“Good heavens. What about his mother? I mean, your mother. Oh, you know what I mean. What happened to her?”
“Says here she started hemorrhaging shortly after giving birth and ended up at the same hospital as Edward. Then, let’s see...” She turned the page. “Mom named him Edward Levi, gave him her last name, Giordano, and refused to identify Edward’s father, just like she did when I was born.”
“You mean you don’t know who your father is?”
“Nope. No idea.”
Mrs. Baker rubbed Cindy’s back. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“It’s okay. I may never know who my father is, but at least I have hopes of finding my brother. Let’s move on and see if we can uncover a clue as to how to find his present whereabouts, shall we?”
“I’ll pour us some coffee, and we’ll sit here until we dig up the answers you’re looking for.” Mugs clinked as Mrs. Baker pulled them from the cabinet. “Cream and sugar, Cindy?”
“Yes to both, Mrs. B. Oh, and there are cookies in the narrow cabinet next to the fridge if you’d like some. I’m going to get a couple of pens and pads so we can take notes. I’ll be right back.”
Cindy found two lined yellow pads in the nightstand drawer. For a few moments, she sat on the edge of the bed with them clutched to her chest.
If a social worker hadn’t slipped and mentioned Edward, she would have never known he existed. How angry she’d been, almost eighteen years old and suddenly finding out she had a brother. A real, biological brother.
“It was for your own good.” Her foster parents parroted the social worker’s reason for keeping Edward a secret as if they really believed it.
The manila envelope had stayed sealed, just like the records she’d tried to get from the courthouse. Sealed. As if she didn’t have a right to know her real parents. Or her brother. Things that normal people take for granted.
With a deep sigh, Cindy got up and started back to the kitchen. As she passed the dresser, she did a double take and paused for a look in the mirror. Would Edward have steely blue eyes and dark brown hair like her, or would they look nothing alike? With a little luck, she’d soon find out.
Chapter 2
The barrage of angry voices penetrated the paper-thin wall as easily as spaghetti through a sieve of chicken wire. Hank had expected a negative response to his report, but the red-faced hostility and military-grade cursing took him aback. The only one not ready to pounce and tear him to shreds was the gentlemanly Mr. Whitehall.
Hank dropped his six-four frame onto the tattered leather office chair, plopped his mud-crusted boots on the windowsill with a thud, and palmed his cell phone. His brother would be awake, dressed in his uniform, and ready to report for duty at Fort Bragg. He pressed Edward’s number.
“Hey Hank, how’s it going? Still in Miami Beach?”
“Yup. Should be wrapping up this job in—”
“What’s the racket I hear in the background? Sounds like you’re in the middle of a barroom brawl.”
Hank sniggered. “Nah. The consultation report I just delivered went over like a cement cloud. One guy is heating up a bucket of tar, and another is plucking a couple of chickens. It might get ugly down here.”
“The problems you found were that serious, eh?”
“According to my calculations, the southwest corner of the building has a ninety percent chance of ending up as a jungle gym of twisted steel on top of the fancy-schmancy water park in front of the resort next door, and— Hold on a sec, you’ve got to hear some of this.” Hank rolled the chair close to the shared wall and held the phone toward it.
“I’m sick of him,” Fredrick Bracket spewed. “The one-eyed Wookie knows nothing about demolition. I say we send the oversized, hairy buffoon back to whatever cave he crawled out of and take the Sailfish down as planned.”
“I’m with you, Freddo. We were doing fine without the Yank. He’s quite daft if you ask me, and I don’t like him one bit. Whitehall was crazy to hire him. I think we should...”
Hank pulled the phone back to his ear, pushed off the wall, and zoomed back to the window. “Did you hear any of that?” He laughed despite the insults.
“Oversized hairy buffoon, one-eyed Wookie?” Edward chuckled. “I’ll give them an A-plus for originality.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I know. What was it Major Greco used to call you? Oh yeah, he—”
“Don’t go there, bro. If your lovely bride were to overhear, she’d be scarred for life. By the way, how is Audra, and how’s married life treating you?”
“Audra’s fine, and marriage is better than I’d ever imagined. She’s sleeping in today. I’m meeting Greco and the guys for breakfast at the little greasy spoon down the road from Dexter’s house.”
A gravelly moan slid up Hank’s throat. “Man, I wish I was back in the unit with you and the boys.”
“So do we. Your replacement is a decent enough demo man, but personality-wise, he’s duller than a fencepost. I’m not sure he’s ever cracked a joke in his entire life.”
The shouting in the next room came to an abrupt halt, and a knock landed on Hank’s door.
“I’ve got to go, Eddie. I think I’m about to be summoned for an inquisition. See ya.”
“Hey, hey. One last thing before you go.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re going to be at Mom and Dad’s this weekend, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. If someone had told me six months ago that I’d live to see the day my brother got baptized, I’d have thought they were joking.”
“Well, it’s not a joke, Hank, and if you can manage to survive a few more days without getting tarred and feathered or drawn and quartered, you’ll live to see it.”
“I think I can manage that. And—” Another string of knocks rattled the flimsy door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Eddie. Bye.”
Whitehall stood facing Hank across the threshold. “The island officials have given permission to proceed. The Sailfish is coming down the morning after next.” If the site manager had any feelings one way or another about proceeding with the demolition, it didn’t show.
Hank hung his head and breathed a sigh of resignation.
“Cheer up.” Whitehall rocked heel to toe. “I’ve given our accountant the go-ahead to wire the second half of your fee and told him to upgrade your flight arrangements to first class as my way of showing appreciation for your coming all this way.”
“All this way for nothing, you mean.”
Whitehall’s minuscule smile vanished. “Your observations were duly noted.”
“And ignored.”
With a lift of the chin, Bingham Whitehall assumed his former pleasant expression and straightened his posture. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Florida, Mr. Fleming. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He started for the front door.
“I’d call my insurance agent and raise my coverage if I were you.” Hank called to the man’s back. Whitehall tipped his pith helmet and continued on his way.
* * * *
A throng of onlookers stood behind the sawhorse safety barriers with gazes glued on the Sailfish Hotel. Their faces radiated with the excitement of eager kids waiting for a glimpse of Santa at the end of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Five more minutes and the countdown would begin.
Hank followed a familiar voice to a big-screen TV on the side of the Rendezvous Hotel. Frederick Bracket spoke into a mic held by a smiling female reporter. “That’s right, Marsha, everything—the concrete floors and all structural steel—will collapse into a manageable pile in the center of the hotel’s footprint like this.” Bracket’s twinkle-finger hand demonstration made it seem as though the task was as easy as knocking down a house of cards, and the “manageable pile” could be swept into a dustpan with a whisk broom.
Bracket picked up a box-and-plunger style detonator. “Are we ready?”
The Sailfish Hotel took center stage on the big screen. Bracket shrank to the lower left-hand corner, and a digital timer appeared on the lower right. The crowd chanted along, “Five, four, three, two, one!”
A series of explosions shook the ground. The Sailfish’s concrete floors crumbled. I-beams leaned inward. A cloud of dust burst into the air and descended over the site like a curtain around the stage of a magic act.
Lord, Hank prayed silently, this is one of those times I wouldn’t mind being wrong when the smoke clears.
A woman next to him pointed with an outstretched arm and cried out. “Look!”
Hank glanced at the TV. Off-screen, a voice yelled, “Cut the live feed.” A hand shot in front of the camera lens. The screen switched to a commercial break, but not before Hank captured the image of Sailfish wreckage lying on the neighboring hotel’s property, exactly as he’d predicted. With a shake of his head, he turned and wended through the tangle of people.
Time to go home.
* * * *
Hank toggled through the in-flight menu on his personal monitor and settled on a screen that displayed the flight’s travel path between Miami and New York. A small icon in the shape of a plane fixed their position somewhere above South Carolina.
A petite flight attendant stopped in the aisle and smiled at Hank as he sat with his legs stretched as far as he could in his first-class seat. “Is there anything I can get for you, sir? Something to drink, a snack, or perhaps an extra pillow or blanket?”
“Another bottle of water would be nice, thank you.”
“Anything else? Are you comfortable enough?”
“Comfortable enough?” Hank patted the arms of his chair and chuckled. “This is fantastic. Last time I flew in coach and was folded like an accordion with my knees wedged in the seatback in front of me. Thought I’d need help dislodging myself when we landed.”
“I’m happy you’re pleased with your accommodations.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll bring your water right away.”
Hank combed through his shaggy hair with forked fingers, kicked back, and closed his eyes. His sixth sense detected the attendant’s return and the soundless delivery of the promised bottle of water. He didn’t look, but smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”
Mild turbulence rocked the plane like a baby’s cradle. Hank pulled a blanket over his upper half and relaxed as embers of warmth kindled in his chest and spread through his limbs. The drone of the engines started to fade.
“So, Hank,” Audra materialized in his semi-dream state, “do you have a special someone in your life—a girlfriend hidden in the woods somewhere? A pretty little Sasquatch with lipstick, perhaps?”
Hank took a deep breath and drifted further into the fog of sleep.
“Very funny.” He shook his head. “Nah. I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for.”
“And that is?”
“Someone tall and sassy.”
“Sir.”
Someone jostled Hank’s shoulder. The flight attendant smiled down at him. “The captain has turned on the fasten-your-seatbelt sign. Would you mind strapping in for me?”
“Sure.” He pulled his seatbelt together with a click and closed his eyes again. With any luck, he’d meet a tall, sassy girl in his dreams.
* * * *
Empty coffee cups and cookie crumbs lay scattered across the kitchen bar. Cindy dropped the pen onto the yellow pad in front of her and stretched her arms toward the ceiling with grunts and groans. “My eyes are about to bug out of my head, but I’ve gleaned all I could from my half of the papers. How’d you make out?”
“Why don’t you go first, since you’ve got the earlier part of the file?” Mrs. Baker rose and took the cups to the sink.
“Okay, here’s what I’ve got. Edward was born addicted, like his mother, and spent quite a while in the hospital and other institutional type settings during his first year or two. Then, he went from one foster home to another, none of them for very long. My half of the paperwork stops when Edward was about ten years old. You’re up, Mrs. B.”
Mrs. Baker sat, lifted her pad at an angle and flipped to the first page. “When he was twelve, your brother went to live with a Marlene and Benjamin Shultz, and stayed with them five years. There are several reports written by social workers mentioning a close bond that Edward seemed to have formed with Hank Fleming, another foster child who’d been living with the Shultzes since a very early age.”
She thumbed through the stack of papers, pulled out a few sheets and handed them to Cindy. “There’s a lot of legal jargon I don’t quite understand here, but the gist of it is that Edward was emancipated by the State of New York and was allowed to join the Army at age seventeen.”
“Emancipated? I thought that had something to do with slavery.”
“I think it refers to being freed from any kind of bonds. In Edward’s case, emancipation meant he was legally declared an adult and could make his own decisions. At least, that’s how I understand it.”
“Makes sense.” Cindy spun a quarter turn on the stool to face Mrs. Baker. “Edward is twenty-five now—that’s two years older than me—and eight years have passed since he left the Shultzes’. How do I begin my search for him? He could be anywhere by now.”
“Well,” Mrs. Baker thrummed her fingers on her pad, “when I lose my car keys, for instance, I start looking in the last place I remember putting them.”
Car keys? What in the world was she—
Of course! Cindy broke into a little laugh. “I get it. The place to start is at the Shultzes’, Edward’s last recorded address. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Cindy trotted to the bedroom, came back with her laptop and pulled up a browser. She pecked away at the keys. “I’ve never heard of city or town named Bentley here in New York, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
A map of New York State loaded onto the screen.
“There it is,” Cindy pointed, “right on the edge of the Gunks. Bet it’s pretty over there.”
“Harold and I vacationed in the Shawangunk Mountains in late October, a few years before he passed away. The autumn leaves were aflame with shades of red, yellow, and lots of orange. It was lovely.”
Cindy typed “Shultz” into an online telephone directory, pressed the find now button, and waited a few seconds. “Nope. No such listings in or around Bentley. Either they’ve moved, or they’ve gone cellular like a lot of people have in recent years.”
“Guess you’re going to have to go over there and check it out. By the looks of it, it couldn’t be much more than an hour’s drive from here.”
Something quivered in Cindy’s stomach. It was one thing to think about going on a quest to find her brother, but quite another to actually do it. But Mrs. B was right. Other than hiring someone to do the legwork for her, a service she probably couldn’t afford anyway, she’d have to go to the last known address of Benjamin and Marlene Shultz and hope for the best.
Chapter 3
Two sedans with rental-car stickers sat angled on the grass alongside the pine-straw covered driveway. Hank parked his Jeep next to one, got out, and started for the side door of his parents’ house. Down the slope by the water’s edge, his mostly lab mutt trotted along with her nose to the ground, zigzagging as she followed a scent. Hank let out a sharp whistle with a thumb and index finger coiled at his lips.
The dog galloped to him and pranced with joyous whines as Hank squatted and ruffled her fur. “Hey, Cricket. Did you miss me?”
“I believe she did.” Hank’s mother stood smiling in the open doorway. “Welcome back. When did you get home?”
“Yesterday afternoon. I was going to call, but ended up dozing on the couch on a
nd off the rest of the day. Thanks for keeping Cricket for me.”
“It’s always our pleasure. She’s a wonderful dog.”
Hank kissed his mother’s cheek, stooped for an awkward hug then arched backward with a playful groan. “You’re too short, Ma. I’m going to have to make a hugging stool for you to stand on.”
“I’m not too short, Hank. You’re too tall.” She laughed.
Cricket followed Hank into the house, bumping his legs and staying close, as if she didn’t want to lose sight of him.
Audra came from around the kitchen bar with arms outstretched. “Hey, Hank.”
“Hey yourself, favorite sister-in-law.” Hank squeezed her tight.
“I’m you’re only sister-in-law.” Audra tinkled a breathy laugh. “Oomph, I think you just cracked one of my ribs.”
Hank let her go. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“You look nice.” Audra brushed a knuckle to his cheek. “It’s been two months since I saw you at our wedding. I expected a full beard and long hair by now. Have you kept yourself trimmed all this time?”
“Not exactly. In fact, I shaved two months’ growth off my face this morning, popped my eyeball in before I left the house, and stopped for a haircut on my way over here.”
Edward entered the room, and Hank gave him a manly half-hug. “Did you guys get here this morning?”
“No, we had a late flight and pulled in around ten last night.” Edward looked over one shoulder then the other. “Marcus is around here somewhere.”
“Good, if anyone gets hurt this weekend, we’ve got our own medic to patch us up.” Hank chuckled.
“Did someone say they needed a medic?” Marcus came down the stairs and shook Hank’s hand. “Good to see you, buddy.”
“You too. Did you bring your wife and baby?”
“No, the little one’s been colicky, and Darlene’s exhausted. She thought it best they stay home. I’ll be taking an early flight back home tomorrow morning instead of spending the weekend with y’all.”
Hank nodded. “That explains the second rental car.”
More Than a Soldier Page 2