Shoot / Don't Shoot

I say, not as I do. Do as I say, not as I’ve done.

Bob Brundage’s torrent of words washed over her, but she couldn’t quite come to grips with them. Her parents—her mother and her father—had another child, a baby born out of wedlock? Was that possible? For almost thirty years, Joanna had thought of herself as an only child. Now it turns out she wasn’t.

“Those were the days of closed adoptions,” Bob Brundage continued. “My adoptive parents were wonderful people, but they’re both gone now. My father died of a stroke ten years ago, and my mother passed away just this last spring. And once I knew it wouldn’t hurt them—once they could no longer feel betrayed by my actions—I decided to start looking into my roots.

“I’ve actually known Eleanor’s and your names and where you live for several months now. Congratulations on your election, by the way. I saw a blurb about that in USA Today. I always check the Arizona listings, just for the hell of it, and one day, there you were. Then, when I found out a month ago that I would be coming to Fort Huachuca to do an inspection this month, it just seemed like the right thing to do. You’re not upset, are you?’

“Upset?” Joanna echoed, plastering an insincere smile on her face. “Why on earth would I be upset?”

But she was upset. Bob kept on talking, but Joanna stopped listening to him. Her ears and heart were tuned to the past, where she was rehashing Eleanor’s hysterical outbursts and the ugly things she had said once she had discovered Joanna was with Jenny. How could Joanna do such a stupid thing? Eleanor had raged. How could she do that to her own mother? How could she?

For over ten years, Joanna Brady had tolerated her mother’s barbed comments, her constant sniping. Eleanor had run down Andy Brady and their shotgun wedding at every opportunity. She had claimed Andy was never good enough for Joanna, that he had ruined her life, stolen her potential. And all the while ...

After all those years of criticism—both stated and implied—a decade’s worth of suppressed anger rose to the surface of Joanna Brady’s heart.

“Why exactly did you come here?” Joanna asked.

“I already told you,” Bob Brundage answered. “I wanted to find my roots. I wanted to find out if my interest in the army was genetically linked.”

After that small quip, he stopped for a moment and examined Joanna’s face. “You are upset,” he said. “I was afraid of that, but Eleanor said she you’d be fine.”

“How long have you known”—Joanna couldn’t bring herself to say the word Mother right then—”Eleanor?” she added lamely.

“I called her for the first time three and a half weeks ago. I didn’t know what her reaction would be—”

“And she doesn’t know mine,” Joanna interrupted. “In fact, she probably understands you better than she does me.”

Bob held up a calming hand. “I’m sorry. I can see this all very disturbing to you. I certainly didn’t want that to happen. If you’d like, I’ll just go back to D.C. and disappear.... “

Joanna shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare do that. She’d hold me responsible for it the rest of my life. If you leave now, she’ll never forgive me. It would mean she’d been cheated out of her son twice. I don’t want that responsibility. Not on your life.”

Up to that point, Joanna had taken only a single sip of her Scotch. Now she downed the rest of the drink in one long unladylike swallow, letting the icy liquor slide down her throat.

She took a deep breath. “I guess I sound like a real spoilsport, don’t I. A brat. I’m angry with Eleanor.... “