Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  His shoulders tensed. “I don’t know where he is or how to reach him.” Not that he’d tried in the past five years.

  “Does he know that your father died?” She glanced over at Lucas.

  “Yeah, according to the lawyer. Seth got Dad’s car, some money, and a few other things, I guess.”

  “But not the house.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I should give him half the money when we sell it?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s yours. You said that your father left it to you because you’re the oldest and that’s the family’s tradition. Nothing wrong with that. I’m just wondering how your brother is feeling?”

  “Why? You’ve never met him. You know nothing about him.”

  “Okaaayy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can’t help if the psychologist in me comes out a bit.”

  Again silence and tension filled the air.

  A few blocks from home, Lucas conceded, “I’ll talk to the lawyer and see if he’ll give me Seth’s contact information. I guess we have some catching up to do. I could at least ask him if he wants any of Dad’s personal items, like his clothes and tools and books.”

  “Thank you. Maybe you two can repair your relationship. You have a brother. That’s more than some of us have.”

  Tawny had lost her brother ten years ago. He’d drowned in a boating accident.

  Lucas reached over and held her hand. “Sorry to bring up sad memories,” he said, knowing that it was Tawny that had actually broached that subject, but wanting peace between them.

  Two days later, Lucas drove up to a small bungalow, verified the address, and parked alongside the curb. He sat for a few minutes, trying to prepare himself for visiting his neo-Nazi brother. Would he be a skin-head? Tattoos up and down his arms?

  At the front door, he rang the bell and waited, barely breathing. At last, the door opened.

  A young blue-eyed blonde woman stood there holding a blond baby boy. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah, I mean I hope so. I’m looking for Seth Landry?”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “I’m Lucas. His brother. Just want to talk.”

  She raised an eyebrow, then turned to look over her shoulder. “Wait here.” She closed the door.

  He waited. Nothing. He glanced at his watch. Once. Twice. Five minutes gone. Was Seth avoiding him?

  The door opened again. Seth stood directly in front of Lucas. At least two inches taller than Lucas now. Wow, when did that happen? He no longer had a crew cut. His hair was still shorter than Lucas’s and slightly lighter brown. Looked good, clean, well-combed. Not what I expected.

  “Hey, brother, how have you been?”

  “Um, I’m doing fine, Seth. How about you?” This is awkward. What do you say to a brother you fought with the last time you saw him?

  “Where are my manners? Come on in, if you have a few minutes.” He stepped backward and held the door open wide.

  Lucas glanced back at his car, then stepped into the house.

  “Well, you kinda met my wife, already, Allison, uh, Ally. We have a son, Benny. He’s turning one in a couple of weeks. They’re upstairs. Diaper change.” A little girl with blonde pigtails walked over to Seth and grabbed hold of his jeans leg. “And this is our daughter, Skyler. She’s three.”

  Lucas bent down and looked closely at the little girl. Big blue eyes. Blue eyes like his and Seth’s. “Nice to meet you, Skyler. I have a little girl your age. She’s your cousin.”

  The girl stuck a thumb in her mouth and leaned against her father’ leg.

  “She’s real shy around strangers.”

  Lucas winced inside. God, he had a niece and nephew and he was a stranger to them. Tawny would give anything to have nieces and nephews, and here he’d turned his back on family.

  Lucas straightened up and looked at his brother. “Sorry, Seth. I should have tried to patch things between us.”

  “Not your fault. I didn’t contact you, either, man.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Wanna come in and sit awhile?”

  “Sure.” He followed Seth into the living room and looked around. Leather-looking brown sofa, not real leather Lucas could tell, and a matching loveseat and recliner. Toys scattered on the beige carpet. A well-used double stroller open and sitting near the foyer. A brick fireplace across from the sofa. An entertainment cabinet with a flat screen TV, about forty-five inches, sat next to the fireplace.

  Lucas sat on the sofa, and Seth sat in the recliner.

  Seth glanced at Lucas and started to stand. “I forgot to ask. Can I get you something to drink? A soda or cup of coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  Seth nodded and sat back down.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Lucas asked.

  “You mean, am I still a neo-Nazi? That’s what you want to know, right?”

  “I . . . uh, well, yeah, but more than that. I really want to know more about your life. I mean, with Dad gone, it’s just you and me.”

  “With Dad gone?” Seth said, an antagonistic tone in his voice. “Hell, he’s been gone a lot longer than a few weeks, for me, at least. We stopped talking five years ago when he found out about my political beliefs.”

  “What? I thought you and he got along great. You were his All-star athlete son, his favorite son. You were his perfect chip off the old block son.”

  “Yeah, well, not according to him. When I told him about my feelings, he started screaming. Told me I was a disgrace. He said his family was German and some family members were Nazis and he hated them. Said they were a disgrace and he wanted nothing to do with them. Said that’s why he left home right after he graduated high school.”

  “Until he inherited the house,” Lucas said, again remembering his father’s words about getting the house for free but not liking the house. Things were beginning to fall into place. “That’s why he hated that house.”

  “Yeah,” Seth said, “he took the house but locked away all memories of his family. He never once talked about them to us, did he?”

  “Nope.”

  “He never told us about his family living in Germany. How was I supposed to know how he felt about the Nazis?”

  Lucas was tempted to ask if it would have made any difference. Would Dad’s hatred of the Nazis have kept Seth from becoming one? Maybe, maybe not, but he didn’t want to get into an argument again so instead, he said, “Yeah, he wasn’t much of a talker. At least not to us.”

  Seth nodded.

  Lucas said. “Well, now I’ve got the house. My wife wants to live in it, but I’m having problems even considering it.”

  “Just because Dad complained about it, that doesn’t mean it’s not a good house. He complained about everything and everyone.”

  “So that’s the way you remember him, too? I’m really surprised. I thought you and he were close.”

  “We may have been, when I was a kid. Not later, though.”

  “You never talked to him after your argument?”

  “Never. You know how he was. Once he got something in his head—the idea that someone was dissing him or his beliefs—that was the end of the relationship.”

  “Yeah. Was that before or after I fought with him?”

  “Around the same time, I think.”

  “So, let me get this straight. He didn’t want anything to do with me because I was engaged to a black woman from South Africa. But when he discovered you were a neo-Nazi, he didn’t want anything to do with you, either. You’re prejudiced against black people, too, aren’t you?”

  Five years ago, Lucas had gone to talk to Seth about his engagement to Tawny. He’d told Seth he wanted to introduce him and Tawny to each other. He was sure they would get along. That’s when Lucas discovered he didn’t know his brother at all. Seth told him he didn’t want to meet her. He’d seen photos of her on Lucas’s Facebook page. He knew she was black. He tried to talk Lucas out of marrying her. He told him about his political beliefs,
if that’s what you could call them. They’d ended up in a big fight. One of them had thrown the first punch. He couldn’t remember now, which one. That had led to further punching and a few bruises. Lucas went home to Tawny and told her he’d fought with his brother, but didn’t tell her what the fight was about.

  Seth said, “We want Americans to be a pure race, yes. But my beliefs are totally different from Dad’s. You seem to think that if we’re both racist, we’re the same. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Lucas didn’t know how to respond. Obviously their little girls, cousins or not, would never get to become friends. Their wives would never meet, either.

  “You know, Dad yelled at me once and told me I should go live in Germany with the other Nazis. He had a bug up his butt. Said that when he was a kid here, his classmates and neighbor kids gave him a hard time because of his German ancestry. Called him names. Painted swastikas on his fence. Apparently, he never got over that.”

  “Do you know how Dad found out about Tawny’s race? I didn’t tell him. He already knew before I got a chance to say anything.”

  “He saw the photos on your page, too. Like I did.”

  “But we weren’t friends on Facebook.”

  “Actually, you were. We both were. I found out he used a neighbor’s name to spy on both of us. Old man, Jonas Browning. Lived a couple houses down.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember Jonas. He used to take us out to his parents’ farm for horseback rides. That was the best thing that happened when we were living here.”

  “That’s him. I only found out when I talked to Jonas one day and mentioned something he’d posted. Jonas was baffled, rubbed his beard, and said he had never used Facebook. Didn’t know how.”

  “How did you figure out it was Dad?”

  “I asked him. It was a longshot, but I got to wondering how he knew about Tawny.”

  “Did he admit it, that he’d faked the account?” Lucas asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Hmm, maybe, but it could just as easily be Seth lying.

  Seth said, “I got to talking more with old Jonas. Do you know he knew our grandparents? He lived in that house next door to theirs for decades. He told me Dad has two sisters living in Santa Rosa.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “He gave me their names, address, and phone number. They live together. I went to visit them once or twice.”

  “Can I get their information? I want to meet them.”

  “Sure. Be right back.”

  Lucas waited as Seth strode upstairs. A few minutes later, he heard Seth and Allison arguing. He couldn’t make out their words, but recognized raised voices.

  Footsteps on the stairs caused Lucas to turn around and look. It was Seth coming back down.

  “Sorry about that,” Seth said. “Allison wants me to get dinner started. She had a really crappy day and doesn’t feel good.”

  “I hear ya. I should be going, anyway.” He stood up and moved toward the door.

  Seth followed and said, “Here’s that information you asked for.” He handed Lucas a piece of paper.

  Stuffing it into his shirt pocket, Lucas said, “It was real nice talking with you, Seth. Hope to do it again, soon.”

  Seth nodded.

  Lucas strode back to his car, and took the paper out of his pocket once he was seated and he saw Seth close the front door. Santa Rosa. That’s where the aunts lived. Not too far from here. He could be there in an hour and a half.

  He stopped at a gas station for gas and called Tawny on her cell phone to let her know where he was going.

  Traffic was heavy, but he finally arrived at the address he had written down. A large Spanish-style mansion. At least it looked like a mansion to him. He parked on the street in front of the house, opened the wrought-iron gate, strode along the brick walkway to the front porch, and pressed the doorbell.

  Moments later, a woman with pale blue eyes opened the door.

  Lucas, for a moment, thought he was looking into his father’s eyes.

  “Yes, may I help you,” she said with barely a hint of a German accent. So faint, in fact, that Lucas thought he might be imagining an accent. Her hair was gray and styled in a bob.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for my aunts. I’m Lucas Landry.”

  She gasped and put her hand over her heart. “Oh, my goodness. I . . . oh, forgive me . . . please come in.”

  The foyer was massive—two stories tall—and tiled in a sienna-color. In the center of the hallway, beneath an elaborate Spanish-style chandelier, was a large diamond-shaped design in bright Mexican colors. It immediately gave off warmth and feelings of happiness.

  He followed the woman into another room, the living room apparently, with one wall covered in floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the ocean from up here on a hill was spectacular.

  “Please sit. I will go find my sister.” She motioned toward a pale beige real-leather sofa and left.

  Lucas sat for a few minutes, then stood up and walked around the room, stopping in front of large bookcases lining another wall. Books of all kinds, some in Spanish and a few in German, filled the shelves. Some of them looked quite old.

  “Do you know any foreign languages?” someone asked.

  He swung around.

  The woman had returned and with her was her sister, he guessed. The sister had short, curly hair streaked brown and gray. Her eyes were brown and she walked with a cane.

  “I studied Spanish and German,” he said, “although I’m a bit rusty. My pronunciation isn’t great in either language.”

  “Good for you, that you learned other languages,” the first woman said. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Anna Marshall, oldest sister of your father. This is my younger sister, Elsa Cartwright. Joseph is the youngest.”

  “Was the youngest,” Elsa corrected. “We were shocked to hear of his passing. The attorney called us. What happened to him?”

  “Yes, please tell us,” Anna said, motioning for Lucas to sit. She and Elsa sat in the two recliners.

  “He died of a drug over-dose,” Lucas said.

  “Drugs? Our brother was a drug addict? Do you mean heroin?” Elsa said.

  “No. It was an opioid addiction. He was injured in battles over in Kuwait and Afghanistan years ago. He got hooked on the painkillers back then. It was an off and on battle for decades. I tried to help him. I’m a therapist in a mental health/drug abuse clinic. Some I can help, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Both women shook their heads.

  “He died at home?” Elsa asked.

  “Sort of. A neighbor came over to return something he’d borrowed and found Dad unconscious on the sofa. He called 9-1-1, and the paramedics took him to the hospital, but it was too late. The doctors couldn’t save him.”

  “Stubborn as a mule, our brother was,” Anna said. “He was stubborn from the day he was born.”

  “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Elsa chided. She glanced at her sister and added, “Anna has had her share of pain, but she’s never liked taking pain meds. She’d never get hooked on them.”

  “I had back surgery last year,” Anna said. “And now it’s Elsa’s turn for surgery. She’s getting a hip replacement in a few weeks.”

  “Knock on wood that I make it through the surgery,” Elsa said. “Almost didn’t make it through my hysterectomy five years ago.”

  “Sucks getting older,” Anna said. “But I guess we shouldn’t complain. We’ve lived longer than our brother and we’re still going. Every day is a blessing.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Elsa said.

  “Well, listen to us, going on. What brings you here, Lucas?” Anna asked. “We met your brother a couple of years ago, but he didn’t tell us much about you.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t know either of you existed until today. Dad never talked about his family or about the past. I only found out when I went to visit Seth. He and I are reconnecting now, I guess. We hadn’t spoken in years.”

  “We
never did understand why Joe abandoned the family. He was a difficult child and a horrible teenager, rude to our parents, disrespectful, mouthy.”

  “They tried to reach out to him several times after he left home, but he wanted nothing to do with them or with us.”

  “So you never heard from him?”

  “That’s right,” Anna said.

  No one spoke for a few minutes. On a whim, Lucas said, “Did you know about the attic in your parents’ house?”

  The two women glanced at each other and then they both smiled.

  “Goodness, I’d forgotten all about that; the secret attic we called it. Elsa and I would sneak up there and hide sometimes. Joe would search the house, looking for us. Then, at dinnertime we would come downstairs and pretend we’d been in the house all along and that we’d made ourselves invisible so we could spy on him.”

  Elsa chuckled. “I guess maybe we were a bit bad ourselves. I’d forgotten about that. We were the older ones. We should have looked out for our little brother more instead of taunting him.”

  “Well, he deserved it, sister,” Anna said. “Before we started hiding in the attic, he would do rotten things to us. Remember how he would stain our clothes to get us in trouble with Mother and Father? And he would lock us out of the house, so that we couldn’t finish our chores.”

  “Yes. I had forgotten that, too. He was always getting into trouble in school for spray-painting graffiti on lockers and stealing lunch money from kids. He would sometimes get into fights with other kids, too. Because of him, we all got called mean things. Nazis, German pigs, krauts.”

  “Are you sure that was because of my dad?”

  “Definitely,” Elsa said. “He would bully other students. Then, in retaliation, they would tease him about his heritage. Knowing that we were his sisters, we would hear it, too.”

  “Seth told me that Dad hated being German. Is that true?”

  Anna said, “You have to remember, this was in the early to mid-sixties, during the Cold War. Not that long after World War II. Hatred of Germans was common practically everywhere for many years.”

  Elsa said, “Joe wanted more than anything to be the all-American boy, regardless what his genes said. He was born here in Sacramento. He’d never been to Germany. He had no interest in our native country. Anna and I were born in Biberach, Germany and didn’t come to the U.S. until 1957. I was three years old and she was four-and-a-half. We’d lived here already for two years when Joe was born.”