With two fingers, Felicia enlarged the image until the blurry face of a runty six-year-old filled the iPhone screen. Shadow cast from the bill of his cap obscured most of the upper half of his face, but the slight smile was visible.
“It’s possible,” she said, studying the photo. “His lips are sort of full, and maybe his nose is a bit flatter and broader. His skin tone? No darker than some of my Italian friends. Of course, I can’t see his hair because of that cap. But yeah, he could be passing.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen C. D. without a hat. And a cigarillo,” Brooke said. “And he’s spent a lifetime out in the sun. The question is, what do we do with this gem of information?”
“Let’s go see Sister Theresa, show her this photo, and ask if there was ever any discussion that Charlie, or Buck, or whatever you want to call him could have been biracial,” Lizzie said.
“Can’t. I’ve gotta pick up Henry from Mom’s by five, and I’m already late,” Brooke said.
“And I’ve got to make sure Auntie Vee has eaten and taken her meds,” Felicia said. “Louette’s been great about letting us stay there, but I’m the one responsible for Vee’s health.”
“Maybe you could tactfully broach the subject of C. D. with Varina again, given what we learned today,” Lizzie said.
Felicia laughed. “She was absolutely adamant that Josephine never had a child. I don’t know what her reaction would be if I ask her if Josephine had a child with a black man. Her head might just spin all the way off her head at the very idea.”
“If C. D. would ever return my call, I’d ask him about it,” Brooke said, glancing at her own phone, which hadn’t rung. “I guess I’ll let Gabe know what we learned today. After all, he’s the administrator of Josephine’s estate. Let him sort it all out.”
53
By the time she’d fed and bathed Henry and yawned her way through story time and bedtime, it was after nine o’clock, which was an hour past his normal bedtime and what felt like an eternity past her own.
Brooke peeled out of her clothes and crawled into her unmade bed wearing an old T-shirt. Her laptop rested on her nightstand, but she didn’t have the energy to even lift the top. She had emails to return, legal issues to research, documents to draft. The corner of her bedroom was piled high with this week’s dirty laundry and last week’s laundry that she’d never gotten around to folding. She wouldn’t get to any of it tonight, and based on what she knew of her upcoming schedule, tomorrow wasn’t looking good either.
Which left only Saturday. In her past life, Saturdays were for long runs followed by endless Bloody Mary–soaked brunches, followed by a trip to the nail salon and maybe shopping with a girlfriend, and then date night with Harris.
But that life was ancient history. It would be a miracle if she managed to muck out her house, get to the grocery store, and maybe do some laundry this Saturday.
Saturday! She flopped backward onto the mattress. This Saturday was supposed to be date night with Gabe Wynant. She’d allowed herself to be sweet-talked into going to a dinner dance with him at the Cloister, but she’d forgotten to line up a babysitter.
She reached for her phone, keeping her fingers crossed that Farrah would be available.
There was a missed call on her phone from an unfamiliar number and an area code she’d never seen before. The caller had left a message. She touched the Play button, and as soon as she heard the voice her pulse rocketed.
“Hey, Brooke. It’s Pete. Look, I know it’s short notice, but I’m back on the East Coast, headed to a conference in Miami. I’ve got a stopover in Savannah, where one of my former colleagues from the Park Service is picking me up, then we’re driving down to the conference together. I’m wondering—no, I’m hoping, you might agree to meet me at the Savannah airport. I bought a cheap plane ticket, which means I’m about to board my first of three legs of the flight, which is supposed to get me in around ten tomorrow morning. Maybe we could do an early lunch and catch up before my colleague picks me up? Okay, anyway, I really hope to see you tomorrow. I’ve missed you, you know?”
Pete Haynes missed her. He wanted to see her. Have lunch. Catch up. After three plus years. She could already picture the conversation.
Her: How was Alaska? How are the caribou? Is it really cold there?
Him: Alaska’s great. The caribou are awesome, and it’s cold as shit. How about you? What have you been up to?
Her: Oh, you know, the usual. Practicing law and raising your son. Wanna split dessert?
She ran her fingers through her hair and groaned. This could not be happening. The call had come in while she was bathing Henry. It was too late to call Pete and try to beg off.
Instead, she texted Farrah.
Hey. Can you keep Henry for me tomorrow morning? Gotta run up to Savannah. Also need sitter for Saturday night. Heavy date. I’ll pay double your usual rate.
Farrah’s reply came back in less than a minute.
So sorry! Can’t tomorrow. It’s graduation. I’m a maybe for Saturday night. Can I tell you tomorrow?
No! she wanted to shout. Commit already. But she couldn’t really blame Farrah. This was a big weekend for a graduating senior. Who wanted to be saddled with babysitting? And maybe it was for the best. Maybe this was the universe telling her she needed to stay home and take care of her kid and concentrate on building some kind of a career.
Or maybe it was the universe telling her to call her mother.
Good thing Marie was a bit of a night owl, Brooke thought.
“Hi!” Marie said. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
“I was, and then I had a missed call. From Pete.”
“Oooh. Tell.”
“He’s got a layover at the Savannah airport tomorrow on his way to a conference in Miami, and he wants me to meet him for lunch and to catch up.”
“You’re going, right?”
“Not sure. He gets in at ten. But Henry gets out of day care at noon tomorrow because of teacher conferences. And Farrah’s graduation is tomorrow, so she can’t pick him up and keep him. I hate to ask, especially after you had him all day today…”
“Bring him to me,” Marie said quickly. “How was he tonight? I didn’t want to jinx anything, but he was a little crabby. And he hardly ate anything.”
“He seemed fine,” Brooke assured her. “We were both wiped out after the long drive home. In fact, he fell asleep in the bathtub after dinner.”
“How are you feeling about seeing Pete tomorrow? Are you excited? Nervous?”
“I haven’t had time to process it yet. A little of both. Oh, shit!” Brooke wailed. “I have to figure out what to wear. I haven’t even done laundry since I got home from Talisa.”
“I looked in your closet when I was putting away clothes last time I was there,” Marie said. “You have half a dozen pairs of white jeans. Put on a cute top that shows some cleavage. Wear those sexy black sandals I gave you for your birthday. Pull your hair back with those tortoise clips, and wear some dangly earrings.”
“Mom! Pete gets in at ten. I’ll look like a hooker on the stroll for a john if I show up at the airport in cleavage and spike heels at that hour of the morning.”
“You wish. And don’t forget to wear makeup, for heaven’s sake. You do still know how to apply makeup, right?”
“Very funny. I wear makeup all the time.”
“Like when?”
“Like if I have a court date or something.”
“You’re going to tell Pete about Henry tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t decided,” Brooke said. “I thought I’d see how it goes.”
“No matter how it goes, you have to tell him,” Marie insisted. “Henry is his son. He has a right to know, and you have a responsibility to your son to allow him to have a father in his life. Even if you decide that your relationship with Pete is over, you need to do this, Brooke.”
“We’ll see,” Brooke said. “I gotta hang up now. See you in the morning.”
“Makeup. Heels. Cleavage. Earrings,” Marie said. “And courage.”
*