“Harlen took her to the Offermeyers’ for a playdate. Do you want coffee?” Allison started to rise.
“I’ll get it, Mom.” Noah helped himself to coffee and brought the pot back to refill her cup and Ceejay’s. “Do you want more iced tea, Jenny?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“You’re looking good, by the way. How are you feeling?”
“Better every day.” The corners of her eyes creased with familiar warmth. “I’m starting chemo in a few weeks, and I’m already looking forward to putting all of this behind me.”
“That’s good. What do you have there?” He gestured toward the box as he leaned down and gave Ceejay a peck on the cheek. He straightened and returned the coffee to the warmer.
“This box holds all that remains of my mom’s possessions.” Ceejay sighed. “Jenny told me my mom didn’t abandon me. She died of an accidental drug overdose.”
Noah slid into the seat next to hers and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Ceejay swallowed hard. “I was wrong about her, and maybe I’m wrong about my dad, too. He might not know I exist, like all of you never knew about Lucinda.” She waved toward the box with a forlorn gesture. “I was looking for clues about who he might be. I couldn’t find anything.” Ceejay pressed herself against the back of her chair and stared at the cardboard container, disappointment plain on her face.
“Do you mind if I take a look?” eyes were riveted on hermpNoah
“Be my guest.”
Noah removed the lid and pulled out an envelope, opened the flap, and took out the stack of photos tucked inside. Pictures of Ceejay as a newborn, and then as a chubby-cheeked baby with bright red hair. He went through them one at a time, stopping when he came across the photos including her mother.
“Let me see those photos,” Allison said, reaching out her hand.
Noah handed them to her, and she placed them in a row in front of her. “You were an adorable little girl, Ceejay.”
“Were?” Noah raised his eyebrows. “She’s still adorable.” Color rose to Ceejay’s cheeks. Man, he loved making her blush. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “And little.”
Ceejay made a disgruntled noise, and Noah couldn’t resist kissing her on the forehead.
“Of course she is.” Allison laughed and turned back to the pictures. “I can see the resemblance between you, your mother, and Lucinda, although Luce’s coloring is different. She has the Wyatt dimples and chin.”
“She has your eyes.” Ceejay’s expression was open and friendly as she glanced at Allison.
Noah had to swallow back the surge of emotion welling up. He turned the empty envelope over and studied the faded scrawl on the front while the women continued to fuss over the photos. The penciled writing was barely legible. “J. C. Flynn, care of the University of Evansville?”
“My mom went to school there.” Ceejay glanced his way.
“I wonder...”
“What do you wonder?” Ceejay asked, as Allison and Jenny turned to listen.
“An envelope addressed to him with pictures of you inside.” Noah handed Ceejay the worn, yellowed envelope. “Reverse his initials.”
She gasped. “C.J.” She swiveled in her chair to stare wide-eyed at him.
“Wait,” Jenny broke in. “Like I told Ceejay earlier, I found the envelope with the rest of what’s in this box when I went to pick up Ann’s things. I put the pictures inside because it was convenient. I can’t even be sure that’s my sister’s handwriting on the front.”
“Still, it’s a lead.” Noah shrugged. “And it gives us a place to start. Maybe he was a friend of hers. If he’s still around, he might be able to tell us who your sister was seeing at the time.”
“I agree.” Ceejay’s eyes lit up. “Will you help me do a directory search, Noah?” She held up her encased wrists.
“Of course. Let’s go to my apartment. We can use my laptop.” He got up and took his mug and Ceejay’s to the sink. “Unless either of you needs me for anything right now.” He turned to his stepmom and Jenny.
“We’ll be fine,” Allison answered. “I’ll call your cell when lunch is ready.”
“Thanks.” He followed Ceejay out the back door. “Don’t get your hopes up, Ceejay. This may end up being a wild goose chase.”
“I know.” She frowned at him. “Even if it’s not a wild goose chase and we do find my father, there’s no guarantee he’ll want to have anything to do with eyes were riveted on hermpNoahme.”
“I can’t imagine that.” He placed his hand at the small of her back.
“Yeah?” She chuffed out a sound of amusement. “Don’t you think you might be a tad biased?”
“Nope.” He swung around her to get the gate, and then his door. “Have a seat on the couch, and I’ll get the laptop.”
For the next hour, they searched out all the Flynns in the Evansville area. Three were women and six were men. Noah compiled a list with their names, addresses, and phone numbers.
“Let’s check the University of Evansville. Maybe J. C. Flynn was one of my mother’s professors.”
“All right.” He entered the university into the search engine and clicked on the website. Next he clicked on the faculty directory and entered the name. “Look at this, Ceejay. Dr. Jeffrey C. Flynn. He’s a history professor.”
She sucked in an audible breath. “I can’t believe it. What if he’s my father? What do I do now?”
“Says here he has regular office hours between two and four, Mondays through Thursdays. Make an appointment and go see him.”
“I can’t do that. What would I say?” She shot up from the couch and paced around the room. “You do it.”
“Do what? Ask him if he’s your dad?”
“No.” She huffed in exasperation. “You make an appointment to see him. Tell him you’re interested in an advanced degree in history or something like that, and—”
“Why not start with a phone call and introduce yourself? Let’s not make things more complicated than they need to be.”
“Please, Noah? I want to see him face-to-face.”
He could practically feel the tension pulsing from her, and her eyes held a pleading expression he couldn’t refuse. “All right.” He fished his cell phone out of his back pocket. He entered the phone number listed on Flynn’s page, and a secretary answered. “Hello, my name is Noah Langford, and I’d like to make an appointment to talk to Dr. Flynn about obtaining a master’s in history.” He waited while the woman on the other end checked the professor’s calendar and came back with some choices. “This Thursday at two would be great. Thanks.”
“If I could clap my hands, I would.” Ceejay sank down beside him on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He put his arm around her. “I don’t want to see you set yourself up for hurt or disappointment. Things might not turn out the way we hope.”
“I know.” She patted his leg before getting up. “I’m going to head up to the house and figure out what I’m going to wear to this meeting on Thursday. I’m really sick of elastic waistbands.” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “See you at lunch.”
After she left, he decided to work on the cradle for a while, and he headed for the workshop. The frame had posed a challenge. He wanted something hip high, so Ceejay wouldn’t have to bend over too low every time she needed to pick up the baby. He also wanted the cradle to swing in a smooth, soothing motion. The frame he’d devised ended up the chair across from her. it c p b being like the old-fashioned, double porch or swing-set type of mechanism. Definitely safer with siblings around to set it in motion with too much enthusiasm.
All that was left was the final sanding and applying the finish, and the piece would be done. He opened the bay doors, turned on the floor fan, and set to work with the finest-gauge sandpaper he had. Working with his hands to create the piece satisfied and calmed him in a way he hadn’t experienced since
the hours he’d spent in his uncle’s shop. Remembering the phone conversation he’d had with his uncle brought a smile to Noah’s face. Maybe he could talk him into a visit once the construction season slowed down.
Noah reached for a cotton shop cloth and wiped away the sawdust from the cradle. Taking a few steps back, he admired his work. The insides of the headboard and the footboard had the English rose carving. He’d cut small open hearts, three on each of the sides. Not big enough for little hands to get caught, but large enough to allow for airflow.
“Whoa. This is what you’ve been working on all this time?” Ted let out a low whistle from just inside the open bay doors. “It’s really something. I had no idea you could do shit like this.” Ted reached out and set the cradle into a smooth, silent glide. “Can you make other stuff?”
“Yep.” Noah’s chest swelled. “I can design and build anything.”
Ted stopped the cradle midswing and moved closer to examine the carvings. “Will you teach me?” He regarded Noah with serious determination. “This is what you should do, man. Forget about sanding peeling paint and gutters.”
“I can teach you, sure, but I don’t know about—”
“This is it, Noah. I’m telling you. We can sell furniture over the Internet. You’ll never have to deal with people face-to-face.”
A buzz started in Noah’s head. He forgot about PTSD when wood and tools were in his hands. The satisfaction woodworking gave him, the thrum of excitement—could this be his passion, or did all these feelings happen because the cradle was for Ceejay?
“Why a cradle?”
Noah’s attention came back with a start. Ted’s gaze fixed him with an intensity he’d never seen from the younger man. He scrambled for something plausible to say. “I haven’t worked with wood for years.” He picked his tools up, crossing to the pegboard to put them away. Reaching for a can of acrylic finish from the shelves, he answered, “I wanted to start with something small to get back into it before trying something bigger.”
“Humph.”
The incredulous sound forced Noah to look his way. The intensity of Ted’s gaze hadn’t lessened, and Noah’s palms started to sweat. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ted’s face hardened. “What do I think?”
Noah stared back. Currents of adrenaline-laced energy traced through his limbs. His heart hammered, and his mouth felt full of the sawdust he’d recently swept away. “I’m not like my stepbrother.”
“I know you’re not. Matt never would’ve bothered making a cradle before he took off.”
“Does it look like I’m leaving to you?”
“We gonna get and her eyes grew bright tk. His to work on those back gutters, or what?” Ted turned his back on Noah and headed for the door.
“I’ll be right there.” This new tension bothered him. He’d come to like and respect Ceejay’s cousin. The way Ted looked up to him and sought his company meant a lot to Noah. He grabbed his tool belt and bucket of supplies and followed. Climbing the scaffold to take his place beside his silent coworker, Noah struggled to come up with something to say that would alleviate Ted’s concern.
“I’m in love with her,” he rasped out. Great. Not exactly what he’d intended to say.
“No shit.” Ted ked into a chai
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“THIS IS NINETEEN HUNDRED LINCOLN Ave.” Noah nodded toward the brick building before them. “We’re here. Dr. Flynn’s office is on the second floor.”
Ceejay’s palms started to sweat, and the sound of the blood rushing through her veins rang in her ears. She could hardly breathe. Noah’s strong arms encircled her. She must’ve gone pale, because he guided her to the bench next to the Metro Bus sign on the sidewalk and pushed her down to sit. He sat beside her and rubbed her back.
She forced air into her lungs. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can.” He kept rubbing.
Closing her eyes, she let the soothing motion of his hand work its magic. Her breathing slowed, and her heart rate soon followed. “Maybe we should come back another day—once I’ve adjusted to the idea.”
“We’re here now eyes were riveted on her from ta">.”
“I know.” She sighed. “My whole life I’ve wondered who my father is and why he left me.” The gentle pressure of Noah’s hand gave her strength. “I’ve always believed he didn’t want me, just like I believed my mother left me on my aunt’s doorstep for the same reason.” She blew out her breath. “The same way Matt didn’t want me and Lucinda.”
“I want you. If you’ll let me, I’ll stick around, and that’s a promise.”
“Really?” Tears filled her eyes as she met his steady gaze. She blinked them away and laid her head on his shoulder. “That’s the sweetest thing anybody has ever said to me.”
He stroked her hair and kissed her. “Don’t you know I’m nuts about you?”
“Then you really are nuts.” She smiled at him through her tears. “Because I’m a mess.” Shoot. Just when she’d gotten her heart rate under control, Noah sent it leapfrogging inside her chest again. “Let’s go meet this man. I was wrong about my mom. Maybe I’m wrong about my dad too.”
He helped her up, and they climbed the concrete stairs to the wide, glass doors. “Noah,” she whispered as they entered.
“Hmm?” He leaned close.
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m crazy about you too.”
“Then you really are crazy, because, honey? Between the two of us, I really am a mess, and I have the papers to prove it.”
Ceejay reached for his hand. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”
Turning his palm around, he laced their fingers together around her cast. She surveyed the inside of the building. The turn-of-the-century campus hall boasted a marble floor with an inlaid geometric design. The dimly lit hallway was large and cool, even without air-conditioning. Staircases with wooden banisters stained almost black and covered in about ten coats of varnish stood at either end.
The stainless-steel double doors of the modern elevator in the center looked out of place. “Can we take the elevator? I don’t feel up to taking the stairs.”
“Sure. The elevator is easier for me, anyway.” Noah hit the button. “He believes I’m here to talk about a master’s in history. I’ll do the talking. When you’re ready, let me know by putting your hand on my arm.”
She nodded, and the elevator doors opened. They rode to the second floor in silence, stepping out into a much less ostentatious hallway. The narrow corridor had a linoleum tile floor typical of the fifties. Doors with black numbers painted above them lined both sides. Was she supposed to feel like this? Like she was walking through wet cement toward her own execution?
They stopped in front of a door with a small, brass bracket holding a name card. Dr. Jeffrey C. Flynn. Noah rapped his knuckles against the wood.
The door opened. Ceejay’s insides tumbled into a messy heap as she stared at the short, wiry man before her. They had the same freckles, the same blue eyes and wild, curly reddish hair, although his was thinning and streaked with gray. Ceejay couldn’t have uttered a word if her life depended on it. She reached out and grasped Noah’s arm for support.
“Now?” Noah asked, frowning down at her.
“What?” She turned her gaze to him, her brain frozen in shock. He looked pointedly at the hand on his arm. The signal. “Oh. No.” She snatched it back.
The professor looked from her to Noah and back to her again. “Can I help you?”
Noah stepped forward. “I’m Noah Langford. We have an appointment.”
Dr. Flynn’s expression cleared. “Right. Come in.” He stepped back and held the door while they filed through. The small office had a single, narrow window with an air conditioner whirring away. Shelves lined one wall, sagging from the weight of leather-bound reference books and stacks of file folders.
“This is my girlfriend, Ceejay.”
Hearing Noah call her his girlfriend shot a
pulse of pleasure straight through her heart. How sweet was that? The thrill temporarily distracted her from the emotional chaos ricocheting around her healing rib cage. Was Dr. Flynn her father? The resemblance was uncanny. He must be. Would he want to know her?
The professor moved another pile of stuff from a chair in the corner and carried it over to the spot next to the seat already positioned by his desk. He gestured for them to sit. “What happened to you?” He surveyed her cast, the sling, and the fading bruise on her forehead.
“Car accident,” she muttered as she took a seat. Noah sat beside her.
“Sorry to hear it.” Flynn sank into his chair and fiddled with the keyboard on his computer. “You’re interested in a graduate program in history, you said. What is the specific region and period you’re interested in? Do you plan to get a master’s first, or would you prefer to get into the PhD program right away?”
“Did you know Ann Lovejoy?” Ceejay blurted. “She attended the University of Evansville twenty-six years ago.”
The professor’s hands dropped to his lap, and his chin dropped. His eyebrows came together as he stared at her. “What’s going on here?”
“Ceejay,” Noah took her hand, “I thought you were going to let me do the talking.”
“I was, but look at him.” She gestured toward the professor. “Don’t you see what I’m seeing?”
“What’s this about Ann Lovejoy?” Dr. Flynn’s upper lip beaded with sweat, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Ceejay leaned forward in her chair. “Did you know her?”
“I’d just started teaching back then. She was in one of my classes. Why do you ask?”
“How well did you know her?”
The professor studied her for a few seconds, and then scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Well enough.”
“My name is Ceejay Lovejoy.” She turned to Noah. “Show him the pictures and the envelope.”
Noah pulled the envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to the professor. Ceejay searched for any sign that Dr. Flynn might be happy to discover he had her for a daughter. She watched as he took the photos out and went through them. Slowly, he studied the penciled words on the outside.
Far from Perfect (Perfect, Indiana: Book One) Page 25