Finding Their Son

by Debra Salonen

  “What else did you observe about me?” he asked, both curious and anxious to fill the silence between them.

  “Well, you got better grades than anyone else on either the football team or the basketball team. Several of the track guys had 4.0s, but you were pretty smart for a jock.”

  “Not really. Look where I wound up.”

  She gave him a scolding look that reminded him of his mother. He wondered how it was possible to miss someone who had been dead for half his life.

  “I do a lot of business with members of your tribe, Eli,” she said. “Mostly by phone or over the Internet,” she added, as if anticipating his question. How come I’ve never seen you in Lower Brule?

  “From what I’ve heard, you’re a good cop. Serious. Conscientious. Forward-thinking. My friend Linda Thompson said your son was involved in ritual dancing thanks to you.”

  Eli didn’t dance. He would have felt like an imposter. But he had tremendous respect for the art and passion of traditional Lakota dances. He’d gotten into the project as a way to connect with E.J., who had a bit of the performer in him. Bobbi’s contribution, he’d always assumed. Now he wondered if that came from Robert’s side of the family.

  “Yeah, well, that’s in the past. My s…so—” The word wouldn’t come out. “E.J. quit dancing. The only ritual I’ve been involved with was courtesy of my uncle, whose brain has probably become pickled from all the booze he’s imbibed over the years.”

  The whistle from the kettle made her turn to the stove, but over her shoulder, she said, “And yet you chose him as your spiritual advisor.”

  Her soft snicker made him smile. Even though he was still pissed off about his circumstances, he could appreciate the irony. But he quickly reverted to his impassive cop face when she brought him his bowl of hot cereal. Surly helped keep her at a distance, which was the smart thing to do. She was pretty, kind, smart and forgiving. And he was attracted to her. Too attracted.

  They ate in silence. He wolfed his down in five or six bites, the way E.J. would have. He didn’t know where he left his manners—in the Badlands, maybe?

  “So. Your first point was my uncle’s supposed insight into my fractured psyche. What’s number two?” he asked, pushing his bowl to the middle of the table.

  Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth. She lowered the spoon and took a deep breath before answering. “Last night you said that seventeen was a pivotal age for you. I bet you’ve arrested your share of kids who made some dumb mistake at that age and spent the rest of their life regretting it.”

  If they had the rest of their lives. Too many wound up dead. Not that he’d tell her that. Still, the idea that any kid of his—even one he’d never heard about until yesterday—was in trouble made his breakfast lodge in his throat. “What do you expect me to do?” he asked, after swallowing a big gulp of coffee.

  “I don’t expect you to do anything, but I want you to help me find our son.” She pushed her bowl to one side and sat forward. “I need to do this, Eli. The more time I have to think about it the more convinced I am that you’re here for a reason. I can’t explain why. I’m not usually a mystic, woo-woo kind of person, but your showing up at this moment in time…” She hesitated as though she might elaborate, but instead she said, “I started a college fund for him with my first paycheck. When I worked for the B.I.A., I had an automatic withdrawal that put a share of every check in his account. It’s not a fortune, but I want him to have it.”

  “He’s still a minor. You can’t hand a kid money without his parents’ approval.”

  “I know that. I wasn’t suggesting we track him down and suddenly thrust ourselves into his life. Would I like to meet him someday? Of course. But that’s got to be his decision. All I want for now is to know he’s okay.”

  Eli started a mental list of all the ways a teenage boy could mess up his life. Drugs. Gangs. Reckless driving. Unsafe sex with a predatory she-bitch who screwed your best friend first. “He could be happy and safe and perfectly content. He might not even know he was adopted.”

  She nodded. “That’s what I’ve prayed for every night since he was born. And if that’s the case, then we’re both free and clear to move on with our lives. Right?”

  “Where have I heard that before?” he muttered. “Oh, yeah, Bobbi. Her parting words after she asked me for a divorce.”

  Char didn’t say anything right away. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you, Eli, but if you were still happily married you wouldn’t have been on a vision quest. Maybe you need to find him, too. For reasons of your own.”

  Reasons of his own. Like to replace the son he lost? As if that was possible. Or because this kid might be the only son he’d ever have?

  “How are we supposed to find him? Didn’t you say you’ve been looking for years?”

  “I tried contacting the lawyer who handled the adoption, but he was dead and the law office he worked for couldn’t find any of the paperwork.” She shook her head. “Knowing my aunt, she had the whole thing burned in case I changed my mind. But she couldn’t keep me from putting my name and all the information I had on the national registry.”

  “What registry?”

  “Online. There’s a sort of clearinghouse for adopted children and birth parents.”

  “Did you put my name on the list?”

  “No,” she exclaimed, her tone scandalized. “Of course not.”

  “Why? Because you couldn’t prove I was the father?”

  “Because you didn’t know about him. I imagined all sorts of terrible scenarios if he showed up at your doorstep, first.”

  He could picture the chaos that might have caused—a bit like learning the kid you called your son wasn’t your son.

  “You never got a hit.” It wasn’t a question. Her sad, wistful look was answer enough.

  “I was going to give him two more years. I figured by his first year in college he ought to have figured out whether or not he wanted to know about his birth parents.”

  “And if he never called? What then?”

  She didn’t answer. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Before I make up my mind about what to do, I’d like to see the paperwork on the birth.”

  She nodded and got up. “Do you wanna wait here or come? It’s probably a little cold.”

  He stood, too. Did she really think he trusted her to give him proof without him watching her every move?

  She rolled her eyes the way his daughters would have. “Oh, Daddy, get over yourself,” they liked to say. Char didn’t speak. She walked to the hall closet and grabbed a coat—the same bright purple one from yesterday. “There’s a man’s parka in there that might fit. Someone left it in the store and never came back for it.”

  He knew immediately which one she meant but getting it out was no easy task. The rack was stuffed tight. He slipped it on over his sweatshirt and hurried after her. The snow had stopped but the first bite of cold air reminded him of waking up in the Badlands.

  Badlands. Vision quest. Missing piece. Was there any chance his destiny—if he believed in such things—was tied to this woman’s?

  She ignored the shovel resting against the side of the building and marched through the snow on the sidewalk between the house and the rear entrance of the log building. The teepee and auxiliary corridor that connected the two edifices sat at an angle favoring the parking lot.

  “Be my guest,” she said, after unlocking the metal door. “The light switch is on the right, but brace yourself,” she warned, “I have my assistant turn down the heat when she closes for me.”

  She wasn’t kidding. He could see his breath in the frosty air.

  She followed him in, gesturing for him to stay on the customer side of the counter while she opened the safe. She dropped out of sight for a moment.

  Eli shifted from side to side, his toes curling to keep warm. He happened to look down and noticed something on the floor. A feather. He leaned over and picked it up.

  Small. Not much bi
gger than his thumb. Black for about half an inch. Smooth. Shiny. The white part closest to the quill was soft and downy.

  He looked around, wondering where it came from. One of the ceremonial headdresses, he guessed, which even from a distance appeared meticulously—and authentically—detailed. Or perhaps someone had purchased one of the dream catchers he’d noticed the day before. He had to admit there wasn’t a cheesy, foreign souvenir in sight. He owed her an apology.

  “Here it is,” she said, popping to her feet.

  She set a standard-size manila file folder on the counter between them.

  He tucked the little feather into his pocket. He couldn’t bear the thought of people walking on it. How ridiculous was that? Was he still tripping out or what?

  “The kid’s almost reached the age of consent. How come your aunt won’t tell you anything?”

  “I…um…haven’t brought up the subject in over a year. The last time I asked, she went off about some newspaper article she’d read. Supposedly a tribe back east gained custody of a child who had been adopted by a loving, non-Native American family. The battle went to court and the tribe won. According to my aunt, the child was going to become a ward of the tribe and would be raised in foster care.”

  “Keeping the tribal rolls up is a problem in some areas, especially in places near or below poverty level. But that’s pretty much a moot point for a seventeen-year-old, isn’t it?”

  “Did I say I agreed with her? Unfortunately Pam got so worked up she had to be sedated. Her partner, Carlinda, asked me not to speak of the adoption again in front of Pam.”

  He waited, sensing there was more. “Another dead end.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t say this was going to be easy.” She pointed to the file in his hand. “Take a look for yourself. Maybe you’ll see something I’ve missed. I’m going to check my online auctions.” He spotted her computer a few feet away. “You can take that back to the house, if you want to warm up.”

  He wasn’t ready to leave her, but not because he didn’t trust her. “I saw a chair in the teepee yesterday. Can I go in there?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Feel free…if you’re prepared to freeze your very fine…um…” Her gaze dropped for the briefest moment to his derriere. He couldn’t call her look ogling, but that small slip pretty much confirmed that her reaction to his kiss yesterday hadn’t been a fluke. The lingering look here…offhand touch there…that he’d tried to write off as his imagination was real. She was attracted to him on a level that had nothing to do with finding their kid. Or was she clinging to some girlish fantasy for a guy who didn’t exist?

  His mortally wounded ego urged him to throw caution to the wind and find out. Fortunately the responsible cop part of his brain was back in control. He could—and would—ignore the undercurrent of pheromones zipping between them.

  Without a word, he walked to the Navajo rugs and slipped through the opening. The temperature in the hallway dropped a good twenty degrees. Better than a cold shower any day, he told himself.

  “There’s a freestanding heater beside the chair,” she called, poking her head in after him. “Hit the on button and turn the fan to high. You won’t freeze to death. I promise.”

  He flashed the universal sign for okay then quickly shoved his hand in the pocket of his borrowed coat. A minute later, he plopped into the large, upholstered chair and pulled a buffalo hide blanket across his lap. The muted roar of the heater quickly began to dispel the cold.

  After blowing on his fingers, he opened the file and began to read. He started with the journal she’d included. A different one than he’d seen yesterday. The handwriting was the same, but the tone was different. More grown-up. The official documents backed up her story, but the only proof that he was the father of her child was missing. As she’d admitted, his name didn’t appear on the birth certificate. There wasn’t a court in the land that would have held him responsible without more substantial evidence.

  He got up, turned off the heater and returned to the shop. He glanced at the wall clock, surprised to see an hour had passed. The shop was warmer now. Her coat hung from a peg near the door. She was seated at her computer, her back to him. When he tossed the folder on the counter, she jumped in a way that told him she hadn’t heard him approach.

  She quickly collected herself and stood up. “So?”

  “Without a kid and a DNA test you got nothing,” he said, wishing he actually believed that.

  She glanced at her computer and back. “He said you’d say that.”

  “He?”

  “Your uncle,” she said. “He e-mailed me. Or maybe his girlfriend did. It came from her e-mail address.”

  Eli shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the small space beside her. “Look,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The header says Eli Robideaux’s uncle. I already opened the document he attached. If you click on the icon at the bottom of the page, you can see that, too.”

  That oh-crap feeling in the pit of his stomach was brewing again. Was this part of some sort of conspiracy? When had his uncle picked up computer skills? Did Joseph’s broad hints about a big white teepee and missing pieces of his soul mean he had inside information? How? Why deliver it now? Was Char in on it?

  He read the message standing up. It wasn’t long.

  Tell my nephew when you see him to trust the truth. He knows it. So do you. The healer has the name you seek.

  “Who’s the healer?”

  “My aunt, I assume.”

  With his heart in his throat, he clicked on the little icon that indicated an attachment. A certificate of live birth. Char reached past him to hit the zoom button.

  The image matched the one he’d been holding a few minutes earlier, except you could tell this one had been crumpled at one time.

  She scrolled down and hit the zoom again.

  He inhaled sharply. On the line left for father was his name.

  “I told you I don’t lie.”

  He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know what this meant in the grand scheme of things, or what he was supposed to do about the news. He turned and walked back into the teepee, stopping when he got to the center. Pulse racing, his mind a whirl, he looked upward. He could see a piece of sky in the opening where the support poles crossed. A few snowflakes filtered in.

  I have a son.

  Somewhere in the world was a boy—a young man—only a few months younger than E.J. Eli’s flesh and blood. History and reality.

  A boy who needs his father, chickadee.

  Eli blinked, startled by the voice that sounded so clear he scanned the teepee for speakers. But the voice wasn’t Char’s. Female, yes, but it had a funny, Southern accent.

  A gust of wind made a shiver course down his spine. He looked up again. His breath caught in his throat as he watched a small bird alight on the lip of the canvas material. A wren? It had to be a wren. There were thousands of them. Winter and summer, they weren’t migra—

  Before he could complete the thought the little bird swept downward, as if dropping by for a visit. It didn’t seem panicked about being inside. In fact, it circled a couple of times then landed on a freestanding globe a foot or so away.

  His breathing stopped. He could see it quite clearly now. The same black-capped bird from his narcotic-induced sweat lodge vision. “You’re not real,” he murmured, shaking his head.

  An irreverent cackle echoed in his brain. Real enough, chickadee.

  The bird cocked its head to look at him.

  “Oh, shit. I’m losing my mind.”

  He didn’t believe in signs. He got the fact that his uncle, who once worked in the janitorial department of the Pierre hospital, might have stumbled across a discarded birth certificate and sat on it all these years, thinking he was doing Eli a favor. He could even picture Joseph setting up this vision quest as a way to shake Eli out of his funk. But birds and voices…no way.

  “No
way what?” Char asked.

  He hadn’t realized he spoke out loud. Nor had he noticed her standing there. She was a yard or so away, but obviously too focused on him to notice the bird. Hands on hips, she seemed visibly upset.

  “What’s it going to take to get you to believe me? If this isn’t proof enough—” she held up a printed copy of the birth certificate “—then screw you. I’m going to find our son—with or without your help.”

  She turned on one heel and stomped out of the teepee at the same instant the bird shot skyward. It cleared the small opening without any trouble and was gone from view as if it had never existed.

  Eli’s fingers tingled from the residual adrenaline left in his system. His mouth was bone-dry. His knees felt as if they might give out. He reached for the globe to get his balance.

  After a few moments he felt more like himself. This was crazy. Joseph wasn’t in touch with the Great Spirit who sent a chickadee to give him some kind of message.

  He needed to leave. Go back to his life. Make peace with Bobbi and his daughters. Mend fences with E.J. Get his job back. Those were the pieces of his life that needed his attention.

  He’d give Char his blessing. His apology, if that would help. He couldn’t accompany her on a wild-goose chase tracking down a seventeen-year-old boy who most probably was living an average life in relative peace and harmony.

  He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. As he did, he looked down. The globe was tilted on its axis, making the predominant visual point the Pacific coast of North America. But something didn’t look right. He leaned closer, squinting.

  He jerked back suddenly when he realized what he was looking at. San Francisco Bay wasn’t a bay anymore. It had been filled in with bird poop.

  A deep, unexpected laughter worked its way up his throat. Tears filled his eyes as he doubled over, gasping for breath.

  Char raced back. “What?”

  Holding his side, he pointed. “Shit,” he managed to get out before doubling over again.