Stand By Me (10 page)

“It was a healthy relationship, so we didn't try and make the kids play together.”

Kenya massaged her baby beneath her dress, shaking her head, while she formed the words in her mind into a polite sentence. She gave up, and confessed in a blank voice, “Aunt Karla never accused me of killing her sister.” Every face in the room paled. “I'm drained on forgiveness right now and would just like some peace.”

Steve caressed her face bringing their foreheads together, then brought his face up and said, “There is no designated ruler or measuring stick on when you stop forgiving your family, Kenya. Wait, listen to me. You never give up on family, what you do is limit what you allow people to dump on you. You’ve hit your limit, and I'm proud of the woman I see today and your mother would be too.” He hesitated before settling his hands on either side of her shoulders to stare at her for an uncomfortable length of time without blinking. When he did, a tear trembled on the edge of his lashes ready to spill over. “Forgiveness is a sign of courage and strength, and my little girl is glowing with it.”

Holes in her heart began to close in on themselves. That's what Kenya needed growing up...To hear he cared about her, the little girl.

She didn't have words for that speech. “Did you come here to help or were you looking for something?” She watched him get to his feet and return to her side on the upholstered chair.

“Your husbands in a bad situation and you and...my grandchild...need your family and we're your family whether you want us or not.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Steve said, “Alright, when you're ready, I'm here for you.”

She was ready the day she was born, right then it was too much to digest. “I'm expecting my husband to call soon. He only gets one call a week.”

Steve sat back in the chair stretching his legs out in front of him. “I'm not going anywhere.” Kenya eyed the clock again then Steve. “Morgan's the one you need to find and talk some sense into her. She's gotten hooked up with Brian, Jonathan's father, and he's old enough to be her...” There it was, like a bolt of lightning. Disgust knocked her heart against her ribs as the horror of her word sank into her mind. Her mouth watered from the building nausea. She turned her head to look at everyone sitting around the room and for some reason needed to see her brothers face the way she had as a toddler when he came home from school. He rose and with a dutiful stride as if he finally realized what his role as a brother meant he squeezed in beside Kenya.

His shoulder bumped hers and she turned to look into his face. “I haven't been there for you and that shame will sit with me for the rest of my life.” He shook his head, his lips tight and angled a glance down to her. “I'm here now. Can we go from here?” Too heavy of a moment she just stared at him. “I'll take that as a maybe. As far as the age thing, I thought the same thing when Uncle Marcus called me. I knew it was time to end all this and help my sisters.”

Kenya found her voice. “Michael, my husband's father, Brian's older than Morgan by twenty some years...” she looked up at Steve. “She's replaced your presence and love with Brian's whacked out affections. Oh this is sick and wrong,” she grumbled placing a hand over her stomach, holding her child for comfort.

Her brother put an arm around her shoulders causing her skin to prickle at the suspicion she'd picked up from Jonathan toward people wanting to help. “Kenya, I understand if you never forgive me, but I wanna help wherever I can,” Michael offered. “I was envious of your relationship with Marcus. You've been his buddy since we moved in...Morgan and me...” He waved a hand through the air then smirked under a dismissive grunt, turning his attention to Marcus. “We were just your niece and nephew that you got stuck with.”

“Michael, son, you were my nephew for thirteen years before your mother died. I've loved you as my son from the moment we brought you home,” Marcus confessed Katherine rubbing her hand across his shoulders in a consoling motion.

“I know that, Uncle Marcus. I held resentment toward Kenya, not because momma died, but because I never felt our relationship change,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You were Kenya's father...but our uncle.”

Saddened, Marcus crossed the room then held Michael's shoulders, looking into his face. Years of pain passed between the two men. “Son...I didn't want you or Morgan to think I was trying to replace your father. It was different with Kenya. We were the only parents she'd ever known.”

The library swelled with emotions Kenya hadn't even considered all these years. Lord, they would need family counseling after this emotional whirlwind.

Dropping her shoulders, she let Michael thread their fingers together the way he had when they'd cross the street to the playground. The second he saw one of his friends he'd drop her hand and catch up to them leaving her to walk behind them. This time it felt sincere. She tucked her fingers under his and held tight.

“Uncle Marcus, it’s cool, don’t explain...I'm straight,” he said wrapping his arms around Kenya. She accepted the gesture. “I'm here to help my sister get her husband out of jail, then find Morgan. We have a family to piece back together.”

The room looked to Marcus as he spoke. “Yes, I gave custody of my children to the two people I knew would raise them the best. It was dangerous in the Middle East. The first thing you're warned against is keeping ties with family...loved ones.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck visibly disturbed. “If I was ever captured, and it happened to some guys, there was no way I'd allow my kids to be contacted for ransom on my life. And I did send money to help support you and your brother and sister.”

Kenya looked at her mother for verification or a way to get out of this nightmare closing in around her. “He's telling the truth honey. We've never touched a dime of the money and placed it in the bank. I knew your father would come home one day.”

Marcus said, “Your mother never wanted him to take the job. When she died your father came to us begging us to raise his children so they never got separated if something happened to him.”

Kenya got to her feet folding her arms under her breasts. “Could everyone give us a minute? I need to speak to Steve alone.”

Sophie crossed the room turning Steve to the window. Kenya watched them have a few words. Sophie smiled then held his hand between hers. What was that about?

When the noise of feet scuffing over the carpet died down, she moved from the settee and leaned against the fireplace leaving Steve in front of the window.

“Do I even want to ask what you could possibly have to whisper about with Sophie?”

“It's no secret. She asked if I'd look at the computer in the office before I left.” Odd, Sophie didn't have much to do with the computer here in Ireland. It must be for Fiona.

Kenya swiped at the tears running down her face she'd held back as long as she could and extended a hand to Steve. He got to his feet and crossed the room in a flash. As if in slow motion, she felt every nerve ending being touched when their hands came together. When their fingers intertwined, a connection she hadn’t anticipated fluttered through her heart. When her face met his shoulder, his arms closed tight around her clinging as intensely as she was. Kenya hugged her father for the first time and listened to his heartbeat under her ear. “I need my family right now...especially you.”

“Would it mean anything if I said I'm excited to be a grandfather even if I have to get in line behind Marcus?”

It would mean more than he knew. Minutes passed before either spoke holding the other in a death grip. Kenya burrowed as close as she could get holding her father.

“What can I do to help get your husband home where he belongs?”

His face was sincere behind his offer. “If you’re serious, right now just knowing my family is here helping.”

Steve's chest swelled pressing at her shoulder under his deep inhale. “I'm serious Kenya. I have money, but I doubt you need that.”

“I don't need money, Steve, I need...wait a minute,” she said pushing away from his embrace. “Money, crap...” She planted a hand to her hip and ran a hand over her hair.

“What's wrong?”

She looked up wearily. “So busy with everything else, I never changed my name on my bank account and I'm paying investigators and things. I can't use Blakemore money that'll appear a bribe and I don't have that kind of money on me here.”

The skin around Steve's eyes crinkled and she watched a smile open his face. “Let me pay for it, Kenya. And this is for you,” he said fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. “You have over two million in the bank.” She choked covering her mouth with her hand. “The money I sent you over the past twenty seven years is over two million dollars.” He unfolded a deposit slip handing it to her. She set her eyes on him before accepting the carbon paper. Blinking she couldn't believe the amount typed across the bottom in faded blue ink.

“Is this right? Steve, there's over two million dollars in here.” She couldn't take her eyes off the flimsy paper with a staggering amount of zeros. Astonished, she read the numbers over in her head. “Tell me this is not drug money, Steve?”

He leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantel. “I lived a simple life...had no reason for luxuries.”

She twisted her mouth giving him a speculative frown. “Where'd you live in a sand castle? How did you make this kind of money? Are these legal dollars?” she rattled on uncontrolled.

“It's legal.” He let his shoulders relax. “When a company is located in a war zone, they pay well enough to keep you from having to think about turning down the offer. When the wars began years later, not staying connected to your kids kept you alive.” He pushed his hands into his pockets the sound of change jingling broke the silence. “Kenya, I made over three hundred thousand a year looking at a computer screen sixteen hours a day. I wrote codes, created programs, fixed programs, whatever was needed.”

Kenya raised her brows too curious not to ask the question on her tongue. “Did anyone ever get captured...tortured?”

“I'm certain you've seen the many CNN and Dateline reportsthrough the years. Kidnapping’s happened, more than anyone reported.”

A jolt of relief coursed through her easing the tension in her tense shoulders. Steve had slipped into her heart just that quickly. “I saw those reports and yes they were awful to watch, especially horrible for the families. I'm glad you made it out safe,” she offered honestly. “All this time you've been sending your paychecks home to Katherine for us?”

He inclined his head but kept his eyes on her. “Most of it, yes. I retired a few years ago and...met someone, Kenya.”

She reeled back stepping around him, to pad across the carpet to the window beside the sofa, stuffing the paper in her dress pocket. Why did that bother her more than the money? She stared out over the estate grounds tapping a finger on the windowsill. “You remarried?” She could hear his shoes scuffing over the rug. He stood directly behind her, his hand on her shoulder now.

“She's a good woman,” he said his love for his wife evident in the kind tone. “She picked out that pearl necklace you're wearing,” he started. She grasped the string of beads around her neck caressing their slick surface between her fingers..

“Katherine and Marcus gave me this for my promotion a few months ago.”

Steve smiled. “They bought the earrings. My Salma and I bought the necklace.”

Tucking her chin down to her chest, she held the string of pearls out admiring the color. She felt a sliver of unease under her skin, for loving the gift she thought was from her parents. “I love the richness of black pearls not to mention I wear a lot of gray. I wear it all the time...thank you.” It was her favorite piece of jewelry. She twisted at the waist then turned to sit on the windowsill, then moved to the chair instead, agreeing the sill was too narrow for her hips. “Tell your wife I said she has nice taste...in jewelry...and men.”

Steve grinned just enough for her to see the corner of his mouth tweak up. “I'll tell her. She chose the black pearls over the regular white ones saying they complimented your complexion.”

Her fingers stopped moving over the beads. “Your wife knows what I look like?”

He knelt before her on the floor hands braced to the chair cushion. “After I retired and moved out of the Middle East, I started carrying pictures of my children. Katherine's kept me updated through the last couple years.”

“Mhmm,” she sighed. A headache pushed at her temple.

He pulled out a picture from his wallet and Kenya held up a hand shaking her head. Steve slid the photo back into the sleeve of his wallet. “I know I'm throwing a lot at you...”

That was the understatement of the year. “Do you have other children?”

“No...When you're ready my wife and I are staying in one of the hotels by the shore. I wanted to talk to you alone first.”

Kenya shot a glance to the window then Steve. “She's here in Ireland?”

“She's in the lobby...felt you and I needed a minute alone first. She's a good woman, Kenya. I'll always love your mother, no one will change that, but I was tired of being alone.”

“What’s her name again?” she prodded.

“Salma,” he said holding her hands between his.

“Is that, Italian?”

“African,” he corrected. “She wants to meet you.”

She rubbed a knuckle under her nose. “Might as well.”

She watched as he left the room then less than a minute later the door opened and a tall lean woman stepped inside crossing the room to Kenya. Nothing special about her features yet she held an openness about her Kenya found pleasing.

“Hi, Salma, I’m Kenya Blakemore,” she said as pleasantly as possible.

“Kenya, I’m glad to finally meet you. You look so much like your mother.”

“My mother?” she questioned.

“There's pictures of all of you in our family room back home in France.” Kenya shot a glance to Steve and he shrugged and sat on the sofa.

“France is where we met. I traveled a lot,” he said. “I know you have a lot going on right now, Kenya, but if there’s anything I can do to help you through what has to be a terrible ordeal, don’t hesitate to ask.”