“No, of course not,” I agreed. Anything to keep her talking. “So…where is he? Because he never came back to Flagstaff after — that is, after….” I faltered, unsure as to how much she knew about her son’s time in California.
“After he came back from California?” she asked. My eyes must have widened, because she went on, satisfaction at startling me clear in her voice, “Yes, he told me where he’d gone. At the time, I thought it was a good thing. At least it got him away from that Indian girl.”
“‘Indian girl’?” I echoed. “Do you mean Marie Wilcox?”
“Yes, her. Never could see what he saw in her, but he was just crazy about her, kept going on about how they were going to get married. I told him not to be silly, that he could do better than her, but he wouldn’t listen. Always was hung up on all that Navajo nonsense, just because his father’s mother was an Indian.”
Connor had already told me that he was fairly certain Andre’s grandmother had been Navajo, so that wasn’t much of a surprise. That my father identified with them so closely was, however. Then again, with a mother like this, I could see why he might have tried to cling to a part of the family that was more welcoming, for whatever reason.
I glanced over at Connor, but I could tell from his expression that he preferred to have me do the talking, that otherwise he might have a hard time remaining civil. Not that I could blame him. This Jane Bryant was no one I really wanted to claim as a relation. Unfortunately, it seemed we were connected by blood, whether I liked it or not.
“Did he say why he was going to California?”
“Not really. He went up to the reservation a good bit, visiting relations, I suppose. I don’t know, because I never felt the need to meet that part of my husband’s family. The Wilcoxes were bad enough.”
Beside me, I could feel Connor stir, and I laid a calming hand on his knee. “So Andre went to the reservation….”
“Yes, he went this one last time, was gone for more than a week, then came back saying he had to go to California, that there was something he had to do.”
I could feel my eyebrows shooting up. So this impulse to travel to California — possibly for no other reason than to seek out my mother — had come from the reservation? “Did he say anything else?”
“No, only that he didn’t know how long he’d be gone. His father tried talking to him, told him the Santiagos would never allow a Wilcox in their territory, but Andre said that wouldn’t be an issue. And so he went.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “At the time I wasn’t too worried. I was just glad he was away from that Marie person. But then he didn’t come back…and he didn’t come back. And then his father got sick.” Her blue eyes, in their frame of fine, wrinkled skin, narrowed. “Pancreatic cancer. Much good your witch healers were for that!” she added with venom, glaring at Connor.
“They’re not infallible,” he said quietly. “And cancer is the worst, especially something like pancreatic. I’m sure they did everything they could.”
“Well, obviously they didn’t, because he died, and left me alone, surrounded by witches.” She transferred her scowl to me. “McAllister. So you’re a witch, too, I suppose.”
I nodded. Her lack of surprise at seeing a Wilcox engaged to a McAllister mystified me somewhat, but I certainly wasn’t going to inquire about that. “So…if you never heard from him, how do you know your son really is still alive?”
“I didn’t say I never heard from him,” she retorted. “I said I didn’t hear from him then. About a month after Gerard died, I got a note from Andre.” A hesitation, as if she really didn’t want to reveal what it had said. Her gaze raked over me again, lingering on my left hand. I’d introduced Connor as my fiancé, and I knew we regarded one another that way, but we really hadn’t had much of a chance to make things formal with a ring and everything. “He said he was sorry he couldn’t be there for me when his father passed, and that he wished he could come to be with me, but it was just impossible. And that was that.”
Stranger and stranger. What in the world could have kept my father away from his mother at a time when she must have needed him? Then again, I had no real idea of what kind of a relationship they’d had. Maybe she hadn’t been this prickly back then, had changed after she lost her husband…or maybe she’d always been like this, more or less.
I had to hope that she couldn’t tell from looking at me what my opinion of her was, as I certainly didn’t want to alienate her. So I said, “I’m sorry to hear that. But — ”