He looked over and gave me a quick, sharp glance before returning his attention to the road. “You can’t take it that way, Angela. The woman has issues. It has nothing to do with you personally.”
In my heart, I knew he was right. But knowing something and believing it can be two very different things.
“We’re passing that diner,” he said, in a completely different tone of voice. “Do you want to stop for anything?”
I shook my head, staring out the window without really seeing. “No. Just take me home.”
12
Ascension
By the time we got back to Jerome, I was feeling a little better — mostly because Connor had called Lucas from the road with the information on my great-grandmother’s possible family name. Lucas then promised to pass it on to the private detective right away. And since the man had done such a good job of locating my paternal grandmother, I had to hope he could do the same thing here.
On Monday we headed up to Flagstaff, partly to get out of the way of the remodeling crew, and partly so we could be on hand in case something happened with the house, or Lester the P.I. dug up something for us. But we didn’t hear anything on either front, and I found myself getting discouraged all over again. In fact, I felt close to tears half the time, which was ridiculous. Was I going to be a complete mess for the next six months?
It’s just hormones, I told myself. Don’t worry about acting crazy. Everyone’s expecting it from you anyway.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, Connor and I did do a little packing around his apartment, mostly of nonessential stuff that wouldn’t be missed if the title search dragged out longer than planned. It was fun to look at old sketchbooks of his to see how his style had evolved over the years, and it was even more fun to dig out his high school yearbooks and giggle at his over-long emo-looking hair.
“Actually,” I said, studying him closely as he shoved the yearbooks into a box and shook his head, “you’re almost there now. Are you planning to cut it anytime in the near future?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, running a hand through the heavy black strands, which were now long enough to tuck behind his ears. “Do you want me to?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. You’re kind of hot with it long.”
“I am?” he inquired, green eyes glinting.
I knew that look. “Yeah, you are.”
He reached for me then, and we rolled over on the rug, kissing, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers that were suddenly in the way. For some reason I’d thought being pregnant might kill my desire for him, or at least mute it a good deal, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. I still wanted him just as badly as that first time we’d reached out to touch one another, on a spot only about a foot from where we lay now. His hands roamed over my bare flesh, caressing me, and I reached out to wrap my fingers around him, feeling the hard evidence that the slight rounding of my belly didn’t bother him at all. And then we were joined, moving together, the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead the only sound besides our ragged panting.
We were just pulling our clothes back on when Connor’s phone rang. He shot me an apologetic look and went to pick up his cell from where he’d left it lying on the dining room table. I didn’t mind, actually; we were waiting on too many important calls to ignore one now.
“Hey, Lucas,” Connor said, and I pricked up my ears even as I finished buttoning my jeans. Man, I’d already bought them a week before, and they were already feeling tight. Dr. Ruiz had obviously been a little premature in her concern over my lack of a healthy weight gain.
Elastic waistbands, here I come.
Connor told Lucas, “No, nothing important. Just packing a few odds and ends.”
“Is that what you’re calling it these days?” I joked.
He shot me a grin before saying, “Oh, really? Okay. No, I understand. It’s fine. I know he’s doing the best he can. Thanks for the update.”
That didn’t sound good. “What is it?” I asked as he ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket.
“Just an update on the hunt for your father’s Navajo relations. Apparently Bedonie and Begonie are both very common names, and since we don’t know for sure which one it is, it’s going to take Lester more time than he thought. He’s working on it, but it’s tough because of the name problem, and because the Navajo clearly aren’t thrilled to have some P.I. poking around in their business.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s trying to bring a criminal to justice or something,” I protested. “All he’s trying to do is find my relatives.”