The Surprise Holiday Dad

The door opened into a living room almost military in its neatness. The brown couch and tan carpet were freshly vacuumed, while the carved wooden cabinets and chest were buffed to a sheen. They had belonged to Wade’s grandmother, who’d brought them from Germany when she married.

Karlotta Hunter had been buried before he was born, so he knew little of her except that she’d met Bruce while he was stationed in her country and had died when their son was in college. The official story was that she’d awakened late at night, tripped on the staircase, fallen and hit her head. The unofficial story, from Daryl, was that due to her unhappy marriage, she’d taken to drink, which had contributed to the accident.

Alcoholism ran deep in this family. It had skipped Bruce, although he had his own compulsion: chain-smoking. Apparently he’d quit, though, since the place no longer reeked of tobacco.

Wade settled on a polite greeting. “You look well.”

“I look dirty and smell worse.” His grandfather started up the steps. “Help yourself to coffee. There’s no beer.”

At 10:00 a.m.? The old man was assuming the worst, but Wade didn’t bother to correct him. “Thanks.”

He took his coffee black in a souvenir mug from Catalina Island. From a day trip with the girlfriend, perhaps? Over the buffet in the dining room, Wade studied the array of framed photos, hoping for a glimpse of the new lady, but these were all familiar faces.

Grandma Karlotta had sad eyes and old-fashioned braids wrapped around her head. A young black-haired Bruce stood stiffly erect in his blue dress marine uniform. Daryl at about the same age sported a combat utility uniform, better known as camouflage. At his college graduation, Wade posed in mortarboard and gown. There was no picture of Wade’s mother.

Upstairs the shower ran for about a minute, followed by a brief fit of coughing. It ended quickly and sounded less alarming than in the old days.

Bruce descended within minutes, his pants and shirt pressed, his hair slick. “Guess you’ve got some news for me,” he said without preamble.

How much had he heard via the grapevine? “About my son?” Wade asked.

The old man’s nostrils flared. “The one you abandoned.”

How typical of him to state that as fact rather than a question. “No, I didn’t. His mother threatened to file false abuse charges. She was...troubled.” Wade saw no reason to go into detail. “I’ve been paying child support.”

Bruce’s scowl eased. “Glad to hear you aren’t a deadbeat.”

And I’d have appreciated your not assuming the worst. Wade hadn’t come here to fight, however. “I figured you might like to meet your great-grandson once I get visitation squared away with his aunt.”

“His aunt?” From the refrigerator, Bruce took out a glass bottle of orange juice. “You’re his father. Don’t be a weakling. Take your son and tell her to get lost.”

Wade hung on to his temper. “I’ll handle this my way.”

“Suit yourself.” Bruce poured juice into a glass. “Yeah, I’d like to meet the little guy, whenever this aunt snaps her fingers and gives you permission.”

“I’m here to make peace, but that isn’t going to happen if you keep insulting me.” Wade poured the remaining half of his coffee in the sink. It was decaf anyway.

Avoiding his gaze, his grandfather peered at a framed California Angels team photo on the wall. It bore half a dozen signatures from the players. “You tossed off a few insults of your own the last time we met.”

Had he? “Such as?”

“Called me a rent-a-cop, for one thing,” Bruce snarled.

“Sorry about that.” Wade had lashed out in the heat of the moment.

“Your apology is too late.” Resentment that must have been festering all this time blazed from his grandfather’s face. “I had to sell the agency I spent years building because my son’s a drunk and my grandson holds me in contempt.”

Behind the anger, Wade sensed the hurt. “I don’t hold you in contempt. And you never told me the future of the agency was on the line.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.”

“I’m not a mind reader,” Wade said. “Now I’d like to let bygones be bygones.”

“Why? Because you need a job?” Bruce fired back. “Guess you’re not too proud to be a rent-a-cop now.”

“Guess I’m not.”

That stopped his grandfather. “You’re applying there?”

“Already have,” Wade said.

They faced each other across the kitchen. If he’d thought it would do any good, Wade would have repeated that he hoped they could reconcile, but he should have known better. He’d tried to smooth things over before and it hadn’t worked then, either.

After their argument he’d sent his grandfather Christmas cards despite receiving none in return. Then last December his card had come back with Bruce’s address crossed out and the handwritten notation “Don’t know him and don’t want to.”

Some people liked to hold a grudge. Don’t be one of them, Wade told himself, and took the plunge. “I was thinking that you, me and Reggie could see a baseball game sometime.”

“Maybe.” If Bruce longed to meet the boy—which he probably did—he disguised it well. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“What’s that?”

“Since you wouldn’t stoop to work at the agency when I owned it, don’t insult me by doing it now just because you got fired.”

“Laid off,” Wade corrected.

“Whatever, as you young people like to say.”

“I’ll take it under consideration.” If he stayed here any longer, Wade might lose his temper the way he had during their last meeting. “See you around, Grandpa. Thanks for the coffee.”

“See you.” Bruce walked him to the front. From the corner of his eye, Wade saw his grandfather watching as he rounded the side of the building.

At Fact Hunter Investigations, Wade reflected, he had an excellent shot at a suitable position that would allow him to stay near Reggie. Despite the old man’s request, it seemed unlikely that passing it up would do any good. More likely, his grandpa would see compliance as a weakness.

You couldn’t please him, so why try? On his cell phone, Wade pressed Mike Aaron’s number.

* * *

SEATED IN THE attorney’s waiting room, Adrienne glanced irritably at her watch. Wade was ten minutes late, and she had to be home in an hour to meet Reggie’s school bus.

Doubts and speculation were driving her crazy. In her medical practice, she was accustomed to dealing with uncertainty. Patient outcomes couldn’t always be predicted, and in surgery she had to change tactics instantly if complications developed.

Yet she’d lain awake last night, struggling with the unknowns about Reggie’s father. Would he break his son’s heart by playing the doting daddy until he got bored? Or would he demand full custody, ignoring Reggie’s attachment to Adrienne? In either case, what about Reggie’s rights to the house and its contents?

The man was no knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, Adrienne conceded. But she’d grown up with a bipolar father whose mood swings had kept the household teetering on the brink between his warm, expansive side and his abrupt withdrawals. Her sister had been equally unpredictable. There was no telling how many sides Wade Hunter had or which would emerge today.

Then she saw him through the blinds, cutting across the parking lot. He was carrying... Were those flowers?

She barely had time to rise and smooth her powder-blue dress before he blew into the room on a crisp breeze. Wearing a dark suit, with a trace of early gray at the temples, he had a distinguished air offset by the apologetic gleam in his eyes.