Her mother squeezed lemon into a glass of iced tea and handed the glass to Brooke.
“How are you feeling? You look a little better than you did this morning. Have you taken your temperature?” Brooke asked.
“I’m okay. Now, did you or did you not tell Pete that he has a son?”
“I wanted to,” Brooke said, sipping her drink. “But when he didn’t even notice how much Henry looks like him, I don’t know. Something inside me just shut down.”
“Your backbone?”
“How could he not recognize his own child?” Brooke cried. “Even that alleged colleague who was with him, the enchantingly lovely Hope, I know she saw the resemblance the minute she laid eyes on Henry.”
Marie sipped her own tea. “Oh, Brooke, you know how clueless men are about stuff like that. When you were born, your father stood outside the nursery window at Candler Hospital proudly telling everybody within listening distance that a total stranger’s newborn was his beautiful new daughter. And get this—the child was a boy, and he weighed twelve pounds, eight ounces, which was exactly twice what you weighed.”
“I’ve never heard that story before,” Brooke said. “Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”
Her mother slid her phone across the table. “Call and ask him if you don’t believe me.” She glanced fondly at her grandson, who at that moment was happily coloring at a child-sized table Marie had brought down from the attic for him. “Did Pete even get a really good look at him?”
Brooke shrugged. “You know how shy Henry gets around strangers. He sort of buried his head against my shirt when Pete was talking to him. But he did tell Pete he was three, which, if the man had any brains in his head, should have told him that Henry was the fruit of his loom. He even had the nerve to ask me if I’d been seeing Henry’s father while we were together!”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him the father hadn’t been in our lives in a long time, which was the truth.”
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t simply tell him the truth: that you got pregnant the last night you were together and then couldn’t quite get up the nerve to tell him about his child.”
Brooke jiggled the ice cubes in her glass. “I wanted to. Truly, I did. But the food took so long to get there, and it was so weird and awkward between us, and then after the food did arrive and we finally got around to talking about us, that damn girl showed up to say that their ride was there and they needed to leave. I swear, she did it on purpose.”
“Didn’t he tell you they were just colleagues? Nothing romantic?”
“I guess. Maybe I’m just paranoid. Pete did tell me he’s coming back through town to fly back to Alaska after the conference ends next week. He said I should call him if I want to see him—and that this time the ball’s in my court.”
“Fair enough,” Marie declared. “Next week, you call him. You get a sitter for Henry, and you arrange to meet Pete somewhere other than the airport, at a nice restaurant, and without his little friend Hope. And you sit down and put all your cards on the table.”
“He’ll hate me,” Brooke said. “Or worse. What if he decides he doesn’t want to be with me but he wants me to share custody of Henry? What if he tries to take him away from me?”
Marie rolled her eyes. “He has a right to be angry, but he’s not going to try to take your son. You’re being ridiculous, and you know it. Stop being so paranoid. I know you, Brooke. If you cared enough about this man to sleep with him, you know his character. Right?”
“Maybe. But it’s been three years. Maybe he’s changed. He grew a big, awful Grizzly Adams beard that hides his beautiful face. And he’s been pumping iron too. He’s, like, beefcake now. Who knows what else is going on with him?”
“You’re giving me a headache,” Marie said wearily. “I can’t talk any sense into you. Are you going to see Pete again or not?”
“Truthfully, I don’t know. My life is complicated enough right now. And part of that’s your fault.”
“Mine? What did I do?”
“You’re the one who told me it was okay to date Gabe Wynant. So I’m doing it. He’s taking me to the dinner dance at the Cloister tomorrow night, and he wants me to spend the night at his place after.”
“Oh, he does, does he?”
“He swears he’ll be a gentleman,” Brooke said.
“They always do,” Marie said primly. “Are you on any kind of birth control?”
“That’s none of your business,” Brooke said. But she wasn’t. There hadn’t been any need in a long time. As far as she was concerned, the combination of a rambunctious three-year-old and an exhausted single mother was the most effective birth control on the market.
Marie cocked her head and studied her daughter.
“What? What’s that look?” Brooke demanded.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“I hate it when you do that. It’s like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”
“Has it occurred to you that you’re at a fork in the road? The father of your child apparently wants to be in your life again. And in the meanwhile, Gabe Wynant has come a-courting. I know I encouraged you to see Gabe, but that was before all this business with Pete.”
“Yes, Mom, it has occurred to me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
“I certainly hope so. Anyway, you never told me what you and the girls found out on your fact-finding mission yesterday. Do you really think there’s a chance C. D. is Josephine’s son?” Marie asked.
Brooke shared the results of the previous day’s investigation, and Marie listened carefully. “Have you spoken to C. D. yet? If it’s true that his father might have been black, that’s going to come as a huge shock to someone of his generation.”
“I’ve left him messages, but nobody’s seen or talked to him. I’m starting to get a little worried about him, to tell you the truth,” Brooke said. “Lizzie was going to try to track him down today. I’ll call her on my way home to see what she knows.”
“Keep me posted,” Marie said. “And be careful driving home. Call me Sunday and fill me in on all the gory details of your night with Gabe.”
“A lady never kisses and tells,” Brooke said, grinning impishly.
“Except to her mother,” Marie said.
55
When Shug dropped her off at the dock at Talisa, Felicia and Lizzie were waiting, with Lizzie behind the wheel of the pickup truck. Shug waved goodbye as he backed the boat away from the dock, headed back to the mainland to run errands for Louette.
“I was kind of surprised to hear from you this morning,” Lizzie said as the two other women scooted in close to her in the front seat of the truck.
“After you told me yesterday that C. D. seems to be missing in action, it made me a little nervous. I mean, right now, he’s Josephine’s heir apparent,” Brooke said.
“Or at least, he’s our preferred heir apparent,” Felicia said. “Not that we have any say in the matter.”
“Did you talk to Varina? Ask her about the possibility that a black man could have fathered Josephine’s child?”
Felicia shook her head. “I can’t. She’s still pretty frail. And she’s so protective of Josephine’s reputation. Her main concern right now is when Josephine will be buried. She hates the idea of her body locked up in a freezer drawer at the morgue. Have you heard anything?”
“We’re waiting on the sheriff to release the body,” Brooke said. “I’ll ask Gabe when I see him tonight. Maybe, now that he’s been named administrator, he can speed things up.”
“You’re seeing Gabe tonight?” Lizzie asked, nudging Felicia.
“You two are so juvenile,” Brooke said.
“I told you so,” Felicia said, addressing Lizzie. “I definitely sensed some kind of a spark between those two.”
Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “It’s none of my business, but…”
“It really isn’t, so let’s change the subject,” Brooke said good-naturedly. “Talk to me about C. D. When was the last time anybody actually saw him?”
“Shug rode him over to the mainland last Monday,” Felicia said.