The Winding Road Home (23 page)

“Tanner.”

“You'd better come to protect them. Or me from myself.”

She chewed on what was left of a thumbnail.

“Kate, I'm only joking.” He gently pulled her hand down and rubbed it between his. “I'm sorry. You really are afraid. I forget how terrifying it is for some people. But isn't this where Jesus comes in? He gives you courage to face your fears, right?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Then I'm going to challenge you. If He's real, you'll prove it to me by getting on that plane.”

“That's not fair!”

“Why not? Put your walk where your talk is, girl, and I will get down on my knees.”

“Tanner, don't look to me to save your soul.”

He laid her hand on the counter beneath his. “Where else am I going to look?” His tone was resolute. “I need to see His reality firsthand.”

“You're asking Him for a sign. He doesn't always do that.”

“But He can if He wants to.”

Of course. “That's too heavy a responsibility.”

“For you or for Him? All you have to do is climb into that plane and entrust your life to me, knowing the whole time it's not really in my hands.”

He had her there. She was only thinking of herself. “Nothing's too heavy for Him.”

“That's what I'm hoping.” He bent toward her and said in a low, urgent voice, “You've been walking with Him for a long time. I just want to see how that works.”

“You're that desperate for moral support on Sunday?”

“Yep. About as desperate as you are terrified.”

She took a deep breath, not sure what either of them was getting into. He was practically asking to see the face of God. Talk about heavy. She needed to pray. But first she needed to lighten up. The feel of his hand on hers threatened to scramble her thought processes. How did they usually settle challenges? Dinner.

She asked, “Throw in dinner?”

He tapped the tip of her nose and smiled. “Right after I get up off my knees.”

Graham inched the chair he was sitting in as close as possible to the wheelchair and put his nose a few centimeters from Rand's. He spoke through clenched teeth. The conversation was far too private to chance it being overheard.

“I respect your strong sense of God's timing, sir, but phase two starts today. You will not leave me with this woman until you have answered all of her questions. And she is beginning to ask them.”

Behind the thick bifocals, the elderly man's eyes wavered for the briefest of seconds. Long enough for Graham to understand the hesitation. Why hadn't he seen it before? The courageous old coot
did
know fear.

“Rand, she has a right to know even if she's not ready. Even if she tosses you out on your ear.”

He nodded. “When?”

“By this weekend. There are a few loose ends to tie up.”

He nodded again. “I'm tired.”

Graham reached down and released the wheelchair's brakes. “No you're not. You're going to go flirt with the ladies in the lobby. Do you want to know why?”

Rand did his best imitation of a glare.

“Because Adele Chandler is the most genuinely kind person I have ever met. She will not toss you out.”
Me, on the other hand, she very likely will.

Tracking down Greg Findley wasn't all that difficult. Adele could have done it herself had she been so inclined. But Graham knew she thought it a hopeless battle. Foisting the reality of a daughter onto a disinterested father threatened the emotional stability she had built around her little family of two. There was no reason to go there.

Graham saw every reason to go there. Chelsea would want to know about Findley, had a right to know about him. Adele, whether she admitted it or not, needed closure on the subject. And Graham himself? He needed the closure as well. What if the woman he loved met the father of her child and old sparks ignited? He had seen far stranger things than that occur.

Some brief late-night Internet surfing garnered the information he needed. A few Wednesday morning phone calls completed the process. Greg Findley lived in Denver, Colorado, where he was a branch manager for a software company founded by his father, Greg Sr. Sitting in the small kitchen of his furnished apartment, Graham reviewed his notes, reached again for his cell, and punched in the number to that branch office.

“Mr. Findley, please.”

“May I ask who's calling?”

“It's a personal matter. He won't recognize my name.”

“Just a moment, please.”

A moment later another female voice answered. “This is Mr. Findley's personal assistant. How may I help you?”

“I need to talk with Mr. Findley.”

“He's unavailable. If you care to leave your name and number—”

“Tell him,” Graham interrupted in a patient but firm tone, “it's about Adele Chandler. He'll want to know.”

She hesitated. “Just a moment, please.”

True to her word, he waited only a moment, but it was her voice, not Findley's.

“Sir, I'm sorry. Mr. Findley doesn't know an Adele Chandler.”

“I see. Would you relay just one more message? Tell him the DNA testing won't take long. All we'll need is a stray hair, which we will easily find in his silver Porsche when it's towed in to the garage this afternoon for some unscheduled repair work.”

“Hold on.”

It took less than a moment.

A male voice barked, “Who is this?”

“A friend of Ms. Chandler's. You do remember her, don't you? Pretty nineteen-year-old, naturally curly hair. Surely you recall the youth hostel in Rome, which you hastily fled eighteen years ago this summer?”

“What if I don't?”

Graham knew he had made the correct choice by calling on the phone rather than going in person. Had Greg Findley been standing in the same room, he would have throttled him. “I think the question is, what if you do?”

“You just threatened to harm my car.”

“No, I just got you on the line. Look, Findley, money is not an issue. Ms. Chandler is not after seventeen years of back child support. She's independently wealthy.”

He laughed. “So she did get her old man's money after all?”

“As you did your father's. Half a mil a year declared income for running a branch office that scarcely nets that much isn't bad at all.” He paused, letting the breadth of his knowledge sink in. “Findley, you have a charming daughter who turns seventeen in May. She's not looking for a new family. Your wife, Vicky, does not have to be her stepmother. Your children, Alyssa and Greggy, do not have to be her halfsiblings in anything beyond fact. She's simply curious about her biological father.”

Except for his audibly labored breathing, Findley was silent.

“I take it your wife doesn't know. She doesn't have to. My question is, are you willing to talk to your daughter Chelsea Chandler on the phone?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Don't take too long. Why don't you give me the number of your direct line? It would be much more discreet, don't you think?” He let the implication hang. Going through secretaries or family members would complicate matters.

After another moment of heavy breathing, he gave it to him.

“Thank you. One word of caution. When she calls, please don't deny who you are.”
Or we'll be talking again, you sleazy lowlife bum.

“I get the message. Who are you, anyway?”

“As I said, just a friend. I appreciate your cooperation. Have a good day.” Graham disconnected.

Tanner jogged the two blocks between the video store and Cherry Street. It was dark, but spring was definitely in the air, a week ahead of its scheduled appearance. He wore warmup pants and jacket, glad to leave behind winter's layers.

There was Helen parked on the street ahead. Kate must be home. He trotted up to the front door and rang the bell.

A moment later Chelsea opened the door. Beckoning him inside, she grinned and yelled over her shoulder, “It's Mr. Carlucci!”

“Hi.”

Adele and Graham walked in from the living room and smiled broadly at him.

“Hi.” Now they were all grinning at him. He resisted the urge to turn around and see if something was going on behind him. “What?”

Adele said, “It's just so good to see you after last night. You scared us half to death.”

“Mom! Not exactly a good choice of words.”

Tanner was lost. “What'd I do?”

Graham said, “You didn't do anything. We just heard the report about the charter plane crash.”

Adele added, “And Kate went berserk.”

Graham touched her shoulder. “Only hyper. I'd say berserk kicked in when she was at the airport calling every employee there clueless.”

The three of them laughed.

Tanner still didn't get it. “Back up. Kate was at the airport?”

Adele asked, “Didn't you see her?”

He shook his head.

“She insisted on rushing out the door the moment she heard the news. She didn't even eat!”

They laughed again.

Kate didn't eat? Because of a plane crash?
He was still lost. “Is she home?”

Adele nodded. “Go on in.” Still laughing, the three of them went back into the living room.

Why hadn't Kate told him she'd been at the airport? Berserk? Why would she be that upset?

He knocked on her sliding door located at the other side of the dining room. He could hear the television.

“Come in!”

He slid the door open.

She was sitting on the couch, her nose in the laptop.

“Hey.”

Her head jerked up.

“Sorry. That makes twice today I've startled you.”

“No problem.” She used a forefinger to push the glasses up along her nose.

“I thought you were coming over tonight?”

“Was I?”

“We talked about it this morning. About rearranging the shelves. You had ideas.”

“I talk too much sometimes, don't I?”

“No. I'm always ready to listen to your ideas.”

“You'll do fine. It's your store.” She looked down at the monitor and bit a fingernail.

He had never seen Kate bite her nails. She was quirky, not hyper or prone to going berserk. “Adele said you went to the airport last night.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I thought I could find out some information about the crash. If it were a local plane, think of the scoop.”

“You would have written about my fiery death?”

“And gotten it in this week's edition too.” She tried to smile, but the attempt failed.

“You're one tough reporter.”

“I probably belong in DC.”

“Maybe.” Maybe she did if she couldn't own up to last night's episode, which included a frantic phone message on his machine. It was like the birthday and flying situations, other issues she didn't want to address. What was her problem now? He changed the subject. “I hired Mick and Betsy.”

“Good choices. Tanner, I really need to work. Deadline's today. Tonight. Before 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

“First solo week, huh?”

“Yeah, and I'm a little behind.”

“Okay. Catch you later.” He backed out and slid the door shut.

Newspaper deadline. Maybe that was her problem.

He doubted it.

Graham knelt before the fireplace and crumpled newspapers. The other night he had checked the chimney and flue and declared them fire worthy. With a small load of wood in his trunk and a discount-store poker, he went to work. Adele was dubious, but she liked the thought of a cozy fire and trusted he knew what he was doing. He had inwardly cringed at her words.

Now he inwardly cringed as he did whenever Tanner Carlucci was near. Nice enough guy, but he knew too much for Graham's comfort. If the pilot were to mention he had flown Graham and Rand from Baltimore to Rockville, Adele might be inclined not to let him off the hook again.

He was growing weary of the misrepresentations, of taking advantage of Adele's trusting nature. How in the world had she developed such an attitude?

He straightened and surveyed his handiwork. It just might work. He pulled the old screen across the front of the fire.

Adele clapped from her seat on the couch beside Chelsea. They both were reading.

He said, “Success! No smoke. I'd better wash my hands.”

In the dining room he passed Tanner, who was on his way out. The guy appeared a little miffed. He nodded curtly and mumbled, “See you.”

“Bye.”

He hadn't yet figured out that relationship. Kate had been visibly upset last night. Why didn't she tell Tanner she had been at the airport? It was a curious household tonight. Kate hadn't come out of her room. Chelsea had been downright clingy with her mother, not her usual aloof, breezy self. Adele had been uncharacteristically somber.

A few minutes later he returned to the living room and paused in the doorway. Mother and daughter were hugging, Adele murmuring something.

She spotted him and gave Chelsea a final squeeze. “Okay?”

The girl nodded and stood. “Well.” She smiled first at him and then at Adele. “I have some serious homework to do. I'll leave you two lovebirds to enjoy this romantic fire.”

“Chels—”

“'Night, Mom.” She leaned over and kissed her mother's blushing cheek. “'Night, Graham.”

“'Night.”

As she left the room, he took her place on the couch near the fireplace. “Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn't.”

“You're blushing.” As always, the woman's loveliness intrigued him.

“I wish she would stop the teasing.”

“Except for that remark, she seemed very sweet to you tonight. Did something happen?”

“You're awfully observant of details for a man.”

He shrugged.

She peered over her shoulder toward the doorway. “You are so strange at times. A puzzle.” She looked back at him. Her face went slack, as if some inner resolve fell away.

His breath caught. Did she suspect something? He wasn't ready to explain.

“It's Tara,” she whispered. “She's pregnant.” Adele put a hand to her mouth and gazed at the fire.

Relief flashed through him, and then he comprehended what she had said. Tara was like another daughter to her. He slid to her side and wrapped his arms around her as the first tear glistened on her cheek.

“Oh, Graham! I've been holding it in all day.” She sobbed softly. “I didn't want to cry in front of Chelsea.”

He held her close. Unbidden comparisons flashed in his mind. Sammi hadn't been as open with her emotions. He recalled holding her when she cried over her father's death. There was the time she had broken her arm. Other than that…

Or was it him? Had he just not been as receptive to her emotional needs? Work consumed him in those days. Now he knew better. What had Sammi done with her tears? What had Adele done with hers?

“Graham, I'm sorry.” She straightened and brushed them away. Curling her legs beneath herself, she huddled sideways against the back of the couch and faced him.

He touched her hair. “Don't be.”

“I don't know why I open up to you. You're like this guardian angel God sent to watch over me. Do you affect all women this way?”