Finding Their Son (12 page)

Char didn’t say the words. Only a fool would admit to a truth that had been a part of her unconscious thought for nearly two decades. The words had been written in indelible ink against pink lined paper in a girlish hand. And that was where they’d stay.

Sex and love were not the same thing. Char’s mother had proven that over and over. And Char knew that motive and opportunity only applied in TV detective dramas after the fact. She and Eli were single adults. Well, he was almost single, if what he told her was the truth. So making love wouldn’t hurt anybody.

‘Cept maybe you, chickadee.

She ground her jaw together to keep from shouting “Shut up.” Not exactly the most romantic of phrases.

“Do you want to meet the girls?” she asked Eli. Anything to divert her whack-job mind.

“Pardon?”

She used her free hand to point to her breasts. “They don’t have individual names, but I do refer to them as the girls.”

He looked faintly shocked.

“Guys do the same thing. One of Mom’s boyfriends called his penis Mr. Johnson. Or Mister, for short. No pun intended.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe a little one.”

His hoot coincided with her butt landing on the mattress.
“Char Jones, you crack me up,” he said, leaning over as she reclined against the silky spread.

She’d only been half serious about putting on a show for the neighbors. Sometimes she worried that having been exposed to her mother’s love life at such an impressionable age might have warped her, but since she was overly selective—her book club friends didn’t jokingly refer to Char’s home as “the convent” for nothing—she couldn’t claim any risky behavior. She was glad Eli had nixed her idea. His choice of bed seemed to signal respect, not prudishness.

She wriggled backward, putting enough space between them that she could reach behind her back and unsnap her bra. She knew there would be lines across her shoulders from the wide straps and an indentation around her middle from the elastic that held every jiggling ounce of her in place. She let the chartreuse lace hang loosely, the flesh still contained by the built-in underwire.

Eli stalked forward on hands and knees until he was once again above her. Dominating but not threatening. He moved with the grace of a wild animal on the prowl. There was a hint of danger in his Paul Newman blue eyes, but when he lowered his head, he went for her straps, not the obvious target.

His nose nuzzled aside first one then the other. She’d learned a long time ago that pretty and functional didn’t come cheap, but she’d never been happier with her investment. His tongue tenderly followed the indentation left by the strap, as if trying to erase it.

A flutter unlike anything she’d ever experienced danced in her belly and spread even lower. Her breath went shallow and fast. There was a distinct possibility that she going to
have an orgasm without him even touching her magical mystery spot—as her mother called the area.

“What are you doing?”

“Recognizance. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak.” He placed his left hand on the other side of her head and leaned across her. His neck was exposed, and inviting. She’d nearly lost it when he bit her. Was she brave enough…?

Maybe, but first she needed to get his damn shirt off. She brought her hands between them and started unbuttoning the first of his Target purchases. She was glad he’d conceded and let her pick out higher-end choices. He arched his back to help her reach the lower buttons. A determined tug brought the tails of the shirt free.

One shoulder, then the next.

“Undershirt. I forgot,” she muttered, disappointed…and distracted. It was hard to keep her mind on undressing him when he planted tender, yummy kisses from her shoulder upward to her ear.

Suddenly he sat back. “You’re right. I’m way overdressed.” He ripped off his black T-shirt, undid his belt and yanked off his pants. Either he wasn’t wearing underwear or it came off at the same time. Had they forgot to buy him extra underwear? She couldn’t remember. Hell, she couldn’t think. Eli Robideaux, the man of her teenage dreams and source of adult fantasies, was naked…on a bed…with her.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“Good answer,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re good for my ego. Now, about these remaining scraps of very pretty material…”

She took the hint. Fair was fair. She lifted her hips to
permit him to inch down her panties. His look made her breath falter. In a good way. A very good way.

Slowly she sat up and with a quick flip of her wrist, her bra went flying. If anyone down on the street happened to be looking up, they probably got a nice shot of her greenish-yellow bra winging its way across the room.

“Char, my God, you’re gorgeous. Lush. Perfect.”

The words sounded heartfelt. Almost true enough to believe. The part of her psyche that always felt different from other girls started to heal in a way only love can do.

Maybe not
love
love, but close enough. Enough for her to share her most painful memory.

“I started to
develop
, as my aunt called it, when I was ten. Mom freaked out. She made me stop drinking milk because she read that dairy cows were being given growth hormones that caused girls to mature early. She made me feel like some kind of science project gone amok,” she admitted, recalling all too clearly her hurt and embarrassment. “She’s the reason I dressed like a bag lady all through high school.”

He pressed his nose against her flesh and inhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “But she was wrong. You are beautiful and perfect and I’m the luckiest man on the planet.”

Hyperbole. Fantasy. Lies. But healing nonetheless. And even more healing was the way he fondled and suckled, cupped and nuzzled her breasts but didn’t make a big deal about them. Then he moved on…lower. He acted as though her breasts were a lovely part of her, but not the defining part.

Char found this liberating, too. In fact, her heart took flight, and the moment he touched her between her legs
she was wet and ready. More than ready. She was poised to come.

“I need…Did you bring…Oh, please, tell me we didn’t forget condoms,” she cried breathlessly, squirming as his finger probed.

“I bought some while you were picking out the water,” he admitted, his tone sheepish. “Just in case. It’s not like I planned this. Honest.”

She could tell he was worried about her response. “I love you,” she said, without intending to. “I mean…in a you’re-the-smartest-man-on-the-planet-so-how-could-anyone-not-love-you kind of way.”

To keep from digging the hole of embarrassment any deeper, she went for a surefire distraction—her mouth on his penis. That worked. She could tell. She might have been afraid to try this in high school but as an adult, she was well-read and had a great imagination. She fearlessly experimented with tongue, teeth and a delicate amount of suction that had him panting in no time.

“Now. Find condom. Now.”

He rolled off the bed, dug a small package out of the pocket of his hoodie and returned before Char could savor her triumph. Between the look on his face and the full salute to her foreplay prowess, she knew the best was yet to come.

And she did. Faster than she wanted because she could have stayed in Eli’s arms forever, relishing each and every second, each and every taste of redemption. Because that was what sex with Eli was. A life-affirming confirmation that her one impulsive act seventeen years earlier had, in fact, been the right choice.

But if high school had been the wrong time and circum
stance for them, was now any better? Lying in his arms, her eyes closed, she tried to ignore the thoughts and worries that came rushing into her mind.

Back then, Eli had been trapped into a marriage that eventually—as of a few months ago—fell apart. His ex-wife had used a baby as bait. What if he suddenly decided Char was doing the same thing? Repeating history, except for the age of the child.

How could she prove she didn’t want more when she actually did? She buried her chin against his bare skin and inhaled deeply. She wanted everything with Eli—the sex, the closeness, the comfort and trust and all the rest that came from being with the only man she’d ever loved.

But she couldn’t tell him that. Her timing couldn’t be worse. Hooking up with a newly divorced guy was a surefire path to heartbreak—her mother had proven that more than once.

No one could predict what would happen when they made contact with their son’s adoptive mother, but regardless of the outcome, Char knew that once their quest was completed she would have to walk away. Alone. Because the chances of her and Eli living the proverbial happily-ever-after together were slim to none.

Right?

She waited for the old black woman to confirm that Char was being practical and thinking with her head, not her heart. But her conscience was silent.

Apparently Char was on her own.

Except for Eli.

She quieted her mind to savor the sound of Eli’s breathing. She wouldn’t gamble on a future with him, but she could dream.

F
OG AGAIN
. D
AMN
, E
LI
thought, slouching in the passenger seat of the Honda sedan. He hated not being behind the wheel, but Char’s credit card got them the rental car and she was the only insured driver. Plus, as she’d pointed out when they left the hotel, she knew the city.

But it was increasingly obvious as they slipped onto the 101 that she wasn’t aggressive enough a driver to keep up with the Californians.

“Go faster.”

“You are such a guy.”

He couldn’t argue that—especially not after last night. He’d proven that assertion three times. Three freaking times. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.
Or when it had been that good.

Char Jones was a breath of fresh air. She made him laugh—with her and at himself. She took her gorgeous womanly body for granted. No. Correction. She tolerated her lush womanly body.
The girls
were something to be put up with. Her cross to bear, so to speak.

If they were ever to have a real relationship, he thought, wincing as an SUV cut across their lane, he’d make damn sure she thought better about herself.

A real relationship? What the hell do I know about those?

Damn, he thought, frowning. He almost preferred that wacko, Southern-accented voice to his own conscience, but the truth was he knew squat about love and relationships.

“Stop scowling. I promise to get you to Monterey in one piece.”

“I could be in one piece on a stretcher. Dead.”

She laughed at his grumpy tone. “I should have let you get more sleep. Sorry.”

Eli wasn’t. Not about the sex anyway. The call to his ex-wife he could have lived without. While Char was at the front desk discussing rental car arrangements with the concierge, Eli had used her cell phone—with her permission, of course—to check on things back home.

Bobbi’s news had been short and far from sweet. “Robert asked me to marry him, Eli. Not right away, naturally. We have to wait for both our divorces to become final, but I said yes. I didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else.”

Another family screwed up by love. He hated the word.

“What do Micah and Juline think about Robert as a stepfather?”

“They love Robert and his kids. They’re a little worried about having to share a room for the rest of their lives, but I promised them we’d get a bigger house eventually.”

“What about E.J.?”

She hadn’t answered right away. “He’s eighteen and mad at the world. You’re an idiot. I’m a slut. And Robert is an arch enemy of the state. Remember when you were eighteen and thought you knew everything?”

He remembered his father trying to talk Eli out of
marrying Bobbi when he was eighteen. “Just because she’s pregnant don’t mean you gotta give up all your plans. What if the kid ain’t yours?”

At the time, Eli hadn’t listened because in his mind there was only one thing to do—the right thing. Pursuing his personal dream had seemed selfish, like something his father would have done. And now the boy Eli thought of as his own had no more respect for him than if Eli had done as his father suggested.

He looked out the window at the oak-dotted hills beyond the urban landscape along the highway. They’d left the hustle and bustle of San Jose behind them and were approaching the town of Gilroy. The sun had come out a few miles back.

“How much longer?”

Char laughed and shook her head. “Get it right. It’s ‘Are we there yet?’ You’re a father. You should know that.”

“E.J. isn’t mine,” he blurted out. He hadn’t intended on sharing that fact with her. It wasn’t a secret any longer, but admitting to the woman who once had a crush on you that you were a chump who got played for eighteen years didn’t do much for your image.

She pulled down her sunglasses to glance at him. “Say again.”

“E.J. isn’t my biological offspring. The genetic markers were close, but not close enough.”

“Robert?” she said, her shock obvious.

“Yep. My first cousin’s sperm got to the egg ahead of mine.” He tried to keep his tone wry but he was pretty sure she didn’t buy his cavalier attitude.

“What did Bobbi say?”

“She admitted screwing us both. In her defense, she
claimed that she did the math and she was sure I was the father of her baby. But then she was never very good at math and I knew that.”

She didn’t say anything for a good mile. Finally she said, “That sucks, Eli. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too, but I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me.”

“Why did you tell me?”

He rubbed his knuckle back and forth across his chin. “I’m not sure. Maybe so you’d understand that even though I agreed to call this meeting, I’m not trying to replace E.J. I’m still his dad inside. That doesn’t stop simply because of a blood test.”

“Especially not for a good dad, like you.”

Her words were kind, but they actually hurt worse than if she’d said nothing. He’d tried to be a good father, and this was what he got for his efforts. “E.J. hates me at the moment. He thinks I’m a loser, and his mother is a manipulative bitch.”

“There were a lot of times I hated my mother,” she said. “He’ll get over it.”

He wanted to believe that, but he and his father had never been close after Eli married Bobbi. Eli hadn’t even been there when the old man died.

“And if his mother thinks that our meeting Damien is a bad idea, we’re outta there, okay? She didn’t do anything wrong, and she shouldn’t be punished because your aunt had a sudden glimmer of cognitive lucidity.”

She sighed but didn’t look at him. “When are you going to believe me, Eli? I don’t have some hidden agenda where Damien in concerned. All I’ve ever wanted was for him to have a wonderful life. But you said yourself that once Mrs.
Johnson got over her initial shock, she sounded very open to meeting us.” At Eli’s insistence, Char had used the speakerphone option when she called Wanda Johnson.

He let his head fall back against the seat, some of his tension easing. Char wasn’t Bobbi. Not all women were manipulative schemers. “When are you going to tell me what’s in the box?” he asked, only half teasing.

He stretched his neck to see into the backseat.

She’d produced the beautifully handcrafted inlaid wood box out of her suitcase that morning. It was about the size of a ream of copier paper.

“I did tell you…stuff.”

Now it was his turn for a droll look.

“Personal stuff. Little things I started saving after…You know, the kinds of things you might put in a baby book. A teeny tiny lock of his hair. Some family photos. My high school graduation program. The grand opening flier from Native Arts.”

She shrugged. “I tried to make a family tree, but didn’t get too far. Pam flat-out refused to talk about that kind of thing. Marilyn said the past was better left behind us. And Mom didn’t know squat about my dad’s family.”

He was sorry he’d asked. The idea of her saving things for a child she might never meet was sad. Really sad.

“I also included my yearbook because you signed it.”

“I signed your yearbook?”

She looked wounded. “You don’t remember? Well, why would you? I was Boobs Jones.”

He could sense her hurt and he wished he’d been a bigger man, a better man back then. “What did I write?”

“Good luck, Eli R.’” She gave a soft, sad chortle. “If I
told you I slept with it under my pillow for a month, would you laugh?”

If I didn’t cry.
“No.”

“Good. Because I didn’t. I was determined not to be like my mother, who wasted way too much time mooning over the wrong men. I had my way with you and planned to forget all about you.”

“How long did that last?”

“Until I started having morning sickness.”

He didn’t know what to say. Fortunately she needed his help reading the map as they came to a fork in the road that would take them west, toward the ocean. Toward the child they made and the family that called him theirs.

“M
Y HUSBAND WANTED TO BE
here, but he’s in court this morning.”

Wanda Martelli Johnson wasn’t what Char had been expecting. For one thing, she obviously had Native American blood running through her veins. Her long black hair and dark eyes were a clear testament to the fact Char’s aunt hadn’t lied completely.

But Wanda was also older than Char had pictured. Pushing fifty. Short, round and surprisingly serene, given the fact her son was in jail. Or rather, the hospital.

Damien, the young man Char and Eli were hoping to meet, had been arrested a few days earlier, and while in a holding cell at the juvenile authority, he’d gotten into a fight that landed him in the hospital. “The doctors were worried about a spinal cord injury because he fell on his head. They’ve kept him sedated, just in case. So far, all the tests have come back clear, thank God.”

Eli had called the Johnson home from the highway. Her
other children were in school, she’d explained, and her lawyer husband preferred that she didn’t invite strangers to their home when he wasn’t there. That made perfect sense to Char.

So they’d met at the parking lot of a big-box store visible from the highway then followed her to a small, cheerful café off the beaten path. She hadn’t asked for any ID, although Eli had offered.

“Oh, please,” she’d said with a weary chuckle, “who on earth would invite themselves to a teenager’s messy life if they weren’t related by blood?”

That was when she’d explained in detail what she’d only hinted at on the phone when Char first called. “Growing up, Damien was every mother’s dream child,” she said. “Good grades. A sweet older brother to his two siblings.”

She briefly explained that after Damien’s successful adoption she and her husband, the Air Force pilot whose obituary Char and Eli had read online, had adopted two more children. A girl from China and a boy from the former Soviet Union.

“Damien was a big help to me. When you’re in the military, you move around a lot. Damien is a quick learner and good with languages. He always got the lay of the land before I did. His dad used to call him our scout.” Her smile looked wistful.

“But everything changed after Tony’s plane went down. We were living in Virginia at the time. My family was back here, and I made the decision to move. Two days after the funeral. Probably not the best timing, but it’s hard to think straight when you’re in pain. Damien was in school and he had to leave a couple of good friends who meant a
lot to him, but…sometimes you have to follow your instincts, right?”

“You have family in the area?”

She nodded. “My parents live in Pacifica. Only a mile or so from the hospital, but they’re on a cruise at the moment. Bad timing again,” she said. “Not a month after we moved home, my grandfather, whom Damien was quite close to, passed away at the age of ninety-five. That was sort of the last straw for Damien. He seemed to change overnight.”

“Drugs,” Eli stated, more than asked.

“Ironically Damien’s first brush with the law is how I met Steve, my husband. His firm does pro bono consulting for our tribe. He got Damien off with probation and some community service.”

Eli asked for details. Char didn’t really listen. She could picture her son’s spiral into depression all too easily. She might have given up, too, if not for the voice in her head. The old black woman never let Char forget that somewhere out there in the world was a child who might need his birth mother someday.

That day had arrived, but was Char up to the challenge? The only children she had any real contact with were Megan McGannon and Kat’s boys. Jordie Petroski was the sweetest little guy on the planet. Char couldn’t picture him as a surly, drug-using teen with a chip on his shoulder.

Wanda’s voice came back into focus. “Like I said on the phone, ever since this last arrest, I’ve been praying to the Great Spirit for guidance. Damien is not my little boy anymore. I can’t get through to him, and I won’t let him bring his anger into our home. His brother and sister look up to him too much. I don’t want their relationship with
their brother tainted by something that is, I hope, transitory in nature.”

Char was impressed. The woman seemed so together and compassionate.

“I feel terrible saying this out loud, but I was prepared to let him go to jail in the hopes that the experience would straighten him out. Steve was afraid that kind of tough love would only add to Damien’s anger.” She took a deep breath and looked from Char to Eli and back. “And then you called. I believe it’s possible the Great Spirit sent you here in our time of need.”

Eli pushed his empty cup away and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I’m on a leave of absence at work because the powers that be were afraid I was going to flip out and shoot someone—namely my ex-wife, who is in the process of taking me to the cleaners. I have three kids who aren’t speaking to me at the moment. And I didn’t even know Damien existed until three days ago. If he’s as street-smart as you say he is, he’ll see through me like glass.”

Wanda looked slightly taken aback, but Char could tell she wasn’t giving up. “What about you, Char? Did you come here to find out about your son and leave well enough alone? Or are you prepared to get involved?”

Char sat up straighter. Eli’s shoulder was almost touching hers. Despite the closeness they’d shared the night before, she knew she was on her own here. As usual. “I’ve never been married. I’m self-employed. I’m not rich, but I do have a little nest egg saved. If Damien is facing a fine or legal fees, I’d gladly give it to you.”

Wanda shook her head. “Money isn’t an issue. Tony planned well for the children. Damien has a trust that will
be available to him for tuition as soon as he’s enrolled in college. If he chooses not to go to school, he can access the money when he turns twenty-five. I’m more concerned that he needs a fresh start…now.”

Char gulped. She looked at Eli. His gaze was as inscrutable as ever.