My breath caught, and it wasn’t just because of the dust and the oppressive heat. The man stood there watching me for a second or two, and then he smiled, teeth flashing.
“Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”
* * *
The house was cramped, but cooler than I had expected, thanks to a swamp cooler going at full blast. As Connor and I entered, I saw an old, old Navajo man sitting in a worn leather chair tucked into a corner. The furniture was minimal — that chair, a cracked leather sofa, a plain wooden chair with a woven rush seat and the remnants of red paint on its surface.
I found my voice. “You were expecting us?”
Another smile, and this time I was looking for the Wilcox resemblance and saw it immediately, in the sculpted bones of his face and the strong, elegant nose. He could have probably passed for Connor’s uncle…if Connor had one, of course.
“Yes. The time is here. Please sit down.”
Since I didn’t know what else to do, I took a seat on the leather couch, Connor following suit a second or two later, after giving the place a quick surveying glance. I could tell he was uncomfortable, and I didn’t feel much better. During all this the Navajo man sitting in the corner remained silent, watching us with bright dark eyes almost buried in wrinkles.
“So you’re….” I began, and the man who’d let us in nodded and said,
“Yes, Angela, I’m Andre Bedonie — Andre Wilcox, once. And your father.”
It was all so surreal, I couldn’t quite decide how to respond. Maybe if he’d said, “Angela, I am your father,” in a sepulchral Darth Vader voice, I could have handled it a bit better. But after all the years of not even knowing who my father was, and then not knowing whether he was alive or dead…well, I suppose I can be forgiven for staring at him blankly, then finally bursting out, “If you knew who I was — knew you had a daughter — then why did you abandon me all these years? Why didn’t you come and tell me who you were?”
Instead of being taken aback by my outburst, he gave me a long, sad look, finally shaking his head. “I couldn’t do that because I had to wait until you were ready.”
“Ready for what?” I demanded, voice sharper than I’d intended. Dealing with all this was tough enough without factoring raging pregnancy hormones into the equation. Connor took my hand in his, not really squeezing it, but just surrounding my fingers with his, letting me know he was there.
The Navajo man spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and strong, belying his feeble appearance. “Ready to right an ancient wrong.”
“What?” I asked, although I had a feeling I knew what he meant, a chill beginning somewhere low on my spine and spreading throughout my body.
“This is what we all have been waiting for,” my father replied. “It’s time for you to break the curse, Angela.”
14
The Waiting
Connor’s fingers tightened around mine. For a few seconds I didn’t reply — couldn’t reply. At last I took in a breath, then asked, “And how do you know it’s the right time…or even that I’m the person to do it?”
A short silence as my father folded his hands on the knee of his well-worn cargo pants. Clearly, he was waiting for the older man to speak. And how strange that I’d already started thinking of Andre Wilcox as my father, when I still couldn’t make myself admit to any kind of real relation to my grandmother.
The old man did reply eventually, bright black eyes fixed on my face. “Many years we’ve waited. It is no easy thing, to wait and watch, knowing the time will come eventually but also knowing we can do nothing to hasten its coming.”
“What time?” Connor asked. “What were you waiting for?” His gaze shifted to my father, then hardened. “Was it worth leaving Angela with no father all these years?”
I could see my father’s mouth compress slightly, deepening the laugh lines that bracketed it, but his voice was calm as he replied, “And do you truly think the McAllisters would have accepted a Wilcox as the father of their future prima?”
Good question, one whose answer was most likely hell, no. I honestly didn’t know quite what my family would’ve done if Andre Wilcox — or Bedonie, I supposed, since I got the impression he’d been using that name for a while — had shown up out of the blue and tried to claim me back when I was still a minor. They were less than thrilled now, but at least that particular truth hadn’t come out until I had already inherited the prima gifts. Would they have tried to find an alternate for me after they realized I was tainted with Wilcox blood? Was that even possible? I’d never heard of the prima-in-waiting being passed over for another candidate once she’d been identified, but it had to have happened once or twice over the years because of sickness or an accident or some other twist of fate.