looked from the magazine to her, then smiled. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.”
She smoothed the front of the cover, trying to remember the last time she’d read a new magazine. In prison she’d spent her free time reading books and studying for her GED. Her conviction had interrupted her senior year. Once she was out, she hadn’t had the extra money for something so frivolous. Now she leaned back in her seat and opened the magazine to the first page. It was an ad for hair color. She studied the glossy photograph, read all the text, and wondered if she would ever get to feel normal again and take things like magazines for granted.
* * *
Four hours and forty-two minutes after they had pushed back from the gate in Houston, their plane arrived in Seattle. Callie pulled her backpack from under the seat in front of her and waited to walk out into a scary and unknown future. In that brief moment as she stepped onto the Jetway, she felt the cool damp air and shivered slightly. Her light jacket was nowhere warm enough for whatever the temperature was outside.
She followed the signs to baggage claim and took a steep escalator down two floors. As she stepped off, she saw several men in suits holding paper signs or iPads with names on them. Shari had told her car service would be provided in Seattle, so Callie looked at several of them before spotting one that said C. Smith.
She walked over to the driver. “I’m Callie Smith.”
The older man smiled at her. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hal. Do you have checked luggage?”
“Two bags.”
He led the way to the carousel. “Coming home from a trip or visiting?” he asked.
“Visiting. My first time in the city.”
“It’s been raining, which is pretty typical for this time of year.” He chuckled. “Or any time of the year, except for summer. Never come here in late July and think it’s going to be that nice all the time. And when they say it’s just a light misty rain, they’re lying. It rains a lot.”
The suitcases began to appear. Callie couldn’t believe how quickly they moved on the conveyor belt, going in a huge oval. She spotted hers fairly quickly—mostly because they were so shabby. She pointed them out to Hal, who collected them. Then they took the escalator up one floor and started for the parking garage.
The second they stepped out of the airport, Callie began to shiver. It wasn’t that it was all that cold—although it was—what she really noticed was the dampness. It was as if the chill could get right inside her body.
Hal walked briskly along a skybridge toward the parking garage. He bypassed a pay station and a bank of elevators, then they went down another escalator to where there were rows and rows of large black SUVs and town cars. Hal led her to an SUV and held open the back door. She slid inside.
They drove onto a freeway and headed for the city.
“I’ll point out a few things as we drive,” Hal told her. “You’ll see the Seattle skyline in a few minutes. We’re on the wrong side for you to see the Space Needle—that’s north of downtown. See that tall, black high-rise?”
She peered out the front window. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s the Columbia Center. It’s seventy stories high. People around here joke it’s the box the Space Needle shipped in.” He chuckled. “All right, little lady, there on your left is Safeco Field—home of the Seattle Mariners. Right next to it is CenturyLink Field, where the Seahawks play. Go Hawks!”
Callie smiled. No point in mentioning she wasn’t that into sports. She figured it was a guy thing.
After a few more minutes, they got off the freeway and entered a residential neighborhood. She was relieved to see average-looking homes with pretty yards. The rain had stopped, leaving gray skies. The car thermometer said it was forty-seven outside. How was that possible? It was April!
Hal turned and drove and turned some more. The houses got bigger and farther apart and Callie’s nerves returned. They made another turn.
“Look out the passenger window,” Hal told her. “You should catch a glimpse of Lake Washington. This is a real nice neighborhood. Who did you say you were visiting?”
“Some, ah, friends.”
He winked at her. “Friends with money. The best kind.”
Sooner than she would have liked, they turned down a long driveway. Hal stopped in front of a huge, three-story house that looked bigger than a hotel. Callie wanted to crawl under the seat and never be seen, but it was too late. Hal had already opened her door and was taking out her suitcases.
She grabbed her backpack and stepped onto the wet driveway. She pulled ten dollars from her front jeans pocket and offered it to him.
I can’t do this. Please take me back to the airport. But what she said instead was, “Thank you, Hal.”
“You’re welcome, young lady.”
The front doors opened and a brown-haired woman in her fifties smiled at her. “Callie? I’m Carmen, the family housekeeper. Welcome to Seattle.”
Carmen insisted on carrying one of the suitcases. Callie had a brief impression of a giant foyer with a two-story ceiling and lots of rooms filled with expensive-looking furniture. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the fact that she couldn’t breathe or stop shaking. What had she been thinking? She didn’t belong here. So what if they were family—she wasn’t one of them.
Before she could bolt, Carmen grabbed her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Alberto is so happy you’re here. He’s been waiting to find you.” She hesitated. “Your grandfather is a wonderful man. I hope you’ll grow to love him.”
Callie had no idea what to say to that.
“This way,” Carmen said.
They left the suitcases by the front door and walked by the wide, curved staircase, then down a hall and another hall. There was a turn and maybe a couple of bridges and a mountain, or so it felt. Finally they arrived at a book-lined study. An old, old man in a gray suit looked up from his book.
“Oh, Carmen, she is as beautiful as I imagined.” He stood and smiled. “Callie, at last. Welcome, child. Welcome to your home.”
He was taller than she’d expected—close to six feet—and despite his age, still handsome. She could see traces of the younger man he had once been. He looked strong and healthy and way too excited to see her.
“Mr. Carlesso,” she began, but he stopped her with a quick shake of his head.
“Grandfather Alberto,” he told her. “Or just Alberto if you’re not comfortable thinking of me as your grandfather just yet.”
He motioned to the sofa. “Come. Sit. We’ll get to know each other.”
She moved closer and sat on the sofa, as far from him as she could. He sank down, then poured them each a cup of coffee from the tray in front of him. Carmen smiled and left.
He handed her coffee and held out a plate of cookies. “Biscotti,” he said. “We make them here, in the city. It’s an old family recipe.
