The Reunion (12 page)

K
aren sat back at her desk in the main model home. She had just walked a middle-aged couple through all three models. They seemed pretty excited. But then, most of them did at this stage. They’d asked some decent questions, taken the brochures. The woman said they were still looking but would definitely keep their subdivision on the list of ones to consider.

Not exactly signing on the dotted line.

It was Thanksgiving week, and she was trying to remain thankful. But so far, she had no sales in the last three weeks. And the last one had been Gail’s, not hers. It was almost six o’clock, time to close up. Gail had already left a few minutes ago.

Karen’s cell phone rang. It was Steve. What could he be calling about?

“Hey, Karen. You’re never going to guess who I just got off the phone with.”

No one came to mind. “Who?”

“A writer researching a book about Vietnam heroes.”

“Okay . . .” What could that have to do with her . . . or with him?

“He was asking about our dad.”

“Dad? He didn’t fight in Vietnam.”

“Not our dad, Mark. Our . . .
other
dad. Our first dad.”

“Aaron Miller?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? I wasn’t going to take the call, but my secretary said this guy was in town trying to locate the son of a Vietnam War hero. All he knew was that this man had a son named Steve Miller and that he was an attorney. She normally wouldn’t have put something like this through, but she thought I might want to speak with him. She didn’t know our dad was a war hero.”

“Neither did I,” Karen said.

“You and me both.”

“How did he find you?”

“Sounds kind of like a needle-in-a-haystack sort of deal. Anyway, you’ve got to hear the best part. Our dad—our birth dad—won the Congressional Medal of Honor in Vietnam.”

“What!”

“I’m not kidding. That’s what the man said.”

“Are you sure this is legit?”

“It piqued my curiosity, so I took the call. The writer’s name is Dave Russo. He said this is no joke. He’s trying to locate a war hero named Aaron Miller.”

“Good luck with that,” she said.

“I know. Anyway, he’d picked up a lead that Aaron Miller had a son with my name who was an attorney, and he’s been contacting Steven Millers all day. I was the last one on his list in the Fort Worth area. He couldn’t believe it when I told him Aaron Miller was our father. He got really excited and wanted to know if we could meet this evening or tomorrow morning. But Aileen and I have this dinner party tonight, and tomorrow my day is packed. I couldn’t squeeze him in anywhere. I’m trying to get everything done so I can take Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving.”

Karen knew where this was going. “You didn’t tell him about me.”

A long pause. “I’m sorry, but I did.”

“Steve . . .”

“Karen, you should have heard him. I was just so stunned by what he said, I didn’t even think. I said there was no way we could touch base before Thursday, and before I knew it, I blurted out—”

“‘But I have a sister . . .’”

“Pretty much. Look, I’m sorry. He’s going to call you in about five minutes.”

“You gave him my cell?”

Another long pause. “Karen, just tell him no. Really, I wasn’t thinking. I just found myself wanting to help this guy. He sounded really nice. I wish I could meet him myself, find out more about this Medal of Honor thing.”

“But we don’t know where our birth dad is.”

“I know, I told him that. But he still wanted to meet. He said you’d be surprised how little details can make a big difference in something like this. He used to work as an investigative reporter in Atlanta. He thought if he interviewed one of us, we might shed some light on our dad’s whereabouts.”

Why would she want to shed light on the whereabouts of this man . . . Aaron Miller? She sighed. “I don’t know, Steve.”

“Look, I’m sorry for putting you in the middle of this. So, really, just tell him no, you’re not interested. He’ll probably try to talk you into it, but just say it was a long time ago and you don’t want to get involved. Tell him that if he’s still interested, he can call me back after Thanksgiving, and I’ll try to make a time to see him myself.”

“I guess I can do that.”

“Well, I’ve got to go. Sorry, Karen. But if you do wind up meeting with him, I want to hear all about it at Thanksgiving on Thursday.”

“I don’t think I’m . . . well, we’ll see.”

This was not how Karen wanted to end her day. After ending the call, she got up from her desk, kept her cell phone, and walked over to the two other model homes. After she’d gone through the normal lockup routine for all three, she looked at her watch. She had no energy to go home and cook. If she left now, she could probably beat the crowd at Chili’s.

Her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, which probably meant it was that writer. It rang again. She thought about letting it go to voice mail but decided a guy that had come all this way on some kind of manhunt would just keep calling again and again. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Karen? Karen Miller?”

He had a really nice voice. “It is.”

“My name is Dave Russo. I was just talking with your brother, Steve, a little while ago.”

“I know, he called to let me know.”

“He did. That’s great. Did he tell you what this is about?”

“He did. Something about our birth father, Aaron Miller. And him winning the Medal of Honor.”

“He won it back in 1970.”

“That’s . . . really something.” Her father hadn’t walked out on them until 1973. Her mother had never told them about the medal.

“Say, I know this must sound a little crazy and totally out of the blue here. I’m almost in a state of shock that I made this connection with you guys. You have no idea how many Aaron Millers there are in the world.”

She didn’t, and she didn’t care.

“But I was wondering if we could meet and talk for a little while.”

“I don’t think so . . . what did you say your name was?”

“Dave.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dave. There’s really nothing to talk about. Aaron Miller was responsible for the biological side of things for Steve and me, but that was about all. He walked out on us when we were just little kids. We haven’t seen him since.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Was he apologizing for their father’s neglect or just feigning compassion here? It seemed like genuine sympathy.

“How about this?” he said. “I flew in from Florida this morning, so my body clock is one hour ahead. I’m really starving. How about you let me take you out to dinner? Any place you like, my treat. We can talk there. After that, I’ll never bother you again. I promise.”

She really was hungry, and he really did have such a nice voice. “Do you know how to get to Chili’s?”
What am I saying?

“I love Chili’s. But I’m not sure where the one you have in mind is.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m on Southlake Boulevard, not far from your brother’s law office.”

“You’re closer than I am.” She started giving him directions. He said he could just put it in his GPS if she told him which location. So she did. They agreed to meet there in twenty minutes. “Could you get us a booth as soon as you get there?” she said. “I’ll look for you.”

“Sounds great.”

“So . . . what do you look like?” she said. “How will I know how to find you?”

“Right. I’ve got brownish hair. I’m forty-five years old. I’ll be wearing a brown leather jacket and blue jeans. Well, if they’ve got the heat on, I’ll probably take the jacket off. So you’ll see my long-sleeved green shirt. If you have any trouble, just dial my cell and we’ll use them like walkie-talkies till we connect.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m heading out the door now.”

“Great. And Karen, really, thanks so much for doing this. I can’t believe I’ve found you. Wait, that sounds a little weird.” He laughed.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I just hope you’re still excited when you hear how little I have to say.” She said good-bye and locked the model home. As she made her way to the car, she still couldn’t believe she’d let herself get talked into this.

Then she thought,
If his looks match his voice . . . this could be interesting.

D
ave sat at the booth in Chili’s, enjoying the aroma of a sizzling plate of steak fajitas passing by.
Steak fajitas it is
. He looked toward the door, saw a number of couples and four college kids, but no women his age yet. It had been almost twenty minutes since the call, so Karen could arrive any moment. He wondered what she looked like. He’d forgotten to ask.

He looked down at his notepad at a list of possible questions to ask her. “Karen Miller,” he mumbled aloud. Was she married? She couldn’t be, or she’d have corrected him when he’d called her by her maiden name. And if she was married, she wouldn’t have so readily accepted a dinner invitation without mentioning the need to call her husband. If Dave were the husband, he’d struggle a bit if his wife had dinner out with another man. Even if it was just business.

Anne, his ex-wife, wasn’t a professional and never had an occasion to go out to dinner with any man but him. But half the people Dave interviewed in Atlanta were women, and half the time the interviews took place in restaurants. Nothing had ever happened, but he knew that part of his job often irritated Anne. Especially when she’d see what some of the women Dave had interviewed looked like when their pictures accompanied his articles.

Anne never felt like she measured up.

But she did. She was beautiful, even without makeup and spending forty minutes fixing her hair. But he hadn’t told her she was. Not nearly enough.

He reached for his iced tea then looked up as the front door opened again. An attractive brunette walked in, wearing a navy blue wool coat. Some people partially blocked his view, but she looked like she could be the right age. She said something when the hostess greeted her then glanced over toward the booths and tables. She hadn’t seen him yet. She unbuttoned her coat. He modified his initial assessment of her.

She wasn’t merely attractive. She was stunning.

Please let that be her
.

He didn’t know why he thought that; this wasn’t a date. It might not even be her. She scanned the restaurant again. He had the impulse to wave, but what if it wasn’t Karen? He’d taken his jacket off. He’d told her he was wearing a green shirt, hadn’t he? Finally, her eyes settled on him. She looked him over for a moment, smiled, and waved.

He waved back as she made her way toward him. Her smile, the way it matched the brightness in her eyes, only added to her beauty.
Now you’re being silly
, he thought. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He looked at her hands, both of them.

No wedding ring.

He stood up. Suddenly he felt nervous.
Calm down
. He’d only ever felt this way after seeing one other woman in his life. Anne. He still remembered. She was sitting across the room in their English literature class at DePaul University.

Karen reached the table. “Dave?”

“It’s me,” he said.

She took off her coat and purse, set them in the seat across from him. She held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Dave fought an urge to cling to her hand a few moments longer. He’d suddenly forgotten all about his Aaron Miller questions.

“Is everything all right?” she said.

“What? Yes, everything’s fine. This is a little embarrassing though. I need to go wash my hands. I didn’t want to do it until you got here in case I missed you.” He held up his left hand; it had an ink smear on it. “Feel free to order if the waitress comes, anything on the menu,” he said.

“Do you mind if I start with the chips and salsa?”

“I love their salsa here, just the right kick.” He smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked into the men’s room. The double sink was clear. He walked up, leaned both hands on the counter, and stared at himself in the mirror.
What are you doing? Get ahold of yourself. It’s just an interview
. It was so unsettling. It felt like much more than an interview, something surreal. But it was probably just some kind of misfire in his brain. He’d been thinking about Anne. That’s what it was. Thinking about her had stirred some deep feelings inside him.

But an image of Karen standing there in the foyer a moment ago flashed back in his mind. The moment when she finally looked right at him and smiled. The irrational feelings began stirring inside him all over again. It wasn’t about Anne.

It was Karen. Something about
her
.

It was more than physical attraction. When Dave saw Karen just now, he experienced so much more than mere physical attraction. It was as if he instantly knew they would get along well. As if he could already anticipate a thousand wonderful conversations with her, see years of memories they would make together in the future.

All in that one moment.

It was the exact same thing he’d experienced with Anne twenty-five years ago in that English lit class.

The restroom door opened. A tall young man wearing a cowboy hat walked in, looked at Dave, and nodded. Dave nodded back, pulled a paper towel out of the holder, and rubbed his hands with it. After tossing it in the trash can, he walked out. He stopped in his tracks just before clearing the foyer. He looked down at the ink smear still on his left hand.

You idiot
. He turned around and headed back into the restroom.

Okay
, Karen thought as she nibbled on a tortilla chip.
He’s the right age, he’s got a great voice and . . . he’s in great shape. I like his face, a lot. And . . . no wedding ring
.

And, she reminded herself, he was here to interview her about her deadbeat father who walked out when she was just a small child. In less than two hours, Dave would be out of her life, flying back to wherever he came from. She dipped another chip in the salsa and looked over her shoulder.

Here he comes.

This is just an interview. You don’t even like the topic
.

As soon as Dave sat down, the waitress returned. “Have you had enough time to figure out what you want?” he asked Karen.

“Yes. I’ll have the buffalo chicken salad.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a steak? Some ribs?” Dave asked. “I’m buying.”

Karen smiled. “That’s really what I want. But if you’re dying to part with your money, there’s this gorgeous emerald ring I’ve been coveting in a jewelry store not far from here.” Dave laughed but didn’t say anything.
Ugh, why did I say that?
she thought.
He must think I’m so weird!
“I’m totally kidding,” she said, feeling embarrassed.

“I know.”

“How about you, sir?” the waitress said. “You still want the steak fajitas?”

“Even more now.”

“I’ll go put your order in then be back to refresh your drinks.” She turned and walked away.

Dave was looking at Karen in a funny way. “What is it?” she said. “It looks like there’s something you want to say.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just . . . the word you used just then.
Coveting
. You hardly ever hear that word anymore. Except with . . .”

“Christians?”

He nodded.

“Well, you caught me. I’m a church girl, have been since high school.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

Now why would that make him glad?
“Are you . . . do you . . .”

“I’m a Christian too,” he said. “But not for very long, just four years.”

“Four years is pretty long,” she said. She wondered what had happened four years ago and whether she should ask. “Four years ago was the worst year of my life.” Why did she say that?

“Really?” His face showed instant concern. “Mind telling me why?” He looked down at his pad. “Totally off the record.” He dipped a chip in the salsa and popped it into his mouth.

“Two pretty awful things happened. Not that far apart from each other. My mother died, then my fiancé left me . . . for someone else.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“You mean both things happening the same year?”

“No, but I can see why that would be horrible. I can’t imagine someone leaving you for another woman.”

The way he said it, the look in his eyes. So full of care and, it seemed, something else. It was obviously meant as a compliment. She loved it but didn’t know what to say. She wanted to shift the focus off her. “So what happened to you four years ago that caused you to become a Christian?”

He looked away and sighed.

“Usually, people don’t get depressed telling that story,” she said. “Don’t feel like you have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about it, a little. I guess God used it to wake me up. It’s just . . . my wife died. In a plane crash.”

“Oh my.” Her heart sank.

“Yeah, it was pretty awful.” He looked back at her. His eyes looked moist, like he was holding back tears. “But I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. We were divorced at the time. Talk about long stories. And it was all my fault.”

Karen didn’t know why, but she tensed up. Had Dave left his wife for someone else like Greg had left her?

“I wasn’t unfaithful, at least not to my wedding vows. The other woman was my stupid career. I didn’t realize how foolish I’d been till her funeral, sitting there next to my son Jake. I got so wrapped up in what I was doing, where I wanted to be next.” He looked down. “I left Anne and Jake for a job, a stupid job.” He sighed again and looked up. “Well, I didn’t mean to go into all that. I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

Karen didn’t know how to reply. But one thing she knew for sure: she was suddenly in no hurry for this dinner to end. And she didn’t care whether they ever got around to talking about her deadbeat dad, Aaron Miller.

She wanted to know whatever she could find out about David Russo.