Finding Their Son (9 page)

“Be my guest,” she said, after unlocking the metal door. “The light switch is on the right, but brace yourself,” she warned, “I have my assistant turn down the heat when she closes for me.”

She wasn’t kidding. He could see his breath in the frosty air.

She followed him in, gesturing for him to stay on the customer side of the counter while she opened the safe. She dropped out of sight for a moment.

Eli shifted from side to side, his toes curling to keep warm. He happened to look down and noticed something on the floor. A feather. He leaned over and picked it up.

Small. Not much bigger than his thumb. Black for about half an inch. Smooth. Shiny. The white part closest to the quill was soft and downy.

He looked around, wondering where it came from. One of the ceremonial headdresses, he guessed, which even from a distance appeared meticulously—and authentically—detailed. Or perhaps someone had purchased one of the dream catchers he’d noticed the day before. He had to admit there wasn’t a cheesy, foreign souvenir in sight. He owed her an apology.

“Here it is,” she said, popping to her feet.

She set a standard-size manila file folder on the counter between them.

He tucked the little feather into his pocket. He couldn’t bear the thought of people walking on it. How ridiculous was that? Was he still tripping out or what?

“The kid’s almost reached the age of consent. How come your aunt won’t tell you anything?”

“I…um…haven’t brought up the subject in over a year. The last time I asked, she went off about some newspaper
article she’d read. Supposedly a tribe back east gained custody of a child who had been adopted by a loving, non-Native American family. The battle went to court and the tribe won. According to my aunt, the child was going to become a ward of the tribe and would be raised in foster care.”

“Keeping the tribal rolls up is a problem in some areas, especially in places near or below poverty level. But that’s pretty much a moot point for a seventeen-year-old, isn’t it?”

“Did I say I agreed with her? Unfortunately Pam got so worked up she had to be sedated. Her partner, Carlinda, asked me not to speak of the adoption again in front of Pam.”

He waited, sensing there was more. “Another dead end.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say this was going to be easy.” She pointed to the file in his hand. “Take a look for yourself. Maybe you’ll see something I’ve missed. I’m going to check my online auctions.” He spotted her computer a few feet away. “You can take that back to the house, if you want to warm up.”

He wasn’t ready to leave her, but not because he didn’t trust her. “I saw a chair in the teepee yesterday. Can I go in there?”

She blinked in surprise. “Feel free…if you’re prepared to freeze your very fine…um…” Her gaze dropped for the briefest moment to his derriere. He couldn’t call her look ogling, but that small slip pretty much confirmed that her reaction to his kiss yesterday hadn’t been a fluke. The lingering look here…offhand touch there…that he’d tried to write off as his imagination was real. She was attracted to him on a level that had nothing to do with finding their kid.
Or was she clinging to some girlish fantasy for a guy who didn’t exist?

His mortally wounded ego urged him to throw caution to the wind and find out. Fortunately the responsible cop part of his brain was back in control. He could—and would—ignore the undercurrent of pheromones zipping between them.

Without a word, he walked to the Navajo rugs and slipped through the opening. The temperature in the hallway dropped a good twenty degrees. Better than a cold shower any day, he told himself.

“There’s a freestanding heater beside the chair,” she called, poking her head in after him. “Hit the on button and turn the fan to high. You won’t freeze to death. I promise.”

He flashed the universal sign for okay then quickly shoved his hand in the pocket of his borrowed coat. A minute later, he plopped into the large, upholstered chair and pulled a buffalo hide blanket across his lap. The muted roar of the heater quickly began to dispel the cold.

After blowing on his fingers, he opened the file and began to read. He started with the journal she’d included. A different one than he’d seen yesterday. The handwriting was the same, but the tone was different. More grown-up. The official documents backed up her story, but the only proof that he was the father of her child was missing. As she’d admitted, his name didn’t appear on the birth certificate. There wasn’t a court in the land that would have held him responsible without more substantial evidence.

He got up, turned off the heater and returned to the shop. He glanced at the wall clock, surprised to see an hour had passed. The shop was warmer now. Her coat hung from a peg near the door. She was seated at her computer,
her back to him. When he tossed the folder on the counter, she jumped in a way that told him she hadn’t heard him approach.

She quickly collected herself and stood up. “So?”

“Without a kid and a DNA test you got nothing,” he said, wishing he actually believed that.

She glanced at her computer and back. “He said you’d say that.”

“He?”

“Your uncle,” she said. “He e-mailed me. Or maybe his girlfriend did. It came from her e-mail address.”

Eli shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the small space beside her. “Look,” she said, pointing at the screen. “The header says Eli Robideaux’s uncle. I already opened the document he attached. If you click on the icon at the bottom of the page, you can see that, too.”

That oh-crap feeling in the pit of his stomach was brewing again. Was this part of some sort of conspiracy? When had his uncle picked up computer skills? Did Joseph’s broad hints about a big white teepee and missing pieces of his soul mean he had inside information? How? Why deliver it now? Was Char in on it?

He read the message standing up. It wasn’t long.

Tell my nephew when you see him to trust the truth. He knows it. So do you. The healer has the name you seek.

“Who’s the healer?”

“My aunt, I assume.”

With his heart in his throat, he clicked on the little icon that indicated an attachment. A certificate of live birth. Char reached past him to hit the zoom button.

The image matched the one he’d been holding a few minutes earlier, except you could tell this one had been crumpled at one time.

She scrolled down and hit the zoom again.

He inhaled sharply. On the line left for father was his name.

“I told you I don’t lie.”

He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know what this meant in the grand scheme of things, or what he was supposed to do about the news. He turned and walked back into the teepee, stopping when he got to the center. Pulse racing, his mind a whirl, he looked upward. He could see a piece of sky in the opening where the support poles crossed. A few snowflakes filtered in.

I have a son.

Somewhere in the world was a boy—a young man—only a few months younger than E.J. Eli’s flesh and blood. History and reality.

A boy who needs his father, chickadee.

Eli blinked, startled by the voice that sounded so clear he scanned the teepee for speakers. But the voice wasn’t Char’s. Female, yes, but it had a funny, Southern accent.

A gust of wind made a shiver course down his spine. He looked up again. His breath caught in his throat as he watched a small bird alight on the lip of the canvas material. A wren? It had to be a wren. There were thousands of them. Winter and summer, they weren’t migra—

Before he could complete the thought the little bird swept downward, as if dropping by for a visit. It didn’t
seem panicked about being inside. In fact, it circled a couple of times then landed on a freestanding globe a foot or so away.

His breathing stopped. He could see it quite clearly now. The same black-capped bird from his narcotic-induced sweat lodge vision. “You’re not real,” he murmured, shaking his head.

An irreverent cackle echoed in his brain.
Real enough, chickadee.

The bird cocked its head to look at him.

“Oh, shit. I’m losing my mind.”

He didn’t believe in signs. He got the fact that his uncle, who once worked in the janitorial department of the Pierre hospital, might have stumbled across a discarded birth certificate and sat on it all these years, thinking he was doing Eli a favor. He could even picture Joseph setting up this vision quest as a way to shake Eli out of his funk. But birds and voices…no way.

“No way what?” Char asked.

He hadn’t realized he spoke out loud. Nor had he noticed her standing there. She was a yard or so away, but obviously too focused on him to notice the bird. Hands on hips, she seemed visibly upset.

“What’s it going to take to get you to believe me? If this isn’t proof enough—” she held up a printed copy of the birth certificate “—then screw you. I’m going to find our son—with or without your help.”

She turned on one heel and stomped out of the teepee at the same instant the bird shot skyward. It cleared the small opening without any trouble and was gone from view as if it had never existed.

Eli’s fingers tingled from the residual adrenaline left in
his system. His mouth was bone-dry. His knees felt as if they might give out. He reached for the globe to get his balance.

After a few moments he felt more like himself. This was crazy. Joseph wasn’t in touch with the Great Spirit who sent a chickadee to give him some kind of message.

He needed to leave. Go back to his life. Make peace with Bobbi and his daughters. Mend fences with E.J. Get his job back. Those were the pieces of his life that needed his attention.

He’d give Char his blessing. His apology, if that would help. He couldn’t accompany her on a wild-goose chase tracking down a seventeen-year-old boy who most probably was living an average life in relative peace and harmony.

He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. As he did, he looked down. The globe was tilted on its axis, making the predominant visual point the Pacific coast of North America. But something didn’t look right. He leaned closer, squinting.

He jerked back suddenly when he realized what he was looking at. San Francisco Bay wasn’t a bay anymore. It had been filled in with bird poop.

A deep, unexpected laughter worked its way up his throat. Tears filled his eyes as he doubled over, gasping for breath.

Char raced back. “What?”

Holding his side, he pointed. “Shit,” he managed to get out before doubling over again.

She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Which he probably had. But even if you weren’t the kind of guy who believed in signs, some were irrefutable.

“C
OULD YOU LEND ME SOME
money?”

Char was standing at the front window of her shop, peering at the empty parking lot. He could read the open sign beside her shoulder, which, obviously, meant she’d decided to remain closed, even though the snow was letting up.

“So you can leave?” she asked, turning to face him. She didn’t seem as upset as she had earlier. His laughing fit might have made her question the wisdom of including him in her search for their child.

Eli hated being on the receiving end of generosity, but if he was going to do this, he needed cash—something his uncle had managed to alleviate him of. “I’ll pay you back. Or work for it. I could shovel the parking lot.” He started toward her. “But I’m gonna need a bit more than that to get to the West Coast.”

Her jaw dropped and she eyed him warily. He didn’t blame her. She’d been kind and helpful to the extreme and he’d been a surly, disagreeable jerk.

“What changed your mind?”

“A small bird.”

“Did it tell you to go to California and talk my aunt into giving you the name of the family that adopted our son?”

He made a wobbly motion with his hand. “Sorta.”

She didn’t seem shocked or ready to call someone to take him away. “Then you believe me.”

He didn’t want to but how could he not? “Yes.”

She blew out a sigh that sounded relieved, but a moment later she frowned. “Unfortunately we may be too late. Pam’s memory has gotten really bad. I don’t think she knew me the last time I visited.”

“She’s not that old, is she?”

“Seventy. She started having seizures about eight years ago. Out of the blue. No one seems to know why. Her doctors were able to control them with drugs but one of the side effects was memory loss. Pam had to quit working, couldn’t drive a car. That led to depression. There was an accidental overdose…” Her voice trailed off. “The Alzheimer’s diagnosis is recent.”

Eli had had some experience on the job with elderly residents wandering away from the family home. The Lakota revered their elders and rarely farmed them out to clinical care facilities, but given how busy most families were these days, that sometimes meant less observation rather than more.

“The last time I was there, she kept calling me Glory. My mom’s nickname,” she added.

“I’ve interrogated a lot of people who didn’t want to tell me stuff. Maybe your aunt will open up for me.”

She didn’t say anything right away, but she looked thoughtful. After a minute or so, she said, “The first step is finding a flight. Whenever I want to do something impulsive, I let luck guide me. If you go online and there’s an affordable flight with two seats, then you know this trip was meant to be.”

“You’re going, too?”

She took a step closer. Her fresh, amazing scent filled his nostrils. “He’s my kid, too,” she said, stomping her foot. “If you’re going, I’m going. Especially, if we’re using my credit card.”

She had a point. One he couldn’t very well argue with, but that didn’t stop him from wondering what happened to the shy, retiring girl who was content to hang out in the background.

She grew up in a hurry.

The voice again. But this time it sounded more like his conscience. He shrugged and put a comfortable distance between them—one that wouldn’t make it easy for him to reel her into his arms and finish that kiss they’d started. “Your dime, your call.”

C
HAR WASN’T SURPRISED
by how smoothly things came together. As she’d told Eli, if you were on the right path, the universe nudged aside obstacles.

Take the matter of hiring someone to operate the store in her absence. Yes, Char could count on Pia for part of the time, but the younger woman really wasn’t cut out for taking charge. And, yes, Char could close the store, but she didn’t want to lose money if she could avoid it.

“You need someone to be you for a few days?” Kat had replied when Char phoned her. Kat had been first on Char’s list because historically Kat had always been scrambling for extra money and Char had hoped she might be able to handle the coming weekend…if Char was gone that long. “I have the perfect person,” Kat exclaimed. “Jack’s sister, Rachel. She’s going through a post-divorce rough spell, plus she lost her job to the depressed housing market. Jack
finally talked her into coming to Sentinel Pass to check things out. What better way to meet people than to manage Native Arts?”

Char made Rachel her next call and, sure enough, the woman sounded perfect. She seemed to share Jack’s business sense and work ethic. That was good enough for Char. And, even better, Rachel was available immediately.

“Hire a replacement? Done,” Char said aloud as she crossed the biggest hurdle off her list.

The next item should have been less challenging, but Char’s hand was shaking as she punched in her aunt’s phone number. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed to reach an answering machine, but she left a message. Short and to the point.

“Hi, dear ladies. This is Char. I’m going to be in town hopefully tomorrow. Let me know the best time to come by and see you. Here’s my cell phone number, in case you don’t have it.” She rattled off the pertinent information and hung up.

“How’d you know we’d be able to get out tonight?” a masculine voice asked.

She ignored the flutter in her chest cavity—now wasn’t the time to get sick or give in to girlish nonsense. “I’ve taken the red-eye several times. Not the most pleasant way to travel but there are usually seats up for grab. Did you try Priceline?”

As they discussed their agenda and the cost of their tickets, Char tried to pay attention but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Eli would pay her back. But if for some reason he didn’t, she could afford to absorb the cost of the room at the boutique hotel where she’d stayed before. And the cost of their B.A.R.T. tickets,
which would take them from the Oakland airport into the city. But right below the surface of her businesslike demeanor was a girl shrieking in wonder and dismay. Wonder that she was traveling with Eli—her Eli—to find the baby boy—her baby boy—she’d given up for adoption. Dismay that she was still Char Jones—the girl who had no self-control when it came to Eli Robideaux.

“What are we going to do from the time we get in until we can check in at the hotel?” Eli asked. He was standing behind her looking over her shoulder at every click of the mouse. His scent, his presence, his freakin’ swoo was more than she could take.

She held up her hand. “Stop. Back up.” He didn’t move. “I mean that literally. Take a step backward. You’re crowding my space. I’ve been on my own for a long, long time. I travel alone. I run my business alone. I can make these plans without you breathing down my neck.”

He held up his hands mockingly and put a single giant step between them. “Excuse me. I’m the kind of person who likes to know in advance what is happening.”

“A micromanager. I get that. But yesterday, we were virtual strangers and now you know my credit card number. It’s possible we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”

He inhaled deeply. “Yes. And no.”

She cocked her head, waiting for an explanation.

“Going to San Francisco might be a wild-goose chase. Your aunt may have forgotten anything that could help us. But what if she kept records that you don’t know about? You got the habit of writing a journal from someone, right?”

Char hadn’t thought of that. “How come you’re not working? And if we’re going to be traveling together I
think I deserve to know exactly what’s going on with you and Bobbi.”

He acknowledged her demand with a tilt of his head. “I took a leave of absence from my job. Bobbi filed for a divorce in July. She and the girls are living with her folks in Reliance. E.J.—my, um…son, Eli, Jr.—is living in Pierre with some friends.”

She knew there was more to the story. Eighteen-year marriages didn’t simply fall apart. But it wasn’t her business. Not really. They might share a child, but that was all they had in common.

“Have you considered what will happen if we actually find him? I mean, where your other kids are concerned?”

His blue eyes turned as flinty as ice chips. “A minute ago you were certain we’d never get a bit of information out of your aunt. Let me worry about integrating the missing piece into the family fold. Such as it is.”

She was sorry to hear such bitterness in his voice, but she guessed that part of his attitude stemmed from the wound to his ego, so she returned to her task of finding the best price for a rental car—in case they needed one.

They maintained their uneasy truce until the phone rang. Char picked it up and answered, “Native Arts.”

“Char? It’s me, Libby. I just talked to Kat. She said you’re going to California.”

She turned to Eli. “Friends,” she said, knowing Libby could hear, too. “Can’t live without them, can’t get away with anything around them.”

“I’m not prying,” Libby scolded her. “I wanted to see if you’d be there long enough to come see Cooper and me. We’re headed back on Tuesday. We’re going to host our
first Thanksgiving at the beach house. You’re invited, of course.”

Char picked up the portable unit and left the much-too-small confines of the office area. At the large picture window, she leaned her shoulder against the frame and looked outside. The wind had come up; long fingers of snow formed triangular drifts across the parking lot.

“I doubt if we’ll be gone that long, but thanks for asking.”

“We?”

Truth and consequence time. “Eli—the old friend I told you about—and I are flying out tonight provided the plane can get off the ground.” To forestall the obvious question, she quickly added, “We have business together. Old business. I’m not ready to talk about it, okay?”

“Of course.” Char could hear Libby’s unspoken worry, but Libby, being Libby, gave Char the space she needed. “Just keep your cell handy and call if we can help in any way. And, according to the weather station, this front should blow itself out in the next hour or so. A melt is predicted by tomorrow.”

Char smiled. Typical Black Hills weather. “Good. Then I don’t have to hire Mac to clear the parking lot.”

They talked a few minutes longer. Until a curious sound caught Char’s attention. Scraping. She walked to the window on the opposite side of the building. A man in black was shoveling the sidewalk leading to the garage.

Either he was an optimist or he sensed that the storm was almost over and normal traffic might resume.
Maybe he’s working off the price of his airplane ticket, chickadee.

“Char? Are you still there?”

Physically, maybe. Mentally…not so much. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I just wanted to repeat my invitation for Thanksgiving. You know it’s my favorite holiday, and this will be the first time I’ve celebrated outside of Sentinel Pass. I feel homesick already and I haven’t even left. I’d really love it if you could come. Jenna and Shane will be there, and Mac and Morgan, too. Think about it, okay?”

It took some effort, but Char made herself stop staring at Eli. She marched to the Brulé wall calendar and counted the days. “Nope. No way can I afford to be gone that long. Sorry, Lib. But if you tell me Coop’s going to deep fry a turkey, I might change my mind. Sounds like a YouTube moment for sure.”

Libby laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? Well, I won’t count on you, but I won’t count you out until I have to. Your business with your old flame might take longer than you think.”

“Who said he was a flame?”

“Char, I may be pregnant, but I’m not blind. I could tell the moment you walked in the door that he was someone special.”

Special.
Talk about an understatement. The physical attraction that got her into this situation in the first place hadn’t diminished over the years. If anything, it was stronger. But she wasn’t some giddy girl with a serious crush. She’d had plenty of time to figure out what she wanted in a man, a mate. Right up there at the top of the list was emotional stability. A requirement that would certainly preclude a guy who was in the traumatic process of ending his marriage.

As a devotee of
People
magazine, over the years she’d
seen more than a few rebound flings wind up discarded and broken when the rejected guy they’d fallen for was drawn like flotsam in a tractor beam back to the woman who had rejected him in the first place. Char didn’t know why they went back, but they always did.

She needed to remember that because in a few hours she’d be on a plane to San Francisco with the hunkiest rejected guy on the planet—after a quick stop at Target to pick up a couple of changes of clothes for her temporarily homeless friend.

“Lib, I do have one favor to ask. Remember that checklist I made for you when you filled in for me the last time I went to visit my aunt?”

“Yeah. It really helped.”

“If I print out a copy, could you walk Jack’s sister through the basics? I could ask Pia, but her feelings might be hurt that I didn’t ask her to cover for me.”

“Of course. No problem. Don’t worry about a thing. Rachel will take good care of your baby.”

Char hung up a few minutes later, but Libby’s words stayed in her mind. The sad fact was her business had become her whole world.

And now that world was changing. Scary as that felt Char told herself she’d be okay as long as she remembered who she was and where she came from. Her teepee would still be here when she returned.