loyalty can overcome all odds.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
Warm rays woke Scott and Alana Cassel the day after their son had threatened to kill his mother, the only one Tanner had left alive.
The couple stirred as nine-year-old Janessa snuggled beside her mom. That small girl hadn’t missed last night’s debacle, and Alana knew it, for Janessa wiggled in her sleep. “Tanner!” Her voice was soft but frightened. “Don’t say that Tanner!”
“Janess, honey.” Alana wished to erase time, events, and memories, her own as well as the first blatantly unpleasant ones for her youngest. They didn’t know it at her birth, but Janessa had been a gift, easing sorrow, smoothing rough edges. Alana daily gave thanks for the peace Janessa had brought, and for how little heartache she recognized.
Or had known; Janessa continued to mumble. “Tanner, don’t say that, it’s not nice.”
“Wake her up Lana,” Scott whispered, getting out of bed.
Alana didn’t want to, preferring to avoid Janessa’s questions. She was slow but inquisitive, so much an anomaly in this family, but if Alvin was alive… Alana considered that on occasion; if Alvin was alive, he and Janessa would be the best of friends.
Like her father, Alana never let Alvin Harris get too far away. His love affair with Jenny was the first adult relationship Lana had witnessed from the beginning. Her parents, Scott’s too, were a constant, but Alvin and Jenny, like Sam and Jenny, had taught Alana what men and women did for each other. What Scott had done for her, until she left him.
Alana didn’t mull over that, instead stirring her daughter. “Janess, baby, it’s okay.”
The small girl turned, then smiled. That grin, so wide and simple, lifted Alana. “Oh Mommy, good morning!”
For a few seconds, Lana wondered if Janessa’s dream would just slip away. Maybe last night was another old, fleeting nightmare, like the ones Alana had suffered after Tim died. For ages she carried him in her head, until enough time had elapsed, until Scott had set into her enough respite, enough of himself. They’d had three children, but after Janessa, Alana had decided that was sufficient. Not that Scott argued; with seven between them, who knew what their youngest would need?
Janessa only required love, which flowed in such abundance that sometimes Alana wished they’d had one more. She was thirty-three at Janessa’s birth, but then Jenny had been thirty-nine when Eric was born. Lana smiled, then recalled a grown Eric Cassel in his mother’s arms, fighting tears. By yesterday’s end, everyone was a wreck.
“Mommy, did Tanner come home last night?”
Janessa’s small, angelic voice cut into the room. She was short of stature, but not unaware. An active girl, she wasn’t overly affected by her extra chromosome. Her heart was strong, her vision perfect. Those green, wide-set eyes told of her condition, but otherwise she might only appear stunted in height. Alvin had never looked different, one reason why Bonnie Carmine’s bizarre announcement that he was her son set him apart. Over time the kids, as they were still considered by the oldsters, were informed that Alvin had been born with his disability. It had eased Lana and Scott; after Janessa’s arrival, with so much unknown, they could fall back on how capable Alvin was. He had, after all, fallen in love with Jenny.
Maybe that was why to Alana, Alvin was never distant. Her daughter was a reminder, Lana’s friendship with Jenny was too. Alvin and Jenny had wound into each other so naturally, just as Scott and Alana had done. Then Lana had needed more, wanted too much. She recalled that only when times felt rough. She had fallen for Tim McGillis because of greed.
“Janessa, Tanner’s not coming back until he apologizes to Mom,” Scott said.
“Oh Daddy, I miss him!”
Janessa set her diminutive frame tight against her mother, but it didn’t feel sad, as Scott placed himself along Lana’s backside. They had made love after arriving home, after she took a long shower, chilled from the pouring rain. While Lana had tried to remove Tanner’s ugly words, Scott had ushered their offspring into the house. The older girls had only needed hugs, even Nanny used to her brother’s vicious moods. Last night had been the worst, but as Alana well knew, once a heart was immune to agony, even the nastiest moments eventually faded.
Mike had been more difficult. He wasn’t as protected as Janessa, not as old as his sisters. Even Susannah had gone to sleep with minimal fuss, but Mike asked to see his mom before saying goodnight. Alana had cried hard in the large master bathroom, for while she had endured worse, it still cut into her; Tanner had been her son since the first night Scott had stayed, since the moment their first child came to be.
Since Susannah’s conception, Tanner and Nanny were reborn as Alana’s offspring. She and Sam had spoken of how kids from one’s spouse seemed just as much a part of oneself, even if no DNA was shared. Alana had seven children, never five. That sometimes she wished for more seemed excessive, but those days were long past.
And at times, seven kids were more than enough. Seeing Mike after her shower had almost restarted her tears. Somewhere in her heart, Alana sucked back all that could kill her, then she had embraced the son who loved her with open arms, a boy looking much like his father. Scott’s green eyes and coloring marked that child, just like Tanner. Only half brothers, but that they looked so alike was the hardest part for Alana to bear.
When Tanner was Mike’s age, he still cared for her. Tanner still called Alana Mom.
In March 1992, Alana’s last name was McGillis, and she was a widow. Her abusive husband Tim had recently died in a car accident, an act of fate that Alana had never dreamed might actually happen. Years of terror were ended by the sudden, swift turn of a wheel, a drunken, brutal sadist not paying attention. Timothy Donald McGillis died the moment his car hit a tree.
As he died, a cord was severed, misery ceased. Alana McGillis wouldn’t know it for another few hours, when she was stirred by then-Arkendale sheriff Toby Hudson, who with a young Andy Schumacher at his side, informed Mrs. McGillis that her husband was dead. It wasn’t spoken in somber tones; everyone knew that Tim beat his wife, that they were separated, that Alana had a restraining order against him. But at the time she was still his legal next of kin. Alana was told first, then the dominoes fell.
Lana called her parents, and Rae and Tommie later noted that conversation with their closest family, Jacob, Debbie, Sam, and Jenny, as one of strange celebration. Alana’s tears were audible, but not for her late spouse. Only for the immediate sense of freedom, the bizarre absence of fear. From that day, Alana no
longer had to be afraid.
She had been scared to death on several occasions, most of those at the rugged and swinging fists of her now-dead husband. Not an ex-husband, they hadn’t yet divorced. He had told her it would be over his dead body and now it seemed to be true.
The conversation among the oldsters, as they already referred to themselves, happened a few weeks after Tim’s burial, a funeral none of them attended, not even Alana with the couple’s two daughters. Courtney and Melissa weren’t present at their father’s small service, but they were so young, only six and three years old. Melissa would later carry no memories of her natural father. Courtney’s were only that of an angry, raging man who hit her mother while Alana was already cowering on the floor.
Those girls would call only one man Daddy, a man their mother had loved, abandoned, then reclaimed. To Courtney and Melissa McGillis Cassel, Scott was their dad, but it took some time for that to occur.
That family had a cautious morning, girls walking tenderly around their aching mother, even Susannah, but Janessa bounced back with agility, wanting to know when she would see Tanner again. The talk was mumbled: Maybe after while. Maybe in a few days. Maybe… Then Scott twirled his youngest, for he still could. Janessa was the size of a six-year-old, her mind much the same. By lunchtime, she had forgotten all about her eldest sibling.
By noon, no one knew where Tanner was, many unbothered. For the most part the older cousins had washed their hands of him. Eric and Travis had been up early, searching all over town. Andy Schumacher had too, cutting short celebrating his engagement, but Chelsea had told him to go. Wedding plans were in her competent hands.
Andy didn’t fret about Tanner upsetting that part of the evening, for good feelings would return come October. That night many couples had been intimate, recapturing what mattered. While Andy had given Chelsea a ring, it was as if they had been married for ages. She fit into him so well, and that it would only be the two of them wasn’t an issue. Tanner was proof that kids could be the biggest pain in the ass.
But in Arkendale, Tanner and Jackson were nowhere to be found. Had last night been some way for Jackson to announce his role in that large, clannish family? Had his silent but noticeable presence been another sort of engagement, that he was Tanner’s other half, and better to accept him than keep him out?
After some very good sex, Andy and Chelsea had discussed that, then fell asleep in each other’s arms. She had mumbled that she wanted to marry sooner rather than later, on her parents’ front yard weather permitting, otherwise at the church in town, where at times Alvin had worshipped. Andy hadn’t cared, not enough of a Catholic for it to matter. His parents wouldn’t mind, only pleased that he had finally found the right woman. Eric Schumacher had never pestered his youngest about remarrying, but Andy’s mom Paula would be relieved.
He still had to tell them, which he would, once he had scoured all the places Tanner might be. That came first, not only due to his position of sheriff; now Andy was engaged to a Cassel. Chelsea would wear his name, but he might as well add a hyphen to his own. Once absorbed into this tribe, there was no way out.
That was Tim McGillis’ thought when he met Alana in the autumn of 1983. That summer, she had ended things with Scott. Like his father and uncle, Scott could lose his cool, telling Alana that if he wasn’t good enough for her, or more rightly not college educated, that was just fine. The long-time couple said nothing more during her visit. After Liz delivered Mitchell Jacob, Alana kissed her new nephew, hugged her parents, then fled to Eugene.
In the subsequent years Scott met, impregnated, then married Jan Watson. Alana graduated from college and married Tim, but she wasn’t any more to him than something to be beaten into submission when she tried to speak her mind. She never did teach; that she became pregnant right before the wedding was one reason. More was Tim’s need to subjugate her. Everyone saw it once that couple moved back to Arkendale, but no one could do a thing.
Alana McGillis’ marriage was the sort of horrific train wreck that seemed without end. She arrived at various family functions with blackened eyes, swollen cheekbones, and unsteady steps, but she wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t press charges. That Steve, Max, and Scott only made Tim pay once was to keep them out of jail. That time, no charges were filed on either side.
After that, Alana felt empowered. Not because family had stuck up for her; for years those men had threatened to teach Tim a lesson. It was that Lana was tired of wearing her pride as an ugly, black bruise, weary of subjecting her daughters to degradation, sick of feeling afraid, alone, abandoned. She had done it to herself, she told her mother, Jenny, and Liz. She told Lexi she should have never left Scott or Arkendale. Now she was ready to leave her husband.
Tim shot her down with one sentence. If you leave me, he smiled, his face a mess of healing contusions, I’ll kill you.
Eric and Travis sat in the grocery store parking lot, not looking at the oak Grant Schumacher had crashed into. All they considered was another young man deeply into drugs; maybe if Tanner did himself in, everyone would be better off.
“That goddamn asshole,” Travis concluded, gazing at passing cars. But that midnight blue Mustang wasn’t anywhere in town.
Eric sighed. Mitch’s announcement that he would be returning to Iraq was about as awful as all Tanner had said. Would Tanner even dream of doing anything to his mother? What did it matter who fathered who; how could Tanner actually say those words? Then Eric swallowed hard. In some families, relatives did appalling things to each other all the time, no way to comprehend why.
“Man, he really blew it. If Mitch hadn’t been so drunk, he would’ve finished off what Uncle Scott started last night.” Travis tapped his fingers along the truck’s passenger door. “I just don’t know about him anymore.”
Eric nodded. “I think it’s over.”
“Yeah, the stupid shithead. Goddamned motherfucking asshole!”
The words were shouted, but the closed cab contained Travis’ anger, a fury that Eric was sure could fall partly at Mitch’s feet.
Eric didn’t think about the war, only about Travis next to him, where in the world Tanner could be hiding, and one more. Eric’s girlfriend was far away in southern California. When he left for the summer, Dana had said she would be in Los Angeles, where her brother would never find her.
He wasn’t sure about that; in their last few calls, Dana sounded more lost, as if she couldn’t locate where she was. Eric was as helpless with his girlfriend as with his cousin.
His brother; they were brothers, if not by blood then by moments spent with Travis as The Triplets. Always in each other’s hair, always tied too closely; why did Eric attract such needy, troubled souls? All his previous girlfriends had something eating into them, but with Dana, perhaps Eric had reached the pinnacle. “Dude, I think you’re right.”
“What?” Travis laughed. “That he’s the biggest fucker this side of Saddam Hussein?”
Eric smiled. If not for that dictator, Mitch wouldn’t be returning overseas. “No, just that I think we’ve lost him.”
Travis didn’t smile. Instead he stared out the window again, still tapping his fingers, as if trying Morse code, calling back those he loved.
Alana had shared Travis’ hope that things might change. After Tim’s threat, she stayed with Jenny and Sam. Jenny was a balm, sharing some of her past, men so hard to flee. While Rae and Tommie couldn’t comprehend how Alana had remained with her miserable husband, Jenny recognized Alana’s dilemma. It was pride, Jenny admitted, a complacency she didn’t shake until meeting Alvin. Also protection; if Jenny remained with those who only hurt a little, perhaps nothing worse would come along.
Alana had no inkling of what could be worse. If Tim was serious, who would raise her daughters? Plenty of family, but that wasn’t the point. The point to Alana Smith McGillis was she had made this bed. Jenny tried to dissuade her, gentle loving words from a woman like an aunt. Fearful of what Tim might do to her extended family, Alana returned
home in late January 1992. Everyone held their breath, but not for long. On Valentine’s Day, Alana showed up at the emergency room with three broken ribs. Andy Schumacher took her statement and Tim was arrested.
While he was in jail, Debbie, Jenny, and Chelsea packed all of Alana’s things, her girls’ too. Sam, Will, and David unloaded those possessions into Tommie’s house, Rae at the hospital with their daughter. Scott didn’t move a muscle. He would have been there in a heartbeat, but no one mistook his absence for anything more than previous obligations. He had married Jan because she was pregnant with Tanner; they had Nanny as Jan had gone off the pill without her husband’s knowledge.
While Scott adored his kids, he tolerated his wife’s drinking in the same way he had permitted Tim McGillis to continue breathing; some things had to be swallowed. As Alana recovered at the Smith farm, Tim made bail and noises. He would make Alana pay, would never let her go. The Smith brothers and Scott Cassel noted that if Tim touched one hair on Alana’s head, he would lose his own noggin. Tommie, Jacob, and Sam said nothing, but agreed that if Tim sought a payoff for a quickie divorce, a check would be written. Any amount of money was considered; Alana’s peace of mind was priceless.
Money didn’t seem to be an issue with Lana’s husband, only arrogance. Tim beat his wife, but lots of other men did the same; Alana was his property. That was the last anyone heard of it, then for two weeks, Tim was gone.
By then Alana owned little physical pain, but she wondered if this was another mind game? Against her parents’ wishes, she moved back to a house Alvin’s money had purchased, Bonnie Carmine’s astute business sense signing the deed. Everyone thought Alana was crazy, but Courtney and Melissa slept with their mother with new locks on all the doors.
In mid-March, a truck loitered outside Alana’s house. Deputy Schumacher told Mrs. McGillis that he could send over a squad car, as a restraining order was in place. Tommie and Rae implored their daughter to come home, but in pressing charges, Alana had been emboldened. Tim might try to attack her, but this time she wouldn’t hesitate calling the police. Tim had held her hostage for so long, she told Jenny, but not anymore.
Then Sheriff Hudson arrived at Alana’s front door. Tim had left the Main Street Bar at almost midnight, very drunk. The bartender shouldn’t have let him drive, but as usual, Tim got his way. He had married Alana Smith, lived an easy life on her family’s money, gotten his clock cleaned only once by her brothers. Tim McGillis had no doubt he would once again sleep in his bed, hold his wife under this thumb. Those thoughts floated in his sodden mind as he turned a corner, the last conscious consideration before hitting the tree. Tim McGillis was certain Alana would always be his.
The oldsters met at Sam’s house. No one had seen Tanner, and Sam noted they probably wouldn’t for several days, maybe longer. Jackson had laid the ground rules, and now they would have to wait.
Most shared lemon pound cake. Rae and Jenny ate thin slices of chocolate; Jenny still felt guilty, but she had slept well, even making love with Sam that morning. Her issues were different than Tanner’s. No one had the history Jenny did.
She had spoken to Alana that morning, hearing a croaky tone, but little was stated with Lana’s kids in the background. At Jenny’s, it was only the parents at home. In the early afternoon, everyone was still looking for Tanner.
Tommie too knew it was futile. They wouldn’t see Tanner for weeks. His words last night were borne of Jackson’s careful prodding, dragging a family to its knees. It wasn’t about Alana, Tommie muttered. It was about the money.
How much were they willing to sacrifice, how much could Jackson make them pay? It was a calculated risk; Jackson Hooper had no idea how much the family was worth. No one ever asked, for nobody needed more than what they had. If Jackson was aware, he would probably drop Tanner like a hot potato. Jackson’s miserable life could be disposed of with a few simple arrangements.
Sam had considered it for fleeting moments. Some men were of an ilk only to be expunged: Jenny and Tracy’s fathers, Alana’s late husband, and now Jackson. Sam would gladly execute those four, but three were already gone. The last time Sam had seen Fred Hooper, a vicious smile waited on that man’s face. Sam didn’t doubt some trappings of Jackson’s lifestyle landed Fred’s way, just enough that Fred could claim he was taken care of, his nephew with plenty of dough.
Stained with blood, Sam wanted to say, listening to Tommie’s smooth voice. “When Jackson thinks we’re ready to squeal, well, that’s the next time anyone will see Tanner.”
“No one was at his house last night,” Jacob added. “God only knows where they split to.”
“His dog there?” Rae huffed.
Sam didn’t smile, but they all knew, even Tanner’s grandmothers. Everyone realized the particulars, but they were as helpless as when Tim held Alana. Sam had been around enough cowed and abused women to not mistake those signs. Maybe everyone else had expected Lana just to leave her wretch of a spouse. It had taken Jenny four years to run away, and while Tracy had moved from her father’s reach, she had been forever tied to him, powerless to cut that strange, strangling cord.
“The dog’s still there. Bet Fred’ll be over, feeding it,” Tommie sighed.
“Someone should shoot it.”
Everyone stared at Jenny.
“Just shoot that damn pit bull,” she repeated, taking a bite of Sam’s lemon pound cake.
Sam grasped her hand, vengeance within her cool fingers. Maybe when she was… He smiled. Maybe when she was stoned her brain released some old desire to make someone pay.
“Well, a dead dog ain’t gonna bring my grandson home.” Jacob finished his pound cake, then gripped his brother’s hand, which rested on Jenny’s.
Jacob and Jenny shared a gaze, Debbie included. Maybe those ancient days never truly left. Perhaps no place or time was safe from evil. People simply weathered one storm to prepare for the next.
Sam didn’t allow any more than that, also didn’t want to think about his youngest’s desire to return. It was fine for the rest of them, but last night Tanner had only hardened Sam’s mind. Eric should never come back to Arkendale.
A week after Tim’s death, Scott had visited the McGillis house. The funeral was the next day and while none of them would attend, Scott wondered if Alana might go.
He only stayed along enough to ascertain that no, she would see him in hell first. The former couple shared a quiet laugh in her kitchen, then one small embrace. Lana’s brute of a husband was recently departed, but Scott didn’t expect his life would change.
Over the next year, Alana learned from the women in her family how choices made in haste and pride could be overcome if the right man came along. That was Jenny’s main message, not that she wished to bust up Scott and Jan’s marriage. Their relationship was tenuous, had been so before Nanny was born, a twosome as fragile as Lana and Tim, without the violence. Yet, Jan verbally abused Tanner and Nanny when she needed a fix. Jacob blamed himself for Tanner’s addictive nature, but it was just as much Jan Watson Cassel’s fault.
At get-togethers and holidays, Scott and Alana attempted to restrain their feelings. Jan was half blind with booze, but not stupid, and when Scott left her in February of 1993, it was more than a man tired of living with an alcoholic, trying to care for their kids on his own. Scott moved in with Sam and Jenny, taking his children with him, letting Alana know that he was free.
Tim’s passing came and went, but Courtney and Melissa didn’t miss their father, didn’t mourn him. His widow certainly didn’t.
A few days after that anniversary, Alana invited Scott to her house. They shared small talk, but it was perfunctory, as Scott caressed her face, then gently squeezed her hands. On a March evening in 1993, they embraced in Alana’s living room, but said nothing until behind her closed bedroom door. That it had been nearly ten years since they had last made love caused few shy smiles. Scott’s frame was the same lean, firm build as when he was twenty years old. Alana had birthed two children, also
worn many bruises. None remained, only a small belly where her girls had lain. Scott removed his shirt as Alana did the same, then his hands couldn’t be stopped, reveling in skin that had realized rougher exchanges and very little joy.
That night Alana and Scott knew bliss alongside extreme physical satisfaction. That they did so without any birth control was acknowledged by both, a small allowance for what they couldn’t fully express. Nothing stood in their way, not his living wife or her dead husband. Not their two children each or the family which before had seemed overwhelming. Why Alana cried in his arms was twofold; that Scott couldn’t stay away and perhaps he wouldn’t go.
He did dress for work at four the next morning, but left behind something of which both were in agreement. The couple’s first child was conceived just as their other firstborns were, before vows were said. Susannah Cassel was within her parents’ lives before they were wed.
Along Interstate 5, a dark blue Mustang hummed along at sixty-eight miles an hour. Reaching the center of California, Jackson wasn’t about to be stopped for excessive speed. His trunk looked spotless, but under the spare tire sat a stash that would last until Jackson was settled.
His habit was negligible, just enough to keep him sane. During the day Jackson engaged in acts similar to the late Tim McGillis, wishing to hold people under his control. If Tanner ever left him, Jackson wouldn’t know what to do.
But Jackson assumed those old fuckers would pay. Eventually they would have to, what his Uncle Fred had said. They had always been a tight bunch, a bit incestuous for Fred’s taste. Jackson had laughed at that; his uncle would stab anyone in the back if the price was right. Jackson had left his dog in Fred’s care only because bringing it along would have been a hassle. If Jackson returned home and the dog was dead, it would be a small loss.
Tanner Cassel was a much bigger fish. Uncle Fred thought that family was worth twenty, maybe thirty million dollars, which to Jackson was like pie in the sky. He’d be happy to get fifty thousand out of them, a number that held no significance to Jackson, or to Tanner for that matter. But if they mentioned that figure to Sam, Jacob, or Tommie, eyebrows would have been raised. Like Jackson Hooper, Jan Watson Cassel had no clue as to how much her estranged husband’s family was worth. That she only wanted fifty thousand had been a relief when trying to secure Scott’s divorce before Alana had their first baby.
Jackson hoped fifty thousand wouldn’t bother that family too much, then he laughed. Tanner was napping, a heavy hit an hour ago putting that kid to sleep. They were heading to Los Angeles, a few weeks out of sight telling those rich bastards that Jackson wasn’t messing around. If they wanted Tanner back, in one basic piece, they would give in, and in another week, his Uncle Fred would deliver that message. Jackson turned up the air conditioner, then looked to the horizon. Flat dull land, plain blue sky, mile after mile the same.
Just like Tanner; with every hit, he was further Jackson’s charge. The longer the family waited, the more strung out Tanner would be. Why Jackson fed his own small habit; pondering his actual intentions was painful.
Jackson smiled. Better for it to be Tanner that fucked-up. When his family wanted him back, all they needed to do was write a check, or give him the cash. If Sam Cassel wanted to hand over a briefcase, Jackson wouldn’t flinch. Something business-like about it, since that’s all it was. Jackson held no grudges against Tanner’s family. His Uncle Fred did, but that was an old man’s ancient peeves. Jackson hadn’t gotten along with David in school, but this with Tanner wasn’t more than a transaction. Staring again to the endless plain, Jackson wished for a cigarette to blunt the edge. This with Tanner was only business.
Chapter 2
Alvin's Farm Book 5: An Innate Sense of Recognition Page 1