Darkmoon(34)

She smiled at me, although something about her expression looked a little sad, as if she was recalling the young woman she’d known so many years ago and having to mentally adjust to the thought that she’d never lived to see her daughter grow up. “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s really all I can remember.”

“No, it’s fine. I really can’t begin to thank you for this.” I looked over at Connor and gave him the slightest of nods, signaling that I was ready to go. “We’ve really taken up enough of your time, though, so we’d better get going.”

It seemed as if she was about to demur, to say it was fine if we wanted to stay longer, but then she appeared to get a good look at my face, and nodded. “It’s no trouble. I’m very glad I was able to meet you. Well, meet you again, I mean.”

And what a span of years filled the space between those two meetings. Of course I didn’t remember this place at all, just as I had no recollection of my mother, but I’d come home from the hospital to the house next door, had no doubt cost Linda some sleep with my crying. Or maybe I’d been a quiet baby. I didn’t know; Aunt Rachel never shared even the tiniest detail about my earliest days.

“And I’m very glad I was able to meet you. Thank you again for everything.”

I rose from the couch then, and Connor followed suit. Linda saw us to the door, then said, “Would you like to give me your phone number? Just in case I remember anything else?”

That sounded like a wonderful idea, so I rattled off the number to her while she wrote it down on a pad next to her phone, which was sitting on a side table. Then Connor and I both made our final goodbyes to her, and headed out into the bright sunshine.

I really didn’t want to go back to the car. Not yet, anyway. I needed some time to think. The beach was occupied but not crowded, so it seemed as good a place as any to talk. Slipping off my flip-flops once again, I made my way to the water’s edge, to a spot where the closest people were a good ten yards away. As the cool water rushed over my toes, I asked Connor, “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“What was what about?”

Maybe it was just the glare from the water that made him narrow his eyes and glance away, but somehow I doubted it. “I saw you. When Linda said my father was part Navajo, you looked like, I don’t know, like you’d just thought of something. So what was it?”

“It could be nothing….”

“Or it couldn’t.” I turned away from the water, away from that endless expanse of glittering blue, shifting so we faced one another. “Connor, we have to be honest with each other, no matter what. No more hiding things. No more lies.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, chest rising and falling as he took in breaths of the wild salt-laden air. “Okay. You probably heard through the family grapevine — also known as Mason and Carla — that Marie was engaged once, and that her fiancé just up and disappeared?”

“Yeah, they told me about it when I asked why Marie always seemed so hostile. What about it?”

“Her fiancé’s name was Andre. Andre Wilcox.”

The air felt as if it had been sucked out of my lungs. I stared at Connor, trying to draw breath, trying to make sense of what he’d just told me. “What are you saying? That my father and this Andre are the same person?” A horrible thought occurred to me. “That you and I are related?”

“Only distantly,” he hurried to say. “If it’s really the same person. He was, I don’t know, descended from Jeremiah’s middle brother, I think. We’re way more distant cousins than you and your cousin Adam are.” He stopped there, mouth tightening as if he’d meant to say more and decided against it.

I could imagine what he’d been thinking, though. Adam and I were third or fourth cousins, perfectly legal even outside the Ozarks, and there had been many more generations and far more intermarriages separating whatever distant relationship Connor and I might or might not have. If this Andre Williams really was Andre Wilcox.

“What else do you know about it?” I demanded.

“Jesus, Angela, not much.” He crossed his arms and didn’t quite glare at me, but I could tell he was annoyed by my tone. “I mean, I was probably five when all that went down. Did you pay attention to the love lives of your relatives when you were five years old?”

“No, of course not, except for going to weddings, which were fun because there was cake.”

“Exactly. I mean, it’s been part of the family gossip ever since, but I don’t pay attention to that kind of crap. I leave it for my cousin Leah — Carla’s mother — to keep spreading it around.”