She frowned. “I’m not happy with that idea. I don’t know the system and I’d only end up at another dead end. This whole process has been frustrating enough as it is. I leave town early tomorrow. We’ll be in Malibu for a few days, and after that we’ll be traveling. I’d prefer to have you deal with the situation. As you might well imagine, I have no experience with matters of this sort.”
“I’ll do what I can, but I make no guarantees,” I said. “Parole officers are notoriously tight-lipped.”
“All the more reason for you to handle it. I assume your inquiry will be discreet.”
“Of course.”
“Good,” she said. “Once you have his address and phone number, you can send me a note in care of my post office box. My assistant will know where we are and she’ll be forwarding mail twice a week.”
“May I ask what this is about?”
She paused, her gaze not quite meeting mine. “He’s my son.”
Intuitively and from the heart, I hadn’t seen that one coming and I was taken aback. I said, “Ah.”
“I became pregnant and bore a child when I was fifteen years old. If the choice had been mine, I’d have kept the baby and raised him myself, but my parents were adamant. They felt I was too young and too immature to take on such a burden; a point I could hardly refute. They were convinced he’d be better off in a two-parent home. Given his criminal history, they were obviously mistaken in that regard.”
“Does he know who you are?”
Her cheeks tinted slightly. “He does. Some years ago I wrote him a letter in care of the adoption agency. The social worker said she’d keep it in his file. I wanted to make sure he’d have a way to reach me if he were ever interested.”
“And did you hear from him?”
“I did. He called shortly after his eighteenth birthday. We met twice, and then I lost track of him. When I saw the brief note about his release from Lompoc, his silence suddenly made sense. That’s when I went back and did a follow-up search in the archives at the Dispatch.”
I glanced at the article. “You first learned he’d been in prison when you saw this?”
“That’s correct. I don’t ordinarily read the Dispatch, but I spotted a copy as I was leaving my dentist’s office. When I caught sight of the name, I was so shocked, I had to sit down for a moment and catch my breath. I was also deeply ashamed, as though the fault were mine. I took my time deciding what I wanted to do.”
“And that would be what?”
“I’d like to help him if there’s anything he needs.”
“That’s generous.”
“It’s not about generosity. It’s about making amends.”
“Does he know how well-off you are?”
Her expression became set. “What difference does that make?”
“You’re not worried he might try to take advantage?”
“If he were going to do that, he’d have done so years ago. I’ve never made a secret of my financial position. I offered him money in the past and he declined.”
“What if he’s embarrassed about his felony conviction and doesn’t want to hear from you?”
“If he decides not to talk to me, then so be it, but I want him to have the opportunity. I feel a sense of responsibility.” She picked up the wine bottle to top off her glass and the label caught my eye. I’d seen the same Chardonnay at the liquor store for ninety bucks a pop. While I didn’t actually gasp aloud, she must have deciphered my look and held out the bottle. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to talk you into it.”
“Maybe half a glass.”
I watched her pour, taking advantage of the moment to assess her situation. “What about your husband? Where is he in this?”
“Geoffrey knows I had a child and put him up for adoption. All of this happened years before the two of us met. What he doesn’t know is that we reconnected, and he certainly doesn’t know about Christian’s serving a prison term. I intend to tell him, but so far I haven’t felt the time was right.”
“I can see where it might be an awkward revelation to spring on him after the fact.”
“On the other hand, if my son doesn’t care to pursue a relationship, why mention it at all? Once you ’fess up, you’re stuck. Geoffrey hates deception and he’s slow to forgive. There’s no point in creating trouble unnecessarily.”
“Indeed,” I said. Without even meaning to, I was echoing the tone and manner of her speech, and I was hoping the shift wasn’t permanent.
“That’s why I’m asking you to act as a go-between, using your name and phone number instead of mine. I don’t want to risk my husband’s intercepting a message before I’ve told him the whole of it.”
“You don’t want your name brought into it at all,” I said.
“I do not.”
“What reason would I give for tracking him down? I’ve never met Christian Satterfield.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of some excuse. The point is, I want my privacy protected. I’ll insist on that.”