by Mary Feliz
I thought through the rest of the questions that remained unanswered. “And what about Boots? Is she really going to be okay?”
Linc leaned forward and answered. “Boots is recovering well. She’s still in a rehab facility while they strengthen her motor functions, but Santana and I went to visit her yesterday and she’s hoping to go back home early next week.”
I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d promised Santana I’d take her to visit Boots in the hospital, but I’d forgotten about it in the rush to pull off the tea. Santana hadn’t reminded me about it, either. I was glad Linc had picked up the slack.
“Boots has renewed her status as a foster mom and is planning to take charge of Santana,” Linc continued. I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head. Santana and Ketifa had been living at our house and helping with the preparations at Linc’s, but neither one had mentioned any of this to me. Then I remembered Ketifa saying that Santana idolized Linc and he’d been tutoring her in electronics, engineering, and physics. In any case, from what Linc was saying, everything was under control. But then I thought of another snag.
“Is Santana still eligible for services?” I asked. “She was talking about applying to Stanford. Don’t foster kids age out of care at eighteen?” I was sure I’d heard from someone that Santana was nineteen.
Jason nodded and smiled. “Our Santana was a little loose with the truth, but Findley put on his granddaddy-like charm and convinced her to tell us everything. Paolo confirmed the details. Her real name is Jane Evans and she’s only sixteen. Starting in January, she’ll take classes at both the high school and the junior college. In two years she should be able to transfer into Stanford as a junior.”
“Her grades are that good?” I wondered how an essentially homeless young teen kept up with her schooling.
Linc chimed in. “She asked me to help her fill in the gaps in her education, but she’s seriously brilliant and more focused than most of the undergraduates I teach. Based on the little she’s told me, she comes from a very conservative family in Arkansas. Her parents must be pretty bright, because they were homeschooling her and her fundamentals in most subjects are solid. She’d finished the religious homeschool curriculum her parents were using and wanted to go to college. Her parents discouraged her, but she was aching for more and was studying calculus and engineering on her own with some help from a program at her local library. Her parents found out, feared for her spiritual welfare, and sent her to live with her aunt and uncle in Menlo Park. But that didn’t work out, either and she ran away. Boots and I have been talking to her family and smoothing some things out. The legal aspects of her situation are complicated, but Forrest Doucett is helping with that.”
Linc waved across the room, and I turned. Boots herself walked in through the kitchen door. She held a cane but didn’t appear to be using it.
“I’ve been trying to catch everyone up on Santana and Ketifa,” Linc said as Boots approached. He hopped up to help her to a spot at the table.
“Now, Ketifa, I know about,” I said. “She’s been going to her doctor’s appointments and eating well, and the baby is due shortly before Christmas.” She’d been helping me out with some of the paperwork for my business and organizing files for Max.
“Linc says Santana will be moving in with you,” I said to Boots. “I’ll miss her.”
Boots tapped her cane twice on the floor. “Indeed.” But then she smiled and her demeanor warmed. She grabbed a cookie from the few remaining on the plate in the center of the table, looked at it, and popped it into her mouth.
“The girls have been very happy at your house, Maggie, and I can’t thank you enough. Santana’s going to move in with me so we can help each other out. If Forrest can shuffle the paperwork fast enough, I’m hoping to adopt her. She’s terrified her dreadful uncle is going to force her to go back home. Adopting her would put that fear to rest. It’s complicated. She may have to emancipate herself from her parents first. Forrest is figuring out all that for us. Including what charges might be brought against her uncle.” Boots tapped her cane on the floor again and it echoed in the nearly empty room.
“And Ketifa?” I asked. Max and I had talked about the possibility that we might soon be hearing an infant crying for a midnight feeding and find ourselves parenting a child who was mother to another child. We weren’t sure of the legality of the situation, but Max had promised to send out a few feelers on the subject when he met Forrest for lunch the following week.
But, if Forrest was already working with Santana and Boots, that might not be necessary.
Boots spoke up then. “Ketifa’s situation is completely different. She’s married, for one thing, and an adult. Her husband is missing in action in Afghanistan.”
“Seriously?” I said. “She’s never mentioned it. She told us he was missing, but never elaborated. I guess I assumed he was just out of the picture and had left her to raise the baby on her own. Poor Ketifa.”
“I’ve been helping there,” Stephen said. “Putting her in touch with the right people at the VA to confirm her husband’s status, get her some counseling, and make sure she and her baby receive all their benefits.”
“She’s welcome to stay with us as long as she likes,” I said.
Stephen grabbed a cookie. “We think she’s still entitled to an apartment at Moffett Field,” he said, referring to the federal airfield in Mountain View. “She and her husband lived off the base, where rental costs have soared. She got news of the rent increase the day before the Army notified her that her husband was missing. None of that put her in any position to figure out the paperwork required to solve either problem. She was staying with friends before she started hiding in Linc’s basement.
“We’re working hard to learn more about her husband’s situation and fix her up with shared housing with another Army mom. Her old landlord liked her and saved her belongings from the apartment. He was relieved to know she was safe.”
“That’s good news,” I said. “But what happens now?”
“Knowing she can stay with you and Max has given her great peace of mind,” Stephen said.
“She’s been a huge help,” I said. “She can stay as long as she likes. I want to offer her a job when she’s ready too.”
“Time will tell,” Stephen said. “And Ketifa herself, of course. She’s been mourning her husband and worrying that she shouldn’t be grieving because he’s officially missing, rather than deceased. She doesn’t talk about it because it’s difficult to explain. Dealing with an MIA situation is complicated, but the VA’s helping now.”
I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair. When I looked up, I found everyone focused on me as if I were about to say something brilliant. I sat up and waved them off with my hand. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe everything these girls have been through. Being sixteen like Santana and nineteen like Ketifa is not supposed to be this difficult.”
A profound silence followed, interrupted by the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen. Tess and Linc jumped up and ran to help out.
“Has Keenan been arraigned?” I asked. “Does the district attorney have enough evidence to take the case against Keenan to trial?”
Jason grinned. “He’s confessed to Sarah’s murder, planting the bomb at Stanford, and assaulting Linc with his truck. He’s denied chasing you down. He says someone stole his truck.”
I leaned forward to ask a question, but Jason held up his hand and continued: “He never reported a theft and we’ve got him on a Stanford security video climbing into the truck the day after the car chase. We’re checking red-light camera footage too.”
“Has he said why he did it? Any of it?” I asked. “I’ve never been able to figure out what he stood to gain from Linc’s death.”
Jason buried his face in his hands and sighed. “Maybe you have to be an academic to understand it or maybe you just need to be crazy. Keenan told us he was tired of working in a lab that was off in the portable annex. He wanted to be in the thick of things,
where the other researchers joined each other for lunch and coffee breaks and invited each other to parties. Keenan felt like an afterthought off in the annex and wanted Linc’s office. He set the bomb up because he was getting frustrated. If the explosion killed Linc, fine. But if it didn’t, it would mean that the university would have to build a whole new building that would fit the entire department.”
Linc must have walked back into the room while we were talking, because I heard him sigh heavily behind me.
“It’s not an academic thing to murder someone as a career move,” Linc said with a catch in his throat. “That’s insane. In fact, all Keenan would have had to do to get my office was to ask to trade with me. I loved being in the annex. It was quiet and out of the way. No one popped in for a visit. Half the reason I do so much work at night is because I can get more done without interruptions.”
He pushed the hair back from his forehead, causing it to stick up in the middle. “A few years ago the administration got wind of the fact that the Nobel committee had been interested in some of my work. They moved my lab because they didn’t think it was right to house a potential Nobel laureate in a temporary building.” A sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh escaped. “And Sarah died because of that?” Linc’s eyes grew damp and his lower lip trembled.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s still really hard.” He wiped his eyes and continued. “Back when she was alive, I would often tell her that all the Nobel attention was a distraction and one of the worst things that could have happened to my career. But Sarah was the one who encouraged me to enjoy it and not to think of it as a curse.”
Linc grabbed the tub of dirty dishes from the table and turned toward the kitchen.
“Linc, wait,” I said. “I don’t want to cause you pain, but have you given any thought to a memorial service? Did Sarah have any other family? I’d be happy to help.”
“Thanks, Maggie,” he said, brushing his hand over his eyes. “Sarah was alone like me. All her family died years ago.” He cleared his throat. “She said she wanted to be cremated. I thought I might rent out one of those whale-watching boats and scatter her ashes in Monterey Bay. That’s what we did on our first date. Whale watching, not ash scattering.” Tears slid unchecked down his cheeks. “I thought maybe revisiting a happy place and memory might be good.”
I smiled and wiped tears that threatened to spill from my own eyes. “That sounds perfect.”
Linc looked at the people gathered at the table. “You’d all be welcome. I’d love to have your support, and I think Sarah would like it. It’d be a chance to say good-bye.” A murmur of assent started quietly and grew as it moved around the table of Sarah’s friends.
Linc nodded firmly and retreated quickly to the kitchen.
“It’s going to take us all a long time to be able to remember her without suffering that kind of pain. It will come, though, won’t it? For Linc and for the rest of us?” I said.
Boots bit her lip and nodded, but said nothing.
“Does anyone know if there’s any tea left?” Stephen asked, standing and searching the tables, lifting the teapots as if gauging their weight and contents. He must have found some, as he quickly returned with two cups and handed one to Jason.
“Meaning no disrespect to Sarah or Linc, but may I change the subject? I still have some questions,” Stephen said. No one stopped him, and he continued after taking a sip of his tea. “What about Santana?” he asked. “Does she have any lingering guilt related to Sarah’s death or Boots’s injuries? Didn’t she think she was responsible for both at some point?”
Boots pounded her cane again. I was now certain she carried it not for support but for the commanding presence it gave her. “She was guilty of making some poor conclusions based on adolescent logic. Both the medical examiner and the county’s utility expert reported that a storm-related electrical charge, coupled with the amped-up power Keenan rigged, was responsible for Sarah’s death. They speculate she picked exactly the wrong moment to unplug those electrical units in Linc’s workroom. The chemotherapy drugs she was taking for her breast cancer had weakened her heart and a lightning strike did the rest.”
It took me a moment to let that sink in. My assumption about the letter I found in Sarah’s desk had been accurate. She’d not only had cancer, but had started treatment without telling anyone. I’d be furious if Max did something like that without telling me. I hoped that Linc would recover from that news. Anger and grief so often went hand in hand.
Linc came back to the table wearing an apron and carrying another gray bin to load dishes. His eyes were red, but he stoically stopped to talk more before busing the tables.
“Forrest and Boots are helping me with another memorial for Sarah. Once the dust settles, Forrest is going to write up an agreement that will turn most of the back portion of the yard here over to the Plotters,” he said, patting Boots on the shoulder. “We want to talk to an architect about converting the second floor of the carriage house that overlooks the gardens into a small apartment for security staff. This house is pretty big for just me, so we’re going to see if there is an attractive way to convert the inside to shared housing or small apartments. I’d take one and rent the rest. Possibly at reduced market rates for foster kids who have aged out of the system. Like I said, I’m not making any decisions for a year, but working on the plans has been a positive step forward.”
“So, what happened with the confusion over your mom’s will?” I asked.
“We were both right about that,” Boots said. “The only problem was that the will Mrs. Sinclair showed me was an earlier will. She later changed it without telling me—which she had every right to do.”
Max had come in without my noticing and placed his hands on my shoulders in an echo of Linc’s stance behind Boots. He reached forward and grabbed a clean teacup from the table, lifting it in a toast. “To new futures and happy endings.”
“To Linc,” I added. “You’re going to need patience and persistence with the town council to push that plan through.”
Linc shook his head. “I’ve got Boots to run interference.”
Boots sat up straight, squared her shoulders, and smiled as if she were a little kid with a mischievous plan. She pounded her cane on the floor. “Damn straight.”
Then she turned to me and scowled. “And as for you, missy: I hear you were snooping about the garden to see if I was running a teenaged crime ring.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I flushed and stammered.
Boots burst out laughing and patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Maggie. I kind of liked being a crime lord, even if it was only in your imagination.” She turned and winked at Linc. “Maybe we should consider it as a sideline if we find it’s difficult to get funding for all our plans.”
I was relieved Boots had forgiven me, but my embarrassment lingered. Now that I knew her better, the idea of her veering into lawlessness was ridiculous. To cover my confusion, I stood and began collecting dishes.
Linc sneezed explosively. He pulled a large red bandanna from his pocket, blew his nose loudly, then wiped his eyes.
“Allergies,” he explained. “It’s Sarah’s cat, Jelly.”
“We can take her for you,” I said. “If she’s making you sick, I mean. We all love her, including Belle, who decided that kitten is her puppy. While you were staying with us, she kept trying to carry Jelly around in her mouth.”
Linc stuffed the bandanna back in his pocket. “No way,” he said. “I’m getting allergy shots and have a full regimen of antihistamines and steroid drops. She’s the last living reminder of Sarah, and she’s staying with Newt and me.”
I felt like applauding, but instead clapped Linc on the back. Everyone pitched in and we made fast work of the cleanup. Stephen and Jason moved to the front porch, hoping to watch the floats line up for the town’s annual Festival of Lights parade.
When we were done, all I wanted to do was go home, curl up in front of the fire o
n the sofa with Max, and spend time with whichever teenagers were home for the evening. The high school band was performing in the parade, but David had insisted we stay home. He planned to go out for pizza with friends afterwards. One or both of us had attended all his performances earlier in the season, so we’d agreed with David’s suggestion to skip this one.
In the car on the way home, Max tuned the radio to a station that was playing Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. “I love this time of year,” I said. “When the holiday music still seems fresh and festive.”
“Unlike late December, when it makes you grit your teeth and think of everything you have left to do,” Max said, giving my arm a little nudge and laughing.
“Tess’s party went well and we both handed out every business card we had. Now I just have to sit back and wait for the phone to ring.”
“About that,” said Max. “Connie called to say things are pretty slow in Stockton at this time of year. She wondered if you needed any help setting up Simplicity Itself here.”
“That’d be wonderful,” I said, yawning through my words. Connie had been my assistant in Stockton, and we’d worked out a deal for her to manage and eventually buy out the business there.
“Now all we have to do is figure out how to entertain twenty-four family members for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Piece of cake,” said Max.
If I’d had any more energy, I’d probably have snarled at Max. Instead I asked, “Do you know any deserted islands where we could escape?”
“Seriously, Maggie. I think you need to focus on getting more help. Not overcommitting your time. I’ve been really worried about you. You’re doing too much.”