Bernstein leaned back in the guest chair in The Pickle Jar’s tiny office and smiled the sweet, mischievous smile that usually warmed Izzy down to her toes. Henry had told her at least one new joke every week for the past seventeen years. At seventy-six years young, he liked to claim he knew more jokes than a professional comic.
“Where’d you hear that one?” Izzy tried to smile, but she wasn’t up to her usual hearty laughter.
“I spent a week with two hundred senior citizens.” Henry shrugged. “It’s a laugh a minute in those retirement homes. Lots of company, three meals a day and all the Bengay you want. Not a bad life.”
Henry and his younger brother, Sam, had just returned from visiting their friend Joe Rose, who lived at Twelve Oaks, a senior residence along the Willamette River. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I’m even gladder you’re back,” Izzy told him sincerely. “It’s never the same around here without you. And I hope you’re ready to get back to work, because I’ve been putting together some marketing ideas. I think I know how we can pump up business.”
Raising the elegant, elderly hands that had scooped pickles out of an oak barrel back in the day, Henry said, “In a minute, in a minute. First, tell me what’s so awful that you haven’t been sleeping.”
“Who says I haven’t been sleeping?”
“Your eyes tell me. Is it business that’s keeping you awake, Izzy girl? Remember—” He raised a finger. “‘Tension is who you think you should be—relaxation is who you are.’”
Now she did laugh. “You heard that from someone at the retirement home. Only someone retired would say it.”
“It’s an ancient Chinese proverb.”
“Written by a retired ancient Chinese prophet.”
Henry grinned.
“Business isn’t all that’s keeping me up at night,” she admitted. In her life, she’d had only one person to whom she could turn with any problem, and that was the thin, wise, gray-haired man in front of her.
“Nate Thayer,” Izzy said, speaking the name aloud for the first time since yesterday afternoon. She’d avoided it, as if not saying his name might make his presence less real. “He’s here, in Thunder Ridge. He came to the deli yesterday. He saw Eli.”
Henry was rarely given to quick or exaggerated expressions, but now his brows arched above the line of his glasses. “He knows?”
“No. He didn’t recognize Eli. And Eli had no idea, of course. He held the door open for Nate. They smiled at each other.”
“But you and Nate spoke?”
“Yeah. I was wearing the pickle costume, and I fell on the floor, and— Never mind.” Shaking her head, she pressed her fingers to her temples. “It was awkward.”
Henry folded his hands above his belt line and nodded. “I thought he would come back someday.”
Too agitated to sit still, Izzy rose, wrapping her arms around her middle as if it was nineteen degrees outside instead of close to ninety. “He took his time. Not that I’m complaining. I wish he’d never come back. I wish I didn’t have to think about Nate Thayer again until Eli is an adult.”
“Did he come here looking for information?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t asked anything yet. But he’s not entitled to information.” Henry gazed at her. “He’s not,” she insisted before Henry could share some ancient wisdom about fathers’ rights—fathers who hadn’t wanted to raise their children to begin with.
“Nate and his parents wanted me to put our baby up for adoption. He was willing to wait until Eli was eighteen before he ever saw him. So let him wait a little longer.”
“You’re worried,” Henry said, nodding. “It’s understandable. But you’re speaking out of fear.”
“You’re darn right I am.” The tiny office didn’t leave much room for pacing, but Izzy made use of the space that was available. “You remember how Eli was a few years ago. His self-esteem was terrible. He hated everything about himself, including the fact that he had a father who didn’t want him.” She had never told Eli that, of course, never even hinted, but short of lying and saying that the man who had fathered him died or was living in Tunisia, what else could a father’s absence in his son’s life imply? She had told him only that his father was a boy she had known. A boy who hadn’t been ready to be a father and who had moved far away. Eli had never asked for a name, an act of self-control that seemed to give him a sense of power. He had referred to the man who’d fathered him once as “the guy with the Y chromosome.” Then he’d stopped talking about it all together.
“He’s on the right track now,” she said emphatically. “He’s a good student. Responsible and productive. He’s happy. I intend to keep him feeling good about himself. I won’t allow Nate to waltz in here and mess up my son’s life.”
Behind wire-rimmed glasses, Henry’s brown eyes watched her closely. “Eli is on the right track. And circumstances are very different now. Eli was also upset about being deaf in a hearing world. The cochlear implant made a great difference.”
“Yes. Because being able to hear took his mind off what he doesn’t have. He never talks about not having a father anymore. It doesn’t make him unhappy now. He has you, and Sam and Derek. He knows you love him.”
“And always will. That doesn’t mean he’s stopped wondering, dear heart.”
“Of course not. That’s not what I mean. I’ve never underestimated how much Eli would want a father. You know that,” she insisted. “But he’s finally focusing on what he does have, not on what he doesn’t.” She looked at Henry hopefully, seeking his consensus.
Sun-weathered brow puckering, Henry removed his bifocals and began to clean them with his shirttail. Izzy opened a desk drawer, withdrew a tiny spray bottle and cloth she kept just for Henry and Sam, then wiped the lenses until they were clear before returning them to him. “As far as Nate and his parents know,” she said quietly, “I went through with the adoption plan. Nate’s never gotten in touch to ask for information before. In all likelihood, he’s come back to town for a reason that has absolutely nothing to do with us. If he does find out about Eli, and still has no interest in contact or in being a father...” She shuddered, the possibility too awful to contemplate.
Growing up unwanted left scars you could hide but not heal. Izzy knew that from experience and would do anything to protect her son from the miserable feeling that he wasn’t good enough to be loved. It was far, far better to accept reality than to hope for a love that would never come.
“I still remember the day you told me you wanted to leave Thunder Ridge so you could have the baby somewhere else,” Henry said. “I didn’t want you to go. The thought of you being alone in a strange city...” He shook his head. “You were so young.”
“Well, I wasn’t alone. Joanne was wonderful.”
Henry and his late wife had had a friend named Joanne, who’d been recently widowed, and Henry had offered to contact the woman about Izzy. Joanne had been happy to have the company of a quiet, studious seventeen-year-old...even a quiet, studious, four-months-pregnant seventeen-year-old.
