Reunion (40 page)

Julian was startled to find his grandmother next to him. “Is it an interview?”

He said, “Yes. I guess she’s having her say after all.”

“Good for her.”

Daniel joined them. He tilted the magazine so that he could see the cover. “Nice picture. She just gets better looking, don’t you think?” He was looking pointedly at Julian.

Julian looked pointedly at his rake, where he’d left it propped against the fence. “Sure.”

“So what’s the holdup?” Daniel asked.

Lynn said, “Now, you said you weren’t going to bug him.”

“I changed my mind.”

Julian stared at them. “You’re not suggesting—”

Daniel said, “More like directing. Clean up your mess. Take a shower. Put on some cologne. A housewarming present is always a good excuse for dropping by.”

lue took the issue of
Time
from her mother and opened it to the article, scanning to make sure the copy had run as she’d approved it.

“They did a nice job,” her mother said. “You’ve vindicated yourself. Now we can all get on with things.” She peered through the parlor windows as the crew they’d hired to transform her garden to a wedding chapel was outside putting the finishing touches on their work.

All week long the crew had gone about their business as if there was no self-exiled celebrity in the house watching them erect an arched arbor and weave into it yards of white grandiflora vine called sky flower. Watching them string tiny white lights into her lemon tree. Watching them put a second arbor just before the gate, where they hung a series of wide white satin ribbons with shining yellow and fuchsia beads weighting the ends, to make a sort of wedding-day bead curtain.

“How bad is it out there? Outside the gate, I mean.”

“What, paparazzi? Five or six guys with cameras. Nice bunch. Haven’t you made friends yet?”

“I haven’t been out.”

“Not once?”

Blue shook her head. “I’ve … I don’t know. I wasn’t ready. And you know, I was thinking, maybe it’ll be better for you if I don’t go to the reception tonight.”

“Hold on, Harmony Blue. Here—I’ve brought fresh oranges and pomegranates. Did you know poms are a symbol of righteousness?” She handed Blue a mesh grocery bag. “I understand Melody’s reluctance to
show up, but you’re used to the limelight. Isn’t it time to get out of the house?”

She was used to the limelight in her talk-show-host guise. This week, knowing the
Time
article had yet to run, she’d felt too defense-less. She’d needed a little time to grow a thicker skin.

“It’s not that I’m worried about me, so much; I don’t want what should be a wonderful, joyous evening
for you
to be a circus.” She set the bag on the counter. “In fact, it’s not too late to reschedule the whole wedding.”

“Now I know you’ve been shut in too long.” Her mother emptied the bag, got a knife, and began slicing oranges. “Do you have a juicer?”

“No. I barely have the basics in furniture, and I’m still working on a list for the kitchen.” She found two glasses, then began squeezing the oranges by hand, saying, “There are some really wonderful private islands in the Caribbean. It wouldn’t take too long to make new arrangements—we could have it all in order by tomorrow afternoon.”

Her mother opened the sliding door to the patio. “I have no reason to relocate or reschedule.”

“If you go through with it here, you and Calvin will be in every tabloid—”

“Good! Let everyone celebrate with us! Come on outside, it’s lovely in the shade.”

Blue followed her mother out to one of the tables that had been set up for tomorrow’s pre-wedding breakfast, watching for photographers. “Do you see anyone in the trees around here?”

“I don’t care if they hang from them like monkeys. I have nothing to hide.”

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“For this minute—but then what? How will you keep hold of the reins when I leave here? When Calvin and I are on that cruise ship tomorrow night? When we’re back in Chicago and some customer comes into the store and says, ‘Hey, you’re the mother of that heathen slut, Blue Reynolds.’ How will you protect me then?”

“I—”

“Can you control the entire media?”

“No.”

“Do they say false things even when they know the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then I advise you to stop worrying about it.” Her mother looked at her watch, then stood up. “Oops, you’d better give me the grand tour; I’m going to have to run soon. Calvin’s playing host to our guests over at the hotel and I’m heading back to the airport to pick up your sister. We have the most amazing menu for tonight’s meal, and there will be plenty of champagne. Music, too. It was a good idea, scheduling our dinner reception for tonight. What couple really wants to hang around after the ceremony, right?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Blue said, following her inside.

She took her mother around the house, pointing out its features and telling her what changes she was planning. New fixtures in the bathrooms, new appliances and skylights in the kitchen, plantation shutters, refinished floors.

“It’s going to be marvelous,” her mother said as they stood in the parlor. “It is already. So what’s the verdict—will you be joining us?”

“I don’t know, Mom … I hate thinking how it would distract from the party’s purpose.”

“People will be talking about it either way.”

“Not as much. I really want it to be
your
night.”

“Without you there, it would be my
incomplete
night. My
somewhat sad
night. I want to be with all the people I love. And look, the wedding tomorrow’s not going to be any different. Don’t try to tell me you’re also thinking of missing that.”

“No. I’m sorry. You’re right.” She sighed. “I just want it to all be perfect for you.”

Blue followed her mother to the door, feeling so much the way she had when she was small and watching her mother head out on a date. She said, “How do you know, really know that Calvin is The One? How do you know that what you feel isn’t, say, infatuation, or a whim that will pass?”

“We like the same things, and we want the same things.”

Blue waited, but her mother said no more. “That’s it?”

“Think about it. It’s not as simple as it sounds. But yes, that’s it. So: I’ll see you at eight o’clock.”

Blue rubbed at a spot on the wood with her toe. “Yes, okay.”

“Honey.”

“What?”

“It’s a gorgeous day. Get out of this house. Do something.
Live.
Honestly, it’s like you’re waiting for an engraved invitation from God and let me tell you, it’s not going to come.”

After her mother left, Blue sat in the kitchen wishing she had Peep there for company. That had to wait, though, until the renovations and decorating she was planning for the house got done. A few weeks, maybe a month from now, it would be all set, and she and Peep could have exactly the summer she’d envisioned.

She went to the windows to admire the wedding preparations. The crew had gone, and the breeze played on the beribboned arbor, making the strands sway. For just the briefest moment, she saw Julian there in the garden, the image from her dream, and then like a passing shadow it was gone.

It really was time to get on with things.

She went for an elastic band, bound up her hair, grabbed her sunglasses, and went outside to the carport. The old bike still sat where it had been when she first saw the house. After pulling out the bike and brushing off the cobwebs, she began walking it down the driveway toward the gate just as a FedEx truck pulled up to her curb.

The driver waved his greeting, then climbed out carrying a business-size envelope. “Here you go,” he said, handing it over. “Take it easy.”

Take it easy.
Perfect for Key West. In Hawaii they probably all said “Hang loose.”

Take it easy. Ha. Her heart was already racing from surprise and anxiety. Who was overnighting things to her
here?

The sender’s name was
Branford.

The truck rumbled off. Photographers called to her. Cameras
flashed. She ignored it all as she parked the bike back under the carport and went inside.

Maybe now that her secret had been outed, Branford felt free to bill her directly. Maybe instead of calling he was sending his condolences. She leaned against the counter and opened the envelope. Inside was a small white piece of paper and a rubber-banded file folder. There was a single line written on the paper, underlined for emphasis:
Call me before you open the file.

She was tempted to open it immediately, regardless. Why call first? What if he wasn’t available right now—was she supposed to wait? Besides, she didn’t have her code-word list. She’d forgotten it in Chicago, had no cause to use it in the week since.

The folder was slight, and held closed by two pale green bands. She slid one of them off and started on the other … then, nervous, she set the folder down on the counter. Branford had a reason for his request. He never did anything without a reason. She took her phone from her shorts pocket and placed the call.

He answered right away and she said, “I don’t know the word, but I got your note.”

“What was the previous word?”

“God, I don’t know! But it’s me, I swear.”

“What’s your mother’s middle name?”

“
You
don’t even know her middle name,” Blue said.

“That’s right! Good. So, you got the file.”

“Yes. What is it?” He could just tell her, and defuse the growing pressure in her head, her chest, her gut.

“I can’t believe you really didn’t look—but I’m glad you didn’t, because I need to set this up for you, and I didn’t want to risk putting it in writing. I’d have called you before, but—well, when I tell you what’s going on, you’ll see why I waited.”

“Tell
me, for God’s sake.”

“Okay, sorry.”

He’d been angry, he said, at how the Harper woman set Blue up, at the woman’s self-righteous attitude. If Blue was going down, he was
going to do whatever he could to make sure the woman did, too. He went back to her town to dig around a bit more, and while digging heard a rumor: she hadn’t revealed everything to Masterson after all.

Blue took a second to process this. Her voice caught as she asked, “What else does she know?”

“She had the parents’ names. She just didn’t want
you
to have them—according to a source who had a different definition of
Christian duty.”

Blue looked again at the folder. “So you found out their names? How?”

“Those nice utility company folks who were inspecting her mother’s basement fuel oil tank—the house is going on the market, you know—offered to also check hers, free of charge. Good people over there, decent, eager to earn a few extra dollars and serve a good cause.”

Blue had no words. She could only stare at the folder.

“So when I got back home, I connected some dots.”

“And … ?” she whispered.

“And you should open the file. I didn’t put any identifying info—name, address, you know—in case the envelope went astray, but I have it right here in front of me.”

If he hadn’t included
that
, then …

She reached for the folder, slid off the other band. “So all you sent is—”

“A picture. Grab a pen, I’ll tell you the rest.”

“Wait.” She put her hand on top of the folder. Her blood rushed in her ears, in her neck; she could see her T-shirt pulsing against her chest. “Wait. I don’t know, yet…”

He was real.

He could be found, be photographed. Be contacted. Be known.

She cleared her throat, then said, “Just tell me the basics. Don’t… I mean … does it seem like he’s had a good life?”

“Pretty ideal. Respectable family. College education. Are you looking at the photo? He looks great.”

“No, no, I haven’t looked yet.”

“Here, just write down the address he’s using now, and then you can decide what you want to do next.”

His address. How to find him,
where
to find him. Would she be able to resist the powerful pull of a house number, a street, and city name? What would it mean for him to know he was her son? How would it feel to be the child who was Blue Reynolds’s rejected, shameful secret, revealed?

“Just tell me his name. His
first
name,” she said.

“His name is Ryan.”

“Thank you.” She hung up.

Her entire body trembled as she opened the folder. And there he was.

The photo was of a young man sitting at a polished oak bar in some trendy urban eatery, a beer and a ball cap on the counter in front of him. He had sandy brown hair and trimmed sideburns, and he faced a blond young man whose back was to the camera.
Ryan.
Ryan wore a yellow Lacoste shirt, untucked over blue jeans, leather flip-flops on his feet. On his left wrist was a yellow rubber bracelet. He was sweet-looking, and handsome.

He was laughing.

And though there were tears streaming down her cheeks, so was she.

lue wheeled her bike down the driveway and stopped at the code box. She pressed the numeric keys in the order that would swing open the gate, and then, with a deep breath, wheeled the bike out onto the street.