Daniel's Gift (4 page)

"It's better than watching me try to find a job." Matt drained the whiskey from his glass.

Jenny tried to feel compassion. Matt was going through tough times, but she was tired of the same old story. Sometimes, she didn't think he wanted things to be better. Still, she tried to be sympathetic. Lord knows, out of her entire family, Matt was the only one who had ever given a damn about her.

"No luck with the broadcasting job?" she asked.

Matt shook his head. "Not even a nibble. It seems there's no market for bad-knee, washed-up quarterbacks who like to party."

"Maybe you should change your image."

"As if I could. Everyone in the Bay area knows Matthew St. Claire, the Golden Boy of Stanford University, the top draft pick for the Forty-niners, the worthless son of a bitch who spends his nights at the Acapulco Lounge getting bombed on Tequila."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You got hurt. Your career ended because of an injury. But you didn't hurt your head. You can still use it to do something worthwhile."

"Like what? I tried coaching. I hated every minute of it, watching guys who weren't half as good as I was getting a chance to play in the NFL. It sucked."

"You didn't give it a chance, one lousy job for a team you hated. There will be other opportunities, Matt. And if not in coaching, somewhere else. Don't give up. If you don't like the way things are, change them."

"I can't change. I'm too old. I'm too tired."

"You're too afraid. It's been five years, Matt. You're running out of time and running out of money. Get on with your life."

Matt took another sip of his drink. "That's what I'm trying to do."

Jenny shook her head in disgust. "We will talk about this later, but not now. Now, I have to find Danny." Jenny reached into Matt's jacket pocket but only came up with a handful of change.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Matt slapped her hand away.

"I'm looking for your car keys."

"No way. You're not taking my car. The kid's probably already home."

"He's not." Jenny shook her head. "I don't have a good feeling about this, Matt. I have to find him, now. Before something bad happens."

"Nothing bad will happen."

"How do you know? You're the one who thinks life is the pits." Jenny looked down the bar. "Barry," she called out, "can I borrow your extra car? I'm desperate. I have to find Danny."

"Sure, no problem. Just bring it back in one piece."

"Thanks."

Barry tossed her the keys, and Jenny stood up. "Oh, and one more thing, Barry. Don't let Matt drive home."

"Excuse me, but I am fine, Jen-Jen. I'm sober enough not to let you drive my car. I saw what you did to your front fender pulling out of McDonald's last week."

"That was an accident."

"Your whole life resembles an accident."

"Look who's talking."

"Why don't you get GI Joe to help you?"

Jenny frowned at Matt's nickname for her current boyfriend. "Alan is at work."

"Thank God. We can all rest easier knowing he's protecting our small city."

"Ease up, Matt. Alan is a good guy."

"He's a cop. And I don't know what the hell you see in him."

"He will make a good father. He's a man a boy can look up to." Matt stared at her in amazement, and she felt completely foolish. "Well, he is."

"If you're dating him for Danny's sake, catch a clue, Jen-Jen. Your kid hates him. In fact, that's probably why Danny is so eager to find his real father. He wants to get the hell away from Alan."

"He doesn't." But even as she made the denial, Jenny wondered if there wasn't some truth to Matt's statement.

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I will when I find him." Jenny groaned as a slinky blonde in a red jumpsuit walked into the bar and headed straight for Matt. "Not Brenda. Please, tell me it's not coffee-tea-or-me Brenda."

Matt opened one eye a little wider as he turned in his seat. He smiled, big and broad. "Baby face. You made it."

"Buy me a drink, big guy? I've got a night off, before I hop on a flight to Tokyo." Brenda slid her hand around Matt's neck. "Hello, Jennifer."

"Brenda." Jenny looked at Matt. "Are you sure you won't come with me?"

"You can't steal him away. I just got here," Brenda protested.

Matt shrugged. "Sorry, Jen-Jen. I'll call you later."

"Not that I think you will, but if you don't get me at home, try Merrilee's."

"You're going to tell Merrilee you lost your kid?" Matt shook his head. "Bad idea, Jen-Jen. You'll never hear the end of it. Our big sister can't tolerate failure."

"Well, I'll tolerate anything if Danny is sitting in her solid white living room getting yelled at for putting his feet on Merrilee's precious couch." Jenny walked out of the bar and let the door slam behind her.

The ocean was only a mile away and the air was cold and wet. The fog was drifting in. In another hour, the road between Half Moon Bay and San Mateo would be one long, dark and misty tunnel. She had to find Danny, and quickly. Hopefully, he had sense enough to go to Merrilee's instead of trying to get home on a night like this.

* * *

Merrilee St. Claire-Winston took the Cornish game hens out of the oven and set the pan on top of her stove. The hens were a perfect golden brown. She smiled proudly as she turned to her daughter, Constance. "Voila," she said.

Connie, who was sixteen and depressed about everything in her life, especially the extra ten pounds of baby fat around her thighs, tossed her head in disgust. "I'm not eating that, Mother. I'm a vegetarian now."

"You're a what?"

"Vegetarian. As in, I don't eat dead animals."

Merrilee sighed as she studied her daughter. Constance was a mixture of her mother and father, with Merrilee's blond hair and bosomy chest, and Richard's brown eyes and long legs. She was at an awkward stage, not particularly thin, average in height, long arms and stringy hair that Merrilee was just itching to style.

Constance, of course, would have none of it. She hated Merrilee's short, perky hairstyle, her perfectly matched dresses and pumps. In fact, Constance took pride in looking exactly the opposite of her mother.

Constance walked over to the stove and lifted the cover on the mashed potatoes. "I really wish you wouldn't mix butter into the potatoes. We should be cutting our fat intake."

"Fine, dear. Next time you can make the potatoes."

"Oh, Mother, please. Cooking is not my thing."

Merrilee bristled in the face of her daughter's arrogance. She and Constance had been going head-to-head for the past two years, and Merrilee was not about to lose. "Nothing to do with this house seems to be your thing. You need to know how to cook if you're going to be a proper wife."

Constance made a face. "I have no wish to be a proper wife, Mother. In fact, I don't think I'll get married."

"Of course you will. You want children, don't you?"

"I don't have to be married to have a kid. Aunt Jenny isn't married."

"Your Aunt Jennifer is hardly the example I want you to live up to."

"I like Jenny. She's cool. She listens when I talk to her. She understands."

"Because she has about as much maturity as you do," Merrilee said scornfully. She hated the fact that Constance liked Jenny. It made her feel as if she was competing for her daughter's love, something a perfect mother should not have to do.

As far as Merrilee was concerned, Jenny hadn't done anything right since she had arrived two weeks late for her own birth. As a teenager, Jenny had worn makeup, neglected her homework, and ignored Merrilee's every suggestion. It got worse when their mother died. Jenny didn't listen to anyone. Then she had the nerve to come home pregnant, splitting the family even further apart.

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, Merrilee was reminded that once again she would have to beg Jenny, Matt, and their father, John, to come to her house for dinner. Then, she'd have to play peacemaker all day. But she would do it, because the holidays were important to her, and families should be together.

Come hell or high water, Merrilee was determined that her family would have a happy holiday this year. That was the way it was supposed to be. She could make it happen. She just had to try harder.

"Mother." Constance waved her hand in front of her face. "I asked if anyone called me today?"

Merrilee stared at her daughter as the words sunk in. "Did you check the message pad in the hall?"

"Yes, but I thought maybe you forgot to write something down. I'm expecting a call," Constance said somewhat hesitantly.

Merrilee looked at her through narrowed eyes. "It's that boy, isn't it, the one you and Cassie are always whispering about? Why don't you tell me about him?"

"Well, he's got the coolest haircut."

"Haircut? Is that all you're concerned about?" Merrilee demanded.

"No, but ... oh, forget it. I knew you wouldn't understand. He's not interested in me anyway."

Merrilee felt relieved at this piece of information. She didn't want to deal with dating just yet. She wasn't ready.

Constance picked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter, rubbed it clean with the edge of her sleeve, then bit into it. "When's Daddy coming home?"

"He's working late tonight."

"Again? Are you two fighting?"

Merrilee turned away from her daughter's inquisitive eyes. She didn't want to think about Richard's odd behavior, much less discuss it with Constance. Instead, she concentrated on lifting the hens out of the pan and onto a floral serving plate. "Your father and I never fight," she said finally. "We're very, very happy together." If she said it often enough, it would be true.

"Daddy doesn't seem happy lately," Connie observed. "He never smiles anymore. When he's home, he sits in the family room watching sports."

"Advertising is a tough business, and your father and I take our responsibilities as parents very seriously. You and William are going to get a good education. That costs money, especially if you go to Stanford."

"I don't want to go to Stanford. I want to go to Berkeley."

"I hardly think so, dear."

"Mother." Eleven-year-old William Winston pushed open the kitchen door and frowned at them both. "There's a bug in my computer."

"Oh, God," Constance shuddered. "I hope you closed your door."

William rolled his eyes. "Not a bug, bug. A computer bug. A virus. I think it attacked my program. Half of my math homework is gone." William pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I'll have to re-input all my equations."

"Why don't you just tell your teacher the dog ate your homework?" Constance suggested.

"Miss Davenport wouldn't fall for that," William said. "Besides, I'm the best student in the class, and I don't want to wreck my GPA an unfinished homework assignment."

Merrilee nodded approvingly. At least one of her children was on the right track. "You're a good boy."

William smiled back at his mother, his earnest face pale from days spent inside the house, staring at his computer. For a moment, Merrilee felt a twinge of conscience. But she talked herself out of any guilt. William would be a brilliant businessman. With his high IQ and fascination with computers, she knew his future was secure.

"When is Dad coming home?" William asked.

"I don't know. But dinner is ready. Let's sit down and eat."

"I don't have time to eat," William said. "If I don't start now, I'll never get my homework done." He walked out of the kitchen, snatching a carrot off the counter.

Constance shrugged as she looked at Merrilee. "You know how I feel about dead animals," she said as she left the room.

Merrilee looked down at her game hens and felt like crying. Richard was working late. Her children hated her cooking, and nothing in her life was going right. She was supposed to be the perfect homemaker, and she would be, if the rest of her family would only cooperate.

Squaring her shoulders, Merrilee took the game hens into the dining room and set them on the table. "William, Constance. Come here," she said.

Her children strolled out onto the upstairs landing. Constance peered over the banister, and William looked through the railing.

"It's dinnertime," Merrilee said. "We're a family, and we're going to have a family dinner."

"I don't have time," William argued.

"You can do your homework after dinner."

"This is such a farce, Mother," Constance said. "Daddy isn't even here."

"Just because your father isn't here doesn't mean we can't share the news of our day together."

Constance walked down the stairs. "As if you care about what I'm doing."

"Of course, I care, I'm your mother."

The doorbell rang, and Merrilee bit down hard on her lip. "I can't imagine anyone with any sense of decorum would come calling at dinnertime."

Constance ran to the front door and opened it.