CHEROKEE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

"When he was done, I was in tears, and he kept telling me to quit making such a big deal about it." She drew a tight breath. "Later I discovered that my thighs were bruised. And I had a bump on the back of my head because he'd shoved me against the window."

  "Did you tell anyone that night?"

  "No. I should have, but I was too ashamed. My parents were asleep, so I crept into the house, took a scalding bath and cried like a baby. When I finally got the courage to tell my mother, the bruises were gone."

  "It was too late then," Sarah found herself saying.

  "Yes, it was. The police said it would be my word against his. One of them even asked me why I was out to ruin Johnny's life. He was just a college kid, and he came from a good, upstanding family." Anger flashing in her eyes, she shook her head. "Needless to say, my parents convinced me to drop the charges. We were supposed to forget that it ever happened."

  But they couldn't forget, Sarah thought. Not when Cindy turned up pregnant. "They sent you to Tahlequah to have your baby."

  She nodded. "And while I was gone, they moved from Oklahoma City to Tulsa, so that when I came back, I could start over. A new town, a new life."

  "It couldn't have been that simple."

  "I did what I had to do, including giving my baby up for adoption. And later, when I'd heard that Johnny had crashed his fancy new car, I prayed that he had done what he felt he had to do, that he had died out of guilt. But that wasn't the case. He'd been drag racing with some buddies and lost control."

  "Adam isn't anything like Johnny," Sarah offered, watching Cindy twist her wedding ring again. "He's good and decent, the kindest person I know. And this is killing him. With every day that passes, he dies a little more. His spirit is breaking, and I don't know what to do about it."

  The other woman's eyes filled with tears. "Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I did what I thought was best, what my family expected me to do."

  "He needs to hear that from you. He needs to know that you don't hate him."

  "Oh." Cindy rocked forward, touched a hand to her heart. "I've thought about him over the years, at Christmas and on his birthday. He's always there. I haven't forgotten about him." Clutching her blouse, her voice shattered a little. "I even nursed him. My aunt told me not to, but I did it anyway. I needed to hold him before they took him away."

  Sarah's chest constricted. "He has no idea. He doesn't have that memory."

  "He's not supposed to. He has other parents now."

  "They're dead. They were killed in a plane crash when he was in college. You're all he has left."

  "Oh, no," Cindy whispered before her tears fell. "What am I going to do?"

  "Meet your son," Sarah told her. "If you don't, neither one of you will ever be the same."

  * * *

  With her emotions riding her sleeve, Sarah parked in her father's graveled driveway, unlocked the front door and stepped inside. She wanted to see Adam in person, but she'd offered to call rather than crowd him. Trusting him meant just that. She couldn't police him, even though a part of her wanted to. The whiskey incident had scared her more than she was willing to admit.

  She set down her purse and picked up the phone. Adam answered on the second ring, which told her he had been waiting anxiously.

  "Cindy agreed to meet you," she said.

  "Oh, God. When? Where?"

  "This Tuesday, at her house. Her other children won't be there, so it will just be you and her."

  Fear jumped into his voice. "What about you?"

  Sarah sat forward. "Do you want me to go with you?"

  "Yeah. I mean, as long as you don't mind. You've already met her, and…"

  He was nervous, she realized, anxiety-ridden about facing his mother. She pictured his troubled expression, pictured him pacing the motel room half the day. Was his hair banded into a ponytail? Or was it loose, a little messy? She wished she could touch him, run her fingers over those razor-edge cheekbones, that rugged jaw.

  "Of course I don't mind," she said.

  "Thank you." He paused, released an audible breath. "And, Sarah?"

  "Yes?"

  "You didn't tell Cindy, did you? You know, about what's been going on with me?"

  "No. I didn't think that was my place." She leaned back, closed her eyes, suddenly nervous herself. How much time would pass before he lost the urge to drink? Before he felt whole again?

  "Is she pretty?"

  "What?" She opened her eyes, realized he was asking about Cindy. "Yes, she is. I think you're going to like her. She talked about when you were born. She held you, Adam. And nursed you."

  "Really?" His voice turned soft, a little shy, and Sarah had to smile.

  "Did she mention her other kids?" he asked.

  "Only that they don't know about you. She didn't tell me their names."

  After a moment of silence, he posed another question, shooting it like a bullet. "What about him? Did she say anything about him?"

  "Yes," Sarah said, choosing her words carefully. Adam wasn't ready to hear details about his father. The wound was too fresh, the pain too raw. She suspected Adam had inherited bits and pieces from Johnny, physical traits that defined their gender. But none of that mattered. Cindy wouldn't look into her son's eyes and see the man who had hurt her. "His name was Johnny. He died in a car accident. He was drag racing with some buddies."

  "I hope he suffered," Adam said, his tone cold and hard.

  Sarah didn't respond. Hatred could destroy a person's soul, and Adam was still teetering on the edge of destruction. Despising a dead man, she thought, wasn't going to help him heal.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  On Tuesday afternoon Adam opened the motel-room door and stepped back so Sarah could enter.

  "I'm not quite ready," he said, stating the obvious. He sported a pair of tan trousers, but his chest was bare, his hair still loose. Adam rarely lingered over his appearance or criticized his wardrobe, but today he'd been doing both.

  "That's okay. There's still time."

  Sarah smiled, and he imagined holding her, breathing in her scent. He missed the feel of her, the warmth of her skin, the taste of her kiss. And today she reminded him of a gypsy with her shining black hair and glittering gold hoops. She rarely wore jewelry, but when she did, it enhanced her exotic appeal. He wanted to put a diamond on her finger, but he didn't have the right.

  "How are you?" she asked.

  "Better." Adam knew she was referring to his urge to drink. "It's not as strong as it was." But it made him realize how severe his addiction was, how he had downplayed the seriousness of it all these years.

  "As long as you're okay."

  "I'm hanging in there." He reached for a polo-style shirt and lifted it over his head. Turning, he headed for the mirror to band his hair into a ponytail. Combing the dark strands, he tried not to wince. His injured hand ached with the movement, and it shamed and frightened him that he was capable of such aggression. He wasn't the same man, and he knew Sarah deserved better.

  When his hair was neatly fixed, he stared at his reflection and saw a stranger staring back at him. A ball of nervousness tightened his stomach. What if Cindy found him offensive. What if…

  He spun toward Sarah, who waited at the desk, busying herself with a book he had left there.

  "I don't think I can do this."

  "What?" She whipped her head up. "Oh, my goodness, why?"

  "I might have his face." He couldn't bear to resemble the man who had shattered a young woman's innocence. "My mother might look at me and see him."

  "No, she won't." Sarah came to her feet and walked toward him, brushing his arm.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because you look like Cindy. You look like a Cherokee."

  "Thank you," he said, even though the knot in his stomach wouldn't loosen. No matter what Sarah said, he knew Johnny was inside him.

  Wouldn't Cindy realize that, too? And if she hated his father, if her skin still crawled when she
thought about him, then how could she accept the son who carried his blood? And how could Sarah? How could any woman?

  "I'll get my shoes." He suspected Sarah knew more about his father than she'd told him, but he wasn't going to press her for information. He wasn't going to make her talk about the man who had tainted his genes.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he laced a pair of leather ropers, then decided to change his shirt. "This one itches."

  He peeled the garment from his body, knowing it wasn't the fabric. He didn't feel comfortable in his own skin anymore.

  Main chose a Western shirt, tucking it into his pants and threading a belt through the loops. Sarah watched him, and he felt self-conscious and nervous all over again.

  They left the motel, and he offered to drive. The ride was long and quiet, but once they reached Tulsa, she read him the directions to Cindy's house. And when he parked in front of a tidy suburban home, he willed his heartbeat to steady itself.

  The woman who answered the door was slim and pretty, with golden skin and hair the color of night. She wore her years with grace and style, reminding Adam of his other mother. And at that heart-clenching moment, he thought about how much he missed his parents, wishing they were standing here beside him. Unsure of what to do or say, he let Cindy take the lead.

  "Hello, Sarah," she said, then turned to him. "Oh, my. You must be Adam."

  He nodded, waiting for her to extend her hand. But she didn't. She just stood, staring at him, looking at every feature. Silence rose between them, like a ghost drifting on the wind.

  He wanted to say something, to break the haunting, but he found himself staring at her, too. He did look like her, he realized. He saw the slant of his cheekbones on her face, and they had the same mouth, only hers was softer, painted with a peach-colored lipstick.

  She wasn't as small as Sarah, but she was still a fine-boned lady, telling him that his father had been a big man. Adam stood taller and broader than most: Suddenly a sick feeling came over him, a need to apologize.

  "I'm sorry about what happened to you," he said, his voice as raw as his throat.

  Cindy blinked. "That was a lifetime ago." Reaching out to touch his cheek, she skimmed lightly. "Were your parents good to you, Adam? Did they treat you right?"

  "Yes." He wanted to capture her hand and hold it, but she was already pulling back. "I loved them very much."

  "That's what I wanted for you. A good life." Seeming a little shaken, she smoothed her blouse. "Where are my manners? Come in, please, both of you."

  Adam hadn't realized that he and Sarah were still standing at the door, the Oklahoma sun shining on their backs.

  Cindy offered them a seat in a formal living room. Her home was bright and pleasant, with a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the fireplace mantle and a lavender-and-blue afghan folded over a melon-colored sofa. She appeared to favor pastels.

  "I made coffee," she said. "And sandwiches. Would either of you like something to eat?"

  "Yes, thank you." Adam spoke first. He wasn't hungry, and he normally steered clear of caffeine, but he'd heard it was rude to refuse food in an Indian home. He had no idea if Cindy followed the old ways, but he still worried about offending her.

  "Can I help?" Sarah rose from her chair.

  "No. No. I've got it. I'll just be a moment." The older woman headed toward the kitchen, and Sarah resumed her seat.

  She and Adam glanced at each other, but didn't speak. She sent him a reassuring smile, and he wished things had turned out differently. He had caused sweet Sarah nothing but heartache.

  Cindy returned with a tray, placing it on the coffee table. She poured the coffee and told them to help themselves to the food. The sandwiches, filled with a variety of meat and cheeses, were cut into small wedges, the serving platter garnished with greens and vegetable sticks.

  Still nervous, Adam chose turkey and cheddar, then scattered some celery onto his plate. "This looks great."

  "Thank you." She handed him a cup of coffee. "Did Sarah tell you that I have other children?"

  "Yes, she did." He didn't see any photographs on the walls, but he assumed they were in a less formal room. A den, perhaps, where the family gathered in front of the TV. "I'm aware that they don't know about me."

  "I'm going to tell them, but it might take some time. Rachel is only twelve."

  Rachel. He imagined Cindy's daughter with big dark eyes and a pretty smile. "I understand."

  "I'm not sure how they'll feel about all of this."

  "You don't have to tell them." He poured milk in his coffee and tried to ease her mind. She looked as nervous as he was. "I don't want to make things difficult for you."

  "They should know. I should have told them before now. Secrets can destroy a family. And I want them to meet you." She tilted her head, studying him. "You're their brother."

  It was, he thought, the nicest thing she could have said. He smiled, and they both let out the breaths they'd been holding.

  The conversation turned to small talk, with Sarah joining in. And when they rose to leave an hour later, Cindy hugged him

  Adam's mother felt soft and delicate in his arms, but at that tender moment, all he could think about was how much he hated the man who had hurt her.

  * * *

  Two days later, Adam drove to the garage where Sarah's father worked. He entered the office, telling himself he had to do this. He'd made some monumental decisions, and it was time to follow through.

  A middle-aged man sat at a cluttered desk, the phone pressed to his ear. He nodded to Adam and signaled a gesture that said "I'll be with you in a minute."

  He wore a dark blue uniform, and Adam assumed he was one of the mechanics who worked there. Checking his watch, he realized it was nearly noon. He hoped he hadn't missed William on his lunch hour.

  "What do you need?" the other man asked, returning the phone to its cradle.

  "Is William Cloud around?"

  "I think so. Just a second."

  Adam waited while the mechanic paged Sarah's father. This was the right thing to do, he reassured himself. The only thing to do.

  William entered the office through a door that led to the automotive bay. They stared at each other for a moment. Adam hadn't seen the other man since the day William had told him about the rape.

  Sarah's father spoke first. "It's good to see you."

  "Thanks. You, too. Do you have a minute?"

  "Sure."

  Since the other mechanic still occupied the office, they walked outside and stood near the, front of the building. The garage was located in Arrow Hill, a wealthy community showcasing mansions and historical homes.

  "I have something to ask you." Adam noticed that William watched him, waiting for him to state his business. He wasn't sure how the other man felt about him. They had barely gotten acquainted, which made this moment even more difficult. "I was wondering if I could go to one of those meetings with you tonight. AA or whatever it is you attend."

  "Of course you can." William's expression softened. "So, have you stayed clean, Adam?"

  "Yeah. But it scares me that it's become an issue in my life again. I never expected it to happen, not after all these years." He turned, met the older man's gaze. "And I've never been to a group meeting. I had private counseling when I was a kid."

  "It's not so bad. In fact, it helps to know there's others out there. That they're struggling to get by, too."

  "That's what I figured." But the idea still made him nervous, talking about himself to strangers, admitting that he had a problem. "I realize I can't hide from the truth. I need to get it out in the open."

  "So have you told my daughter?"

  "No, but I'm stopping by your house next." Which meant telling Sarah that he couldn't marry her. He hadn't officially broken their engagement, and he feared she was still clinging to false hope, to a fantasy about him that no longer existed. Adam was a changed man, born into a darkness he couldn't deny. Cindy was a kind and caring woman, but he was still Joh
nny's son, too.

  "William?"

  "Yes?"

  "No matter what happens, I want you to know that I love Sarah. That I would never hurt her deliberately."

  "She loves you, too. The way her mother loved me." The older man leaned against the building, but his gaze didn't falter. He kept his eyes trained on Adam. "And that kind of love is rare. One in a million."

  I know, Adam thought, frowning at an oil stain on the ground. And that's exactly why he didn't deserve it.

  * * *

  Sarah and Adam strolled along her father's property. Hills rose in the distance, limestone mansions jutting from grassy cliffs. The rich, the working class. It was here that their worlds joined. Sarah was glad her father had chosen this area. It suited him.

  Turning to look at Adam, she brushed a lock of hair from her face. Two days had passed since they'd met with Cindy, and now their time in Oklahoma was nearly over. She couldn't believe so much had happened within the span of two weeks.

  "Our flight is scheduled on Tuesday," she said, praying that their relationship would resume once they got back to California. Adam was still withdrawn, at least around her.

  He stopped, his boots layered with dust. "I'm not going. Not yet, anyway. Cindy asked if I could stay a little longer. We're trying to get to know each other before she tells her other children about me."

  "That's good." Sarah told herself this wasn't the end. If anything, it was a new beginning. He would get to know his family and return to California a happier man. And then they could make plans for their future, decide where they were going to live, how many babies they were going to have. "So you rearranged your schedule at work?"

  "Not exactly. I told them I wouldn't be coming back." He bent to pick a yellow flower, to hold the stem between his fingers. "I'm going to find a place here, focus on getting myself together. When I go back to California, it will be to pack and arrange to have the animals brought here. I have some time to find a job in Oklahoma. I've got money put away."

  "What about us, Adam?"

  "I can't marry you, Sarah. You know as well as I do, we're not meant to be."

  She struggled to mask the overwhelming pain, the ache squeezing her heart. The man she loved was leaving her. For good. "Why? Because you had the urge to drink?"