Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2) Page 4

  I kneeled before her on the floor and took her hands in mine.

  “Melody, I remember the day you came home from the hospital. You were tiny. And all smooshed up. And I thought having a little sister was going to be a giant pain in the butt, especially since I was already eight and knew everything.” I could see her sadness beginning to lift, so I continued. “But you were such an amazing little kid, I found myself wanting to be around you. I wanted to play your stupid pony games and princess games and fairy games because you always let me be the hero. And you know what? I’m still gonna be your hero, Mel. I promise. I’m always gonna be your brother and you’re always gonna be my sister, okay?”

  She looked up at me and wrapped her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly.

  “Okay?” I asked again.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “And we can be pissed about this whole thing together?”

  She looked across the table. “You’re gonna be pissed along with us Mom, right?

  Mom smiled, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, I’ll be pissed along with you!” she laughed.

  Melody plodded out of the kitchen with a hefty novel under her arm into some hidden corner of the house, and I was left alone with Mom to help clear the table from brunch.

  “You’re a good brother,” she said. “You always have been.”

  “Not such a great son though,” I replied.

  She bowed her head. “I’m not angry with you, Charlie. Not even disappointed. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t know I’d be facing it alone.”

  “You’re not alone, Mom. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always be my mom, regardless of who else I find out there.”

  Slowly, she set the plate she was holding into the sink and turned to face me. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I mean that I have to go find her. My birth mother. I need to know who she is. Where she is. Where I come from.”

  She laid down her dish towel and sat at the table, allowing my words to sink in slowly.

  “I’m not leaving you, Mom. I promise.”

  “I know you say that, and I believe you. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken. And someday, I want you to appreciate what your father did for you. He loved you in his way. I know you don’t believe it, but he did.”

  I ignored her comments about my father. I wasn’t ready to talk to her about him just yet. “So then you’re okay with me searching for her?”

  “Could I stop you if I wasn’t?”

  I considered her for a moment. “No. Probably not.”

  “Then I might as well support you, but I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know her name. I don’t know where you came from. I don’t have any information about her to help you get started. I wasn’t a part of any of those conversations. Your father shut me out to keep me from the ‘stress of the adoption.’ I just signed on the lines where I was told. I do know the adoption was closed. The records will be impossible to get into. It’s going to be an uphill battle for you, Charlie.” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I always thought he would be here to give you the information you’d ask for, but now he’s not.”

  “I’ve got a plan, Mom. Brooke’s helping me. We’ll figure out who she is one way or another. I’m going over to Brooke’s now, for a while, if it’s okay with you.”

  “It’s fine.” She stood up and slid her arms around my waist. “I love you, Charlie. Just remember while you’re searching, there was a reason why she wasn’t allowed to continue being your mother. And there’s a reason why I was.”

  C HAPTER SIX

  After her father let me in, I found Brooke hunkered down at her family’s dining room table behind her laptop and her tablet. She barely raised her head as I sat down beside her.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” I said, nudging her chin in my direction so I could look at her properly.

  “Hey,” she replied, finally giving me a smile.

  “I figured you would’ve finished last night. Why are you still searching?” I asked as I scanned her computer screen.

  “I’m still searching for three of them.”

  “Three? That’s a lot of missing kids,” I said. “Did you try school websites?”

  “Yes.”

  “Social media?”

  “Of course.”

  “Public records?”

  “As many as I could find.”

  “And nothing?”

  “Nada.”

  “Hmm.” I stood up and began pacing the room. “So what’s that leave us with? The two John Does, your three and the one I couldn’t find. So six altogether?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How are we going to find out who or where these kids are?”

  Brooke closed her laptop and put it on the floor with her tablet. She began pulling out placemats to set the table for supper. I took the silverware from the drawer and laid out four place settings.

  “It doesn’t matter about the kids, Charlie,” she said at last. “You’re the only kid we care about, right? Searching for them was just a means of narrowing down the list. Now that we have, we’re really only interested in the mothers. I think we should just concentrate on finding them.”

  “You think we’ll be able to?” I asked.

  “Maybe.”

  I thought about the possibility of walking up to my mother’s house and knocking on the door.

  “Do you think if we find her she’ll admit the truth to us?”

  Brooke stopped what she was doing and shrugged. “I don’t know, Charlie. There’s only one way to find out.”

  After cleaning up from dinner with her family, Brooke and I excused ourselves to her bedroom where we continued searching for my mother under her careful supervision. I smiled to myself as I watched her sitting in the middle of her bed, poring over page after page of online phone directory listings and people searches. She always took charge in our relationship. She initiated and planned the trips we took and activities we enjoyed. She was a natural born leader, and most of the time, I just went along for the ride. I didn’t mind though. Any path she was on was a path worth traveling, as far as I was concerned.

  I remembered our first winter together when she decided out of nowhere she wanted to go skiing. It had been an unseasonably mild winter and there was only a thin base of snow at the local resorts. The closest mountain with heavy accumulation was several hours away and very expensive by college student standards. Although I could have easily afforded to take us for the day, she was determined to get us both there for a reasonable price. After making several phone calls, she secured 25 tickets at a 50% discount, assuming she could sell the lot. After only a week, she started a “Ski Club” on campus and registered enough people to procure the discount. Thanks to her ingenuity, we were able to afford a wonderful weekend together on the slopes, even making some new friends in the process.

  The steadfast determination she often displayed was not only admirable, but also reassuring, especially when it came to knowing the search for my mother was in very capable hands.

  “Here’s the first one,” she said excitedly, tossing me her tablet. “Take this down. Sandra Jackson, 38 years old. Her last known address was 5289 3rd Avenue in Burkettsville, across the river. Her son on the birth certificate was named Duane. Couldn’t find a trace of him online. Just the same birth record.”

  “Okay. That’s great!” I said. “Burkettsville isn’t far. Shouldn’t be too hard to call her up and ask about Duane.”

  She raised an eyebrow in my direction. “You’re just gonna call?”

  “Why? You don’t think so?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. You can call.”

  I smiled at her. “You wouldn’t call. What would you do? Show up there?”

  She grinned at me like a child with a secret. “I’d totally show up there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I’d want to see her. She could lie to you
over the phone, Charlie. But we know what your mother looks like. We saw your dad’s picture of her. We’ll know as soon as we see her if she’s your mom.”

  She had a point, and yet, I was hesitant to barge in on people’s lives.

  “You really think we should just show up on her doorstep like that? What if she gets angry? Or we upset her?”

  “Then we apologize and move on. We only need to see her. We’re not moving in.”

  She was right. God, I loved that girl.

  “You’re good at this, Sherlock,” I said, leaping across the room to tackle her where she sat. I pinned her beneath me and began poking her most ticklish spots.

  She squirmed and kicked in an effort to escape. “Watson!” she squealed. “This is not helping to find your mother!”

  I kissed her passionately, allowing my body to fit against hers in all the right places. And then I sat up to grin at her. “Alright, then. Let’s continue to find my mother.”

  “You are a bad, bad man, Charlie Johnson,” she cried, throwing her pillow at my head. “You can’t expect me to concentrate on this when you’re offering me that!”

  “Forget it. I’m not offering anything. Just help me find my mother, woman,” I teased.

  “I’m not falling for your tricks,” she said, repositioning herself on the bed with her computer on her lap. “I’m on to you. Let’s just be serious for a little while longer and we’ll get this sorted out in no time. Then maybe, if you’re lucky, you can thank me.”

  She always gave as good as she got. In less than ten minutes, she had another name and address for me to write down.

  “I’ve got Beverly Moore. She used to live about 25 minutes away, but now she lives in Petersburg.”

  “Petersburg? That’s a haul.”

  “Yeah. Tax records show her last known address as 401 South Sycamore Street. Her son’s name is Kevin. There’s no trace of him anywhere.”

  “Okay. So two down, four to go,” I said.

  “Yeah, including the John Does. I say we investigate the ones we have names for and only explore the John Does as a last resort.”

  I sighed. “Whatever you say, Sherlock.”

  She peered over her laptop at me. “You know, some would say Watson’s role is just as important as Sherlock’s. They’re a team. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to solve the cases without Watson’s companionship.”

  She was attempting to make me feel better about being relegated to the sidelines, but I wasn’t going to let her off that easily. I pretended to glare at her.

  “That’s what I’m good for then? Companionship? Like a dog?”

  I could tell from the expression on her face she wasn’t sure if I was joking. I couldn’t let her suffer any longer.

  “Woof woof!” I barked.

  “Nice,” she said, rolling her eyes as she began scanning the computer screen once again. Minutes later, she tracked down another possibility. “Okay, this one was almost too easy. Patricia Brown gave birth to a son Corbin two days after your birthday at the same hospital. She’s still living in the same place on Chester Avenue. The house number is 1135.” She glanced up at me. “I’m surprised we don’t know this kid. He should have gone to my elementary school but I don’t ever remember a Corbin Brown, do you? Maybe he went to private school.”

  “No,” I said, typing in the information. “There was no Corbin Brown in my grade. I don’t remember one in the grades around me either. That’s strange. Maybe I’m Corbin Brown.”

  “Maybe,” Brooke began, “but don’t you think we would have run into Patricia Brown over the years? If she looks like the woman in the picture, I think you might have noticed her.”

  “I’m pretty oblivious, Brooke.”

  “That’s true,” she laughed. “Remember the time I cut bangs in my hair, and it took you three days to figure out what was different about me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes. But in my defense, it was in the middle of final exams. My brain was fried. And as I recall, it was the same week you bought those new red shorts. They were distracting to say the least,” I said, remembering how cute her butt looked in them.

  “Are you kidding me? We’re doing the serious work of finding your mother, and you’re talking about my butt. Again.”

  “Your butt is a serious topic.”

  “You’re impossible,” she said, returning to her work.

  Half an hour later, I was engrossed in a heated game of Football Blitzers on her tablet when she squealed, startling me out of my chair.

  “Gotcha!” she cried.

  “Who’d you find?

  “This last one wasn’t easy, but I think I’ve tracked her down. So,” she began, “one Victoria Weddington gave birth to an Andrew Weddington two weeks before your birthdate, three counties over. Just like the others, there was nothing online about Andrew, but unlike the others, there was nothing about the mother either. Victoria Weddington is like a ghost. I wouldn’t have known she existed at all except for her son’s birth certificate. And then, I just stumbled upon her.”

  “So where is she?”

  “Blakefield Cemetery.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. She died. I found her death certificate from about nine months ago. And that’s not even the most interesting thing about her.” She looked up at me dramatically. “Guess who her parents were?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Theodore and Linda Weddington.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m supposed to know these people because…”

  “Oh my gosh. Seriously, Charlie? Even I recognize the name ‘Theo Weddington.’”

  I thought for a moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Then suddenly, I remembered who he was. “The US congressman?”

  “Ding ding. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.”

  I curled up beside her on the bed as I tried to digest what she discovered. “So let me get this straight. United States congressman Theo Weddington’s daughter had a baby boy two weeks before I was born. He’s nowhere to be found, and she died about a year ago. Is that it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What’d she look like?”

  “Victoria?”

  “Yeah. Are there any pictures of her online?” I asked, peeking over her shoulder as she scrolled through dozens of images.

  “No. It’s weird. Like I said before, there’s no information about her. As the daughter of a congressman, you’d think I would’ve found something from whatever prestigious boarding school or Ivy League college she attended. But there’s nothing. It’s a little strange.” She paused. “Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe her parents successfully shielded her from the media. Or maybe she worked hard to stay out of the public eye. Maybe she didn’t want to be anything like her father.” She looked at me. “You know something about that.”

  “That I do,” I said, reflecting on Victoria’s life.

  “If it wasn’t for the death certificate, which is of course public record, I wouldn’t have found anything about her at all.”

  “Ok,” I said, taking a deep breath, “so we’ve got four mothers, one of whom is dead, and four missing boys. What’s your schedule like this week? Should we plan a road trip to visit the three living mothers to see if I belong to any of them?”

  She took her tablet from my hand and scrolled through her agenda.

  “I’m off Tuesday. That’s it until next weekend. What about you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll switch with Mullins or just take off. Let’s plan on Tuesday afternoon then. Hopefully we can catch them at home after work.” I smacked her on the butt. “You in?”

  “Are you driving?”

  “I’m not letting you drive! The trip to Petersburg would take us until next week!”

  “Very funny,” she said, punching me in the arm. “We might not even need to go to Petersburg if we find her here, closer to home.”

  “True,” I replied. “But you’re still not driving. However, if you’re nice, I might treat you to
a nice dinner, my lady.”

  “How chivalrous.”

  “Am I not always a gentleman?”

  “Not always,” she grinned, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “How much longer can you stay tonight?”

  I glanced at my watch. It was after seven, and I wanted to spend time with Mom and Melody to show them I was still committed to our family.

  “I should go,” I said. “Melody is struggling. I need to help her through this.”

  Brooke wrapped her arms around my waist as I stood up from the bed. “While you’re helping everyone else, who’s helping you?” she asked.

  “You are,” I replied. “But I told you before, I don’t need help dealing with my father’s death. I’m fine. Really. Just help me find my mother so I can put the pieces of my life together and figure out who I am. Then I’ll be able to move on.”

  “Tall order, don’t you think?”

  “If there’s anyone out there that can do it, it’s you Brooke Wallace. Of that I have no doubt.”

  C HAPTER SEVEN

  In the wake of my father’s passing, the country club’s management was more than willing to accommodate my scheduling needs. They happily gave me Tuesday off from my job as the kitchen and wait staff supervisor to spend time with my sister, which was mostly true.

  After breakfast, I found her in the back yard, under an enormous elm she spent hours climbing as a child. Her nose was buried in yet another novel, and I made enough noise as I approached to assure I wouldn’t startle her.

  “Hey, kid,” I sat, squatting down beside her on the dew-covered grass.

  “Hey, Charlie,” she replied.

  “Whatcha reading?” I asked.

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  “I don’t think I read that until eleventh grade. And even then it was under duress.”

  “I like it. I love when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy finally get together. I feel such relief every time.”

  “Jeez, how many times have you read it?”

  “Eight.”

  I shook my head. “Okay, well, since you’ve already read it a few times, what would it take to tear you away from it for a little while today?”