Finding Their Son

by Debra Salonen

  “I suppose I should fill in the blanks about what happened,” she said. “That journal you were reading ended with me admitting I was pregnant. What came next…” Her voice trailed off a moment, then she added, faking a smile, “Is in another book. Black cover. For obvious reasons.”

  He wiped his mouth with the napkin and pushed the bowl aside. Easing back against the chair, he said, “Okay. Tell me what happened. But make it the truth. I’m a cop. I can tell when someone’s lying.” He wished. He’d never once suspected his wife had been keeping a life-altering secret from him all these years.

  “I told you before,” she said stiffly, her small, pointed chin lifting. “I don’t lie.”

  Their gazes met and held. He believed her. “Go on.”

  “You read the passage about what happened the night you came to my aunt’s. I didn’t plan it. Obviously.”

  He believed that. “You acted on impulse. I get that. What I don’t get is why?”

  “I was fifteen. Kids that age do dumb things without thinking about the repercussions.”

  Fifteen. Micah was fifteen. “Why me?”

  “I had a crush on you. I don’t know why, but I sorta built up this fantasy about you and me. If you read any of my earlier diaries, you’d see your name mentioned quite often. So when you showed up out of the blue that night…Well, I guess you could say I took advantage of you.”

  He hadn’t heard anyone use that phrase in a long time. His ego wasn’t wild about the idea that anyone could have used him, although that summed up what Bobbi did.

  “It was a dumb thing to do, I know,” she said. “But…” She took a breath and slowly let it out. His gaze was drawn to her chest.

  Damn. He’d held those breasts in his hands and didn’t remember? What the hell was wrong with him?

  She pounded her fist on the table to get his attention. Eli was ashamed but he wasn’t going to apologize. “I’m trying to remember.”

  “Well, don’t. It wasn’t that great. You were drunk. I was a virgin. It was over…fast. And you took off when I got up to go to the bathroom. Some bloody bandages were all that was left behind. I burned those in the incinerator behind the house and never told anyone what happened between us.”

  He wondered if she burned the sheet, too. Had it contained a smear of her virgin blood? A sadness he didn’t want to feel passed over him.

  “I read about your wedding in the paper. They described the whole thing. Right down to the kind of flower in the lapel of your tux.” Which she’d cut out and pasted into her journal. He’d seen the yellowed clipping. Bobbi had one just like it in their wedding album.

  “A few weeks later I heard you joined the Marines.”

  He nodded. “Seemed like the smart thing to do for a guy with a high school diploma and a kid on the way.” He didn’t try to soften the snarl that came from describing that turning point in his life.

  “I told myself I was happy for you,” she said. “I got something from you—more than I expected as I later found out, but at the time I was satisfied.”

  He wondered if he’d given her any satisfaction that night. She’d implied not, but he hadn’t been a complete novice when it came to pleasing women. He might have asked if the question wouldn’t have come off sounding completely lame and a dozen and a half years too late.

  “When did you find out you were pregnant?” There, he could be a grown-up.

  She looked reflective. “I think I knew within a couple of weeks. Not possible, I’ve been told. But I knew. Deep down. The old bla—” She caught herself from saying something she didn’t want him to hear. Another secret? “A voice in my head told me I was pregnant, but I refused to believe her. It, I mean.”

  He tried to picture Char coping with such a scary reality, alone. Micah’s age. A tenth-grade student with her whole life ahead of her—and a new life inside her. “You must have been scared.”

  She shook her head. “One would think, right? But actually, I was happy. Excited. Delirious. That’s why I kept it a secret for as long as I could. I knew that once everyone else found out—my mother and Pam, in particular—there’d be holy hell to pay. So as long as it was just me and the baby I could be as happy as I wanted to be.”

  As happy as I wanted to be. The words sounded eerily familiar, but Eli couldn’t place them.

  “That’s not the kind of thing you can keep secret forever.”

  “I know. Eventually the school called my mother because I’d been skipping P.E. It wasn’t like I had any choice after a certain point. If I’d showered with the other girls I would have been outed immediately. I got by longer than I expected by stealing my aunt’s prescription pad and writing an excuse of contagious impetigo. I didn’t know what that was, but it sounded bad, and nobody seemed in a rush for me to share water or towels with my classmates.”

  “Eventually someone complained?”

  “Miss Duty. Can you believe we had a P.E. teacher named Duty? Only in Pierre.”

  Eli remembered the woman all too well. She’d come on to him—in a broadly flirtatious way—after practice one day. He could have nailed her without a backward glance…if he hadn’t been on-again with Bobbi at the time. “And…”

  “She called my aunt. I always wondered if Miss Duty was secretly gay.” She paused a moment as if to reconsider the possibility. Eli kept his opinion to himself. “Anyway, Aunt Pam went ballistic. She looked at me—really looked at me—and instantly guessed what was going on. It got loud and ugly around my house for about a week, until I finally confessed what happened.”

  “You told them you had unprotected sex with an Indian. I bet that went over well.”

  She looked miffed. “Your ethnicity wasn’t mentioned. In fact, your name didn’t come up until I filled out the birth certificate. Naturally there was some speculation about the baby’s heritage after he came out because he had a full head of glossy black hair.” She paused as if tripping over that specific memory was painful. “But my hair’s pretty dark without the highlights.”

  “So my name is on the kid’s birth certificate.” Not that that proved anything. His name was on E.J.’s, too.

  Char didn’t answer right away. “No,” she finally said.

  “No?”

  “Pam totally went off when she saw your name. She said the last thing any of them needed was for some tribal muck-a-mucks to get involved. She balled up the form and threw it in the garbage. She came back a few minutes later with another blank one and made me put unknown on the line where the father’s name is supposed to go. She said no one would question it because I was my mother’s daughter.”

  The way she said the last told him more than he wanted to know. He felt an unwelcome tug of sympathy. “Emotional blackmail,” he said softly.

  Her pretty eyes were tear-free. “It worked. I knew in an instant I didn’t want my kid to have the kind of family life I had. The kind of family life he would have had if he’d stayed with me.” She looked at him, chin high. “Pam arranged for a private adoption. I didn’t see the family, but they met my criteria.”

  “What kind of criteria?”

  “I…” She looked down. Was this when the lies started? “At least one of the parents had to be Native American. I wanted our son to be proud of his heritage.”

  Eli couldn’t repress his scorn for her naiveté. “Wherever he is, I’m sure he thanks you a lot for that.”

  She sat forward. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Char. You grew up in South Dakota. You know what happens to kids on the rez.” He used the slang he heard every day on the job. “Even the best and the brightest somehow get sucked into the vortex. They check their ambition at the door and fall into the same old patterns of alcohol abuse and apathy.”

  Her face was contorted with concern. “But how could knowing about your heritage be a bad thing? You spent your summers on the reservation. You’re a success story.”

  His laugh was anything but funny. “Right. The guy who tried to rob you. Whose ca
reer is probably dust. Whose wife left him and kids think he’s the biggest jerk on the planet.” Her expression turned intense as the reality of his situation sank in. “Yeah. Your kid is really going to thank you for that.”

  She licked her lips and swallowed. Her hands were clenched on the table, as if in prayer. “I wanted him to be proud of who he is. My family tree flattens out after two generations. Nobody remembers my great-grandparents’ names or birthplace. We’re a freaking bonsai. But you have this rich, beautiful culture that makes you unique and special. He should know that.”

  Her passionate tone and adamant conviction confused him. He didn’t like being confused—the constant emotional state of his life lately. “Right. Well, he’s probably a junior in high school at this point. That was a turning point in my life,” he admitted. “It’s the year I met Bobbi. With any luck your kid is smarter than I was.”

  Her clenched fists remained clenched. “Kids are smarter these days, aren’t they?”

  He thought about E.J., who had appeared to have his head on straight and his goals firmly in sight…until the rug was yanked out from under him. Now, according to Bobbi, his son was living with his skanky girlfriend—her words—and smoking pot every day. “Not really,” he said, feeling old and tired.

  Char stood. “I have the adoption papers in my safe. I haven’t looked at them for years. Maybe we should try to find him. To make sure he’s okay. Give him options he didn’t know he had.”

  Options? He’d had options. Fat lot of good they’d done him. His life was too messed up at the moment to devote thought to another big unknown. Besides, he was pretty sure finding a child given up in a private adoption wasn’t all that simple.

  “I’m not judging you, but I am curious. How come your mom or your other aunt didn’t offer to help raise the kid?”

  Her elaborate shudder told him a lot. “My uncle was worse than any of my mother’s boyfriends. The fact that he calls himself a man of God is such an outrage, even a dumb kid like me could see through him. Marilyn is like my grandma. Saintly martyr? Or victim of abuse? The answer depends on who you ask.”

  He understood. He’d seen the same scenario time and again on the job.

  “As for my mother…” She let out a soft sigh. “She passed away a few years ago in Phoenix. Complications from Valley Fever. Too many vices, too many years of abusing her health. She was married to husband number four at the time. The best in a long string of losers. He was the reason she had a small estate to pass on to me,” she said, gesturing toward the business he’d been in earlier. “It helped with the down payment on this place.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Died in a car accident when I was nine. He and Mom were divorced at the time. We moved back to Pierre when Grandpa got sick. Colon cancer,” she added.

  Her childhood didn’t sound much happier than his, although he did have great memories of spending his summers on the reservation with his grandparents. His dad was rarely around, but Unci and Lala had been the two most special people in the world. He’d been surrounded by cousins—and kids the family took in and called cousins—and interesting adults who seemed to laugh a lot. At least, in his memories.

  “Listen,” he said, repressing a yawn. “This is probably a lot to ask—especially after I tried to rob you…” Her smile made him forget what he was about to say. She was beautiful. Strong features that fit her face and seemed tempered by life. In a good way—even given what he knew about that life.

  “Let’s agree that you weren’t really a danger to me or others. A B.B. pistol can’t hurt you if you don’t take the safety off. So what do you want to ask me?”

  “I wonder if I could bunk here tonight. The couch. Even the floor would be a big improvement over where I slept last night. I don’t think I have the energy to wander around Sturgis trying to find my uncle tonight.”

  “Or the right jacket,” she added. “You could have died of exposure, you know.”

  He shook his head. “I had a sleeping bag, although it was only a three-season one. Barely adequate for the temperature. And to make things worse, at some point in the night I rolled down an embankment and ripped a big hole in it. I tossed the thing in the first garbage can I came to.”

  “Oh. Well, it probably wouldn’t have done you much good tonight. I heard it’s supposed to snow.”

  “Great.” His options were shrinking by the dozen. He’d probably have to call Bobbi in the morning to ask her to come pick him up. Lucky him.

  “Of course, you can stay here. I have a guest room. My only regular visitor to use it is named Jordie.”

  A guy. “You’re not expecting him tonight?”

  She seemed amused by the question. “No. I saw him at the party today.” She consulted her watch. “He’s probably home in bed with a tummy ache after eating too much cake and ice cream. He’s seven.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s my friend Kat’s son. She lends him to me when I need a kid fix. Something I didn’t even know I was missing in my life until she asked me to babysit one day. Heck, she had to twist my arm to do it. That was a few months back. Now I can’t get enough. Little boys are fascinating creatures.”

  He pictured E.J. as a child. They’d done so much together over the years. Less once puberty hit, but from age five to twelve E.J. and Eli had been best buddies.

  “Do you have any aspirin? I’ve got a blinding headache.”

  She looked at him a moment as if she might say something, but instead, she nodded and made a follow-me motion. “You can name your poison. I have every OTC drug and herbal potion known to man. I blame my aunt for this fascination I have with long, unpronounceable names for products that I usually throw out unopened when their expiration date comes up.”

  He couldn’t imagine wasting money like that but he didn’t say so. Maybe his first impression was right after all. She was weird.

  But she was offering him a warm bed, and he was willing to overlook her oddness—and the silent elephant hanging in mid-air between them—out of pure and simple exhaustion. “Thanks,” he said, meaning it.

  “You’re welcome. No Lakota I’ve ever met would turn away a weary traveler.”

  He kept his snide comment to himself. But as he followed her down the narrow hallway, he found himself thinking that the only thing better than a warm bed might be one with a warm body in it. Hers.

  He shook his head, hoping to clear away the lingering effects of his uncle’s narcotics. That had to explain the irrational reaction he experienced when he was close to her. Good Lord, he had enough troubles without complicating things even more.

  “Do any of those pills have a sleep aid in them?”

  Her laugh was light and chirpy, like a birdcall he once heard. “That’s my favorite kind. I never use them because I hate waking up groggy in the morning, but I’m a sucker for a good sleep aid ad. Dreams are not necessarily our friends.”

  At last. Something they both agreed upon emphatically.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAR DIDN’T EXPECT to sleep—not with Eli Robideaux in her guest room. She even pilfered two pale blue pills from the bottle she’d given him in case she tossed and turned for hours. Reliving the worst moment in her life was bad enough, but second-guessing her decision and all the hopes she’d had for her child’s future was even worse. But as she closed her eyes she’d found her attention drawn in a different direction.

  The moment her head hit the pillow she relived in surprising detail the kiss they’d shared that afternoon. When she rubbed her cheek on the fine thread count pillowcase, she was sorry the fabric wasn’t rougher to mimic the sensation of his beard against her skin.

  She didn’t know why he kissed her. And her usually outspoken subconscious was remaining uncharacteristically mum on the subject. But ruminating on the possibilities seemed to relax her and within moments she was sound asleep.

  “What’s that about?” she asked her reflection the next morning as she brushed her teeth. “Eli Robideaux’s
kiss is the cure to insomnia? Who knew?”

  The words came out muffled and unintelligible, thanks to the toothbrush, but normally she didn’t even have to think something to receive a lecture from the old black woman.

  Today…nothing.

  Not even a “Don’t you dare, chickadee!” just before dawn, when Char woke up breathing hard from her dream. She’d tingled in places that hadn’t seen action in months. For a minute she’d considered faking some kind of sleep disorder to accidentally-on-purpose wind up in his bed.

  Her fantasies stopped the instant she tried to picture herself explaining the situation to her book club friends. They’d already heard Kat describe a bizarre Old West scenario that happened between her and Jack. Char didn’t think they’d buy her sudden-onset sleepwalking excuse.

  She used a hand towel to wipe away the foggy condensation on the mirror. She stared into her eyes a moment. “Stonewalling, huh? That’s new.” Apparently her subconscious had adopted a wait-and-see policy.

  She scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue at the face in the mirror. Leaning close, she frowned. Was that a zit starting on her chin? No. Please, not now.

  Before she could attack the tiny, mostly nonexistent blemish, the phone rang. She gave her image one last look before dashing into the adjoining bedroom. “Hello?”

  “Oh, good. You’re alive. I called to make sure your mysterious old friend didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.”

  Libby. Char glanced at the clock radio. What took you so long? She’d half expected her friends to start calling last night to check on her.

  She pushed the speakerphone button so she could move around as they spoke. “I’m still alive and well,” she said, returning the portable unit to its cradle. “Thanks for asking. How was the rest of the party?”

  She tossed her towel into the bathroom then slid open the closet doors. She knew all too well she had enough clothes for three closets crammed into one tiny space. As a bit of a pack rat, she was loath to get rid of anything.