Fanny whirled around. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Would you mind giving me a minute?”
“All the minutes you want, Fanny.”
Fanny walked over to the edge of the mountain, to the same spot where she’d slid down on her rump the day she ran away from Simon. “Ash, what’s wrong? Is it Sunny or Birch?”
“No. You always think the worst, Fanny.”
“From long habit. I’ll try and correct that. Metaxas is going to replant the mountain, Ash. Our trees are alive and well. It’s almost too much if you know what I mean. Everything is so wonderful. Life is good again. I wish you were here. I feel kind of selfish soaking it all up. I’m babbling here and don’t know why.”
“I came to say good-bye, Fanny.”
“Good-bye? Oh, no, Ash, not good-bye. Please don’t say that. What does that mean? Will you ever, you know, talk to me again? I don’t want you to go. You got me to this point in time. I depend on you.”
“That’s just it, Fanny. You can’t do that anymore. You have the kids, Marcus, Ruby, and Metaxas. You don’t need me anymore.”
“I do. Don’t say that! I don’t want to hear that. Damn you, Ash Thornton, that’s just like you. You set me up, then you knock me down. What will I do without you?”
“Cut me loose, Fanny. There is a pretty wonderful guy in our old kitchen who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Hell, he even puts up with me. That’s got to be a plus in anyone’s book. Come on now, it’s just two little words. How hard is it to say good-bye?”
“For me it’s the hardest thing in the world. I can’t do it. I damn well won’t do it. So there. Are you going to wait for me, Ash?”
“Three’s a crowd, Fanny. I think I overstayed my welcome. Come on, chin up and no more tears. You know you look ugly when you cry.”
“I do not. You’re trying to make me mad. It won’t work. Can’t you sort of, you know, kind of hang around on the fringes.”
“I can’t, Fanny. You go first.”
“Ash, I can’t do it. I want you in my life.”
“It can’t be, Fanny. You don’t know how much I wish it were otherwise. Take care of Jake, okay?”
Fanny sobbed.
“Say it, Fanny.”
“No!”
“Yes. Now, Fanny.”
Blinded with her tears, Fanny teetered on the edge of the mountain. Her voice was the barest of whispers. “Good-bye, Ash.”
“Good-bye, Fanny.”
Fanny’s scream ripped across the mountain, “Ashhhhh!”
Inside the kitchen, Ruby heard the sound. “Oh my God!” She ran then and caught Fanny just as she crumpled to the ground, her brother’s name ringing in her ears. She crooned to her like a mother would to a child. “Good-byes are so very hard. When you say good-bye you know that one day you’ll say hello again. When you need him the most he’ll be there, Fanny. You need to believe that because I believe it. Come on now, time to get up and make that toast for Metaxas. You owe me, Fanny, and I’m calling in my marker. I want a smile on your face and in your voice. Tears are okay as long as they’re tears of happiness.”
“How’d you get so smart?” Fanny blubbered.
“The two best teachers in the world. You and Ash.”
“I’m ready, but I need to blow my nose.”
“The hell you do. Wipe your nose on your sleeve the way the kids do. Your husband is waiting for you, and my husband is waiting for me. Shake it, Mrs. Reed.”
The toast was short and simple, their voices ricocheting down and then back up the mountain.
“To the family!”
Epilogue
California: 1991
He would have known her anywhere. Her little half-skipping step and the slight jiggle of her buttocks was one of his more pleasant memories. The shorts, cutoff frayed jeans, a white shirt tied in a knot at her midriff, and the scuffed tennis sneakers, long ponytail tied with a red ribbon were exactly as he remembered.
Birch Thornton sucked in his breath, his eyes going to his nieces and nephews to make sure they were all right. They were all sitting on a bench eating ice-cream cones. “Jake, keep your eye on the others for just a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure, Uncle Birch.”
It was true that he would have known her anywhere, even from the back, but it was the sturdy little boy in the madras shorts, white tee shirt, and blue sneakers that made his heart pound in his chest. He tried to take a deep breath and failed.
“Celia, wait!”
The look of blind panic on his ex-wife’s face made his heart pound harder. “Whoa,” he said raising his hands in the air, his open palms facing her. He watched the panic replace itself with naked fear.
“Birch. I . . . imagine seeing you here.”
Birch stared at his ex-wife, her tan fading in front of his eyes. “I bring my nieces and nephews here once a year. They’re sitting right over there on the bench. I’ve been doing it for years now. Living in Atlantic City doesn’t allow me to see them too often. I take them for a week every summer. It gives Sage and Iris a break.”
Birch dropped to his knees. “And who are you? Do you have a name?” As if he didn’t know.
“My name is Thorn Connors, sir. What’s your name?”
“Birch Thornton.”My God, he’s the spitting image of Sage at his age.
“I know my telephone number and where I live. I’m going to school soon.”
“That’s good. Is this your mom?”
“Yes, sir. She’s pretty.”
“Yes, she is. Do you have a daddy?”
“Yes, sir. He lives far away. Someday he’s going to come and see us.”
“Enough, Birch. No more questions.”
“My God, Celia, why didn’t you tell me? I asked you, and you lied to me.”
“No, I didn’t lie. I told you it was none of your business. Go back to your family, Birch.”
Birch’s voice was tortured when he said, “Tell me why. I need to know. Six years, Celia, and you didn’t tell me. You robbed me of his first five years.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything, Birch. It’s not my intention to ever ask you for anything. If you don’t mind, we’re here on a holiday, too, and I’d like to get on with it.”
“That’s it! You expect me to walk away and forget this happened. He looks like Sage. His cousins are sitting there on the bench. Don’t you think it would . . . ?”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry this happened.”
“It did happen, and now we have to deal with it.”
“No, we don’t. If you make an issue of this then I’ll . . . I’ll disappear. If I do that, though, you’ll sic all those hot-shot Thornton shark lawyers on me, right?”
“At least one of them. This is all wrong, Celia. I have rights, too.”
“No, you gave those up when you and Libby did things you shouldn’t have done. Look. I wasn’t perfect. The truth is I was pretty lousy. I recognize that, and I take full responsibility. It’s over, it’s done, and we can’t turn time backward. I’ve moved on. My son and I lead a very calm, peaceful life in a quiet little neighborhood. He has friends. I have friends. I teach a few days a week. We even go to church on Sunday. I learned how to cook and mend. This boy is my life, and you aren’t going to change it. I’ve told him just enough. I didn’t tell him any lies. In fact I named him Thorn. I wanted him to have some small part of his heritage.”
“When he gets older and starts asking questions, will you lie then?”
“I don’t know. When that time comes I’ll deal with it. Until then the situation stays as is.”
Birch dropped to his haunches again. “Tell me, Thorn, where you live.”
“I live at 22 Sunrise Terrace in Santa Monica. Mommy said Sunrise is a special mountain. Someday she’s going to take me there. That’s where my daddy lived when he was little like me. It’s a big mountain. Do you know where it is, sir?”
“Yes, I know where it is. It’s beautiful. There was a terrible fire five years ago and it b
urned, but some very kind, wonderful people made it grow again. I hope your mommy takes you there someday.”
“She promised. You should never break a promise. Isn’t that right, Mommy?”
“That’s right, Thorn.”
Before Celia could reach for her son’s hands, Birch had him in his arms and was striding toward the bench. “I want you to meet some wonderful young people, Thorn.”
“Birch, no. This isn’t good. Don’t make me call Security.”
“Go ahead. Make a fuss, Celia. This is the right thing to do. Thorn, this is Jake, Polly, Lexie, and these two little people are Ruby and Metaxas. We call him Tax. Guys, this is Thorn Connors.”
“Hi ya,” Thorn said.
Jake stared around at his sister and cousins, his face puckered into a puzzled frown. “How come he looks like us, Uncle Birch?”
Birch shrugged. “I kind of think he looks like his mother.”
“My mom’s pretty,” Thorn chirped. “She’s the prettiest lady here. She makes raisin cookies.”
“My mom makes raisin cookies, too,” Ruby sniffed.
“We live on a mountain,” Tax mumbled.
“I live at 22 Sunrise Terrace.”
“That’s not a mountain,” Lexie said.
“There is going to be a war of words in another minute. Let’s bury the hatchet for the afternoon, Celia, and give these kids a day they’ll always remember. When it’s time for you to leave, I won’t stop you. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“It feels right, Celia. For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“I am too. How are things in Atlantic City?”
“Lonely. How are things at Sunrise Terrace?”
“Lonely.”
“How come you never remarried?”
“Did you?”
“No. Not even close,” Birch grinned. “No matter what you say, we did have something once.”
“That was another time, another place,” Celia said.
“We could go back there and take . . . your son with us. It’s something to think about. Kids get school vacations. We could view it as a test of sorts. Will you think about it?”
“I’m not that ugly person I was years ago. It was a bad time in my life. I made a new start. I have a new life. Old habits, old memories belong in the past. We can’t go backward.”
“I know. The future could be really bright and sunny. There is this chicken ranch in Nevada my mother and Marcus have been trying to unload for years. I’d almost be willing to give up the gambling business and raise a family on that ranch. Do you think that might be worth thinking about?”
“It might.”
“We’re going to be here for three more days. Do you think you might have an answer at the end of that time?”
“It’s entirely possible, Birch.”
“You’re on a roll, son. When things are meant to happen they happen. I have a feeling those boots are your size. The kid reminds me of you and Sage. The mountain can always handle another child. I’m going to leave you with a thought, son: Anything worth having is worth working for. Do you think you can handle it? Are you up to it?”
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Can we talk again? You know, later, when things are calmed down.”
“I’d like that, son.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too. I really would.”
Celia linked her arm in Birch’s. “Did you say something?”
“I was thinking it would be nice to see Thorn on the mountain with the others.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Look how well they get along. Did you notice that, Birch?”
“Actually I was thinking about how well you and I are getting along. Do you think it’s short-term or long-term?”
“Definitely long-term. What’s your opinion?”
“Definitely long-term.”
A long time later, when the sun was starting to set, Birch looked from one tired child to the other, and then at his ex-wife. “Is this a family or what?”
“I’d say it is definitely a family.”
“Can you see Thorn and you becoming a part of it? You know, at some point?” Birch said, an anxious tone to his voice.
“Possibly at some point.”
“Can I hold on to that?”
“Just don’t let go, okay?”
“Okay.”
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From Vegas Rich
1
1923
The old attorney stared out his grimy windows and winced. His secretary had cleaned those windows yesterday He’d watched her swish her soapy rag over them, then polish them until he could see his reflection. Now, less than fifteen hours later, they were dirty and grimy as though they’d never been cleaned. He looked down at his desk and saw the same grainy granules of desert sand. Irritably, he blew at them and wasn’t surprised when the offending sand refused to move. He told himself he was in the desert; sand was to be expected.
Alvin Waring, attorney-at-law, worried as he shuffled the two folders—one thick, one thin—from one side of his desk to the other. Waring knew exactly what was in each folder. If he were pressed, he could rattle off the contents without missing a heartbeat.
He saw her then, and he thought about waterfalls, summer blue skies, picnics and wildflowers. He wished, in that single second of time, for his youth. The two folders on his desk made perfect sense now. He stood, his old bones creaking as he walked around the side of his desk, held out his hand and touched hers, softer than any flower petal. She smiled, her summer blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Mr. Waring, I’m Sallie Coleman. I received your letter several days ago. I would have come yesterday, but I . . . I had to . . . sort through some things. I don’t have much money, Mr. Waring. I used all my available cash to pay for Cotton’s funeral. I do have this,” Sallie said as she withdrew a small burlap sack from her purse. “Cotton gave it to me the first day I started to work at the bingo palace. He said it was to be my nest egg if things didn’t work out. I’m not sure how much it’s worth. Cotton said it was seven ounces of pure gold.”
“Nest eggs should not be touched. They’re for the future.” The attorney cleared his throat as he handed back the sack of gold. He wondered what it would be like to walk with this young woman through a green meadow filled with daisies. In his bare feet. Holding her hand.
Sallie backed up a step, but didn’t reach for the little sack. The summer blue eyes were questioning. “I don’t understand. It could take me years to pay off . . . The gold would help me get to the end quicker. Did I say that right?”
“It makes no mind. There is no need for you to assume payment for Cotton Easter’s bills. First, he didn’t leave any bills. His estate would have paid for his funeral. There was . . . is . . . no need for you to assume the responsibility”
“Yes, Mr. Waring, there was a pure need for me to be doing that. Cotton was my friend. It was hard for me here in the desert when I first got here. He helped me. He watched out for me. Cotton didn’t let anyone bother me. He was a kind man, a good man. Sometimes . . . most times, he was down on his luck, but when he had money he always shared with me and a few others who were less fortunate. I don’t regret paying for his funeral. If he didn’t leave any bills, and you don’t want my nest egg, why did you write me that letter asking me to come here?”
“Sit, Miss Coleman. I have some things to explain to you. I’m going to read you Cotton’s last will and testament.”
“Mercy, Mr. Waring, isn’t a person’s will a private thing? I don’t know if Cotton would like you to be telling me his secret thoughts. Cotton always told me a man’s life and his past belonged to him alone. He said that and a man’s good name were all God gave him when he came into the world, and w
hen he left this world, his name on his marker would be all that was left. Now that I told you that, Mr. Waring, I’ll be getting back to work. I’m having his marker erected next Sunday afternoon. The preacher agreed to say a few words. I’m going to serve a meal at the palace for anyone who wants to come.”
Alvin Waring couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was almost to the door when he barked at her to come back and sit. He gentled his tone and smiled when she perched herself on the edge of the hard wooden chair. The summer blue eyes were frightened.
“Now, little lady, you just sit there and listen to me read you Cotton Easter’s last will and testament. Before I do that, I want to tell you about Cotton. If I don’t, you won’t understand the will. Cotton came here to the desert with his daddy many years ago. He was just a small child at the time. His daddy was an educated man whose wife died before her time. With a small boy to raise, he decided to come here to seek his fortune the way his own father had done. He was very successful, almost as successful as his father. He sent Cotton back to Boston to get educated, and the minute the boy finished his studies, he hightailed it right back here and took his place next to his daddy The main reason his daddy came here was because his father had mined the Comstock Lode. That would be Cotton’s granddaddy The old gentleman left all he held dear to Cotton’s father. And, there was a lot that he held dear. Cotton’s daddy sold all the shares to the Comstock that his father left him at just the right time, and banked a fortune. Sold high, $22,000 a share, and he owned thousands of shares. Cotton’s daddy was a gambler and won acres and acres of land in poker games. He never touched that money He struck it rich time and again. He had a big, old ugly Wells Fargo safe made special, and he kept his fortune in it. Didn’t trust banks or the stock market. A wise man. He bought up half the desert for fifty cents an acre. He grubstaked many a man who later paid back double for the stake. In some cases the veins and mines found their way back to Cotton’s daddy When he died, his estate went to Cotton, who didn’t give a whit about the money Cotton wanted his own strike. He amassed his own fortune, and it all went into the Wells Fargo safe along with his daddy’s money, and his granddaddy’s money. Make no mistake, Miss Coleman, Cotton knew exactly what was his, what was his granddaddy’s, and what was his daddy’s. I don’t think he knew or even cared about the amount. I tried to tell him, but he simply wasn’t interested. He wanted to be like all the other miners-spinning yarns and drinking rotgut, loving women on the run, gambling, and hitting the mother lode. He craved respect, and you were the only person who gave it to him, Miss Coleman. He said you nursed him when he came down with pneumonia, and that you fed him when he was hungry. He said you washed his clothes once or twice and said you were—ah, what he said was . . . you were, forgive me, a lusty bed partner.”
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