Jolene knit her brows. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, reaching for one of the library books she’d brought. “I just didn’t grow up in the best of families.”
“Is that why you don’t like talking about your past?”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“It’s nothing,” he said again, trying not to let her hear his aggravation. He’d spent too many years dodging the truth, too much time and energy making sure his childhood stayed buried. “Forget I said anything. Have you had a chance to read any of these books?”
To his surprise Jolene laughed. “Forget you said anything? Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’m a cop, Mason. Give me an intriguing secret, and I’ll be all over it.”
“Even when it’s something a friend doesn’t want you to know about?”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “I would never betray the trust of a friend, but I am curious about why you resist talking about your childhood.”
“Like I said, I didn’t grow up in the best of circumstances.”
Jolene smiled. “That doesn’t really answer the question. Lots of people grow up in less than ideal circumstances and a whole bunch of them can’t stop talking about what went wrong.”
Mason laughed and felt himself relax. “If what you’re after is a creepy story, I could give you one.”
“Go ahead. I’m tough, and keeping your feelings about it bottled up probably isn’t doing you any good.”
Mason tried to laugh again, but it caught in his throat. When was the last time he’d talked to anyone about his childhood? He rubbed his face again and gulped iced tea, nursing a fleeting wish for something stronger. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this,” he said, gruff-voiced. “We’re here to work through your stuff.”
She reached across the couch and put her hand on his arm. Her skin was warm and soft, her touch so gentle it reached him in forgotten places. “What happened when you were a kid, Mason? I’d really like to know.”
“Can we just say that my mother wasn’t like other mothers and leave it at that?”
“If that’s what you really want.”
She was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t form the words. On impulse, or maybe out of desperation, he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers. He wasn’t expecting the burst of heat inside, or the sudden need to fold her into his arms and hold her close. He wasn’t expecting her to respond, either, but she did, parting her lips and inviting his kiss. Her breath was warm and sweet, her breasts surprisingly full and soft where they crushed against his chest. She sighed, the barest whisper of sound, but it set him on fire. Only knowing that Debra was in the other room, awake, and that she could come out and find them at any time restrained him.
He ended the kiss reluctantly, far sooner than he wanted to. The flush on her cheeks and the mixture of desire and confusion in her eyes made him ache to kiss her again.
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then forced himself to move back to the other corner of the couch. “Have you had a chance to look through any of those books?”
Disappointment darkened her eyes, but she nodded. “One or two, but it’s like reading a history textbook, and history never was my strong suit. I’m more interested in what life is like today…”
Mason gave her a strange look. “Okay, then. Be prepared to encounter prejudice.”
Jolene winced, remembering that night at McGillicuddy’s and a thousand such incidents before it. She still hadn’t told Ryan the whole truth, and she still couldn’t say why. How could she sit here with Mason, sharing dinner, laughing with his daughter, kissing him, and still be so worried about what Ryan and the rest of the squad would say if she told them about her heritage?
She felt horrible about it—but apparently not horrible enough. “Got it. Prejudice.”
“You run into it everywhere. Grocery store. Gas station. Restaurants. Some people don’t care. Some people don’t notice. But there’s a lot of ugliness out there, so don’t be too surprised if you’re victimized by it.”
“Thanks for the warning. What do you know about…my family?”
“Billy’s mother is still alive. He has a couple of brothers, and they have I don’t know how many kids between them.”
Would she ever get used to thinking of them as grandmother, uncles and cousins? She wondered what he’d think of her if he knew how uncertain she felt. When she realized that he was waiting for her to say something, she blurted the first question that came to mind. “Do you know where they are?”
“Ike does. I can introduce you when you’re ready.”
“Have you told anyone about me?”
Mason drained half of his tea. “You asked me not to say anything.”
She added trustworthy to his list of good qualities and smiled. “Thank you. What can you tell me about the Clans I read about? There are seven?”
Mason nodded. “Right. The numbers four and seven play a big part in the Cherokee belief system. Four represents familiar forces like the cardinal directions: north, south—”
“East and west,” she finished for him. “Got it.” She watched his hand circle his glass and tried to forget how those fingers had felt against her cheek when he kissed her.
“There are actually seven directions,” he said. “Those four, plus above, below and in the center where you are. Certain colors are associated with the four directions. Red symbolizes east, or success and triumph. Blue symbolizes north—defeat or trouble. West is symbolized by black. That’s also symbolic of death. South is white, or peace and happiness.”
And which one symbolized where she was at this moment? Triumphant, troubled or filled with peace and happiness? Perhaps it was possible to experience them all at the same time?
“Henry lived and breathed this stuff, and he spoonfed it to Ike and me with every meal.”
“And why did you turn away from it?” She realized the second the words left her mouth that she shouldn’t have asked. She started to apologize, but he spoke before she could.
“Because it killed my mother.”
Stunned silence. Jolene didn’t know which of them was more surprised by his answer. A dozen responses rose to her lips, but they all sounded weak and useless.
“The number also represents the seven clans of the Cherokee,” Mason went on, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “Each of the Clans is associated with a specific direction. The Wolf Clan—Aniwayha—is the largest. It’s where most of the War Chiefs came from. They’re keepers of the Wolf and traditionally the only Cherokee who can kill a wolf.”
How did this kill your mother? He kept talking, but she barely registered what he was saying.
“Anisahoni is the Blue Clan or the Panther Clan, those who keep our children healthy. The Anigilohi is the Long Hair Clan or the Twister Clan or the Hair Hanging Down Clan—the Peace Chiefs. The Anitsisqua is the Bird Clan. Our messengers. Keepers of the birds. The Aniwodi, or Paint Clan, were the sorcerers and medicine men. The Aniawi, the Deer Clan, are keepers and hunters of the deer, and the Anigatogeioi or Wild Potato Clan gathered the wild potatoes to make bread for food. That’s it in a nutshell. A very small nutshell.”
He met her gaze then, his own expression steady and controlled. The message clear: Don’t ask.
“Mason, talk to me about her. Please.”
“There’s nothing to say. She died a long time ago.”
“And obviously you’re still hurting.”
“I’m fine,” he said, as she watched him draw further into himself.
“Anybody with half a brain would be able to tell that you’re not fine. Your daughter is begging you to tell her about her family, and you’re locked up so tightly nobody can reach you.”
He stood, putting more distance between them. “Everybody has their own issues,” he said, his voice cool and distant. “You have yours. I have mine.”
“But at least I talk about
mine.”
“To me. Not to anyone who can actually make a difference. You have no right to sit in judgment of me, Jolene.”
She scrambled to her feet and put herself at eye level with him again. “I’m not sitting in judgment of you,” she said. “I just don’t understand. Okay, so you had some bad things happen. Do you think I don’t see bad things every day? Do you think anything you can tell me would shock me?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? You’re afraid of what Debra will think? Whether you’re comfortable with the past or not, Debra has a right to know the truth about her family. You don’t have the right to withhold it from her—no matter what it is.”
His eyes flashed. “I have every right. She’s my daughter, and it’s up to me to decide what I do or don’t tell her, not you.”
Had he really just said that? Knowing how she felt about the secrets her mother kept and her dad’s complicity? She turned toward the door. “I think maybe I should go.”
He made no move toward her, and if he spoke she didn’t hear him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT when Jolene finally headed home. She’d been too agitated to sleep when she left Mason’s, so she’d walked for a while.
It wasn’t about her, she told herself over and over. It was about Debra. No matter what happened in the past, Debra deserved the truth. Mason could justify his decision to keep it from her a hundred different ways, but for Jolene, the bottom line was always the same.
Hoping she’d exhausted herself enough to sleep, she crossed the broad patch of lawn. A second-floor window glowed blue with the reflection of a television set, and a dog in the next building barked twice as she reached the sidewalk.
A soft sound caught her attention and an instant later, her father loomed large on the front steps. Three short weeks ago, looking at him she’d felt only love. The love was still there, but she couldn’t get past her anger. The betrayal cut so deep she wondered if she’d ever be able to get beyond it, and she was so emotionally worn-out right now, she didn’t want to find out.
“Jolene?”
She looked at him uncertainly. “Dad.”
He moved out of the shadows into the dim light of the porch lamp. “I’ve been waiting for hours. I was afraid you wouldn’t come home tonight.”
“I didn’t know you were here.” She might not have come home if she had.
Even in the dim light, she saw him smile sadly. “Your mother and I have been trying to reach you for days. You haven’t returned our calls.”
She didn’t know what to say to him. “I’ve been busy.”
“We need to talk, pumpkin.”
Not yet! she thought in a sudden panic. She didn’t want to say things she might regret. “Can this wait? It’s late, it’s been a long day and I need to be up early.”
“Don’t you think this has waited too long already?”
“Maybe, but I’m not ready to talk about it.”
That sad smile again. “If your mother and I hadn’t felt that way for so long, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.”
He was right. “Fine,” she said, her voice sharp. “You might as well come inside. It’s chilly out here.”
Looking almost pathetically grateful, her father followed her into the living room. She sat at one end of the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and trying not to notice all his features she once thought they shared. He settled into a chair near the window and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if it might yield some answers.
After what seemed like forever, he looked into her eyes. “It was never our intention to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Never. Knowing that we have is killing your mother and me.”
“If you expect me to say I understand—”
He cut her off with the wave of a hand. “I know how horrible this must be for you, and I don’t blame you for being angry. You deserve the truth.”
Her argument with Mason had left her emotional and vulnerable, and she knew that the best way to keep herself from boiling over was to remain very still and say nothing.
Her father ran one hand along the back of his neck and stood. “I’m going to start at the beginning.” He paused, and she inclined her head once and gave him permission to go ahead.
“Your mother and I met not long after Billy was killed. She was devastated. One minute she was young and in love, and the next she was widowed and pregnant. Her parents had all but disowned her when she married Billy, and she knew she couldn’t turn to them.”
“And knowing that my own grandparents disapproved of me is supposed to make me feel better?” She laughed softly and shook her head. “For the record, it doesn’t.”
“They disapproved of Billy,” he said. “They wouldn’t have disapproved of you. But it was our secret, your mother’s and mine. We saw no reason to tell anyone else. Your grandparents loved you, and we didn’t want to create issues for you where none needed to exist.”
“So you lied to them, as well. You forced them to feel something they wouldn’t have felt if they’d known I was Billy’s daughter. That my genetic makeup wasn’t pristine White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant.”
“What your grandparents felt or didn’t feel is beside the point,” her father said. “I fell in love with your mother the minute I met her. I would have done anything to make her happy, and I would have died to take away her fear. I never expected her to agree to marry me. It was an insane idea, really. We were practically strangers, and I knew for a fact she didn’t love me. But she wanted desperately to protect you and I provided her a way to do that. I think that’s what finally won her over.”
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I hoped she might grow fond of me some day. I never dreamed she might actually fall in love with me, but I count it one of the greatest blessings of my life that she did. Having the chance to be your father is the other.”
The depth of his emotion wrenched Jolene’s heart, but his love for her wasn’t at issue. Neither was her parents’ love for each other. “Dad, I—”
“Let me finish, Jolene. Please.” He perched on the opposite arm of the couch. “From the minute you were born, I was lost. The nurse placed you in my arms, and I knew why I’d been put on this earth. I was thrilled when Trevor came along, too, but that moment I first laid eyes on you was it for me. I don’t know why Billy had to die. I don’t know why you weren’t allowed the chance to know him. But I do know I was supposed to be your father. Nothing you or anyone else can say will ever change my mind.”
Her emotion was so intense and heavy, she didn’t know what to say. She imagined Mason having a talk like this with Debra someday. Secrets. What good were they? What protection did they offer, really? No matter how painful the truth might be, it would almost certainly hurt more if it was hidden.
Her father met her gaze steadily. “Should your mother and I have told you the truth? Probably. But we didn’t. Not because we wanted to hurt you, but because we thought it was best.”
He looked as if he wanted to touch her, but he held back. “I had my own selfish reasons for keeping the truth from you. I loved being your daddy, and I didn’t want to share that honor with anyone else.”
“But that wasn’t your choice to make.”
He shook his head and looked away. “At the time, I thought it was my choice. It’s a human foible, I guess, to believe that we can make something true if we want it to be badly enough. All I’m saying is that we made some foolish decisions we probably shouldn’t have made, and every time the opportunity to tell you the truth came up and we chose not to, we boxed ourselves further into the lie we’d created. But that doesn’t make us bad people, honey. We’re still the parents who love you and would do anything to make you happy—even if we do occasionally screw up rather badly.”
“I know you love me,” she whispered. “And logically, I understand and agree with everything you’re saying. But
this really isn’t logical is it? All my life I’ve thought of myself as your daughter. I’ve pinpointed the things I thought I inherited from you and I’ve been proud of them. Then all of a sudden, after thirty years, I discover that nothing I knew about myself is true. I don’t have your toes, I didn’t inherit a single thing from you and I’m not related to anyone on your side of the family.”
Her muscles cramped, and she kicked her feet to the floor and stood. “I know you want me to put it behind me and move on, Dad. I know it would make things much easier if I did. But I honestly don’t know if I can.”
“You’re not the kind of person to stay angry, Jolene.”
“I don’t know what kind of person I am. I don’t even know who I am.”
“You are exactly who you’ve always been.”
“No, I’m not! I’ve always been your daughter, not Mom’s, and certainly not Billy Starr’s. But now we both know that’s not true, don’t we?”
He recoiled slightly, and she regretted causing the hurt she saw in his eyes, but the past ten days had been too much for her and she couldn’t seem to shut off the words. “I can’t forgive you and Mom for this. Not yet, anyway. Not until I figure a few things out. I need to be able to look in the mirror and know who’s looking back at me.” She heard the soft ring of his cell phone, realized that her mother had been waiting for answers, and panicked.
She crossed to the door and jerked it open. “You need to go now.”
“Jolene, please.” He stood there for a minute as if he actually thought she might change her mind. “Just tell me if you’re planning on coming to the house a week from Sunday.”
The question caught her off guard, and she had to do some quick mental calculations. “That’s not our usual Sunday.”
“No, it’s not. It’s Mother’s Day.”
The phone rang again and Jolene’s stomach tightened painfully. She’d always been the one to take charge of Mother’s Day, and the fact that it had completely slipped her mind showed her just how distracted she really was. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice low. “I don’t know if I can.”
Sherry Lewis - Count on a Cop Page 14