7:10 P.M.
“Happy birthday, McCone.”
Hy raised his champagne flute to mine, and we clinked softly, then drank. We were seated on the rim of the stone fire pit in our brand-new, mostly unfurnished living room at Touchstone. The sun was a smudge of orange on the horizon, the sea’s purple troughs capped by pinkish spray. Gulls, hawks, and ospreys wheeled above, seeking dinner.
He added, “Forty-one tops a banner year for you, huh?”
“Yeah—four new family members. But then there’s Austin.”
“You break the news to him on the way back from San Diego?”
“I did, and to tell the truth, he seemed relieved. I don’t think he’s a paternal kind of guy, and he’s got enough to handle, after what happened up north. My presence in his life would be one more painful reminder. He said he wants to keep in touch, but I’m betting he won’t.”
“Is that a loss?”
“No. I never connected with him, and he only thought he was connecting with me. And then there was his father…”
“Some piece of work.”
“You know, it’s ironic: Joseph DeCarlo committed murder because he thought his son had fathered a child by an Indian woman. Then he spent decades covering up and hating and scheming. He made Austin despise him to the point where he killed him. And in the end it was all so unnecessary.”
“Aren’t the actions of bigots always unnecessary?”
“Unnecessary, and monstrous.”
But it was my birthday; I didn’t want to discuss weighty issues. Instead I sampled some pâté that sat along with caviar, Brie, and crackers on the platter between us. “So tell me about your hostage negotiation.” He’d tracked me down in Boise on Friday to report it a success.
“Actually, I’m more interested in talking about how we’re gonna furnish this place. Comfort is what I care about, so maybe we should—”
The phone rang. I went to where it sat on the floor and answered. John, sounding upset and not bothering to offer me birthday greetings.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Joey. I finally got news of him, and I don’t like it.”
“Now what’s he done?”
“Ma got a postcard from him this morning. Dated three weeks ago, looked like it’d been misrouted and mangled in the mail. Photo of a place called the Anchor Bay Bar and Grill, said he was working there—”
“Anchor Bay? That’s here in the county, south of us.”
“I know. Anyway, I called there, talked with the owner. He said Joey didn’t show up for his shift a week ago Monday. After a couple of days one of the waitresses—I think she’s Joey’s girlfriend—went around to the trailer park where he’s been living. His truck was gone, so she talked the manager into letting her into the trailer. Everything of his was there, right down to his toothbrush. She’s been checking each day, and nothing’s changed.”
My scalp prickled. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No. Shar… I know you’ve been through a lot of heavy-duty family stuff lately, but would you—”
“Go down there and check it out.”
“Yeah.”
“Let me get my notebook so I can take down the details.”
When I replaced the receiver, Hy was standing by the seaward windows watching the last of the sunset. He put his arm around me and drew me close.
“Families!” I said, nestling my head against his shoulder.
“More trouble?”
“Yeah. Why can’t humans be hatched from eggs and go our separate ways, like insects?”
He didn’t bother to reply. It was a rhetorical question I often voiced, and one to which we both knew the answer. Related or unrelated, we all need each other to get through. Besides, the journey wouldn’t be worth much alone.
I watched darkness fall over the sea and thought about the morning. The drive south to Anchor Bay was a pretty one—well worth making if I could find some lead on my missing brother.