My throat knotted up. “It goes both ways, you know. You should have called me last week if you were so worried.”
Silence.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said at last. “Did you find what you’re looking for?”
I rubbed my face. What was I looking for? Oh yeah, just trying to figure out who I was by figuring out my mother. But she was dead. It seemed her trail had been washed away by the years. And really, what difference would it make to know whether she liked dark chocolate or milk chocolate best? Would it change the fact that I would always prefer dark? I stared at the perforations in the ceiling squares. Maybe it was all just an excuse not to get involved in a relationship. Who could understand it? I’d have to be crazy not to return Brad’s love.
I sighed into the receiver. “I’m just starting to figure things out.”
“Gonna take awhile, huh?” Brad’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“Yeah. Pretty sure it is. Hey, I’m going to my grandfather’s tonight. I get to meet my dad’s side of the family.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. I bumped into Puppa by accident. Kind of funny how it happened.” I looked at the stove clock. “In fact, I have to get going soon if I’m going to get to supper on time.”
“Well, enjoy yourself. I hope it’s everything you thought it would be.”
“Thanks. Thank you a lot.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure. Yeah. Call me sometime.”
“Okay then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
The phone went silent.
I flipped it closed and stared at it for a while. I just wanted Brad here. I wanted him with me. I wanted things to be like they were in Rawlings. Phone calls, walks, supper together four nights a week, and church on Sundays. But I’d left him. I’d moved away from all that. And now it was a phone call once a week, walks on my own, and meals all alone.
I stood up and put on my jacket. I stuffed the cell into my pocket. Why’d Brad have to call me anyway? I’d been doing great without him. I’d hardly given him a thought. He’d nearly been relegated to that distant place called the Past. And I would have been fine without him.
The kitchen door slammed behind me, a little harder than I intended. I was fine without him. I didn’t need his “Boo hoo hoo, why didn’t you call me” pressure in my life. I had another mission to focus on. Maybe I’d get back to him when it was completed, or maybe not. Only time would tell.
I drove through Port Silvan, taking the curve past town and heading out along Lake Michigan. Silvan Bay, a once thriving harbor in the now defunct port town, was covered over with ice. Fishing shanties dotted the white expanse. A snowmobile, nothing more than a black speck, made its way to shore.
I passed the sign to the public boat launch, right where my grandfather said it would be. A line of white fences cropped up, barely visible against the mounds of snow. Puppa’s house. I turned into the driveway and slowed, stunned by the view ahead. A quarter mile down, across the serene, snow-covered lawn, rose a massive lake house. A pillared porch wrapped the front and sides. Weathered gray shakes covered the exterior. Bright white trim and shutters provided relief from the dreary color. Above, third-story dormers broke up the vastness of the charcoal roof. A fieldstone chimney topped the structure. Just beyond the house lay the icy harbor.
I blew out a breath of anxiety and pressed on the gas.
I parked along the circle drive that flanked the sweeping front stair. A red four-wheeler was parked to one side. Those things must be a dime a dozen up here. I tucked my keys into my pocket, took a deep breath, and headed toward the door. I took a closer look at the dwelling as I walked up crimson steps. The canopy of the porch dwarfed me with its ten-foot height. The width was at least ten feet as well, providing plenty of space for outdoor furniture, which was now covered in cheerful striped tarps and clumps of snow. The front door itself was double- wide with a transom above. Stained glass in a colorful red and green tulip pattern trumped the overbearing gray shakes to extend a belated welcome.
I pressed the bell.
Deep inside the walls, I heard a bing bong bing. The notes sounded rich, an upper-class interpretation of the boring, traditional ding dong.
A shadow approached the door. The handle turned. The white wood swung open. I put on my happy face, expecting my grandfather.
I got the man from the bluff instead. The one on the red four-wheeler. Candice’s accusations about my grandfather being a bad apple appeared to be dead-on.
I wiped off my smile and squinted at the doorman. He was handsome in an overactive testosterone gland sort of way. Dark whiskers gave the hint of a beard without him actually having one, as if his watch read five o’clock perpetually. Black hair, blue eyes, more bulk under his plaid flannel shirt than seemed natural. He reminded me how Brad had looked that day on the porch when he’d opened his door in just his sweats and tank.
I cleared my throat. “Please tell me I’m not related to you.”
A grin broke out on his face. “You want me that bad, huh?”
I sputtered, indignant. “Pardon me? I do not want you.” My arm muscles twitched as I contemplated whether to strangle him. “What I meant was, I hope I’m not related to the maniac who stood there on the bluff and watched me nearly plummet to my death.”
“I saw you get up. You looked okay to me. You’ll probably stay clear of the bluff from now on, huh?” He stepped to one side. “Come on in. I’ll tell Papa B you’re here.”
I glared at him as I entered the foyer. Who was he, anyway? The right-hand man of the local godfather? Next to me, a grand stairway shot straight up to the second floor. Dark cherry floors and woodwork against a backdrop of bare, white walls gave the interior a clean, uncluttered feel. The Spartan approach to decorating made me wonder if the house was just some elaborate bachelor pad. How could a woman resist a throw rug at the front door or a plant in the corner?
“Well, are you coming?” he said over his shoulder.
I hurried to keep up. We stepped out of the hall and into a room that stretched the entire width of the house. One end served as a dining area, the other the living room. Wall-to-wall windows framed the view of the bay. On the opposite shore, a row of historic buildings made the snowy scene look like a Currier and Ives rendering.
“Patricia.”
I turned at the sound of my grandfather’s voice. The attractive seventy-ish man approached me with a smile and held me in a gentle embrace. He stepped back and looked toward the plaid-shirt guy.
“You’ve met Gerard, my brother Sid’s oldest boy Owen’s son.”
His attempt at explaining the relationship left me dizzy. I looked toward Gerard. He gave me a mischievous double eyebrows-up as if letting me know I was eligible to be on his radar.
I rolled my eyes.
“Joel,” my grandfather called over his shoulder. “Get in here and meet Patricia.”
A man entered from the front of the house, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.
Gerard dropped into a lounge chair. “My derelict little brother.”
I had no doubt which side of the family my height came from. Cousin Joel towered as tall as the other two Russo men. His light brown hair was disheveled. His moustache made him seem a younger copy of his great-uncle Bernard. A black sweatshirt and blue jeans showed traces of flour.
He nodded. “Patricia.”
“Hi.” My smile must have stretched from ear to ear. I was so excited to have cousins—boy cousins. Finally, the playmates I never had. I wanted to run outside and throw a football or something.
I looked at the strapping men. “You know, that Patricia stuff is a little too formal for family. I think you guys qualify to call me Tish.”
“Sounds like a sneeze,” Gerard said in his dry, cynical way.
My grandfather glowered in his direction. Puppa turned back to me. “Patricia is a lovely name. I wouldn’t dream of shortening it.”
“Uh . . .” I squirmed. “I kind of like the name Tish better. Do you mind?”
“Of course he minds,” the brash Gerard piped up. “That’s the name Eva and Beth called you. He wouldn’t be
