Jolene smiled and then let Norris handle whatever was on his desk that drew his attention.
Frank Morell, the last member of Norris’ team, walked in the door with his wife Pat who supervised a suicide hotline. While Frank logged in and then immediately headed out to assist Larry at the scene of a car accident Sandy set Pat up beside her to answer calls.
For the next hour, they worked feverishly answering the phones and collecting information. Each information note, landed on Norris’ desk before being handed off to her for review and then to Pickett to pull the date and insert it. Norris had been right to hold off on issuing Lia’s picture to the press. The information they’d been able to gather in the last day and half helped them weed out the crackpots who were only trying to get their names in the news.
At seven-thirty Norris came out of his office and walked over to stand behind Pickett. From there he studied the new pins in the map.
“We had forty calls,” Jolene said, walking up to him. “Eight we tossed out—attention junkies.”
“We’ll have a lot more of those tomorrow when the morning papers hit the stands. Everyone who needs money for their next meal or fix will be looking to earn a reward.”
“The way of the world,” Pickett mumbled, reading the note. He then proceeded to tap on the keys.
A cell phone chimed in the room.
“Someone’s phone is ringing.” Sandy turned her head to locate where the muffled sound came from.”
“That’s mine.” Jolene circled Pickett’s desk. She shifted her coat off her purse and dug inside to retrieve her cell. She looked at Norris. “It’s Martina.”
“Use my office.”
She put her finger to her left ear while she listened with her right. “Hey, sis.”
“Jolene.” Martina’s voice shook.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jolene’s heart broke while she listened to Martina. She looked up and saw that Norris watched her with concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there.”
“Is Lia okay?” Norris asked, coming up to stand in front of her.
Jolene fought the urge to step closer to him, hoping he’d wrap his strong arms around her if she did so. “She’s fine. Simon was in a car accident and was taken by ambulance to the hospital. Martina has been calling my cell for over an hour.”
Her teeth ground together. Why hadn’t she clipped the phone to her belt instead of leaving it in her purse? She never kept her phone in her purse. She was an idiot.
Norris seemed to know she needed some reassurance that her brother-in-law would be okay.
She fidgeted, shifting her weight to her other foot. She hadn’t depended on anyone in years. Connecting with his gaze, she wondered what it was about Norris that made her want to be comforted by him, and him only.
Norris touched her hand, in concern. “Is Martina with him?” She ducked her head and ran her tongue over her lips, choking back the emotions clawing their way up her throat. “Yes. He was lucky. A car ran a red light and hit his truck in the front quarter panel. He has a broken ankle and is going into surgery now. She tried calling me, but I didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to do with Lia. She had no choice. Their neighbor came over immediately and stayed with the children until my mother could get there.”
Jolene skimmed her hand through her short hair. “This is not good. Lia is in the care of someone else.”
Norris’ warm hands gripped her by the upper shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m sure Martina wouldn’t leave Lia in the care of someone who wasn’t responsible.”
“You don’t understand. I’m fine with Mrs. Evans. She is a sweet retired school teacher. But now, Lia is with my mother.” She pulled out of Norris’ hold and stalked around him faster than a barrel racer could round a barrel.
“I’ve got to go.” She grabbed her purse and coat and spun around. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’d drive you but...”
“I understand,” she said.
Norris nodded. Concern still tightened his features.
“I’ll check in with you later and let you know if we learn anything new.”
“I hate how divided I feel —”
He cut her off. “I understand priorities. Go.”
His words seemed to ease Jolene’s angst until she maneuvered her car from the parking spot and drove toward Martina’s home where she knew after years of estrangement she’d have to face her mother.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lia’s face appears on the television screen.
Immediately I feel the wrath directed at me, coiling to attack. I bend over to protect myself.
“You son of a bitch. How could you?”
I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly my teeth gnash together and my cheeks become massive pillows of anger, sealing them. I fight against the wild anger building up inside of me. I won’t lose control of the world again. Today was precious. I felt the sun on my face without a worry in the world. I won’t go back into the nightmare I lived before.
“How could you throw Lia away as if she were trash?”
The words echoed against the walls, and though I knew no one could hear them, I feared that possibility.
“I can’t continue to live this way. I’d rather die.”
“Will you stop!” I scream, my hands curl into fists and I press them against my throbbing temples. “You know why.”
“She was mine.”
I spin around and spit in the devil’s face. “She was not yours. She was never yours. You robbed Lia of her mother’s love.”
“I’m her mother.”
“Lair.” I quickly pick up the leather flogger I keep handy next to the bed. The smooth leather crosses my palm and I feel my body quake. Rebelliously, I raise the whip above my head.
Crack!
“Don’t. Please stop.”
I hate the sound of leather striking skin. It makes me wince. Blood laces the inside of my mouth as I proceed to drive my point home. With each whack, I feel my control flourish. I continue to act out my madness until finally, breathless, I can raise my chin and look down my nose defiantly. “I did what I had to do. I did what was right.”
I turn a deaf ear to the sobs and leave the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jolene slipped through the front door and froze inside the Gomez living room. What the fuck? she mouthed silently. She squeezed her eyes shut, not believing what she saw. Joan Martinez, her mother, was actually in the kitchen cooking. Her mother’s idea of mastering culinary skills had always been to crack an egg and scramble it so it didn’t matter if the yolk broke or not before it hit the pan.
She studied the woman from whom she’d inherited her short statue. Had Papa somehow figured out a way to create a cyborg that looked like his wife of fifty years?
Side-stepping into the hallway, Jolene watched her mother stir then chop and then turn back to the glass-top stove and stir again. If her olfactory neurons were correct, her mother prepared a Mexican feast of shredded chicken tacos and Spanish rice. The scene was literally the Twilight Zone.
And the topper was this: The four older of the seven children Joan had been put in charge of were seated at the dining room table playing a board game while Sofia, Clara and Lia played with dolls in front of the television in the family room.
Un-freakin’-believable.
“Jolene. You’re here. Can you lend me a hand?” Joan Martinez asked over her shoulder. “It’s already going on eight o’clock.”
Jolene studied her mother’s cool gaze. Her father always said her mother’s eyes were the color of the Caribbean Sea surrounding Paradise Island—where they’d met. And, as peaceful as when a storm wasn’t brewing there. And turning to cold gray when one was.
Over the years, Jolene recalled her mother’s eyes were gray most of the time. She raised her chin and marched into the battle zone.
“These children have to be starving,” Joan said. “It’s not good for their digestive systems to eat so close to their bedti
me. Maybe we should let them stay up later.”
Jolene waved and smiled at her nieces and nephews who didn’t seem to mind waiting for dinner. She dropped her coat and purse on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island then leaned against the counter and faced her nemesis. “Hello to you too, Joan.”
The lines around Joan’s mouth grew taut, and she forcibly whacked a head of lettuce with the butcher knife.
Joan didn’t like the use of her proper name. After ten years Jolene thought her mother would realize some hurts couldn’t be undone with lavish birthday and Christmas presents. They battled for years and the scars remained.
“What can I help you with?” she asked, figuring the quicker dinner was over, the sooner Joan would leave.
“The tacos and rice are almost done. I want to make some salsa. Your father loves his salsa.”
“I think there is a jar in the refrigerator.”
Joan waved her off before she could grab the refrigerator’s door handle. “Louey prefers fresh made.”
Jolene stared at her mother. Louey? Jolene had never heard Joan call her father by a nickname. She’d always referred to him using his proper name, Louis. Was one of her parents dying? Was that why Joan was being...so different. Jolene backed away. “Okay.”
“After we eat I think one of us should take a plate to the hospital for Martina and check on her and Simon. Your father met her at the hospital. He didn’t want her to be there alone without support, in case...”
Joan’s face paled under her makeup. Then she visibly shook herself, as if dismissing the idea Simon could be seriously injured or dying.
Her nostrils drew in with her long breath. “But he’s on his way here now. We weren’t sure how long you’d be at work. I told him to stay with Martina and I’d be fine handling the kids, but after he learned Simon was going to be okay, he insisted on coming back to help me.” She quickly wiped off the cutting board she’d used to chop the lettuce. “One of us should be with her.” She studied Jolene for a second. “Nice outfit by the way. Kind of casual for work, isn’t it?” Again, Joan’s gaze trailed down over Jolene’s dress to her shoes. “Martina told me you were at work.”
As a professional woman her mother dressed appropriately for any occasion. Tonight, Joan was dressed in black capris and a robin-egg blue peasant style top that complemented her eye color. To protect the pretty top from grease and sauce splatters she wore a flowered chef’s apron. Black peek-a-boo Aerosoles sandals covered her tiny feet, exposing painted toenails.
“I was. I’m helping the chief of police with a case.” She nodded toward Lia. “I’m sure Martina told you what happened.”
Her mother’s sandy blond eyebrow touched her feathered bangs. “With the new chief, dressed like that?” She scooped the lettuce into a bowl and then wiped her hands off with a dry towel.
Jolene blinked, thinking the dress she wore was a little dressy but wasn’t completely unprofessional. She shouldn’t be surprised Joan focused on her attire and had totally skipped over the fact that Jolene had saved Lia’s life.
She intended to show Joan her frustration by raking her fingers through her short hair, but stopped with her hand in midair. The older woman had just done the same thing.
She sighed loudly. “I didn’t bring professional outfits with me since I’d intended to spend my vacation with Martina and the kids on the beach. I didn’t think I’d be working.”
“Aren’t you people supposed to be prepared for anything and have a go bag ready? Isn’t that what they’re called?” Joan’s stare sharpened under her penciled brow. “Or aren’t desk jockeys required to be prepared?”
Jolene sensed her mother knew she didn’t just sit behind a desk entering in data for the agency. She wondered if Joan and Martina ever discussed her lie. Martina had told her they spoke regularly now and on a number of occasions Martina had even encouraged Jolene to give their parents a call. In less than five minutes her mother reminded her why she didn’t pick up her phone. “Usually my job requires weeks of preparation so I have time to pack.”
“I see.” Joan turned away and aggressively stirred the pot of rice.
The muscles of her mother’s neck constricted as if she swallowed a ton of emotion.
Jolene drew back her shoulders. To think her mother worried about her was outlandish. She never had. Their father had been the nurturing parent until he’d become an unfit drunk. By the time the loveless marriage hacked away the man’s soul, Martina and she were teenagers and more than capable of taking care of themselves and making their own decisions.
“So, you didn’t bring work clothes,” Joan said flatly, starting their conversation at square one again.
“No.” Watching her mother closely, an odd feeling settled in Jolene’s chest and she rubbed her hand over the discomfort she felt below her heart.
“And you didn’t have time to shop?”
“Not really. I had an early meeting with a federal agent and the chief of police this morning.” Jolene didn’t know why she felt the need to explain her actions to a woman who never cared what she did, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “And then the chief and I worked the case all afternoon. I couldn’t very well show up at the police station in short shorts and a tank top.”
Her mother examined a tomato she’d plucked from the metal basket sitting on the draining board. “You’re too old for short shorts.”
In her head, Jolene heard the click of the lock securing her defenses, guarding her heart and sanity. “I’m twenty-nine, mother.”
“You’re closer to thirty than twenty-nine.”
Whatever was the response on the tip of her tongue, but to keep peace for Martina and Simon and the children, Jolene refrained from speaking her mind. Which was the right call, because Lia had finally caught a glimpse of her and came running to her side.
“Hey, little one.” She lifted Lia into her arms.
Lia wrapped her legs around Jolene’s waist and her arms around Jolene’s neck. “Mama.”
She knew it was wrong for the girl to call her Mama. She should’ve corrected her and suggested the use of another nickname. Like auntie. But after what Lia had been through, Jolene felt she needed a safe bond. Hopefully they’d find her mother soon and the attachment Lia felt for her would dissolve easily.
But for the moment, Jolene couldn’t help herself. Laughing, she snuggled the child, breathing in her innocent scent mixed with sunscreen. “I bet you and Clara played outside all day again. Did you have fun?”
“And Sofia.” Nodding enthusiastically, Lia’s soft locks tickled Jolene’s forearms.
“Awesome. Fresh air and sunshine is good for you.” She jostled Lia onto her right hip and tapped the tip of Lia’s button nose. The girl giggled.
“As long as they wear sunscreen and don’t get too much sun,” Joan interjected and then checked the food on the stove. “And are made to drink plenty of cold water.”
Jolene caught sight of her refection in the slider doors. She looked small. She felt small. She hadn’t felt this way in years. She hated the feeling.
She noted the way her mother stood, tall, erect with her chin up, looking down at the frying pan.
“I put sunscreen on her this morning before I left. And I’m sure Martina did again later.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did,” Joan replied softly. Her tongue crossed her lips before she tapped the spatula on the edge of the pan and placed it on the caddy. With squared shoulders Joan faced Jolene. “Martina turned out to be a great mom and you will be too, one day.” Wearing a small, but genuine smile, Joan’s expression grew tender while looking at Lia. Then she turned her caring eyes to Jolene. “I hope.”
What the hell? Unconsciously Jolene shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wondering why Joan was pretending to be someone she’d never been. Her mother hadn’t wanted children herself. She’d made that fact clear a thousand times and in a thousand ways while Martina and Jolene were growing up. Why would she want to saddle her dau
ghters with children? Did she realize the mistakes she’d made?
Jolene looked at the children surrounding the table to make sure they weren’t listening in on their conversation. They were too involved with their game to care what went on fifteen feet away from them.
She turned and stared into Lia’s cherub face and simultaneously a tug pulled at her womb and her heart. “I’m going to help make dinner. I’m starved. Are you?”
“Yes,” Lia said loudly in a most definite manner.
Jolene let her joy show. “Good. Why don’t you go feed your baby and then put her down for a nap before it’s time to eat?” She gave Lia a squeeze and then lowered her to the floor. “Tell Clara and Sofia to do the same.”
Lia ran past the table of game players and hopped down the step to the family room.
When they were alone in the kitchen area again, Jolene turned to Joan. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Joan grabbed a dishcloth.
“This.” Jolene fought to keep her voice even. “You never enjoyed cooking. And you were never a kid person.”
Joan silently wiped off the granite countertop.
Jolene slapped the stone top, drawing her mother’s attention.
Joan exhaled and leaned into the counter between them. In a hushed tone she said, “I wasn’t the best of mothers, Jolene. But in my defense, I was building a career. Your father was supposed to take care of you and Martina, but he broke his—”
Joan’s hands clenched the dishcloth so hard water spilled on the counter. Her lips drew into a thin line and her gray eyes shimmered with tears. “The past is the past. We forgave each other our mistakes. All of us but you, it seems.”
“To forgive anything I need to understand what you’re talking about? What were you going to say? Dad broke what?”
Joan’s lips rolled together into a tight seal. Then she quickly glanced at the kids, snapped the stove burners off and ordered Jolene outside. Without waiting for Jolene’s response, Joan marched to the slider.
Once they were outside and their privacy assured she turned to Jolene. “I know you’re confused about your childhood.”
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