Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2) Read online

  “What are you going to say?”

  I took her hand and walked with her back to the car. The truth was I had no idea what I was going to say. When we began searching for her, the idea of having a conversation with the woman who gave birth to me seemed much simpler. Now, however, the entire journey had become extraordinarily complicated. Because she passed away, I knew once I returned to the present timeline, there would be no follow-up reunion. No family dinner. No holiday celebration with her grandchildren someday. This one encounter would be the only one I would get. I knew I had to make it count.

  There was also the matter of her physical and mental condition. My mom made it quite clear that the reason the state allowed for my adoption was because my mother was deemed unfit to parent. I didn’t know whether she’d gotten clean and sober over the years, or whether she would be too strung out to even hold a conversation, when and if we found her.

  “I guess I’ll just introduce myself, and ask if she would like to sit down for a cup of coffee or something. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. I haven’t really considered that an option. But I guess she could be like her parents and want nothing to do with me.”

  She squeezed my hand tightly. “She’ll talk to you, Charlie. She’ll have to. Now you’re the one who has to have some faith.”

  As soon as we left the bank, we checked in to a small bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the sleepy, southern town. The owners greeted us at the door, offered us chilled glasses of sweet tea, and showed us to the ‘peach room’ we would be calling home for the night. We were informed that breakfast was served between seven and nine, and that a certain level of decorum was expected from the patronage. Brooke broke into a fit of giggles as soon as the door shut behind us.

  “There is to be no horseplay in the hallways,” she said, mimicking the older gentleman’s southern drawl as she threw herself across the four poster bed.

  “You must really look like trouble with the extensive list of rules he felt the need to recite,” I laughed.

  “Me!” she cried, throwing a pillow in my direction.

  “Yes, you!” I replied as the pillow whizzed past my head, nearly knocking a lamp from the dresser. “This is exactly the tomfoolery he’s expecting out of the likes of you!”

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me playfully onto the bed. “Tomfoolery, huh?”

  “Yes,” I said, pinning her beneath me and bringing my lips to hers, “tomfoolery.”

  Her mouth was soft and warm and she returned my kiss willingly. Her hands were on my chest as if to hold me at a distance, and yet I knew that was not her intent. Slowly, she slipped her arms beneath mine and pulled me closely into her embrace, kissing me with increasing desire. She let her hands explore the ridges and valleys of my body, and allowed me to do the same to her. It was a familiar and comforting dance we’d choreographed together over the years, as simple and complex to us as it was to all lovers who came before and to all those who would follow. Through the course of our relationship, we spent many an evening together, holed up in her dorm room, wrapped in each other’s arms. As it was on those nights, it proved again, in the dim light of the peach room with its tiny floral wallpaper, to be my very favorite place.

  “Charlie?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  She was curled against my body and the back of her head was resting against my cheek. Tiny wisps of hair tickled my nose and I smoothed them with the back my hand. I waited patiently for her to continue. Finally she spoke.

  “Did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?” I asked, feigning ignorance, although I knew exactly to what she was referring.

  “Mean it about wanting to marry me?”

  I chuckled softly and rolled her over so I could see the expression on her face. She was glowing.

  “I thought we weren’t talking about this,” I said with a smile.

  “We’re not. You’re right. Never mind.” She rolled back over and slid as far across the bed as she could without falling off the edge. I couldn’t resist. I pushed her gently with my foot, and she went tumbling onto the floor with a loud thud.

  “You jerk!” she cried, catapulting herself off the floor and tackling me where I was still lying on the far side of the bed. I pinned her arms to her sides and held her on top of me so she was forced to look me in the eyes.

  “I meant what I said. I want to be with you. More than anything else in the world.”

  She considered me skeptically. “We’re so young, Charlie.”

  “We won’t always be young. So you don’t have to marry me now. You can marry me when you’re older.”

  She laughed. “I’ll be older when you get back.”

  “I think your future self may still think you’re too young. She’s really practical that way.”

  “Glad to know I’m still pragmatic in the future.”

  “To a fault,” I teased.

  “You shouldn’t be telling me that.”

  I finally released the grip on her arms once I was sure she wasn’t going to haul off and slug me for pushing her off the bed. She announced that she wanted to get ready for bed, and after we both finished brushing our teeth, she turned off the lights and snuggled up beside me under the thin cotton sheet.

  “Do you think she’ll show up?” she asked in the darkness.

  I hadn’t thought about my mother since leaving the bank.

  “I hope so.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Me too.”

  C HAPTER NINETEEN

  After stuffing ourselves on raspberry jam smothered crescent rolls and mini quiches for breakfast, we drove across town to the parking lot beside the bank. Brooke was content to occupy herself with one of the many downloaded books on her tablet. I, on the other hand, was unable to concentrate on any of the games on mine. Every other minute, anxiety compelled me to scan the sidewalk surrounding the ATM for my mother. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel nervously and eventually tossed the tablet onto the dashboard in frustration.

  “Why don’t you get out of the car and walk around a bit,” Brooke suggested. “You’re a mess.”

  I grunted at her as I continued searching the faces of the pedestrians strolling the block. My stomach growled. I checked my watch and saw it was almost lunch time. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she replied, turning off her tablet. “How about if I go grab something for us to eat? You can stay here just in case she shows up.”

  Brooke headed off in the car to a sandwich shop across town, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the parking lot. I shuffled along with my hands in my pockets, rehearsing the script I prepared in the event I should meet Victoria. The morning sun reached its peak, and I sought the shade of a mature oak growing out of a hole in the sidewalk. I rested against the trunk and closed my eyes, imagining the warmth of my mother’s embrace. However, I knew better than to romanticize her and quickly pushed the thought from my mind. Letting my imagination run would only serve to disappoint me in the end. Several minutes later, Brooke returned, and I ran to join her at the car. She bought a turkey club for each of us and a large bag of chips to share. As I sat with her, staring across the street, mindlessly munching chip after chip, a woman came around the corner, catching my eye. In addition to her frailness, she was overdressed for the summer heat, wearing a long sleeved oxford and oversized hat far too large for her emaciated frame. She walked with a distinct lack of confidence, checking repeatedly over her shoulder as she made her way toward the ATM.

  “I think I see her,” I whispered to Brooke.

  She looked up from her lunch and surveyed the scene. “The one with the hat?”

  “Yeah.” I stopped breathing. “Should I get out?”

  She took my hand. It was cool to the touch. “I guess so. Do you want me to come?”

  I considered her for a long moment, as an unspoken understanding passed between us. I knew I had to get out. And I knew I had to do it alone.

  “I’m good,” I said fina
lly. “Just promise me you’ll be here waiting when I get back.”

  I jogged across the busy street, and watched from a distance as the woman cautiously approached the ATM. She touched the screen and seconds later retrieved her money from the machine. She hastily folded the bills, placed them in her pocket, and began walking down the sidewalk in my direction. I was still unable to see her face clearly, so I continued walking toward her. Thinking about the reality of her proximity, I felt a disconnect between my head and my body, bringing on a sudden bout of vertigo. I braced myself on the side of the building and tried to calm my breathing. The street sounds became static, and the only thing I was aware of was the steady pulse in the artery of my neck. As she passed in front of me, I was finally able to see her features beneath the tattered straw hat.

  I fell into step beside her.

  “Victoria?” I said.

  She turned. Her eyes were glassy. Bloodshot. Hollow. And yet, when she finally allowed herself to focus on my face, I saw them fill with wonder like the eyes of a child. She lifted the brim of her hat and took a step closer; peering at me cautiously the way a hiker would approach a coiled snake.

  “Do I know you?” she asked.

  I hoped she couldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest. “Not anymore. But I think you did once.”

  She reached her hand toward my face, as if she intended to touch me. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “It’s Charlie. Charlie Johnson.”

  She shook her head and began walking in the opposite direction. As I watched her ambling down the street, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t believe I’d come so far only to find she was as unwilling to speak to me as her parents were. And yet, I knew I’d risked too much to let her continue to walk away. I couldn’t allow her to disappear with her secrets. As she rounded the corner, I finally found the courage to call after her.

  “Please wait! I have something I need to ask you!”

  She froze in place, although she did not turn around.

  “He changed your name,” she called back over her shoulder. “Your name was Andrew.”

  Filled with adrenaline, I ran to catch up with her where she remained standing in the middle of the sidewalk. We stood facing one another and it was nothing like how I imagined meeting her would be. But it was exactly how it was supposed to be.

  “Is there somewhere we can go to talk? Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Or something to eat?” I asked.

  Her eyes darted wildly up and down the street, as if she was waiting for something catastrophic to happen. “Yeah,” she said. “There’s a place. Follow me.”

  I turned toward the car and saw Brooke watching me from the passenger’s seat where I left her. I waved to her, signaling that I’d be back. She blew me a kiss and held up her hands, fingers crossed.

  Ten minutes later, I was sitting across the booth from Victoria at the only fast food restaurant within walking distance. I bought her a large value meal which she wasted no time devouring. I studied her while she ate in silence, ketchup collecting at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were sunken and dark. The youthful glow captured in the photo from my father’s office was gone, replaced by an aura of hopelessness. Her hair was thinning and matted to the top of her head. Despite it all, I could still make out the beautiful woman she had once been.

  “So you know who I am?” I asked cautiously.

  She popped a fry in her mouth and used a napkin to wipe her face.

  “You’re my son, Andrew Weddington,” she replied matter-of-factly. “How’d you find me? Did your jerk of a father finally tell you the truth about what he did to me?”

  I was taken aback by her frankness and lack of emotion. I couldn’t respond. I held onto the Formica table with both hands to keep the room from spinning.

  She ate another fry. “I’m surprised he let you come see me.”

  I took a deep breath. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  She looked up from what remained of her burger. “He never wanted you to see me again.”

  “Well, I don’t really care what he wants these days. What matters is that I wanted to meet you so you could tell me the truth about where I come from. I tried asking your parents, but they refused to speak to me.”

  What came out of her sounded less like laughter and more like the cackle of a deranged lunatic. The laughter threw her into a fit of coughing that left her doubled over.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’m good. Just glad to know some things never change.” She returned to her fries.

  My heart sank. I couldn’t imagine what kind of mother would be able to sit face to face with the son she hadn’t seen in two decades and be more interested in the food, which she continued to shovel into her mouth. I knew immediately there’d been tragedy in her life. It was the only explanation for the hardness of her heart.

  I cleared my throat. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  She took a sip of her soda. “With what? With your dad?”

  I didn’t understand why she seemed to be obsessing over him. “Sure. But do you mean my biological father or the man that raised me?” I asked.

  She grinned at me from across the booth. “He never told you, did he?”

  “Never told me what?”

  “The man who raised you… the big shot politician, Phil Johnson?” She paused for dramatic effect. “He is your daddy.”

  The pungent smell of grease from the kitchen was overwhelming. I could feel the turkey club I ate for lunch forcing its way into my esophagus, and I swallowed hard to prevent the nausea from overtaking me. I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever my mother was going to tell me, but I’d come too far to leave without the answers I deserved.

  “Tell me everything,” I said. “I need to know what happened. From the beginning.”

  My mother took the last bite of her sandwich and washed it down with a large gulp of soda. She brushed off her hands and sat back in the booth to begin her story.

  “Let’s see. It was the summer after my senior year in college. I went back home to apply for a teaching position in the county. I was gonna be a teacher. Can you believe that?” She shook her head and laughed feebly. “Anyway, my parents always held these big summer parties for all their hoity-toity friends, and I’ll never forget the night I saw Phil Johnson standing on my parents’ balcony for the first time. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. The next thing I knew, my father was introducing us. It was like a dream come true.” She paused, distracted by something over my shoulder. I turned to see what drew her attention and saw two police officers entering the restaurant. I wondered if she thought they were coming for her.

  She slouched in the booth and continued quietly. “That night, he asked me to go with him to a fourth of July picnic the next day. I still remember wearing that gingham yellow sundress. He was such a gentleman. Held the door for me. Stayed by my side, introducing me to all of his friends as his new girlfriend. It was a whirlwind courtship to say the least. We were inseparable after that day.

  “As it turned out, Phil was running for city council. Election season was heating up and my father’s endorsement won him the election. I was so happy for him.” She took another sip of her soda. “Then he broke up with me three days later. Something about not having time for a relationship.” She sighed. “Too bad I was already pregnant with you.

  “The thing was, I didn’t realize I was pregnant for a long while. There weren’t any of the typical signs women talk about. I finally went to the doctor because I couldn’t figure out why I was so tired all the time, and that’s when I found out. By that point, there was no option but to have you, and I panicked. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Phil. He refused to see me. Wouldn’t answer my calls. He’d written me off and I knew it.” She took a deep breath, and I could see there was more than addiction ruining her life. Pain chained her to the past.

  “With nowhere else to go, I told my father. I hoped he’
d be supportive. I prayed he would help me. But he wasn’t and he didn’t. He threatened to go after Phil, but I lied and told him he wasn’t the father. I told him there were other men. Of course there weren’t, but I knew he could destroy Phil, and for some stupid reason, I still loved the bastard.

  “My father kicked me out of the house, calling me a disgrace to the family, and said I could return when I’d ‘taken care of my mess.’ He told me he wouldn’t have my ‘indiscretions’ ruining his political career, and that he would arrange for me to live at a convent about an hour away until the baby was born. There was an orphanage associated with the nunnery, and I was instructed to put you up for adoption. I intended on doing just that, until the moment you were born.”

  For the first time since approaching her in the street, my mother looked directly into my eyes. I knew instinctively, every word she said was true. I also knew, in that moment, that I loved her.

  “The first time I held you, I knew I couldn’t give you away. The nuns allowed me to stay for a few months after you were born, but eventually, they told me I needed to leave. A convent wasn’t a place to hide, they said. So I left but knew I couldn’t go back home. Not with you. I had no job. No money. Nowhere to live and a baby to take care of. So I just started heading south.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as the emotional drain of dredging up the past took its toll. “I tried, Andrew, I tried. I did the best I could. But it was too hard. Way too hard. I met some people who said they’d help me. They gave me my first hit of coke. It was the beginning of the end.”

  It struck me that our lives were remarkably similar. We were both raised by heartless, tin men, more interested in their political careers than fostering the love of their children. I cautiously reached across the table to take her hand. Her tears were flowing freely now, and she no longer bothered wiping them away.

  “I loved you, Andrew... or it’s Charlie now I guess. I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone else in my life. But I was broken. I am broken. And the drugs, they helped me feel… less broken. I started needing them to get through the day. But there was no money for drugs. And there was no money for taking care of you. So I finally went back to the only person I thought might help me. I went back to Phil.”