Jacob
“Grandview?”
I glance out the window, watching a taxi pull into the parking lot below.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the name he used. I should’ve remembered it last night, but I was pretty shaken up.”
“Understandable. Do you know what he was referring to?”
“I’m pretty sure it was a place. He told Oliver Doyle to report back there today.”
“I’ll look into it,” I promise her. “You guys are heading back this morning?”
I watch the same taxi drive out of the parking lot. He probably dropped off a fare.
“That’s the plan, although I haven’t heard from Hamish yet. I may go knock on his door in a minute.”
“Can you hang on one sec? I have a call coming in.”
I switch to the incoming call, hit speaker, and put my phone down.
“Lee, what do you have for me?” I ask as I grab my jeans off the chair and pull them on.
“Pictures. Sending them through now. Pay special attention to the last set. White hair, older guy. Arrived with a driver in a black Cadillac Escalade and was dropped off around the back. Left again half an hour later with a younger guy in tow. I snapped what I could. There are one or two of the vehicle, where you can see part of the license plate that might be helpful.”
“Appreciate it. I’ll be in touch. I’ve got someone on the other line.”
I switch back to Onyx as I tuck my shirt in my jeans.
“That was Lee. He got some pictures yesterday he’s sending to me. I’ll forward them to you. Call me when you’ve had a chance to look at them.”
I end the call and shove my feet in my boots. Then I sit down in front of my laptop and open up my email. Lee’s message is at the top with a link to a Dropbox folder, which I quickly forward to Onyx.
Next, I click on the link and scroll down to the last set of twelve images. The first one doesn’t show much, just a grainy image of someone sitting in the back of the SUV. The next few are shots of the white-haired man getting out of the back seat, but it doesn’t really show his face. It looks like Lee changed his vantage point because in the next picture the man is coming out of the rear barn doors with a younger guy, who looks like he’s barely twenty years old. The young kid’s face is partially obscured by the bill of his ball cap, but you can see the older man’s face clearly.
I’ve never seen it before.
The next few images must’ve been shot in quick succession since they show the two men walking to the vehicle and opening the back door. There is something about the way the old guy has his hand around the back of the kid’s neck that has every hair of my body stand up.
I can almost feel the pressure of fingers digging in.
The sharp knock at the door almost has me jump out of my skin. I quickly snap my laptop shut and shove it in my bag.
“Door’s open!”
Onyx
The face doesn’t stir any memories.
Now that I’m over the initial shock of hearing his voice, I’d hoped seeing his picture would be a visual confirmation, but I can’t tell if it’s him.
“What’s wrong?”
I glance over at Hamish, whose eyes remain on the road.
“You keep staring at those pictures on your phone.”
“I’m just thrown by the fact I could’ve sworn it was his voice I heard, but this isn’t the face I remember.”
It’s making me question what I think I heard.
“And now you’re starting to doubt yourself,” he assesses correctly. “Appearances aren’t that hard to alter, but you can’t change a voice.”
I know he’s right, but I’d feel a whole lot better if there was something or someone else who could confirm the old man is David Wheeler. I’d hate to be wrong.
“One of my colleagues—Pearl—she has a face-recognition software that takes certain measurements on a face, like the distance between the eyes for instance. Those are also supposed to be unchangeable.”
She’d also need a decent old picture of Wheeler to compare to, but I’m sure we have a bunch of those on file somewhere.
“Call her,” he prompts.
“Let me try Jacob first, he may have already asked her.”
I dial his number but I’m getting kicked straight to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I try Janey next. She answers on the third ring.
“I’m in the middle of something.”
Janey has a tendency to be abrupt but that’s simply the way she operates. She’s almost painfully straightforward, which easily puts people off, but I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. I’ve long wondered if Janey is on the spectrum. She certainly has some of the earmarks.
“Okay, I’ll explain in an email, but check as soon as you have a moment.”
“Sure.”
Immediately the line goes dead.
I quickly forward the image Lee took showing Wheeler’s face with an explanatory note. It’s quite possible Jacob already asked her to run the image through the program, but I’d rather ask her twice than not at all.
“How do you feel about grabbing some breakfast?” Hamish asks. “Unless you have to get back to Four Oaks in a hurry?”
“It’s Sunday, there’s not a whole lot I can do until tomorrow anyway. I could eat,” I admit.
Jacob mentioned last night he wants me to hold off on finalizing the purchase of Arion’s Moon until we have a chance to gather some more information. I will need to visit with a lawyer Jacob says he’ll arrange for me, because apparently buying a horse isn’t that much different from buying a house. The process is very similar with money as well as title transfer being handled by an attorney, after which arrangements can be made for the actual transfer of the horse.
Which reminds me, I still have to hire a stable hand or something because I can’t expect Hamish to be there all the time, and I don’t have a slightest clue how to look after a horse.
“Denny’s okay?”
He points at the familiar sign, visible near the next exit.
“Fine by me.”
My stomach starts growling when the smell of bacon hits me as soon as we walk in. Not a surprise, it’s already after ten and all I’ve had is the watery coffee the little machine in my room made.
The place isn’t busy at all as a waitress shows us to a booth by the window. Despite his ball cap, Hamish has to endure several looks. It’s becoming so annoying; I start doling out angry glares to the gawkers. I can only imagine what it must be like for him.
“Morning, my name is Donna. Can I get you a coffee?” the woman asks as she slides menus in front of us.
“Please,” we both respond.
She’s back a few moments later with a carafe and a bowl with milk and creamers. She flips over the mugs on the table and fills them to the brim.
“Do you need more time?”
“I know what I want,” Hamish answers and then turns to me. “Onyx?”
“Eggs Benny for me, please,” I order.
I don’t even feel guilty, it’ll be breakfast and lunch combined.
“I’ll have a Philly cheesesteak omelet, and could I have two buttermilk biscuits instead of toast? No gravy.”
When Donna leaves with our order, Hamish leans his elbows on the table.
“Did you manage to get any sleep?” he asks, his hazel eyes locking on mine.
I shrug, unsuccessfully trying to lower my eyes, but his won’t let go.
“Some. That reminds me,” I quickly change the subject. “I never thanked you for the sushi last night.”
“No problem. I’ll be honest, I was conflicted leaving you alone last night.”
“I think I needed a moment though,” I explain.
He nods and picks up his mug, taking a sip.
“Not an easy thing, coming face-to-face with your nightmare,” he observes.
He’s not really pushing, but not exactly letting go either. Oddly enough, I don’t mind. He seems genuine in his concern.
“Those are not memories I often pull out of the box. They tend to be securely tucked away. I don’t think I was prepared for the impact being confronted with him would have,” I admit.
“Not sure that’s something you could prepare for,” he astutely points out. “How did you end up at the home in the first place?”
I take a fortifying swig of my coffee.
“I shamed my parents.”
He doesn’t say anything, but simply nods for me to go on.
“My parents came here from Pakistan when I was three years old, an only child. They held on tightly to their culture and religion. By the time I went to middle school, I wanted the freedom my peers enjoyed and started rebelling against my parents’ strict hold.”
I pause when Donna walks up with a pair of plates, but they’re for the couple a few booths over.
“My father caught me kissing a boy in the alley behind our house. It was the culmination with all the other ways I’d disobeyed them that was the last straw for my parents. I was shunned, and my father handed me off to the director of Transition House.”
“Wow. That’s harsh…and disturbing.”
“It is in the western world, but not to my parents. This clash between cultures is not unique.”
This time when the waitress approaches it’s with our breakfast, and for the next ten minutes or so we focus on our meal.
During that time, I’m trying to figure out what it is about this man that has me talking about things I haven’t shared since I was in therapy many years ago. Perhaps it’s those warm, hazel eyes that prompt me to open up like this. Every so often, he glances over and I’m curious what it is he sees when he looks at me.
I’ve barely moved my mostly empty plate aside when Donna shows up with the bill and another carafe.
“You can pay at the cash register. More coffee?”
I reach for the bill, but Hamish beats me to it. He ignores my frustrated grunt and turns to the woman.
“Yes, to go, please.”
When Donna walks away, he turns to me.
“Did you ever have contact with them?”
I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.
“My mother died three years after I left, but I saw my father once. He turned his back so I didn’t try again. He’s since passed as well.”
It’s surprising how little I feel, talking about my parents. There was a time I worried perhaps there was something wrong with me—that I was cold—but the truth is I’ve given them enough of my grief, my anger, and my pain.
I don’t want the rest of my life to be shaped by events I had no power over and cannot change.
The arrival of our coffees to go is a welcome distraction, and I quickly excuse myself to visit the bathroom before we hit the road again. I use the facilities and splash some water on my face before joining Hamish, who has apparently already paid and is waiting by the door.
As he has done every time, he opens the passenger side for me. I get in, buckle up, and notice he’s still standing there with the door open.
“It’s probably not politically correct to say this, but what was done to you by people, who were supposed to look after you, is fucked up.”
He closes the door, heads around the truck, and gets behind the wheel. The engine rumbles to life and the truck starts backing out of the parking spot when it suddenly stops.
Hamish puts the truck in park, grabs my hand and lifts it, and with his eyes on mine, kisses my knuckles.
“And yet here you are…incredible.”