“What about you? Will you ever marry?”
“Definitely. My longing for a wife and family is why I left the FBI and founded the vineyard. I want to fall in love and have children.”
“May you be more successful than I was, although even with his passion for Alisha, I believe your father loved me deeply. Have you found someone?”
“I am hoping so. We are starting out and she needs to put her years with a difficult husband behind her.”
He told her about Callie as well as about Susannah and how he sought to build on a solid friendship. They talked until his mother had to leave for her flight. Even then for more time with her, Mathew rode in her town car to start connecting with her now that he better understood her.
Before they parted at the airport, he asked, “Why did you tell me now?”
She shrugged. “Ever since your father’s funeral, the deception churned in my mind. A few months ago, I started dating a man my age who also dedicates his time to improving the lives of others. From discussing my issues with him, we concluded you should be aware of your parentage, thus releasing me from the lie. He helped me find the courage to tell you.”
He found he was glad that his mother had someone who shared her charitable interests. Since Mathew was so far along in life, this new man would never replace his father.
“Come back with him for a holiday at the vineyard so I can meet him. You can also get to know Steve and Ivy,” Mathew said and gazed at her for a moment. “Come back as our friends.”
Laurel smiled in that sparing way she had and pressed his hand. For the second time that day, teardrops welled up in her eyes. Finally after forty years, she showed real emotion to him. She turned away and walked a couple of steps before turning around to come back. Much to his surprise, she reached out and gave him a light hug.
“Pursue your work for the Hispanic community,” his mother said. “I always go after big, sweeping changes, but sometimes these grassroots projects can replicate into significant improvements for the public. If you email me your plans, I’ll share the expertise I acquired over the years.”
“Your knowledge will be very helpful,” he paused and added, “Where are you off to now?”
“Back home for a week before going to Nigeria and three other countries to help coordinate their efforts to contain the spread of Ebola. In some areas the disease is so rampant, the level of its victims doubles every two weeks.”
They said goodbye as she hurried off through security. Mathew walked back to the town car in a muddle of thoughts and emotions. He should be sad or angry at his parents’ trickery and at his birth mother’s desertion. Instead surprise and relief filled him. What Laurel had told him explained so much. Perhaps now his feelings of inadequacy could begin to resolve themselves. Her many rebuffs of him did not relate to him as a child or as a man. Rather they sprang from passions and actions outside of anything he could control.
Veritas vos liberabit – The truth shall make you free.
Part II: Becoming Mathew
Chapter 11
Later that same week in Spain, Cruze gave a smile of satisfaction as he completed leveling his new kiln. The prospect of starting up the new unit excited him with taking it to the required 1600 degrees, well above normal firing temperatures, and letting it cool as the break-in cycle. Provided the initial heating up and cooling down proved successful, which would take the next day and evening, he expected to treat the shelves and use odds and ends to test it out. If all went well, he wanted to fire a few larger dishes and bowls.
He stood back, eyeing the kiln and running his hand over its lid. He remembered when Eduardo installed new computer equipment, he slid his hands over the gear in a manner suggestive of making friends with a strange dog. Likewise Cruze’s glass paraphernalia drew him into a world where he turned into a different man. When your vocation suits your essence, even inanimate things become lovable. Computers for Eduardo and glass for him.
Julio had finally procured the names and addresses of the agents who had killed his brothers/his cousins along with the location of the bodies, although it took longer than either of them expected. However the consultants cited in the coverage eluded them. Julio had found the identities of people from a security surveillance company registered in Washington, D.C. From everything he had traced, the business existed on paper but not as an operational entity. The timesheets on file at the FBI had listed five different people, plus some part-timers who might constitute a specialized squad kept in deep background.
With his mind unsettled, Cruze started to assemble the curved shapes he cut out to make three sizes of plates. After perfecting his patterns, he planned to market the dishes as sets as well as individual pieces. The oval shape made cutting the glass a challenge. During firing, the plates will slump a little to create a shallow curvature in the center. He intended to decorate them in concentric arcs formed from three shades of blue. The arched shards were to resemble a whirlpool in aquamarine waters. The curves and bends in the glass gave an impression of motion. When he became more skilled, he might touch areas with silver flakes as highlights.
He had months, if not years, of diligent work ahead before he produced fused glass of sufficient quality for sale. Sometimes he became discouraged. On another day when a piece fired right, he experienced the magic of creating a unique dish, plate or bowl.
Cruze walked outside and stood with his hands in his pockets, staring in the direction of the old monastery further up the mountain, seeking guidance. All my life, I wanted to work with my hands and make beautiful objects somewhere between craft and art. Instead I did what Cristo and Eduardo wanted. Am I wrong to now enjoy my creative side, which I suppressed for thirty years because Cristo did not view my love of art as macho or powerful?
The last time he took his paints out as a young teen, Cristo had called him a pussy and taunted him about girlie pursuits. From what Cruze had gleaned, from trips to museums and reading, many brilliant artists were men. Their artistic moodiness often made them renowned, if not steadfast, lovers. He did not command the talent to aspire to success as a painter. With their combination of science, engineering and artistry, glass arts matched his abilities.
Back when he asked to leave Fuentes Enterprises, the discussions had deteriorated into a couple of bad arguments. In those exchanges Cristo had often turned on him, treating him like a shamed dog who bit his owner. Finally they had agreed to devise their exit strategies, beginning with Cruze.
Eduardo had concocted the set-up in Mexico to make it believable that the federal authorities executed Astuto or someone close to him during the raid. Cristo had gone along with the charade, even though he did not support his twin’s exit. With his staged death, Cruze had disappeared into his new life. The extent of the resentment Cristo had harbored at what he called ‘Cruze’s desertion’ remained unknown to him. He hoped Cristo had allowed himself to appreciate the sense in his departure and had forgiven him, although now his brother’s feelings may be hidden forever behind the tapestry of death.
As Cruze worked, he considered what to do next. Did he possess the skill and even the cojones to go after the FBI agents and the so-called consultants? If he hired sharpshooters, how did he keep his existence masked? Even though his cousin knew the best people, Julio was the only relative Cruze still shared his childhood history with. They only had each other. He did not want to bring further danger to Julio.
He touched the patch on his arm worn to quit smoking. At times like these when he wanted to think, he craved a cigarette. When working with glass, his cravings for a smoke went away. Tobacco addiction seemed a small thing compared to what happened to the people who used the drugs they dealt in. He pushed the thought away to prevent guilt from further intruding on this day.
After checking over the new kiln, Cruze sauntered up to the house where he opened a jug of Rioja, took out a tumbler and poured. The full-bodied red tasted more satisfying than refined and suited his palate. He unwrapped a package of dark sliced
Spanish ham and another with a good local goat cheese. He placed these on a tray with slabs of bread he cut from a crusty brown loaf. A few olives and an orange concluded what had become his favorite repast eaten out under the stars. Three weeks had passed since he learned of the deaths of his brothers. Never one to make decisions precipitously, he would use this time to give tribute to Cristo and Eduardo with his thoughts.
He would miss Cristo and Eduardo every day until he died, whether his death came in a week, a year, ten years or even fifty years. Tonight he would confirm his decision about his brothers. His plan was to hire someone break into their gravesites and take their left femurs. The same thugs would be instructed to raid several tombs on the same night, taking the same bones. The diversionary action might not throw off suspicion much. By having the DNA matched to his, he could be 100% certain of the fates of his siblings. While this approach seemed right to him, he wanted to make sure he accounted for the risks.
If he found the remains not to be Cristo and Eduardo, he would smile at their cunning and wait, confident they would contact him one day. If they had been hunted down and slain, he would come back to the same conundrum – did he avenge them or did he stay in hiding? If his smart brothers failed to outsmart the feds, how could he expect to succeed?
Again he asked himself, this time out loud, “Am I wrong to live my life in this harmless way, doing what I want? Or must I go out and add to my sins by avenging my brothers?”
At Spook Hills, Ivy toiled like a skivvy in the kitchen with four pots of food simmering on the stove. The meals to take them through the long days of harvest would be stored away. They would include a delicious Bolognese spaghetti sauce laden with meat from the extra osso boco braising in a big Dutch oven. On the third burner, lamb scented with rosemary browned for a stew. The last pot contained a thick chicken rice soup on a low flame. Six loaves of seasonal quick-breads cooled on the counter – pumpkin, apple cider spice with raisins, and cranberry walnut. That morning she packed away the makings of lunches and several one-dish casseroles. Cookies and brownies were stacked into cookie jars or frozen.
She had been cooking for so long that day even the corgis, intrepid beggars though they were, had flopped down on the far side of the room to take naps. Through the kitchen window she could see her old cat, Druid, conducting a stake-out by the edge of the vegetable garden, hoping to catch a chipmunk or something unawares. He rarely caught anything these days, but he still enjoyed the hunt.
Concern for Mathew kept flittering through her mind as she chopped, measured and stirred. He acted differently since he returned from the airport, as though he hoarded a secret like a treasure to take out, examine and put back for safe keeping. He seemed thoughtful, but not morose. Perhaps his mood did not relate to seeing his mother. Could he have reached an understanding with Callie? Even if it seemed too soon, hearts set their schedules despite what the head might think. With everything in place to start harvesting the grapes over at the Lindquist’s the next day, Mathew might want to talk this evening.
Ivy leaned back against the island and took a long drink of water. Her life had changed so much in the last two years. Now she lived and relaxed in her stunning home on this scenic new vineyard with a husband who made her life fulfilled, happy and stimulating. At times she did get tired of cooking, but then she would think of all that Steve did around the house. Even with a weekly housecleaner, he often ran the vacuum to pick up farm dirt and pet hair or did the laundry or cleaned up the kitchen.
Steve could be stubborn and sometimes obtuse, but she never doubted his good intentions or his commitment to her. He filled her life with little and big gifts and luxuries. She relished her new pseudo-family with Mathew, Brian and Moll. She raised her bottle of water in a toast to her life, took another big swallow and went back to preparing muffins for storage.
Later as the three of them shared a robust meal of linguini with clam sauce, Ivy prodded Mathew a little.
“How did your visit from your mother go? You appear to be preoccupied and yet not unhappy,” Ivy asked, hoping to prompt a response.
He glanced down at his plate, refilled his little dish of olive oil, dipped in a shard of bread and took a sip of wine before talking about his mother’s revelation on not being his birth mother. Steve and Ivy did not need to feign their surprise.
“Mathew! Are you alright? This news must have been a big shock,” Ivy said.
“Oddly enough, I’m okay with it. It explained a lot about her attitude towards me.”
“Are you going to connect with your birth mother – her sister?” Ivy asked.
“After harvest, I think so.”
“Does she want to hear from you?” Steve asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
Mathew finished chewing a piece of bread and said, “No idea. The sisters don’t talk to each other.”
“And your mother?”
“After telling me, she warmed up a little and seemed more relaxed with me. While she will never be gushing with affection, her softening towards me improves how we relate to each other. She’s dating another philanthropist, and I asked her to bring him to the farm. Hope I didn’t overstep my bounds with my invitation.”
“Of course they should come to visit,” Steve said. “How did you react to the news?”
“What my mother said explained why she always seemed to reject me. With her deception over, I think we can get to know each other as friends.”
“Or as aunt and nephew,” Ivy said as she fished a few extra clams out of the bowl of pasta.
“The whole situation troubled her, not me. I wish I’d known many years ago. My father wanted me to grow up with two regular parents. Even though he meant well, he couldn’t have been more wrong.”
“All we can do is what we think is best at the time,” Steve said, glancing down at his hands. His comment made Ivy wonder if he contemplated himself and his son from his first marriage, who he had not seen in a few years.
Later the same evening, Steve sat downstairs going through his emails and thinking about his distant son, named Jeremy, who had been brought up by his former wife and her second husband. That man became a real father to the boy. As the years went by, Jeremy stopped wanting to see Steve or even communicate with him. He had what he wanted with his stepfather – love, a home, money and now a management position with his group of lobbyists, or advocates as they were now called. Even so Steve decided to reach out to Jeremy one more time by sending a message before they became caught up in their labors the next day. His son never responded to his calls. Every once in a while, a short email arrived from him.
Email from Steve to Jeremy, 9th September 2014
Dear Jeremy,
Many months passed by since we last communicated – I think it was when I invited you to my wedding. Is your career in your stepdad's firm going well? I am sure he groomed you more than adequately for the position you now hold. All those social engagements were not right for me, but if you enjoy the whirl of activity, I am glad for you.
If you ever come out to the West Coast, why not visit me here, meet Ivy and see our home and the vineyard? On the other hand, if you want me to come to D.C., I can fly in for a long weekend.
I know I haven’t been a real father to you, but you should be aware it is not because of you, but due to my shortcomings as a father. While you are often in my thoughts, I feel I have let you down more than once over the years. I am sorry for not being around as your father due to my responsibilities on critical FBI matters, not getting along with your mom and my lack of knowledge on how to raise a son. Please be assured I did not avoid you because of who you are, but because of my life and my inability to function as a real father.
Your dad – Steve.
Steve reread the note. Even though the sentences said what he aimed to say, the language sounded stilted. How well was he even acquainted with Jeremy? The baby became a toddler in his home. Then his wife moved out, taking the boy with her and suddenly he became a schoolboy. As time marched
on, he rapidly turned into an adolescent and then into an adult with Steve around only to witness a few of the changes. If his son replied, he expected him to be non-committal about getting together. Steve tapped the send button. At least he tried. Jeremy’s stepfather served as his real father.
He closed the laptop, rose, stretched and went upstairs, calling goodnight to Mathew as he strode by his room. Ivy went to bed right after dinner, needing a full night’s rest after a long day of cooking. Steve kept his tread light as he neared their bedroom, slipping off his shoes at the door. Soft lights glowed on each side of the bed. Ivy lay back against the pillows, having fallen asleep with her tablet against her chest and the old striped yellow cat curled at her side. The two corgis were in their beds positioned at the footboard. He walked over to stand by Ivy, picking up the iPad and sliding her glasses off. She murmured and snuggled down under the light covers as he pulled them up around her.
His wife of nine months was so precious to him. He found a time every day to let Ivy know how much he loved and appreciated her. She continued to transform his life in ways he needed it to change, and she continued to help him evolve into a more complete person. Only because of Ivy did he advance into a broader man in retirement and away from the barren reality he used to fear.
Watching her sleeping, he wondered about their lives if they met when they were 20 or 30 or even 40, rather than in their early 60s. Would a relationship and family have been possible? Most likely their egos, determined mindsets and professional commitments would have driven them apart in angry frustration after a passionate affair. They had needed all those years before they met to learn to love each other and channel their indomitable spirits into building a life together. One chance trip to Portland pursuing data for proof in a case and Ivy had entered his life. His heart had sought far more than evidence.
New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) Page 11