Stepping softly to avoid disturbing his father, Wade headed into the bedroom. The smell of unwashed sheets gave him pause. He hoped this was a weekend spree rather than an indication that his father’s condition was deteriorating.
Daryl had left his career as an Orange County deputy sheriff years ago, supposedly because he hated the shift schedule, although later Wade had wondered if alcohol had been a factor. Then he’d worked for a while at Grandpa Bruce’s detective agency, Fact Hunter Investigations, but Daryl and Grandpa had butted heads. Not surprising considering Bruce’s rigid nature, which was one reason Wade wouldn’t consider applying there now.
After depositing his cases on the carpet, he went out to his car and brought in his large bag and bedroll. In the living room, Daryl had shifted position and was now snoring full force.
Wade unrolled the sleeping bag on top of the bed and took off his shoes. As he lay waiting for sleep, he conceded that two things had become obvious.
He should forget about trying to find a job through his father’s contacts; if Daryl was drinking heavily, a recommendation from him was more likely to work against Wade than for him. Also, the sooner he found a job and his own apartment, the better.
* * *
BY NOON THE rackety-rackety sound of skate wheels outside put an end to Wade’s sleep. Irritated, he prowled out of the bedroom and said a quick hello to his father, who nodded from the small kitchen table. Daryl had poured himself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice.
“Sorry, no welcome party.” His father gave him a shaky smile. “Extra key’s on the hook there. Bottom left.” He indicated a Peg-Board.
“Thanks.” Wade took it and went to shower, using the towels he’d brought. Then he stripped the bed, collected dirty towels and a box of detergent and went next door to the complex’s laundry room to start a load. Since he’d taken over this chore at thirteen following his parents’ divorce, the process felt familiar.
Back at the unit, Daryl had gone out, leaving a note that he was showing an apartment to a potential renter. Wade poured some cereal and checked his email while he ate. The attorney had confirmed a meeting at his office tomorrow with Dr. Cavill. The messages said she was willing to grant a supervised visit with Reggie on Tuesday, the boy’s birthday.
A supervised visit? The hell with that. Wade didn’t appreciate having this lady boss him around, and he didn’t plan to wait two days to see his son, either. Nervous energy surged through him. My boy. Although he didn’t yet have a sense of Reggie’s personality—how could he?—he felt a connection deep in his gut, a longing that he’d strained for years to deny. He was angry, too, at the woman who’d put him in this position and at himself for yielding.
How would the little boy react to meeting his dad after all these years? While it might be awkward, he hoped Vicki’s sister had had the decency to prepare her nephew for this major life change.
He recalled meeting Adrienne only once. She was blond like Vicki and had barely acknowledged the introduction, muttering an excuse about her busy schedule before brushing past him and out of the house. She’d been in her last year of medical school, as he recalled.
The lawyer had claimed that Adrienne was unaware that her sister had tried to wreck his career and that he’d made regular child-support payments. Maybe, maybe not.
By two-thirty the laundry was done. Daryl had returned and gone out again to repair a tenant’s sink, so Wade locked the door and went to his car. From the trunk, he withdrew the toy police-station set he’d bought for his son’s birthday. Although it was a few days early, a gift might help to smooth their meeting.
Relying on memory, he navigated across town toward the Cavill home. Passing his old hangouts—Krazy Kids Pizza, where he’d celebrated childhood birthdays, the Corner Tavern, where he and his fellow officers used to play pool, even the Bull’s Eye Shooting Range—reminded him that he’d accepted his exile too easily. He’d missed this place.
As Wade left the commercial area and rolled through quiet residential streets, it hit him once again that he was about to meet the most important person in his life. Vicki had, grudgingly, sent a few photographs after Wade threatened to withhold payments. The last one, which he carried in his wallet, showed a boy of about four, blond, with a couple teeth missing. Cute little guy.
Now the kid was turning six. At that age, Wade had still had his mother, along with a dad who wore a uniform and carried a badge. Although Wade had sensed undercurrents of tension, he’d trusted his parents to take care of him.
What about Reggie? The kid must have been stunned and overwhelmed when his mom died. Wade was sixteen when he’d lost his own mother in a small-plane crash three years after she and his father divorced. Although she’d moved away and they rarely saw each other, he’d been devastated.
If only he’d known about Vicki’s death, he’d have rushed down here. Well, he’d do his best to compensate for that now.
After a couple wrong turns, he found the cul-de-sac. Picking the right house proved harder than expected. There were several two-story Craftsman structures with wide front porches, none of which matched his memory of fading beige paint and a patchy lawn edged by boxy hedges.
It had to be the one on the left, almost to the end. Wade recognized that row of sash windows on the second floor with a tiny attic window above. The house had been repainted cream with blue trim and the hedges replaced by blooming bird-of-paradise plants interspersed with hibiscus bushes, fronted by a mixture of miniature roses and colorful annual flowers. The doctor took good care of her property.
From the porch roof hung a bunting banner, each one of its green triangles displaying a picture of a teddy bear. A cluster of green and white balloons fluttered from one of the supports.
As he parked, he saw a bouncy little girl and her parents stroll toward the front door. There was something familiar about the mother, who had short stick-straight hair and the low-hipped stride of a cop accustomed to wearing a duty belt. When she glanced toward him, Wade recognized her as Patty Hartman, one of his fellow rookie officers from his stint at the local P.D. She carried a wrapped present.
After making startled eye contact with Wade, Patty waved. He returned the gesture.
Several more children scampered up the walkway with parents in their wake. They, too, brought gifts.
Reggie’s birthday might not be until Tuesday, but the aunt had obviously scheduled his party for today. And Wade wasn’t invited.
Well, he’d just invited himself.
Chapter Two
With Anne Murray singing “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” from a boom box on the patio, Adrienne hurried along the outdoor tables, distributing containers of Play-Doh along with teddy-bear molds.
“I should have done this earlier,” she fretted to Harper Anthony, whose seven-year-old daughter, Mia, was romping with Reggie in the large backyard. “I’m usually better organized.”
“I’d say you’re remarkably well organized.” That was a high compliment coming from Harper’s fiancé, Peter Gladstone, a gifted teacher and sports coach. He indicated the refreshment table with a tray of cut-up vegetables, the teddy bear–themed yo-yos awaiting the guests and the decorated party hats, plates and gift bags. “This is impressive.”
