by Robyn Carr
“Whoa! Cooper, you old dog!”
Cooper laughed in spite of himself. He pulled out his cell phone and showed Mac a bunch of pictures of Austin while he explained about the broken engagement, the bone marrow transplant work-up, all the details. “I’m going to have to figure out how to tell my family. My mom and dad, my sisters.”
“Probably prudent,” Mac said, but his grin was huge.
“I’m really surprised by how much I want to tell them, my dad especially.”
“I suppose you’ll be bringing him here to live with you?”
The smile left Cooper’s face. “Well, no. Spencer is a good father. Austin just lost his mother. He wants to stay with Spencer and why would I screw with that? But I am planning to visit in a couple of weeks. I want to take in a Little League game, maybe go out for pizza. I’m not practiced at this, man,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “I haven’t even been that great an uncle to my sisters’ kids!”
“Oh, you’re good with kids. You might even be a natural—I’ve seen you with Landon.”
“He’s a lot older. Austin is only ten,” Cooper said. “Besides, I owe Landon. Through him I found Sarah.”
“How’s that working out?” Mac asked. “You and Sarah? Now that there’s a kid in the picture?”
“She’s completely afraid to get serious about me, but I’m wearing her down. I’m counting on Austin to soften her up a little. He’s cute as the devil—obviously doesn’t look that much like me,” he lied. And the grin was back. “I’m hoping that once I check out, Spencer will let Austin come for a visit. He really likes the idea of a Jet Ski. You know what’s so ironic? One of the reasons Bridget and I broke up was because I wasn’t ready for an anchor. I wanted to get married, that was real—I was ready for a permanent woman. But all the stuff that went with it—settled, house, no more contract flying to warring countries, kids…I wasn’t there yet. Little did I know.”
“What if you had known?” Mac asked.
“Hard to say. I probably would’ve gotten married—I was prepared for that. But I was the stubborn idiot who thought nothing had to change about my life. I’d keep doing whatever I wanted to do and Bridget would go along. Right? Isn’t that what young men think?”
“Oh, man,” Mac said. “You really would’ve been surprised.”
“I think Spencer will call you. Be honest, Mac—this isn’t a favor I’m asking. You don’t have to tell me when he calls, what he asks. Austin’s a good little kid. I want his dad to be careful, to know the truth.”
“I don’t know anything bad about you, Cooper. And there’s a tradition that goes along with all this.”
“Oh?”
“Gotta buy us a couple of cigars,” he said. Then he put out his hand and said, “Congratulations, man!”
*
While Cooper had been dealing with the news of his surprise son, Mac had been busy with his own mystery. He’d been researching his ex, trying to figure out what Cee Jay was up to. Her car was registered to a Madeline Crofts from Los Angeles and that was the second time he’d come across a familiar name but wasn’t sure why. There was no police record, just an L.A. address.
It hadn’t occurred to him to look up his ex-wife’s attorney until days had passed. When he finally searched the California Bar Association using every possible spelling, the name didn’t pop up. A fraud? Could she be practicing without a license? Finally he looked up Antoinette LeClair on Google and had to go through pages of references until he came upon one that jiggled his memory—that was the name of a character on Law and Order. And she was played by none other than Madeline Crofts, formerly of Oregon.
Then he went to work on Cee Jay’s history, searching under a variety of aliases, including Cecelia Raines and bingo. Cecelia Jayne McCain was married to Martin Raines six years ago. Almost one year before her divorce from Mac was finalized.
“Bigamy,” Mac muttered.
The Raineses were divorced two years ago and the wealthy Mr. Raines left her a very large Laguna Beach home, two luxury late model vehicles, jewelry. He also paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year in spousal support. Further research a few days later showed that the house was in foreclosure. It appeared that it was left to Cee Jay free and clear and she’d borrowed against it. Its value was two-point-four million.
What the hell?
Mac had bought his five-bedroom home for one hundred eighty thousand and had done all the necessary repairs himself. His Aunt Lou was also an owner—they bought it together. Their plan was to own it free and clear in another ten years.
How had Cee Jay gone through that amount of money in such a short time? She was well-dressed, but how much money did that take? And if she had resources like that, what was she doing back here, trying to get reacquainted with her children? He had trouble believing it was sincere motherly love.
This all made no sense to him.
He called Sidney and asked him to get in touch with Cee Jay’s attorney to set up a meeting. Sidney called him back a few hours later to tell him that the number he had for Ms. LeClair was not in service. “Not a listing anywhere,” Sidney said. “And I can’t find her in the directory of California attorneys.”
“Neither could I,” Mac said. And then he told Sidney what he’d found on a computer search of public documents.
“I don’t recommend a meeting with the ‘so-called’ lawyer right now even if we could locate her,” Sidney said. “And, frankly, if I’d known all this, I wouldn’t have agreed to that meeting with the children. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m pretty sure it’s not legal. It’s certainly not responsible. There are the feelings of children involved!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mac said.
Mac didn’t discuss this conundrum with anyone else, not even Lou. Instead he called a colleague in L.A., who recommended a private detective with a good reputation. Mac hired him to gather background information on Cee Jay. He was primarily interested in where her money was and where her ex-husband had gone. Marrying and divorcing him, obtaining a very large settlement when she hadn’t been divorced and free to marry in the first place was fraud. She’d be lucky if she didn’t go to jail.
The very idea of the mother of his children in jail chilled Mac to the bone.
*
With the way things had been going with Ashley, Gina did something she thought she’d never do—she phoned the parents of Ashley’s biological father, Eric Gentry. She had no idea where he lived now and she hoped she could get a current address from his parents, whom, she knew, were residents of a retirement community outside North Bend. Without wanting to get into a lot of detail with them Gina fabricated a little white lie. She said she worked for an auto insurance company and had a large refund check for Eric Gentry, but had no current address for him. “Since he hasn’t been a client of ours for over fifteen years, we don’t have his address and the check was returned. I can’t send it to you—it will have to be signed for. Would you be able to give his contact information?”
Mrs. Gentry, gullible as many seniors are, gave Gina his current address. It was a business address in Eugene, Oregon.
It took Gina about fifteen minutes on the computer to learn that Eric Gentry owned a body shop in Eugene, which was relatively close to Thunder Point. She’d bet her last tip that he’d stayed clear of Thunder Point ever since he’d left town almost seventeen years ago.
Gina was reluctant to be very far away from home these days, but she thought her reasons for wanting to see Eric after all this time were important enough to pursue. She needed to ask Eric about the medical history on his side of the family.
She wasn’t going to tell Ashley about this plan—at least not yet. She wasn’t sure how her daughter would react to the news that Gina was going to try to talk to her father. She might even ask to go along, and that ’twas not going to happen. What Ashley did not need right now was one more unstable relationship in her life. So Gina told her she was going over to Bandon to the doctor’
s office for her annual exam and since she had to take time off from work to do it, she thought she might shop a little. Ashley was told to call her grandmother if she needed anything.
On the drive to Eugene, Gina wondered what Eric would be like. She expected him to be a slightly older version of the boy she’d known. The fact that he now owned his own small business kind of threw her; she did not exactly remember him as being responsible.
His body shop—Gentry’s—wasn’t in a particularly nice part of town but it was large, on a clean lot surrounded by a cyclone fence and a couple of signs that said there were guard dogs on the property. She shivered. There was only one small reception counter inside the front door—the place where people dropped off their keys and phone numbers—and the rest of the building was all garage and service bays. She peeked in—there were at least eight work bays and there looked to be six employees working on cars. She saw brutalized bumpers, crunched-up sides, but also vintage and classic models undergoing restoration. And the garage was spotless.
A young man came to the counter, wiping his hands on a rag. He had his name, Rafael, sewn on his work shirt. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Eric Gentry,” she said. “He was recommended.”
“That’s great—what do you need done?”
“I was told to only talk to Eric,” she said smoothly.
“I’ll see if he’s available.” And the guy disappeared.
Not two minutes later Eric walked through the door from the garage, wiping his hands on an identical blue rag. And it was like stepping back in time. He was the same guy, just older and more mature. He’d have to be about thirty-six now and his red hair was a little darker, but those green eyes, Ashley’s green eyes, were just as breathtaking. He still had that bad-boy aura that had once put her afire. And he recognized her immediately. His eyes grew wide and his mouth formed a handsome O of surprise.
“Don’t call the dogs,” she said, putting up a hand. “I don’t want anything from you. You’re not in trouble or anything. I just have to ask you a few questions. Health questions. For my daughter’s health.”
“Daughter?” he said, as if he didn’t know.
“Yes, daughter. Do you have fifteen or twenty minutes? I won’t keep you long, I promise. And there are no wrong answers—you’re not at risk. It’s medical history stuff and it’s important for her, so she gets the best medical care.”
“Is she sick?”
Gina allowed a small smile. “It’s one of the first things a doctor asks when you need medical attention and we don’t know anything about the medical history of your side of the family. Is there somewhere sort of private we could talk?”
“There’s a Denny’s a few blocks away. I’d be happy to buy you a cup of coffee. I’ll just let my guys know I’m leaving.”
“Should I follow you?”
“That’ll work. Give me a couple of minutes—I want to wash my hands. I’ll be backing out of the lot in the tow truck.”
“I’m in the old Jeep,” she said.
Gina left to wait for him in the Jeep. While she sat there she wondered what her next move would be if he bolted again. But he had a business—surely he wouldn’t run now. When he ran at eighteen, he’d had nothing to hold him. He couldn’t possibly believe she’d be coming after him now for support, or to charge him with statutory rape! At this late date? But then, the big tow truck backed out and she put her Jeep in gear and followed him.
Eric parked around the back of the restaurant and Gina parked in front. She had the passing thought that Denny’s was certainly getting a workout lately—Mac had met with Cee Jay in a Denny’s. Gina hoped this conference would be much more productive.
She waited for him inside the door and once he was there, the waitress appeared, all smiles.
“How’s it going, Eric?” she asked.
“Great, Jenn. Can we have a booth?”
“You bet,” she said, grabbing menus and showing them the way.
They settled in, menus closed and Eric immediately asked, “Is she all right?”
“She is. She’s had some challenges lately, as all teenage girls will, but the only thing I could use help from you with is a medical history.” She pulled a slip of paper from the side pocket of her purse. “Like—any history of cancer, heart disease, mental illness, epilepsy, diabetes? Any chronic illnesses or hereditary conditions I should know about? Kidney failure? High blood pressure? Breast cancer, uterine cancer? How about clinical depression or bipolar disorder?”
He frowned. “My dad had bypass surgery, but I’m pretty sure it was more about fried foods and no exercise than genetics. Mental illness? My mother’s pretty crazy, but I think it’s just that she’s pretty crazy, not mentally ill.”
“Pretty crazy how?” she asked.
He gave a shrug. “She complains constantly. She’s manipulative as all hell. She’s seventy-five and still angry about everything. It might be keeping her alive.”
“That’s right, your parents were older when you were born. Didn’t your dad retire right about the time we knew each other?”
He nodded. “They had two children. My sister is eighteen years older than I am. My dad is a retired postal carrier—he retired at sixty. My sister and her husband built a guest house on their property and my folks live in it.” He smiled. “God bless her.”
The waitress appeared and Eric said, “Two coffees, please.” And then to Gina he said, “Would you like something to eat?”
She shook her head. “I take it you’re not close to them?” she asked. “Your parents?”
“Unsurprising, if you think about all the trouble I gave them. We’ve been closer the last few years, but they have relentless memories. I hope…I’m sorry—her name? Your daughter?”
Your daughter, too, she almost said. “Ashley.”
He smiled. “I hope she’s easier on you than I was on my parents. Ashley.”
“She’s a dream come true.”
“That’s a pretty name. I wasn’t sure. You know?”
“Sure of what?”
He rubbed his hands over his face. They were callused hands; hardworking hands. But clean. Even his nails were clean.
“Well, if you really were pregnant. If you had a baby. Or maybe decided not to take a chance on one, given the father. I thought about contacting you. Then I thought better of it. I didn’t want to stir up any bad memories for you. I thought you’d be better off, you know?”
The waitress put the coffees on the table, but they both ignored them.
Gina shoved her list back in her purse, a little angry. “Better off, how?”
“Look, Gina, I know what I did to you was low. It was so wrong nothing could make it right. I wanted to say I was sorry, but sorry was so lame I couldn’t even choke it out. By the time I could’ve apologized, so much time had passed, I figured I’d be like a bad dream. And you didn’t need that.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “So, checking to see if you actually had a child, you thought that would be a bad idea. You thought—”
“I was in prison, Gina.”
Well. Gunshot to the heart. She felt all the color drain from her face. “Prison?” she asked weakly.
“Armed robbery. Seven years and I served five. I’m not making excuses here, but I was kind of along for the ride. I made a few bad friends and at that time in my life I thought bad was very cool. I think someone dropped me on my head when I was a baby. I’m sorry, Gina. I’m really sorry. You’re just one of many people I disappointed.”
She was stunned silent for a moment. “Right,” she finally said. Hands shaking, she pulled her list out again. “Diabetes?” she asked. “Metabolic issues, like Crohn’s disease?”
He covered her hand. “I’m not a dangerous person,” he said. “I’ve turned my life around. But to a kid, that news wouldn’t be important. I wouldn’t want the reputation that goes with having a con for a dad. I won’t bother you. Or your daughter.”
“You seem to be doing
okay for yourself now,” she said.
He gave a nod. “When you’re an ex-con, getting work is almost impossible. My brother-in-law helped me land a job in a run-down body shop. It went into foreclosure and he helped me buy the auctioned property. I was probably too young and inexperienced for it, but it was a lot better than begging for a chance, a break. So, I worked hard, ran it for a few years with ex-cons I knew were okay and we turned it around. What you see is a rebuilt and highly leveraged business, but an honest and dependable one. The last couple of years, even in this economy, have been good years.” He took a breath. “I haven’t been in trouble since. You can check that.”
“I should probably just go….”
“I have some money put aside. No other children,” he said, shaking his head. “If you can use a hand…let me know. You wouldn’t have to tell her where it came from.”
“I don’t need anything,” she said. “I just wanted to know about the medical history.”
“And now you probably know way more than you wanted to know.”
She nodded. “Wow. I knew you were trouble back then, but I never…” Then she blanched. “I mean…”
“I know exactly what you mean, Gina. Listen, I realize I have no right, but can you tell me about her? I promise not to bother her or you.”
Gina thought about this for a long moment. Then she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, clicked on the picture gallery and passed it to him. The first picture was one she’d taken at a Thunder High basketball game. Ashley was smiling, red hair shining, green eyes twinkling, her pom-poms under her chin. She was stunning.
And she saw him almost crumble. He cradled the phone in both hands, a look of wonder came over him. He had to glance away briefly to compose himself. “She’s so beautiful,” he said in a strained whisper.
“There are more. You can scroll through.”
He took his time with the pictures and awe was obvious on his face. She had about a hundred pictures—Ashley fooling around with friends, sleeping, laughing, cheering, studying with Eve, hugging her grandmother, sitting at the counter at the diner. It was a long while before he stopped and looked at her. He laughed uncomfortably. “I better stay out of Thunder Point or the whole town will know who I am.”