Reclaim My Heart (34 page)
Lucas, Zach, Tyne, and Patricia headed toward the pool. Next to the ornate gazebo there was an outside kitchen complete with a sink, granite countertop, and a massive grill.
“Do you like lemonade, Zach?” Patricia wrapped her fingers around the handle of the large glass pitcher.
“Yes, ma’am.” The teen finger-combed his hair and then scrubbed his palms on the thighs of his shorts, eyeing the patio furniture, the kitchen, the pool.
His grandmother poured him a tall glass and set it on the bar. “You should come swimming while you’re here. You could bring some friends. It would be fun. I’d like to meet your friends.”
“His new friends live in Wikweko.” Tyne heard the warning in her tone.
Patricia looked clueless.
“Mom, Zach’s friends are Native American.”
Her mom clicked her tongue, her breath leaving her in a huff. “I
realize
that, Tyne. What are you trying to say? That I don’t want Zach’s friends in my pool?” She crossed her arms. “I’ll have you know I have a pool party for all of Mr. Martin’s Mexicans—” she stopped, then raced to correct herself “—
Hispanics
, and their families, at the end of every season. Just to thank them for all the work they do.”
Snatching up the ice bucket, Patricia rounded the granite bar. “Don’t be difficult, Tyne. I’d wanted this to be…I’d hoped—” Her fuchsia-tinted lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “I’m going to the house for more ice.” She glanced at Lucas and Zach. “I’m sorry. Excuse me for just a moment.”
Tyne watched her mother storm across the lawn. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered over her shoulder.
Her father came out of the house just as her mother entered. He paused to talk to his wife, but Patricia swept by him, disappearing inside.
“What happened?” he asked Tyne, just feet from the back door.
“I’ll fix this, Dad,” was all she said.
She followed her mother into the house.
The mudroom looked like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Magazine. Wainscotinge. id.< covered the bottom half of the walls and was painted a pristine white. The small, square window Tyne remembered in her youth had been replaced with a larger, bay window that let in loads of light. The gleaming washer and dryer were surrounded by white cabinets sporting shiny, porcelain knobs. Even the flooring was different, wide oak planks having replaced the old linoleum she remembered.
In the next room, she could hear her mother rummaging in the freezer, several chunks of ice thumping into the bucket that hadn’t really needed filling.
Stepping over the threshold into the kitchen, Tyne said, “Mom, I’m sorry.”
Her mother’s anger was spent. Now her shoulders were rounded and the muscles in her face had gone slack.
Patricia closed the freezer door. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamed about this day. About you coming home. About meeting my grandson.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip and inhaled deeply. “When your father came home and told me he’d seen you, and that you were coming to dinner, I thought I’d have a coronary. My heart was racing to beat the band. I wanted everything to be perfect. Just like I’d dreamed.”
She set the ice bucket on the counter. “But I realized…just now…that it could never be perfect. Because, well, because, although I’ve always seen you as perfect in every way, as being amazingly talented and so intelligent you were bound to succeed at whatever you chose to do—” she lifted her hand to her throat, her gaze drifting “—you’ve only seen me as…as…” She struggled for a moment, then shrugged. “Something ugly. Something stupid. And flawed.”
Tyne chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Mom, I’m far from perfect. And when I left here the last time, perfect wasn’t at all how you’d have described me, I’m sure.” But her mother didn’t react.
Patricia went to the cabinet over the dishwasher and opened the door. Then she shut it and turned around. “No matter what we did for you, it was never quite good enough.”
“Oh, now, Mom, that’s not true. I—”
“
We
were not quite good enough. We were an embarrassment to you.”
Tyne went quiet, unable to dispute her mother’s statement. Parents who shot off racist remarks like an unpredictable, misfiring automatic weapon mortified their teenaged children.
“Your father has a wonderful reputation in this town,” Patricia said. “He’s well respected. And I have more friends than I can count. The people in Oak Mills like us, Tyne.” She frowned. “Do you know how it hurts to know your own daughter doesn’t?”
“I love you, Mom.” Tyne took a step forward and then stopped. “I might have been angry for a while.”
“A long while,” her mother pointed out.
And she was forced to agree with a small nod. “But I do love you.”
“And we love you.” Patricia reached up and tugged at a short lock of her hair. “We love you so much. Everything we ever did, or said, or planned, was because we love you, Tyne.”
Without being told, Tyne knew her mother was trying to explain their actions of the past.
“You have a son,” Patricia continued, “a teenaged son. Surely, now that you’re a parent you can understand our feelings. Our motives. We only meant to do what was best for you. You might not have been able to appreciate that then, but you have to be able to now.”
There must have been a thousand things she’d done over the years that were in Zach’s best interest; early bed times, the teeth brushing routine, controlling what he watched on TV. The list was endless. And as he’d gotten older, the parental choices had gotten harder because her son had discovered his voice. Despite his complaining, his anger, his comangThe liplete displeasure, Tyne continued to do what she thought was best for her son. Keeping him from going swimming with his friends last week was a prime example.
She found herself nodding slowly at her mother. “I do understand,” she admitted.
The frown creasing her mother’s forehead smoothed a bit. “Now if I can just get you to see that I didn’t mean anything bad before. When I mentioned Mr. Martin’s Mexicans.” She closed her eyes and frowned, her chin jutting forward. “
Hispanics
. Because I didn’t, you know.”
Tyne sighed. Keeping her words as gentle as possible, she said, “Mom, do you hear yourself? You talk as if Mr. Martin owns his employees.”
Patricia gasped. “I did no such thing.”
“Come on, Mom. ‘Mr. Martin’s Hispanics.’ Don’t you hear the inference?”
“No, I don’t,” Patricia countered. “They’re
his
crew.”
“Why is it necessary to mention their nationality at all?” she asked civilly.
Once again, her mother’s hands lifted in exasperation. “Because
that’s
what they
are
. Tyne, you don’t understand. I am sure that they are very proud of who and what they are. I’m sure they have no problem with me calling them Mr. Martin’s Hispanics. I complimented their work, didn’t I?”
She didn’t
get it
, Tyne realized suddenly. Her mother truly didn’t comprehend that some of the things she said, some of the names and phrases she chose to use in certain contexts, could come off sounding offensive to others. Had that been caused by her upbringing? Tyne’s grandparents had died when she was a young child, so she had no way of knowing what kind of parental influence her mother had had. It could have been that her mother’s parents were bigots too, and that her mother was so comfortable in the standards set for her that she wasn’t able to see that those standards could be raised. But if racism was a learned trait, why hadn’t Tyne picked it up?
Was it plain ignorance on her parents’ part? Ignorance had nothing to do with lack of brains or education. It was possible for people to be bright and ignorant at the same time. Was her mother’s an entire generation that society had to make allowances for? Tyne dismissed that idea immediately. This type of shallowness had nothing to do with age. S
he’d met plenty of older folks who were open-minded and accepting of others, people who had adopted a ‘live and let live’ attitude, not just when it came to race but religion, politics, sexual orientation, whatever. However, she’d also encountered people, of all ages really, who seemed bent on building walls rather than bridges.
Her mother had invited Zach and his friends swimming. And if she made a habit of throwing a party for the landscaping crew then maybe she
had
become a little more enlightened over the years.
Her mother sighed. “Tyne, I really wanted tonight to be special. I had hoped we could get through the evening without—”
“I agree, Mom.” She stepped forward, offering a warm smile and holding out her arms in invitation. Her mother eagerly stepped into her embrace. “Tonight should be special,” Tyne said. “Tonight
is
special.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
L
ucas stood near the
deep end of the pool watching Zach bounce on the diving board. Tyne’s father had noticed Zach eyeing the pool and suggested he use one of the suits in the pool house and take a swim before dinner. The teen jumped at the chance. Zach launched himself into the air and made an awkward arch with his body, his hands pressed together above his head. The elaborate splash made Lucas grin surreptitiously; the kid obviously needed some practice.
“Loog shiith hks like he’s enjoying himself.” Richard Whitlock joined Lucas, a bottle of beer in each hand.
Lucas accepted the beer with a nod. “He is. Thanks for inviting him to swim.”
Richard regarded his grandson for several long seconds. “I hope he comes to visit often.”
The man was probing, wanting to know if Lucas would be a help or a hindrance when it came to him developing a relationship with Zach. A mulish streak kept Lucas silent. He tipped up the bottle and drank. He didn’t feel obligated to alleviate the fears of the person who had forced him and Tyne apart sixteen years ago, who had so drastically changed their lives.
Because of Richard Whitlock, you have a law degree
.
He scowled, strangling the life out of the voice in his head. Benevolence wasn’t high on his list when it came to Tyne’s father.
“Lucas,” Richard said, “I want you to know I feel bad about how things happened when you and Tyne were kids. I also want you to understand that I only did what I thought was best for my family, what was best for my daughter.”
Both men watched Zach climb out of the pool and traipse back toward the diving board, water dripping from the hem of his borrowed suit, the tips of his fingers, even his nose and locks of his dark hair.
“I’m going to try a jack knife,” the teen announced.
“We’re watching!” Richard reassured his grandson.
Lucas smiled, but he was sure it looked as forced as it felt.
He remained silent while Zach jogged the three steps to the end of the board. The instant his son hit the water, he turned to Richard. “It would have been nice to know she decided to keep Zach. That she was planning to raise our child on her own. I might have been able to help her. From what she tells me, they had a hell of a rough time of it.”
Richard’s gaze slid to the ground, his chin dipping a little closer to his chest. His sigh was heavy. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight. And it only got worse when Tyne continued to be so damn stubborn. I was sure she would come around. Finally see that we were right. That our plans were for the best. But she never did.”
Lucas shook his head, whispering, “Thank heavens for that.”
Patricia Whitlock called out her husband’s name. “The grill’s hot. Time to put the steaks on.”
The man glanced at Zach who was once again hauling himself onto the ladder and then looked Lucas directly in the eyes. “You probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I agree with you. Whole-heartedly.”
Watching him walk away, Lucas felt his gut knot. He didn’t trust the man, didn’t know if he could ever or would ever trust him. Tyne’s father had proved himself to be selfish and egocentric; the kind of person who looked down on others, who only watched out for his own interests.
The magnanimous voice he’d choked off attempted to revive itself, and Lucas blanched as it reminded him of his own selfish behavior years ago. Did he dislike Richard Whitlock because of the man’s character and the things he’d done? Or was it because some of the man’s traits reminded him too much of his own?
“Hey, ah, hey. You okay?”
His son’s voice knocked him out of his stupor. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face. “I’m good. That was a great dive.”
Zach laughed. “You weren’t lookin’ ’cause if you had been, you would have said I sucked.” He pointed to his cherry-red belly.
“Ouch.” Lucas chuckled. Zach must have hit the water hard to make his skin turn that shade of pink. “You’re right, I missed it. I was talking to your grandfather.”
“That’s okay.”
“Zach,” Lucas said softly, “I’ve noticed that you use a lot oou kinf ‘heys’ and ‘yous’ when you talk to me.”
His son went still.
“I don’t want you to feel self-conscious when we’re together.” Lucas could smell the sharp scent of chlorine. “I understand that you’ve grown up without a father around, Zach. I realize that calling me dad might be awkward for you. It’s okay for you to call me Lucas, if that’s what you want. If that’s what will make you feel comfortable.”
“Zach!” Tyne shouted. “You’d better dry off and get yourself dressed. Dinner will be ready soon.”
His son’s jaw muscle tensed and he blinked, completely ignoring his mother. “Is that what you want?” he asked.
The question startled Lucas. “What I want?” he repeated, buying himself some time. “Well, actually, no. I’d love for you to call me dad. But only if it’s something you want to do. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing it, though.”
“Zach!” Tyne yelled again.
The teen lifted a hand to let her know he’d heard, and when he looked back at Lucas, he was smiling. “I’ll work on it,” he said, then he snatched his towel from a nearby Adirondack chair and jogged off toward the pool house.
• • •
Tyne sat in the
passenger seat of Lucas’s car certain she could have floated back to Wikweko without these four wheels and this gas-powered engine, the feeling fueled by the sheer joy of seeing her parents again. No doubt about it, the beginning of the evening had been rocky, and there had been a bump or two along the way, as well, but for the most part she was really happy about how the reunion with her parents had gone.
After dinner, they had enjoyed thick slabs of Black Forest cake, which her father had raved about, with freshly brewed coffee. While her mom had engaged Zach in lighting the citronella torches surrounding the patio, her father had a second piece of cake. He’d suggested Tyne think about buying an empty storefront on Oak Mills’ Main Street and opening a bakery. Tyne had laughed, but she’d also glowed from his compliment.
They had spent another couple of hours simply catching up. Wanting to keep the focus on the positive, everyone avoided the messiest parts of the past. That, Tyne decided, was what had made the evening such a great success. It was as if they’d all made a silent pact to keep the conversation centered in the here and now.
“So, ah,” Zach piped up from the back seat, “how come no one warned me that my grandparents are freakin’ racist?”
Tyne’s gaze shot to Lucas. The humor lacing her son’s question had Lucas shaking his head and grinning.
“Your mother tried to tell you, Zach.” Lucas glanced at her. “She did try. But it’s difficult to point out the bad traits of the people you love.”
She smiled at him, sliding her hand over top of his where it rested on his thigh.
“When Grandmom talked about that one commissioner as ‘that colored fella,’ I almost choked on my cake.” Zach tugged on his shoulder harness, making a light whizzing sound with the belt. “I thought she was joking. But nobody laughed.”
Tyne sighed.
“Funny thing is,” Zach continued, “she didn’t say anything bad about the man. In fact, she said he was her favorite of all the commissioners. Weird.”
“That sums it up, son.” Tyne looked over her shoulder into the back. “Weird. I can’t figure it out, either. My mother swears she doesn’t mean anything by it, but—”
“That doesn’t make it any less wrong,” Lucas pointed out.
“Exactly.” She nodded, hoping Zach could see her in the dim light sprayed by the dashboard. by the oarr. My moHon, I’ve been embarrassed by the way my parents act for as long as I can remember.” She let go of Lucas’s hand, sliding around so she could more easily look at Zach. “But at the same time, they were deeply concerned about my wellbeing, they were kind and loving, and they tried to give me everything a girl could possibly want.”
There would have been a time—a time as early as yesterday—that her heart and mind would not have been open to such an admission.
She grinned. “Your father once called me a spoiled brat.”
Lucas looked into the rearview mirror. “And that was true.” He leaned toward the driver’s side door as Tyne
tsked
and swiped at his arm.
“What I’m trying to tell you, Zach,” she said, “is that people have good traits and bad traits. Good habits and bad ones. You embrace the good, and do your level best to recognize the bad so it doesn’t affect you.”
Zach was quiet, then he said, “It’s like Uncle Jasper said about life. You gotta take the bitter with the sweet.”
“You got that right.” Lucas flipped on his turn signal and made a left.
“Come on, now.” Tyne nudged his shoulder. “They’re not that bad.” Her facial muscles pinched as she asked, “Are they?” The look in his dark eyes made her groan and laugh at the same time. “They can be awful, I know.”
“They’re not all bad,” Zach said. “They obviously have wads of cash.”
She just turned and looked at her son.
“That house, that patio, that outside kitchen and bar,” he said, justifying his statement, “that bad-ass pool.”
“Zachary!”
“All that land. The pool house is set up like an apartment, Mom. Did you see it? Someone could move right in there. There was a refrigerator, and a TV, and, like, everything you’d need.” Her son reached up and tapped Lucas on the shoulder. “And, Dad, I sneaked a look in the garage. They’ve got a Hummer. How cool is that? A
Hummer!
”
Tyne’s lips parted and she sucked in a quick, silent breath. Not because her parents owned some exorbitant, gargantuan vehicle, but because her son had called Lucas
Dad
. The word had rolled right off his tongue. Lucas, however, barely seemed to notice. It was as if her son had always addressed Lucas with the affectionate moniker.
“Zach,” he said, glancing once again into the rearview mirror, “possessions don’t say much about a man. What matters is who he is.”
Something between a grin and a smirk twisted Zach’s lips as he gave the window of the BMW three sharp raps. “I’d say you like possessions just as much as Granddad does.”
Tyne saw the muscle in Lucas’s jaw tense.
“Money can’t buy happiness, Zach,” she told her son.
“Your mother is right.” Lucas’s gaze remained on the roadway ahead. “I don’t mind admitting that I lost my way. It’s really hard to live in today’s world with all its modern technology—wristwatches with GPS, cell phones that call you by name, electronic tablets almost as thin as a sheet of paper, you name it—where ‘he who has the most toys wins.’ Hell, it’s almost impossible not to get caught up in all that grabbing, snatching, and wanting. I don’t mind saying I got my priorities screwed up.” He braked the car at a four way stop, the headlights of the car facing them lighting up his face. “Got them screwed up
big time
.” His gaze darted to the rearview mirror, obviously wanting to connect with Za
ch. “I’m sure my uncle is ashamed of what I’ve become. I’m one of
them
. Someone looking for acceptance, someone hell-bent on acquiring the respect and esteem of others by buying condos and cars and building an impressive bank account.”
When the road was clear, Lucas drove slowl as ecty through the intersection.
“Don’t be mad at me.” Zach’s head drooped forward. “I was only pointing out that your BMW was pretty sweet.”
“I’m not angry with you.” Lucas accelerated along the country road toward home. His sigh was loud and long. “And your point is well taken. I’m the last person who should be lecturing you about not letting possessions possess you.”
“Guys,” Tyne said cheerfully, striving to lift the sudden drop in the mood, “we had such a great evening. Let’s not ruin it.”
However, the last few miles to Wikweko were made in total silence.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
T
he coral light of
pre-dawn steadily swept away the darkness as it ushered in Friday morning. Lucas had slept fitfully, awakened at least half a dozen times by crazy dreams. In the last one, a woman dressed in Amish garb hoisted herself up into a gleaming, tank-sized SUV, and stomped on the gas pedal, rutting his front lawn with perfect donuts.
He kicked the twisted sheet aside and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached his hands high and stretched his torso, thoughts of his mother wavering through his foggy mind.
What would his life have been like had she been the one who had raised him?
First and foremost, he would have had a mother. He would know what kind of person she was rather than spending all these years wondering.
She’d have cooked his meals, hugged away his hurts, read him bedtime stories, tucked him in at night. It’s impossible to say just how a mother’s love might have changed who he’d turned out to be.
The carpet muffled his steps as he padded to the window.
The Yoder house had had no electric lines attached to it that Lucas remembered. That would have meant no TV, no refrigerator, no radio, no lamps, no electronic toys. But primitive living never killed anyone, and he wouldn’t have missed what he’d never known. He would have spent a lot of time outdoors, and he surely would have learned to work with his hands. Probably farming or carpentry or some other trade.
He’d have had a simple, wholesome life. Not too unlike his adolescence here at Wikweko.
Of course, there would have been no high school. Everyone in the area knew the Amish educated their kids only to the eighth grade. No high school would have been fine with him in some respects; teens could be cruel and tended to close ranks against anyone who looked the least bit different. But that would have also meant there would have been no football games. And without football, he’d have never made that great play—the one that had compelled Tyne to approach him with the compliment that had initiated their relationship.
He smiled, hardly noticing the glorious pink clouds streaking across the blue-gray sky.
His life had been changed by the sweet and innocent girl she’d been. Because of her, he’d discovered parts of himself he had never known existed. She’d taught him to love, to care about someone more than he did himself.
Then there was Zach. His smile broadened. The kid was great. Yes, he had some issues, but who went through their teen years unscathed by some kind of trouble? He sure hadn’t. Problems aside, Zach had a good heart. And he was damn smart. Clever enough to quickly figure out that Lucas and Richard Whitlock weren’t all that different, and assertive enough to voice the opinion. Lucas shook his head, remembering how his son had called him out on the drive home last night. Zach had the kind of common sense and intuition that would take him far in this world; as far as he wanted to go.
His son had called him Dad twice last night. Once in the car, and once before he’d trekked off to bed. Evenas ecas fa now it was difficult to describe how hearing Zach speak that word made him feel. He’d never experienced that kind of joy. Even stepping into a courtroom for the very first time hadn’t thrilled him as much.
As idyllic as a childhood spent growing up on a peaceful Amish farm might sound, Lucas decided his current life had afforded him too many blessings to give up.
He reached for a clean pair of jeans, pulled a t-shirt from the dresser drawer. If he could change anything, he’d fix the mistakes he’d made in this life. He’d have set his anger aside. He’d have gotten in touch with Tyne, some way, somehow. He’d have been there for the woman he loved, for his son, through all those difficult years.
Walking through the living room, he heard water running in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he greeted. “You’re up early.”
Tyne’s long blond hair was tousled and sexy as hell. Her blue eyes were still heavy with sleep, her skin, pale as heavy cream. The silky t-shirt thing she wore did little to hide the outline of her rounded breasts, brown smudges of her nipples showing through the material.
“I didn’t know you were up,” she said. “I’m making coffee. It’ll just be a minute.”
He’d have been there for the woman he loved…
For the woman he loved…
The thought sang through his head, coming to him, not in the past tense but in the present. The here. The now.
The woman he loved
.
She tipped the filled carafe over the water chamber of the coffee maker then set the empty pot on the burner and flipped the switch. “Listen, Lucas. Thank you for last night. I know you didn’t want to go. I really appreciate it.”
He approached her, close enough to smell the warm, lemony scent of her skin, and kissed her cheek. She blinked at him, her blue eyes widening further with each lowering and raising of her eyelids. Damn but she was gorgeous.
“I didn’t mind,” he told her truthfully. “I’m going to run into town. Have coffee with Jasper. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” she said.
Staying right here and stripping that little top off her body sounded much more fun. But he had some things to tell his uncle, things that have needed to be said for far too long.
• • •
Light blazed from the
window of Jasper’s back door and Lucas saw his uncle sitting in the first-floor studio. He rapped twice and Jasper let him inside.
“You’re working?” he asked.
Jasper nodded. “Been up since three. The hawk in my head woke me.”
“Hawk?”
The older man grinned, ushering his nephew into the brightly lit studio. “Accepted a job yesterday. Man drove in from Doylestown and brought this.” He placed the flat of his hands on either side of a great log that sat square in the center of the studio floor. “Took four of us to get it in here. It’s from an oak tree that’s been growing beside the guy’s tavern for as long as he can remember. The tree blew over in a storm, and he saved a chunk. He read my interview in Pennsylvania Magazine a couple years ago. Wants me to make him a wood carving. His tavern’s called The Hawk’s Nest.”
Jasper stared at the hunk of wood, his gaze roving up and down as if he could actually see a bird of prey hidden beneath the rough bark.
“Congratulations on the job. I can come back another time,” Lucas offered. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“No, no.” His uncle turned to face him. “That hawk will be flying around in my imagination for days before I pick up a chisel and mallet. I have a pot of coffee brewed.” Without another wordt ahim, Jasper headed to the far side of the studio where an automatic coffee maker sat on a countertop, its glowing red light indicating that the burner was still hot.
Lucas accepted the mug his uncle poured for him. “I came to tell you that you were right.”
Jasper’s expression remained staid, and that didn’t surprise Lucas. His uncle had never been susceptible to knee-jerk reactions.
As a child, he’d hidden things from his father; a less than stellar report card, a detention notice, a broken toy, anything that might garner his dad’s disapproval. Lucas had felt loved and cared for, but his father had been a little on the hot-tempered side. After his dad had been killed in the accident on the interstate and Jasper had become his guardian, it hadn’t taken long at all for Lucas to realize that the two men, although they’d been brothers, were as different as night and day.
Just a few months after losing his dad, he rode home from school, a teacher’s note scalding his thigh through his trouser pocket. Lucas devised several fantastic stories to explain why he wasn’t responsible for the fight he’d gotten into with Barry Sullivan. However, rather than the expected raised voice and swat on the back, Lucas experienced a very different scenario. Jasper had read the note and listened to Lucas’s side of the story, and then his uncle had asked a slew of calm, thought-provoking questions. Being forced to think about his behavior, to admit his responsibility in the situation—even if only to himself—had been more agonizing and more effective than any punishment his father had ever doled out in the past.
After that, Lucas hadn’t feared coming to his uncle in times of trouble, or when he needed to talk out some issue or other…or, like now, when he wanted to make a confession. Years of witnessing Jasper’s unruffled manner assured Lucas that there would be no judgment. There would be no scorn. No violent reactions. Not even a single I-told-you-so.
The biggest hurdle he had to conquer was his own prideful unwillingness to admit he was wrong.
As expected, Jasper perched himself on a nearby stool and took a sip of coffee as he waited.
“It took coming back to Wikweko to see it,” Lucas began. “It took meeting my son. Getting to know him. It took spending an evening with Richard Whitlock—”
Even that name from the past didn’t elicit a response from Jasper. The man was good. As non-reactive as that solid mass of red oak.
“—to realize—” He clamped his lips shut, gazed down into his coffee mug, then forced himself to look at Jasper. “To realize what I’ve been doing.”
He set the coffee on the counter. “It started in college. I cut my hair, and I listened to how my college friends talked, mimicked them and changed the cadence of my voice. I worked hard to use proper grammar while I was speaking and in anything I wrote. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to fit in.” Reaching up, he scrubbed at the back of his neck. “When it came time to write my first resume, I didn’t use my full name. Lucas Hawk is what I chose. I wasn’t trying to hide the fact that I’m Lenape. I mean, look at me. I’m Indian. No one could miss that. It was, well…I thought I’d have a better chance at success if I treated who and what I was with a little…subtlety.”
Ceramic grated against Formica when he scooped up his mug. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “I’m not going to say that I was never discriminated against. That wouldn’t be the truth. But I never let that stop me. If anything, it made me study more, work harder. I never lost sight of my purpose. After landing my job, the firm printed business cards for me. Lucas Hawk, Attorney. My success was printed right there on those cards. And when I was promoted two years later, the firm had a name plaque made for my office doormy or me. L. Lucas Hawk.” He sighed. “I didn’t protest. In fact, I never said a word. I didn’t see any harm in it. I was moving forward, reaching my goals, making the big bucks. What did it matter that people weren’t using my full name?”
His mouth felt dry. “Then I met Zach.” Lucas shook his head. “That kid is amazing. He looks exactly like me, Jasper. He’s Indian. Lenape.” Again, he paused, this time to rake his teeth against his bottom lip. “When I brought him home and you started spending time with him…he talked about what he’d learned from you. And I began remembering all that I learned from you while I was growing up too. You gave me a history. A family. Something real and tangible to hold onto. You gave me dignity. Self-respect. I was proud to be Indian.” His gaze trailed to the log in the middle of the room. “Somewhere, somehow…I lost sight of it. All of it.”
Quiet blanketed the studio, the
tick, tick
of the old clock on the wall keeping a steady rhythm.
“I think it must have been very difficult for you, Lucas,” Jasper said at last, “to have been so young and to have had a white man look you in the eye and tell you that you were not good enough or worthy enough to have what your heart desired.”
Neither man spoke for several seconds. Jasper sat, drinking his coffee, and Lucas thought over all that he’d told his uncle. He couldn’t, in good conscience, blame Tyne’s father for the things he’d done, for the attitude he’d adopted regarding his own identity. In the end, he was responsible for his actions. No one else.
Jasper had taught him that, and Jasper was a great teacher.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised his uncle. “I’ll fix it for me. And for Zach. I want him to know, to see, that I’m proud of who I am. I want him to be proud of me.” He caught Jasper’s eye. “Like I’m proud of you.”
The old man went still, his throat convulsing in a swallow, his obsidian eyes growing moist. Lucas smiled when he saw his uncle grappling with his emotions.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” he continued. “You became my father when my father was no longer here for me. You didn’t have to do that, you didn’t have to take on that responsibility, but you did. Without question. And I thank you.”
A poignant smile crinkled Jasper’s wizened face. “You’ve already thanked me many times.”
Lucas stood there, staring, a frown on his brow.
His uncle got up off the stool and set down his mug. The wooden box he pulled from the cabinet had been glossy all over at one time, but years of handling had worn away the shine from the front, center-most area of the lid. Jasper opened the box and dumped its contents across the workspace.
Cards. Of every size and description. Birthday cards. Father’s Day cards. Get Well cards. Some were handmade of folded construction paper colored with crayons or markers, their messages written in boxy letters by an unskilled hand. Most had been store-bought. But every single one had been signed by Lucas.
He grinned, picking up one card, then another. “You saved all these?”
Jasper gently touched one, its spine dried and cracked. “More valuable than a treasure chest full of gold.”
Sliding closer to his uncle, Lucas draped his arm around the older man’s shoulders. “You’ve been just like a father to me.” His uncle’s head dipped, and Lucas asked, “What? What is it?”
Jasper shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Putting a bit of space between them, Lucas remarked, “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Something’s bothering you.”
His head hung low, Jasper nodded almost imperceptibly. “It’s about your father. And Ruth Yoder. I had hoped not to have to say anything, but you’ve been inu
Lucas lifted a shoulder. “It’s hard to say where that whole situation might go. I may never see her again.”
His uncle began gathering the cards with care. “But you might. So you should know the truth.”
Taking another backward step, Lucas leaned his hip against the cabinet.