For a few seconds Linda didn’t say anything, just lifted her own glass of tea and sipped at it. Now I could see the worry line between her brows deepen, and I supposed Botox couldn’t erase everything. At length she said, “Well, I suppose I can partly understand that. They had a terrible fight only a few days before you were born.”
“They did?” Connor’s fingers tightened around mine, offering his strength, and I asked, “What was the fight about?”
“I don’t know for sure. They were shouting, and their windows were open, but ours weren’t.” She gave a grim little smile. “I suppose they thought it was still fairly warm, although it was sweater weather for the rest of us SoCal natives. Anyway, there was shouting, and then Andre — your father — drove off in his Jeep. He never came back.”
And because of that argument…whatever it had actually been about…my mother had made sure I’d never know who my father really was. “Do you remember his last name?”
“Williams, I think. He seemed like a very nice young man, so I couldn’t figure out what on earth it might have been that would make him and Sonya argue like that. So handsome, too.” Her gaze flicked toward Connor, and I saw the little line appear between her brows again. “It’s funny, but you remind me a little of him. Not exactly, but there’s something….” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just that you’re both tall and dark-haired. I think I remember him saying once that he was part Native American. Navajo, maybe.”
Suddenly the room felt a little chillier. “Navajo? You’re sure?”
“I think so.”
I risked a quick sidelong glance at Connor. He was sitting motionless, his hand still holding mine, but I thought I saw a tremor in the muscles along his jaw line, as if he’d had a sudden thought but wanted to keep it to himself. “That’s interesting,” I managed to say. “I don’t suppose you remember if they told you how they met?”
“Actually, I do. Andre was out running to the store or something, and my husband was at work, so Sonya and I were having some tea and chatting, just watching the beach. I remember asking her what had brought her and Andre here to Newport Beach, and she said that was the funny thing, that she’d actually met him here, even though they were both from Arizona.”
“They were?” I asked, my voice sounding strangled. “Do you remember where?”
“Hmm…somewhere around the Phoenix area, I think. Scottsdale or Tempe. Or was it Mesa?” Linda gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, that was a long time ago. I’m surprised I’m remembering as much as I am, but maybe it’s seeing you, seeing how much you look like Sonya, although your hair is much darker.”
“It’s all right,” I replied quickly. I didn’t want her to think I was upset with her; after all, she’d already given me more information about my parents than I’d previously heard in my entire life. “And — and can you tell me what happened? Why she left?”
“Well, the two of them had come here in late April, and she left in the middle of February, so she still had a few months left on her lease. Even so, the owner of the house told me she paid everything that was owed before she moved out. I always wondered how a young couple like that could have afforded the house in the first place, but obviously money wasn’t an issue.” Another lift of her shoulders, and she continued, “Anyway, she just said she didn’t want to stay here alone with the baby, so she was going back to Arizona to be with her family. And she packed up her things and left. I worried about her driving all that way with a newborn, and asked her if she couldn’t have someone from her family come here to get her, but she said that wasn’t possible. So she drove off one morning with you in a car seat, Angela, and that was the last I saw of her. I’ve often wondered what happened to her…and to Andre.”
Andre Williams. Andre wasn’t that common a name, but Williams sure was. I didn’t know how I’d begin to track him down. Hire a private investigator, maybe? There had to be records of some sort, starting with the lease on the house next door.
More than anything, though, I wanted to talk to Connor alone, find out why he’d reacted the way he did when Linda revealed that my long-lost father had possibly been part Navajo. Was it only the Wilcox connection with that tribe…or maybe something else?
Since I’d already let too much time elapse before I replied to her speech, I said quickly, “Thank you, Linda. That’s a big help. At least now I know who my father was.” Well, sort of, anyway. I had a name, and the possibility of him being part Navajo. Maybe he was listed in the tribal registry or something. I wasn’t really sure how those things worked.