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Since it was such a lovely afternoon, I walked to Jonas' house. It would have been nice if Daniel had waited for me and given me a ride, but the trip wasn't so far that I minded. I knocked on the door and Hannah let me in, welcoming me. She was a pretty woman, unmistakably part of my mother's side of the family. She had thick dark hair, although it was wavy, not straight like Grandpa Brian's. And, as always, her hazel eyes radiated a contentment that I never could fathom.
“Come in, come in, Corinne.” Hannah's accent wasn't so unlike Allen's. She was from Europe, although I wasn't quite sure what country, but I did know that my parents had helped her and her husband out in the past. She had once mentioned that if not for my family, she would never have gotten married.
“We can't wait for your party on Sunday!” Hannah bubbled as she led me through the house. She was one of those people who always seemed to be upbeat, but it was genuine. She really didn't have a perfect life – she and her husband were just scraping by, and now that their oldest child was nearing college age, they had a lot more to worry about.
I passed by her youngest, who sat back against Jonas' wall of shelves, a stack of his books at her side. My grandfather often told his uncle to get rid of some of them, as so few people read printed books anymore, but Jonas was an old-timer, and he cherished every volume.
The sandy-haired girl was reading an old, tattered children's book that I recognized from my youth. “The Sad Little Peahen? Jonas still has that?” I exclaimed. “He used to read that to me when I came over. So did my mom.”
Daniel emerged from the kitchen. “Mom read that to everyone,” he said, fiddling with one of Jonas' sculptures. Uncle Jonas had a large collection of art and antiques that he'd picked up in his travels. Every time I visited him, I'd discover something new.
My brother switched his focus to a twisted amethyst carving as he continued, “The peahen story was my favorite book as a kid. I always got a kick out of the names of the prince and the lady in there.”
“Our names,” Hannah blushed.
Yes, the story of Prince Andrew and commoner Hannah always had held me in its thrall as a young girl, and I secretly imagined it really was about Mom's cousins – even though it took place in the 1300s.
“Jonas, it's suicide!” Andrew's voice bellowed from the kitchen.
Hearing the outburst, Daniel threw his arms in the air in mock-confusion. “Some prince,” he smirked with a laugh. “Come in and say hi to everyone, Corinne.”
I looked down at the little girl. She seemed just as captivated by the book as I remembered being. “You like that story, Shaina?” I asked her.
She flipped the page. “Yup, Mommy used to read it every night.” A folded paper fluttered out and hit the floor.
“Daniel!” Jonas beckoned from the kitchen. Hearing his deep, gravelly voice pulled me back to my own childhood. Seeing him was a treat, for he always had something for us – an exotic toy, foreign money, “vintage” candy... To me, he was like Herr Drosselmeyer, the mysterious magician/grandfather in The Nutcracker. With his white hair and mustache, he even looked like he could be a sorcerer.
“Daniel, come on in here!”
“Coming,” said my brother, and Hannah followed. I picked the dropped paper up to tuck it back into the book, but my curiosity got the better of me and I unfolded it.
It was well-worn and creased, and the printing was that of an official document. I flattened the sheet out and studied it. It was a death certificate.
“Jonas Benjamin Fox, born March 29, 1908, died Oct 29, 1976”.
I stared at it for a moment. Jonas Fox didn't die fifty-six years ago. Jonas Fox was very much alive, and he had just started arguing with my brother in the kitchen.
And if he had been born in 1908, he'd be...well, dead. Either that or very near it. He'd be one-hundred twenty-three years old or so.
I carefully re-folded the paper and placed it back into the book, instructing Shaina to be certain not to lose it. Then I strode into the kitchen, regarding my uncle as he sparred with Daniel.
“It's improper,” Jonas was saying. “Everyone's right. And this particular choice is far more dangerous than you realize.” He glanced at Hannah, who appeared flustered. She went over to the cabinet and pulled out more snacks, even though the table had two plates of cookies on it already.
“Dangerous? He's amazing!” my brother yelled back.
“And so are you, and you can't fool with it. Clean up your own mess or they'll have to step in.” Jonas looked up at me as I cleared my throat. “Corinne, hello!”
“Hi Uncle Jonas. Hi Andrew. What mess?”
Andrew sat quietly at the kitchen table, a bowl of half-melted chocolate ice cream in front of him. His face was paler than usual, and I couldn't imagine why he wasn't eating. The man always ate ice cream. Who knew how he kept so thin?
I wanted to interrogate Jonas about the fake death certificate, but I knew him to be an honest man, and I was sure there was a good reason for the document. Plus, I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his guests. “What's going on here?” I asked instead.
Everyone glanced at each other. Apparently they were aware of whatever Daniel was up to and they didn't agree with it either.
“Daniel's poking his nose into the wrong things,” my uncle said dismissively.
My brother snorted and grabbed a cookie – even though he already had one in his other hand.
With his eye still on Daniel, Jonas blatantly changed the subject. “When's your brother coming home?”
Daniel didn’t bother to reply. “Tomorrow, I think,” I answered for him.
“I can't wait to see Matthew. It's been a while!” Hannah gushed.
I didn't say anything, however. I was studying my uncle, trying to fathom just why he had that certificate. The document had deepened the mystique surrounding him to a whole new level. He really didn't look much older than his nephew Grandpa Brian, truth be told. Just how old was he? Yes, I called him my uncle, but he actually was my mother's great-uncle.
Was that even possible? I had never considered how unlikely that suddenly seemed. Then again, maybe this had something to do with why all his documents and mail were addressed to “Jacob” Fox? Maybe he was a different person than the Jonas of the certificate?
But I had always understood that he had changed his name to Jacob because he wanted to be left alone after he retired...
The name-change explanation sounded weak and flimsy to me now, and I realized there had to be something more going on here. It was time to ask some questions.
***
THAT NIGHT, I DIDN’T examine the family tree as I had earlier intended. I decided I would rather do it without anyone around. It just seemed safer to do it away from prying eyes.
When I was ready for bed, I wandered into the piano room. My father was playing Chopin while Mom folded laundry on the couch. “Julian, when are you going to change that light bulb in the kitchen?” she inquired while shaking a sock out of someone's underwear.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye before responding. “I need to get the ladder in there for that, Patricia. It's pretty high up.”
She raised her eyebrow and turned to me. “You going to bed, kid?” She hoisted up the laundry basket with a grunt.
“Soon.” I walked over to my dad and leaned against the piano. My youngest memories contained his music as a soundtrack, and I had always loved to hear him play. He filled our house with melodies, and he was so talented, had he not become a doctor, I was sure he would have been a famous pianist. “Dad, how old is Uncle Jonas?”
He looked up from the keys, leaving one finger on the middle “C”. The tone struck, then died away slowly, and a confused expression settled on his face. “Um...not...sure? Patricia, how old is Jonas now?”
Already halfway into the other room, Mom returned, placing the basket on the floor. “Well...he's...”
“I mean, if he's Grandpa Brian's uncle, why does he look like he's the same age as him?” I inserted.
“Oh, he looks much older than Brian.” Dad settled back to his Chopin.
“Definitely,” my mother said, picking up the basket and trudging upstairs. I never did get my answer.
***
THE NIGHT WAS FULL of sounds in the woods. This was nothing new; now and then we'd have the occasional raccoon tussles or cats howling. Of course, then my mom would check if the cats were strays. That was probably why she had been outside the other night – she always helped animals. We had six cats, and, as Dad said, it was only a matter of time before number seven showed up.
But, like the other night, the noise woke me up. I must have been dreaming, because I felt that same inexplicable pride I had experienced in band, and I grew nauseated. Before I could work myself into another nervous frenzy, I got out of bed and opened the blinds.
A mountain lion stared back at me.
I did a double take, having never seen one before. The animal was a handsome specimen, and, from the edge of the woods, its eyes locked with mine.
For a moment, I couldn't move. The creature held me enthralled, those unforgettable bluish orbs forbidding me to avert my gaze. And I was so captivated by the animal's preternatural beauty that I couldn't think of turning away. But another cougar suddenly emerged from the woods, playfully biting this animal's tail and pulling us both from our shared trance.
The mountain lions disappeared off into the trees, and I was left gaping into the night.