From Here To Paternity

The drive down to the golf course, on a twisting mountain highway, took over an hour. Usually that drive was a quiet one. It was early in the morning, and Clovis liked to sip the coffee he brought with him in a big red Thermos and watch the sun rise.

But that day, Uncle Clovis had plenty to say.

The way Clovis had heard it, Old Tony Dellazola had seen Charlene Cooper headed out of town—going east, in the direction of Brand’s house, as a matter of fact—at a little before seven Saturday morning. Old Tony claimed he’d seen a baby seat strapped in the back of that silver-gray wagon of hers.

And then, at about seven twenty-five, Charlene had been spotted again, this time by Emmy Ralens and Redonda Beals, coming out of Brand’s driveway and turning onto Riverside Road. Not ten minutes later, she’d shown up at the diner carrying a baby she claimed was her sister’s.

“So did Charlene pay you a visit yesterday morning?” Brand’s Uncle Clovis asked.

“Yeah. She did.”

“I thought the two of you never spoke.”

“As a rule, we don’t.”

Clovis waited—for Brand to offer some sort of explanation. But Brand had no plans to do any such thing. They rolled down into the heart of one canyon, across a bridge and then began climbing again.

“You know,” said Clovis. “Daisy and I always think of you as the son we never had.”

“And I consider you like a dad, Uncle Clovis.”

“If you got a problem, I want you to feel you can come to me, that we can work it out together.”

“Thanks, Uncle Clovis. I appreciate that.”

“So, then?”

“There’s nothing. Believe me.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t.”

For the rest of the ride, Clovis was blessedly quiet.

At the golf course, they teed off and played three holes before, at the fourth tee, Clovis remarked, “Charlene’s story is that the baby’s here for a visit.”

“Yeah,” said Brand. “That’s what I understand.”

“Kinda strange. I mean, that is a very young baby to be without her mother. And nobody’s seen Sissy. That’s odd, don’t you think? Hard to get into the Flat without somebody noticing.”

Brand handed his uncle his favorite driver. “Here you go. And don’t worry, okay? Tell Aunt Daisy that everything’s fine. Charlene’s taking care of her niece for a while. No matter what wild stories folks like to make up, that’s all that’s happening.”

Don’t worry.

Brand wished he could take his own damn advice.

The stuff Clovis had told him ate at him. He knew people were talking, putting two and two together, deciding that there was only one reason Charlene would take her sister’s new baby and go knocking on Brand’s door.

If they weren’t already saying that Brand had to be the baby’s dad, they soon would be. Before you knew it, they’d be comparing him to his own bad dad, who’d managed to impregnate any number of gullible women in his long and disturbing life as a bona fide sociopath. Oh, yeah. They’d all be babbling on about how the apple never fell far from the tree and like father, like son….

Worst of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlene.

Couldn’t stop worrying about her, wondering how she was holding up, what with not knowing where Sissy was and having to keep a brave face on things while she ran her business and took care of a new baby on her own.

His mother called at six-thirty that night from the B&B she’d been running since before Brand was born. She would have served her guests afternoon tea by then. Dinner was for herself—and maybe her boyfriend, Alyosha Panopopoulis, a widower she’d been dating for over a year. Bowie and Buck both lived out of town now, but sometimes she’d invite Brett to bring Angie and the baby over. And sometimes she’d call Brand.

Chastity said, “I’ve got that chicken broccoli casserole you like in the oven.”

“The one with the almonds and water chestnuts?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ll be there. Ten minutes.”

“I’ll set you a place.”

The best thing about Brand’s mom was how she never butted into her son’s business—well, almost never. Now and then one of them would really tee her off. Then she’d let them know in no uncertain terms what they’d done wrong and what they’d better do about it. But such times were rare.

Usually, a man could sit at her kitchen table in the back of the B&B and enjoy her cooking and her calm, easygoing ways, and never be asked to come up with an answer to an uncomfortable question.

And so it was that night. Chastity had a whiskey and soda waiting for him. He sat at the table and sipped it as she cut up a green salad and took homemade bread from the oven to cool.

They talked of ordinary stuff: how his practice was picking up, now he’d pretty much taken over from Clovis who’d only been in the office part-time for the past five or six years. Brand was attracting clients from all over the county, as well as several from down in Nevada City and Grass Valley.

Chastity said she was thinking of redoing a couple of the guest rooms upstairs. “I talked to Glory today,” she added.

Glory Dellazola and Bowie, Brand’s youngest brother, had been in love—and probably still were. Glory had gotten pregnant. Bowie had wanted to marry her. But Bowie was big trouble and she wouldn’t have him. In the end Glory had taken their baby and moved to New York to work for Brand’s oldest brother, Buck, and his wife, B.J. Glory was nanny for Buck’s son, Joseph James.

No one knew where Bowie was. He’d left town without telling anyone where he was going.

“So how’s Glory doing?” Brand sipped his drink.

“Just fine,” said Chastity. “She’s taking those online classes the way she planned, getting herself a degree.”

“That’s good.”

Chastity put the casserole on the table, along with the bread and the salad. And then she took her chair, smoothed her napkin on her lap and said a short grace, the way she always liked to do.

Brand bent his head, too.

His mother said, “Amen.”

Brand glanced up and met her eyes across the table. And suddenly it seemed the best thing, just to say what was on his mind.

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”