Blood Relations (10 page)

I headed toward the door. I was ticked off and I would have nothing further to say. Well, nothing that would be logical anyway. I was already entirely too emotional.

He followed me through the house until I reached the front door. He put his hand on the door to keep me from leaving. “Just wait a minute,” he said.

I turned and breathed deeply. “I don't want any of your martyr crap,” I said.

“Fine,” he replied, putting his hands up in surrender. “I didn't know about Stephanie until about six years ago. She came knocking on my door one day, just like she did yours. You gotta give her credit for having some big
cojones.
Not too many people will just go and knock on the door of a parent they've never seen.”

This was true.

“Her mother … Julia and I had an affair when you were about five,” he said. “It lasted a few months. Then I told her that I felt too guilty, and I broke it off. I told your mother about the affair. But I had no idea that Julia was pregnant.”

“What would you have done if you had known?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. Would it have been right to leave your mother and you for another woman and a different daughter? No, but I probably would have given her some sort of monetary support. I would have tried to see her at least a few times. I don't know. It would have depended on your mother really. Knowing her, she would have accepted Stephanie, and we might have had a semi-relationship with her. But it didn't happen that way. So when Stephanie was old enough, she asked her mother why she didn't look like her dad. Julia told her that even though she had his last name, that was really her stepdad. Then Julia told her who I was, where I lived, and why I wasn't around. Stephanie was twenty-four years old before she got up the nerve to come and see me.”

He didn't appear overly distraught about the story, but I could see that it affected him nonetheless, because he wouldn't make eye contact with me.

“And?”

“Stephanie was engaged to be married. She wanted to know if she ever had kids, whether she could bring them around to see me. She wanted them to know their grandfather,” he said.

The fact that my father had known about her only for the last six years seemed to ease the pain a little. It didn't seem to be as big a betrayal. But still, it didn't take six years to say one sentence. Why hadn't he told me about her?

“And you told her what?”

“I told her yes,” he said. “She was my daughter. I wasn't going to turn her away. We'd already lost twenty-four years.”

“So how did she find out about me?”

“Her mother had told her that I had a little girl. She asked me about you. I told her your name, where you lived. I even gave her a picture of you,” he said. “She suddenly had a sibling. Somebody who was like her. That seemed to make her happy.”

“That's all I've ever wanted,” I said.

The silence that hung between us was so thick, it seemed to make the room heavy. Neither one of us said anything. I accused him with just a look. And he stood there, defensive as a stone wall.

“So why didn't you tell me? You've had six years to tell me.”

“It never seemed like a good time” was all he could come up with. “I mean, the whole thing with the antique dealer had just happened. I didn't think right after you found a murdered woman that you'd want to learn about a long-lost sister. Then you were pregnant. Your mom got married.… There just always seemed to be something big going on in your life.”

“That's no excuse. For something like this, you make time.”

“Whatever,” he said, and waved me off. “Okay, string me up. I'm guilty. Just get it over with and go home.”

I walked slowly toward him, until I stood a mere foot away. “No, Dad, I'm not going to string you up. This is your sin,” I said. “You live with it.”

I stepped through his door into the gray world outside, the clouds heavy with snow. I felt better. I had confronted him and I hadn't let him give me any crap. I hadn't let him become a martyr, nor had I let him weasel his way out of any guilt. And I hadn't forgiven him, either. Because it would do no good to forgive him for a sin he hadn't actually taken responsibility for. Not yet anyway. He would, though.

And then I'd forgive him.

Twelve

Rudy, Collette, the kids, and I had all just finished eating pizza at Velasco's, otherwise known as Chuck's. It was Sunday evening and the snow was coming down in big fat wet flakes, quickly accumulating on the road as well as on the grass. Collette and I stood at the window with the kids, looking out upon the fluffy white stuff, just as enthralled as the kids were, while Rudy took care of the bill.

“Let's walk home,” Collette said.

“Yeah!” Rachel said, backed up by Mary, who was squealing with delight.

“No, Rachel, you were complaining about a sore throat yesterday,” I said. “Not a good idea for you to walk home.”

“Can I walk home alone with your mom?” Colette asked the girls. “I'd like some time to talk with her.”

This was news to me. I wondered if she'd found something in the files at my office. I glanced at her quickly, but her expression gave nothing away.

“Oh, all right,” Rachel said, her lower lip thrust out in a pout.

I looked back at Rudy just as he was waving good night to Chuck. “See you Tuesday,” Rudy said to him. They bowl on the same team. Chuck waved to all of us as we went out the door. Rudy fished the keys from his pocket.

“Hey, why don't you and the kids go on home,” I said. “Collette and I want to take a walk in the snow.”

“Sure,” he said. “Be careful coming up the hill.”

“If the road is slick, we'll just walk through the grass. We should be fine.”

He gave me a quick kiss, and then we loaded up the kids and he drove away. I stood there a moment with my face toward the sky, feeling the snow land on my cheeks, light as a feather. Snow is a good example of the power of numbers. Because just one snowflake is soft and harmless, but put a bunch of them together, and they have the power to grind civilization to a complete halt.

“So, what's up?” I asked her as we began walking.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to walk home in the snow.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Collette, you hate the elements. You hate nature. You'd be perfectly happy if the whole world was covered in concrete and it was seventy-five degrees and sunny every day.”

Our voices sounded weird in the muffled air. Everything was hushed and quiet because of the added insulation the snow provided. I heard the train go by, the usual seven o'clock freight train on Sunday evening, slow and methodical as it made its way up the tracks. A kid came by on his bike, a streak of metal, a flash of orange windbreaker, his wheels slipping and sliding on the snow as he fought for control of the bike.

“Justin!” I yelled. He looked back at me, an expression of bewilderment on his face. “Does your mother know you're out?”

He just kept on going, disappearing behind a snow-covered car.

“Do you know everybody in town?” Collette asked.

“I think so,” I said.

“How do you do that?”

“Well, you know,” I said. “My job is sort of a public relations–type thing. I'm involved with so many people in the town on a weekly basis, plus there're the kids and all the people they know. PTA, Rudy's friends, my mother, the sheriff. I mean, if I
didn't
know everybody, I would find that more peculiar.”

“Don't you ever just want to leave?”

“Leave?” I asked. “No. Why would I want to leave? Well, I could do without a few of the residents. The mayor, for one. But I love this place.”

Collette laughed because she knew the history the mayor and I had. In these parts, the feud we had had over whether or not I could have chickens was as notorious as the Hatfield and McCoy dispute. We turned the corner and headed toward the river. We weren't really walking straight home, by any means. We were taking the long way.

“So … I say again, why did you want to get me alone? And don't tell me it was because of the snow,” I said.

“You're good at this, you know. You should be a reporter.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I have enough to do.”

“I think there was more to Captain Thibeau than meets the eye.”

“Captain who?”

“The pilot, the captain of
The Phantom.
”

“You don't say,” I said, pulling my gloves out of my pockets and proceeding to put them on. I don't usually bundle up, but I had a feeling we were going to be out in this for a while.

“I read one of the survivor statements,” she said. “This was a child, mind you, so I'm not sure how accurate his memory would be. But he said that he heard arguing coming from inside the pilothouse just before the boat turned sharply and was overcome by water.”

“Really,” I said.

“I'm wondering if the captain was having an argument with somebody and there was a struggle and that's why the boat turned so suddenly,” Collette said.

“Could be,” I said. “What about the other survivors? Did anybody else say they heard arguing?”

“Well, I didn't get to go through all of the statements. But at least two other people mentioned that just before the boat flanked and the water came up over the sides, they had heard what sounded like angry conversation. These, of course, were people who were either standing directly under the pilothouse or who happened to be up on the very top deck, next to the pilothouse.”

I thought about the implications for a moment. “I'll take a look at the accounts tomorrow,” I said. “The problem is, I'm not sure, since it occurred eighty years ago, if we'll ever really know what happened.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “It's just going to make a really interesting story. I'm thinking I might get the front page of the ‘Everyday' section.”

“Possibly.”

“So, how's your mother adjusting to married life?” she asked, changing the subject.

“You know, she'd been single for so long, I think it was a bit of an adjustment for her. But—”

“But what?”

“Oh Lord. I was just about to say that Colin is a great guy and she really loves him. Was I really going to say that?”

“I remember when you used to call him ‘the Toad,'” she said, laughing.

“Oh my god. Okay, Colin is not a great guy, but he's great to her. How's that?”

“Sounds much more like you,” she said.

“They … get along great.” And that was the truth. They were much better matched than she and my father had ever been.

We both navigated toward the river. Funny how that river just sucks you in, regardless. We looked both ways on River Point Road and then crossed it. All the way down at the end of the street, on my right, was the Murdoch Inn, looking lovely in its new blanket of snow. Eleanore had put little electric lights that looked like candelabra in all of the windows. She always takes down the obvious Christmas decorations, but she leaves the candelabra and the greenery around the posts on the front porch until March.

“I want to go down and look at the wreck,” Collette said.

“Oh no,” I said. “I promised Colin I wouldn't go messing around down there, and I meant it.”

She rolled her eyes at me just as we reached the bank of the river. “You've made him a million promises that you never kept.”

“Yeah, but I meant this one. Besides, it's dark.”

“Come on, Torie,” she said. “It'll be fun.”

“Fun? What if we slip on the snow and end up in the river?”

“Like that's gonna happen,” she said.

“You know, you only snoop around where you're not supposed to—to learn something you're not supposed to know. Not because it's fun. You need to learn the rules to this stuff,” I said.

“That's the problem with you, Torie. You never did know how to have fun.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I know how to have lots of fun.”

“Okay, not counting your trips to the zoo with the kids.”

I stammered a bit. “I … love snowball fights.”

“Oh, okay, like you get to do that more than twice a year.”

“I…”

“Yes?”

“You know, the things I enjoy are just different from the ones you do. I happen to think curling up with a good book is fun. I enjoy going through courthouse records for eight hours immensely. So there.”

She laughed at me. I mean really laughed, all the way from her belly. “Oh sure, and you like those hay rides, too. Whoo hoo.”

“Hey, you know what?” I said. “You can shut up anytime now. And if you don't, I'm going to make you sleep in the chicken coop.”

Collette gave me a serious look. “I just worry about you. You don't
get out.
See the world.”

“I get out plenty.”

“Yeah, in your safe zone of New Kassel.”

“New Kassel isn't all that safe anymore. It's obvious you haven't been down here too much in the past few years.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, letting out a deep breath.

“We're just different,” I said. “How did we ever become friends anyway?”

“Tommy Barker had put smashed-up worms in my gravy at school and you beat him up,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. Maybe Rachel had just been following in her old mom's footsteps. “Well, anyway, I go places. I went to West Virginia last year.”

“Year before last.”

“Whatever.”

We were both quiet awhile, just listening to the rush of the river and watching the snow fall. It was dark outside, but there was enough illumination from the streetlights to see. Although when I looked out at the Mississippi, I could not see the Illinois side. Halfway out, it was just pitch-black. In fact, I could barely see the railroad tracks that separated us from the river.