chuckled. “I thought you’d never call. Because you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
Bob reminded her that he lived in Nevada City and he asked her if she’d like to have dinner Friday night. She almost said yes, just because she was so embarrassed to have called him and not even known who he was.
But then Mia started crying from her makeshift bed of pillows. Charlene apologized and said she couldn’t and explained that she was trying to reach someone and had found his number on a sticky note…
“Bye, Charlene,” he said, and hung up before she was through making excuses for her bizarre behavior.
She changed Mia’s diaper and then sat in the rocker in the living room with her for a while, thinking bleak thoughts.
Not only had she totally misplaced her own sister, she also never had a date. Not lately, anyway. She used to date. She’d go out now and then when some guy would ask her.
But somehow, it just never went anywhere with anyone. A couple of dates and they’d stop calling—or she’d make excuses when they asked her out again.
There was just never a…fit. There was never that excitement, that special thing that happened when you met a guy who was the right guy. There was never the thrill she’d known all those years ago.
With Brand.
By Sunday afternoon Brand wanted to shoot someone. Or better yet, punch somebody’s lights out.
Shooting and brawling did not fit the image he’d so carefully cultivated over the years. But too damn bad. A man—even a levelheaded man—can only be pushed so far before he had to start pushing back.
He’d picked up his uncle Clovis—who was also the senior and soon-to-be fully retired partner in their two-man firm—at five that morning. They went down to play golf in Grass Valley. Brand wasn’t a great lover of golf. But it pleased his uncle if he played with him now and then.
The drive down to the golf course, on a twisting mountain highway, took over an hour. Usually that drive was a quiet one. It was early in the morning, and Clovis liked to sip the coffee he brought with him in a big red Thermos and watch the sun rise.
But that day, Uncle Clovis had plenty to say.
The way Clovis had heard it, Old Tony Dellazola had seen Charlene Cooper headed out of town—going east, in the direction of Brand’s house, as a matter of fact—at a little before seven Saturday morning. Old Tony claimed he’d seen a baby seat strapped in the back of that silver-gray wagon of hers.
And then, at about seven twenty-five, Charlene had been spotted again, this time by Emmy Ralens and Redonda Beals, coming out of Brand’s driveway and turning onto Riverside Road. Not ten minutes later, she’d shown up at the diner carrying a baby she claimed was her sister’s.
“So did Charlene pay you a visit yesterday morning?” Brand’s Uncle Clovis asked.
“Yeah. She did.”
“I thought the two of you never spoke.”
“As a rule, we don’t.”
Clovis waited—for Brand to offer some sort of explanation. But Brand had no plans to do any such thing. They rolled down into the heart of one canyon, across a bridge and then began climbing again.
“You know,” said Clovis. “Daisy and I always think of you as the son we never had.”
“And I consider you like a dad, Uncle Clovis.”
“If you got a problem, I want you to feel you can come to me, that we can work it out together.”
“Thanks, Uncle Clovis. I appreciate that.”
“So, then?”
“There’s nothing. Believe me.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t.”
For the rest of the ride, Clovis was blessedly quiet.
At the golf course, they teed off and played three holes before, at the fourth tee, Clovis remarked, “Charlene’s story is that the baby’s here for a visit.”
“Yeah,” said Brand. “That’s what I understand.”
“Kinda strange. I mean, that is a very young baby to be without her mother. And nobody’s seen Sissy. That’s odd, don’t you think? Hard to get into the Flat without somebody noticing.”
Brand handed his uncle his favorite driver. “Here you go. And don’t worry, okay? Tell Aunt Daisy that everything’s fine. Charlene’s taking care of her niece for a while. No matter what wild stories folks like to make up, that’s all that’s happening.”
Don’t worry.
Brand wished he could take his own damn advice.
The stuff Clovis had told him ate at him. He knew people were talking, putting two and two together, deciding that there was only one reason Charlene would take her sister’s new baby and go knocking on Brand’s door.
If they weren’t already saying that Brand had to be the baby’s dad, they soon would be. Before you knew it, they’d be comparing him to his own bad dad, who’d managed to impregnate any number of gullible women in his long and disturbing life as a bona fide sociopath. Oh, yeah. They’d all be babbling on about how the apple never fell far from the tree and like father, like son….
Worst of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlene.
Couldn’t stop worrying about her, wondering how she was holding up, what with not knowing where Sissy was and having to keep a brave face on things while she ran her business and took care of a new baby on her own.
His mother called at six-thirty that night from the B&B she’d been running since before Brand was born. She would have served her guests afternoon tea by then. Dinner was for herself—and maybe her boyfriend, Alyosha Panopopoulis, a widower she’d been dating for over a year. Bowie and Buck both lived out of town now, but sometimes she’d invite Brett to bring Angie and the baby over. And sometimes she’d call Brand.
Chastity said, “I’ve got that chicken broccoli casserole you like in the oven.”
“The one with the almonds and water chestnuts?”
“That’s it.”
“I’ll be there. Ten minutes.”
“I’ll set you a place.”
The best thing about Brand’s mom was how she never butted into her son’s business—well, almost never. Now and then one of them would really tee her off. Then she’d let them know in no uncertain terms what they’d done wrong and what they’d better do about it. But such times were rare.
Usually,
