New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) (13 page)

“For several years after we married, your father and I tried
to conceive children, only to suffer through the disappointment of a series of
miscarriages.
 
I went to
specialists.
 
I underwent surgeries.
 
Nothing made a difference.”

Mathew frowned, wondering if his parents adopted him even
though he resembled his father.

“In our fourth summer, my sister Alisha stayed a week with
us.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes.
 
Alisha styled
herself as a free spirit.
 
She is the
proverbial nymphomaniac.
 
Foolish of me
to let her stay in our house even for a week.
 
She seduced your father then taunted me with her conquest.
 
One night she flounced into my bedroom as I
was dressing for dinner and flaunted her conquest.
 
We
argued
and I confronted your father.
 
At my
insistence and with some bribery from your
father
,
Alisha departed for the Far East where she has made her home ever since.
 
While I hate to say it, your
father
tried but failed to rein in his lust for
her.
 
By expanding his business to
Singapore and Hong Kong, he found reasons to travel
there
for trysts with her.
 
I
believe their affair lasted until he passed away.”

“Why did you stay with him?”

“I didn’t.
 
I left
him
and went to work in Kenya.
 
Later we made a deal.
 
If he backed my causes, I would say nothing
about Alisha.
 
Your father enjoyed
success as a shrewd and prosperous
businessman
.
 
He accumulated plenty of money to provide for
me as I worked to improve the world, and for Alisha as she did nothing except
enjoy hedonistic pleasures.”

Mathew sat absorbing
this
news.
 
Why was his mother telling him
this now after his father had been dead for years?
 
“How do I fit into this?”

“Nine months after their initial liaison, Alisha delivered a
baby boy.
 
Your father flew out for her
confinement.
 
He came back with you and a
nurse he had hired.”

Mathew slumped back in his chair, stunned by her news.
 
“With me?
 
What you’re saying doesn’t
make
sense.
 
I am your son.”

“Now we come to the other part of my agreement with your
father.
 
I pretended to be your mother,
even though you belonged to my sister.
 
Mathew,
I wanted to love you, but years of
trying for my child made the sight of you remind me of my failure.
 
I went abroad as much as possible and kept
you at a distance when I did come home. You hungered for affection, while I
could not give any to you.”

For the second time in his life, real sorrow invaded his
mother’s face.
 
The first time was when
his father died.
 
Her face tended to be
still and composed.
 
He saw regret too
and in spite of a lifetime of rejection, he reached out and took her hand.
 
For once she let him hold it.
 
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

What she revealed clarified so much he had never understood,
including her detachment from him, how fond his father was of him and his
dad
’s frequent trips to Asia.
 

“Where is she?
 
Where
is Alisha?”

“After what happened, I do not, could not, keep in contact
with her.”

“Unless you insist that I do not seek her out, I want to
meet her, if she’ll agree to see me.”

“Your father’s attorney who administers the trust funds will
be able to reach her.
 
He established a
disbursement account for Alisha as soon as your father heard of her pregnancy
with you.”

“No other children?”

“I don’t think so.
 
Evidently
complications arose during
her
delivery.
 
As far as I know, you are her only
child
.”

Their food arrived.
 
His
mother began nibbling at her salad,
although she showed little appetite.
 
He
picked up part of the sandwich and ate in silence, his mind on his mother’s
revelation.

“Regardless of this news, I will always think of you as my
mother
.”

“You must be shocked or hurt by my
deception.”

Mathew took a sip of ale, considering what he felt.
 
To his surprise, he did not feel hurt or
angry.
 
“I am surprised, shocked
really.
 
Although looking back on it,
something was always off.
 
I thought it
was me – I assumed I wasn’t the son you wanted.
 
I never felt like I was good enough.

“Thinking about it now. I can see that you and Dad tried to
make the best out of an awkward situation.
 
Yes, you have always been somewhat distant from me, but I never felt
unloved, just not loved as much as I needed.

“I am so sorry.
 
Selfish of me the way I behaved.
 
Do you still want to see me?”
 
Mathew was more shocked by her question than he was by her news.
 
As far as he was concerned, she was his
mother.
 
I am both your nephew and your
son.
 
Of
course
I want to continue seeing you.
 
Did you adopt me?”

“No.
 
I am embarrassed
to say it, but we faked your birth certificate.
 
You can change
the
mother’s name
on it if you want.”

“You
remain
my
mother
as far as I am concerned,” he said
although afraid of
being
rebuffed for
still loving her as his
true
mother.

“You are a kind-hearted man, but then you were a sweet
little boy.
 
You should know that I
always loved your father.
 
My resentment
over Alisha endured a long time because my heart and my pride each ached.
 
Not being able to carry a baby the full term
eroded my sense of self-worth.”

“You never attempted to have a child again?” Mathew
asked
as he tucked into his sweet potato fries,
his appetite remaining despite his mother’s news.

“We reconciled and endeavored to produce a child.
 
He
said
he
gave up Alisha during that time.
 
Following two more prenatal losses, I reached
my late
thirties,
and
I
decided we should end our struggles.
 
The emotional trauma became too much
with
my hopes and his hopes raised each time,
only to
be dashed
.”

“All those years and so much I never grasped.”

“What about you?
 
Will
you ever marry?”

“Definitely. My longing for a wife and family is why I left
the FBI and founded the vineyard.
 
I want
to fall in love and have children.”

“May you be more successful than I was, although even with
his passion for Alisha, I believe your father loved me deeply.
 
Have you found someone?”

“I am hoping so.
 
We
are starting out and
she
needs to put
her
years with
a
difficult
husband behind her.”

He told her about Callie as well as about Susannah and how
he sought to build on a solid friendship.
 
They talked until his mother had to leave for her flight.
 
Even then for more time with her, Mathew
rode
in her town car to start connecting with
her now that he better understood her.

Before they parted at the airport, he asked, “Why did you
tell me now?”

She shrugged.
 
“Ever
since your father’s funeral, the deception churned in my mind.
 
A few months ago, I started dating a man my
age who also dedicates his time to improving the lives of others.
 
From discussing my issues with him, we
concluded you should be aware of your parentage, thus releasing me from the
lie.
 
He helped me find the courage to
tell you.”

He found he was glad that his mother had someone who shared
her charitable interests.
 
Since Mathew
was so far along in life, this new man would never replace his
father.

“Come back with him for a holiday at the vineyard so I can
meet him.
 
You can also get to know Steve
and Ivy,” Mathew said and gazed at her for a moment.
 
“Come back as our friends.”

Laurel smiled in that
sparing
way she had and pressed his hand.
 
For
the second time that day, teardrops welled up in her eyes.
 
Finally
after forty years, she showed real emotion to him.
 
She turned away and walked a couple of steps
before turning around to come back.
 
Much
to his surprise, she reached out and gave him a light hug.

“Pursue your work for the Hispanic community,” his mother
said.
 
“I always go after big, sweeping
changes, but sometimes these grassroots projects can replicate into significant
improvements for the public.
 
If you
email me your plans, I’ll share the expertise I acquired over the years.”

“Your knowledge will be very
helpful,” he paused and added, “
Where are you off to now?”

“Back home for a week before going to Nigeria and three
other countries to help coordinate their efforts to contain the spread of
Ebola.
 
In
some areas the disease is so rampant, the level of its victims doubles every
two weeks.”

They said goodbye as she hurried off through security.
 
Mathew walked back to the town car in a
muddle of thoughts and emotions.
 
He
should be sad or angry at his parents’ trickery
and
at
his birth mother’s
desertion.
 
Instead
surprise and relief filled
him.
 
What Laurel had told him explained
so much.
 
Perhaps now his feelings of
inadequacy could begin to resolve themselves.
 
Her many rebuffs of him did not relate to him as a child or as a man.
 
Rather they sprang from passions and actions
outside of anything he could control.

           
Veritas
vos
liberabit
– The truth
shall make you free.

Later that same week in Spain, Cruze gave a smile of
satisfaction as he completed leveling his new kiln.
 
The prospect of starting up the new unit
excited him with taking it to the required 1600 degrees, well above normal
firing temperatures, and letting it cool as the break-in cycle.
 
Provided the initial heating up and cooling
down proved successful, which would take the next day and evening, he expected
to treat the shelves and use odds and ends to test it out.
 
If all went well, he wanted to fire a few
larger dishes and bowls.
 

He stood back, eyeing the kiln and running his hand over its
lid.
 
He remembered when Eduardo installed
new computer
equipment, he
slid his hands
over the gear in a manner suggestive of making friends with a strange dog.
 
Likewise
Cruze’s glass paraphernalia drew him into
a
world
where he turned into a different man.
 
When your vocation suits your essence, even
inanimate things become lovable.
 
Computers for Eduardo and glass for him.

Julio had finally procured the names and addresses of the
agents who had killed his
brothers/his cousins
along with the location of the bodies, although it took longer than either of
them expected.
 
However
the
consultants cited in the coverage eluded them.
 
Julio had found the identities of people from a security surveillance
company registered in Washington, D.C.
 
From everything he had traced, the business existed on paper but not as
an operational entity.
 
The timesheets on
file at the FBI had listed five different people, plus some part-timers who
might constitute a specialized squad kept in
deep
background.
 

With his mind unsettled, Cruze started to assemble the curved
shapes he cut out to make three sizes of plates.
 
After perfecting his patterns, he planned to
market the dishes as sets as well as individual pieces.
 
The oval shape made cutting the glass a
challenge.
 
During firing, the plates
will slump a little to create a shallow curvature in the center.
 
He intended to decorate them in concentric
arcs formed from three shades of blue.
 
The arched shards were to resemble a whirlpool in aquamarine
waters.
 
The curves and bends in the
glass gave an impression of motion.
 
When
he became more skilled, he might touch areas with silver flakes as highlights.

He had months, if not years, of diligent work ahead before
he produced fused glass of sufficient quality for sale.
 
Sometimes he became discouraged.
 
On another day when a piece fired
right,
he experienced the magic of creating
a unique
dish, plate or bowl.

Cruze walked outside and stood with his hands in his
pockets, staring in the direction of the old monastery further up the mountain,
seeking guidance.
 
All my life, I wanted
to work with my hands and make
beautiful
objects somewhere between craft and art.
 
Instead
I did what Cristo and
Eduardo wanted.
 
Am I wrong to now enjoy
my creative side, which I suppressed for thirty years because Cristo did not
view my love of art as macho or
powerful
?

The last time he took his paints out as a young teen, Cristo
had
called
him a pussy and taunted him
about girlie pursuits.
 
From what
Cruze
had gleaned, from trips to museums and
reading, many brilliant artists were men.
 
Their artistic moodiness often made them renowned, if not steadfast,
lovers.
 
He did not command the talent to
aspire to success as a painter.
 
With
their combination of science,
engineering
and artistry, glass arts matched
his
abilities
.

Back when he asked to leave Fuentes Enterprises, the
discussions had deteriorated into a couple of bad arguments.
 
In those exchanges Cristo had often turned on
him, treating him like a shamed dog who bit his owner.
 
Finally t
hey
had agreed to devise their exit strategies, beginning with Cruze.
 

Eduardo had concocted the
set-up
in Mexico to make it believable that the federal authorities executed Astuto or
someone close to him during the raid.
 
Cristo had gone along with the
charade,
even though
he
did not support his twin’s
exit.
 
With his staged
death,
Cruze had disappeared into his new
life.
 
T
he
extent of the resentment Cristo had harbored at what
he
called ‘Cruze’s desertion’ remained unknown to him.
 
He
hoped Cristo had allowed himself to appreciate the sense in his departure and
had forgiven him, although now his brother’s feelings may be hidden forever
behind the tapestry of death.

As
Cruze
worked,
he
considered what to do next. Did
he
possess the skill and even the
cojones
to go after the FBI agents and
the so-called consultants?
 
If he hired
sharpshooters, how did he keep his existence masked?
 
Even though his cousin knew the best people,
Julio was the only relative Cruze still shared his childhood history with. They
only had each other.
 
He did not want to
bring further danger to Julio.
 

He touched the patch on his arm worn to quit smoking.
 
At times like these when he wanted to think,
he craved a cigarette.
 
When working with
glass, his cravings for
a smoke
went
away.
 
Tobacco addiction seemed a small
thing compared to what happened to the people who used the drugs they dealt
in.
 
He pushed the thought away to
prevent guilt from further intruding on this day.

After checking over the new kiln, Cruze sauntered up to the
house where he opened a jug of Rioja, took out a tumbler and poured.
 
The full-bodied red tasted more satisfying
than refined and suited his palate.
 
He
unwrapped a package of dark sliced Spanish ham and another with a good local
goat cheese.
 
He placed these on a tray
with slabs of bread he cut from a crusty brown loaf.
 
A few olives and an orange concluded what had
become his favorite repast eaten out under the
stars.
 
Three weeks had passed since he learned of
the deaths of his brothers.
 
Never one to
make decisions precipitously, h
e would
use
this time
to give tribute to Cristo and Eduardo with his thoughts
.

He would miss Cristo and Eduardo every day until he died,
whether his death came in a week, a year, ten years or even fifty years.
 
Tonight he would confirm his decision about
his brothers.
 
His plan was to hire
someone break into their gravesites and take their left femurs.
 
The same thugs would be instructed to raid
several tombs on the same night,
taking
the same bones. The diversionary action might not throw off suspicion
much.
 
By having the DNA matched to his,
he could be 100% certain of the fates of his siblings.
 
While this approach seemed right to him, he
wanted to make sure he accounted for the risks.

If he found the remains not to be Cristo and Eduardo, he
would smile at their cunning and wait, confident they would contact him one
day.
 
If they had been hunted down and
slain, he would come back to the same conundrum – did he avenge them or did he
stay in hiding?
 
If his
smart
brothers failed to outsmart the feds, how
could he expect to succeed?

Again he asked himself, this time out loud, “Am I wrong to
live my life in this
harmless
way, doing
what I want?
 
Or must I go out and add to
my sins by avenging my brothers?”

At Spook Hills, Ivy toiled like a skivvy in the kitchen
with four pots of food simmering on the stove.
 
The meals to take them through the long days of harvest would be stored
away.
 
They would include
a delicious
Bolognese spaghetti sauce laden
with meat from the extra
osso
boco
braising in a
big
Dutch oven.
 
On the third
burner, lamb scented with rosemary browned for a stew.
 
The last pot contained a thick chicken rice
soup on a low flame.
 
Six loaves of
seasonal quick-breads
cooled on the counter –
pumpkin, apple cider spice with raisins, and cranberry walnut.
 
That morning she packed away the makings of
lunches and several one-dish casseroles.
 
Cookies and brownies were stacked into cookie jars or frozen.
 

           
She had
been cooking for so long that day even the corgis, intrepid beggars though they
were, had flopped down on the far side of the room to take naps.
 
Through the kitchen
window
she could see her old cat, Druid, conducting a stake-out by
the edge of the vegetable garden, hoping to catch a chipmunk or something
unawares.
 
He rarely
caught
anything these days, but he still
enjoyed the hunt.

Concern for Mathew kept flittering
through her mind as she chopped, measured and stirred.
 
He acted
differently
since he returned from the airport, as though he hoarded a secret like a
treasure to take out, examine and put back for
safe
keeping
.
 
He seemed thoughtful,
but not morose.
 
Perhaps his mood did not
relate to seeing his mother.
 
Could he
have reached an understanding with Callie?
 
Even if it seemed too soon, hearts set their schedules despite what the
head might think.
 
With everything in
place to start harvesting the grapes over at the Lindquist’s the next day,
Mathew might want to talk this evening.

Ivy leaned back against the island and took a long drink of
water.
 
Her life had changed so much in
the last two years.
 
Now she lived and
relaxed in her
stunning
home on this
scenic new vineyard with a husband who made her life fulfilled, happy and
stimulating.
 
At
times
she did get tired of cooking, but then she would think of all
that Steve did around the house.
 
Even
with a weekly housecleaner, he often ran the vacuum to pick up farm dirt and
pet hair or did the
laundry
or cleaned up
the kitchen.
 

Steve could be stubborn and sometimes obtuse, but she never
doubted his good intentions or his commitment to her.
 
He filled her life with little and big gifts
and luxuries.
 
She relished her new
pseudo-family with Mathew,
Brian
and
Moll.
 
She raised her bottle of water in
a toast to her life, took another big swallow and went back to preparing
muffins for storage.

Later as the three of them shared
a robust
meal of linguini with clam sauce, Ivy prodded Mathew a
little.

“How did your visit from your mother go?
 
You appear to be preoccupied and yet not
unhappy,” Ivy asked, hoping to prompt
a
response.

He glanced down at his plate, refilled his little dish of
olive oil, dipped in a
shard
of bread and
took a sip of wine before talking about his mother’s revelation on not being
his birth mother.
 
Steve and Ivy did not
need to feign their surprise.

“Mathew!
 
Are you
alright?
 
This
news must
have been a big shock,” Ivy said.

“Oddly enough, I’m okay with it.
 
It explained a lot about her attitude towards
me.”

“Are you going to connect with your birth mother – her
sister?” Ivy asked.

“After harvest, I think so.”

“Does she want to hear from you?” Steve asked, his brow
furrowed with concern.

Mathew finished chewing a piece of bread and said, “No
idea.
 
The sisters don’t talk to each
other.”

“And your mother?”

“After telling me, she warmed up a little and seemed more
relaxed with me.
 
While she will never be
gushing with affection, her softening towards me improves how we relate to each
other.
 
She’s dating another
philanthropist,
and I asked her to bring him to
the farm.
 
Hope I didn’t overstep my
bounds with my invitation.”

“
Of course
they should
come to visit,” Steve said.
 
“How did you
react to the news?”