Sunrise Point

He drove her back to the road to Virgin River after her shift. “You can’t do this every day,” she said. “It’s too much.”

“It’s two miles,” he replied. “And when you get a ride, you pick more fruit.”

“Well, I have to admire a man who knows what he wants,” she said. Then she jumped out of the truck and headed for home. Even though Adie was expecting her, she stopped at the church, looking for Reverend Kincaid.

She stood in his office doorway and waited until he looked up. “If that offer is still open, I’d like to set up a meeting with my father. If you’ll contact him and go with me.”

“Be happy to,” he said. “Any particular day?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. Weekend, if he’s available and if you’re available. Saturday? I could take a day off I think, but I don’t want to do that to the Cavanaughs—work weekend overtime and take off on a regular pay day. But if that’s the only option, I think Tom Cavanaugh would give me a break.”

“I’ll call him,” Noah said. “Jed Crane, not Tom.”

“Tell him I want some kind of evidence—that he’s my father, that my mother is dead, that he’s employed… . I don’t know what to ask. I just want to be sure he’s not a fraud. Or a creep who’s just after something. I’m not sure I can remember his face.”

Noah stood from behind his desk. “I’m glad you’re doing this. No matter where it goes from here, you deserve some answers. I’ll ask Ellie to help with your girls.”

* * *

They chose a public park in Santa Rosa as a meeting place and Nora was so stressed out, she barely spoke all the way there. She did say, “Please don’t leave me alone with him and don’t mention that I have children.” Once Noah had to pull over because she was afraid she was going to throw up. When they got to the park at noon, Nora knew Jed immediately. The memory of him came back instantly—he was the same, though older. He was very tall, his brown hair was thin over a shiny crown with a lumpy shape, his eyes kind of sad, crinkling and sagging at the corners. He had thick, graying brows, had a bit of a soft center—a paunch—and wore his pants too high. And he wore a very unfashionable short-sleeved plaid shirt with a button-down collar that she thought she recognized from the last time she saw him.

Apparently he knew her right away because he immediately took a few anxious steps toward her. And then he opened his arms to her and she instinctively stepped back, out of his reach. That just did him in—he almost broke down. A huff of air escaped him and she thought he teared up. “I’m sorry,” he said. He carried a large padded envelope which he held out toward her. He swiped at invisible tears, embarrassed by this display. “I apologize, Nora,” he said. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

And what were her first words to her long-lost father? “Did you ever take me bowling? When I was too little to even think about bowling?”

Sudden laughter joined his tears. “I had no idea what a weekend father was supposed to do—so yes, I took you bowling. It was a disaster, but you seemed to have a fun time. Your ball never once made it to the pins. Here,” he said, pressing the big envelope on her. “Copies of all the papers Reverend Kincaid said you’d like to have.” Then he stuck out his hand to Noah. “Thank you for helping with this. Thank you so much.”

But Nora said, “Weekend father?”

“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Jed suggested. “There’s so much to catch up on.”

As he turned in the direction of a picnic table, Nora put out a hand to his forearm and stopped him. “Do you…” She faltered, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

“Nothing but regrets, Nora. I just don’t know how I could’ve made things better for you.”

They found a table in the shade of a tree and even though there were lots of people around, began to forage through the past. “My mother said the bowling never happened. I remembered bowling, planting a garden, you reading me stories, that kind of thing, but she said…”

“It’s going to be so hard to explain her,” Jed said, shaking his head dismally.

“What’s in here?” she asked, holding up the envelope.

“Reverend Kincaid said you had no documentation at all, that you weren’t even sure your mother and I divorced. It’s all there—copies of the marriage license, the divorce decree, the order from the court that Therese retain custody and that I would have visitation one day a week. Then I lost even that. I had a few pictures—you as a newborn, your first birthday, a day in the park, the first day of preschool. I didn’t get many.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why did you leave us?”

He seemed to take a moment to compose himself. “I’ve wanted to explain and yet dreaded this moment for years,” he said. “Therese and I were at terrible odds—lots of conflict. I suggested a separation, suggested we might’ve made a mistake and could work it out amicably, and that did it. Pushed her right over the edge. I could say she threw me out, except that I’d already suggested separation. Her anger with me was phenomenal and I left because I’d had all I could take.

“I was over forty when we met and though I was plenty mature, I wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man. I had so little experience with women. We weren’t a young couple. We met, dated and got married too quickly because we were getting older and wanted children—your mother was forty when you were born. The sad truth is, we weren’t happy for long. She was sick when she was pregnant and suffered terrible depression when you were a baby and it took about a year for her to recover. Maybe she never did—I’m not sure. Therese was a loose cannon. I never knew what might set her off. She lashed out at me constantly. I suggested maybe motherhood didn’t make her as happy as she thought it might and that…” He shook his head and looked down. “I always seemed to say the wrong things.”

“Were you ever happy?” Nora asked.

“I thought so,” Jed answered. “At the very beginning. Then there were issues I thought had to do with pregnancy and new parenthood. But by the time a few years had passed, I knew we were doomed.

“But I thought she loved you, Nora. As long as I wasn’t around, she seemed to take good care of you. When I came home after work, you sparkled. You were so happy and showed no signs of suffering. I was afraid of what a life with her might do to you in the long run, but there didn’t seem to be much I could do.” He shrugged. “The truth is I was afraid you could become like her—so over the years I watched from a safe distance. I checked on your school progress, went to school events to catch a glimpse, asked questions about you. When Therese got wind that I was around, she lashed out, lost her temper. I was very circumspect, but I was never far away.”

“And I never saw you?”

He leaned toward her, his brows scrunched. “You might remember when your mother stopped talking to the lady next door,” he said.

“They had a fight,” Nora said. “I was never sure what that was about. Mom said she’d been insulted and accused of something. They stopped talking and I was not allowed to go to their house. Sometimes after school I’d say hello or we’d talk in the yard, before Mom got home from work, but we had a pact—we’d keep it our secret.”

“The fight was about me calling the neighbor and asking how you were, how things were going in my home, with my daughter. She let it slip. So, it kept Therese from talking to her neighbor, but it didn’t keep the neighbor from watching, from talking to me.” He swallowed hard. “She moved when you were about to graduate from high school. I lost my best connection to you.”

“This isn’t happening,” she said. “This is my worst nightmare. She was a therapist!”

“I’ve never understood that,” he said, shaking his head. “That should have guaranteed a certain level of stability. Civility. Understanding. I think she was crazier than half the people she counseled. What I’ve learned since is that, sadly, she was hardly the only inept counselor—they are plentiful. So are competent, helpful, talented counselors. There were times she raged at me in a way that made me think she was truly insane. Nora, there was something wrong. It’s been suggested by professionals I’ve seen that maybe she was a borderline personality—not mentally ill, but narcissistic, hostile, perhaps a bit sociopathic. Very manipulative. Successfully manipulative. Quite functional. We were like oil and water. I wanted to take you with me but she wouldn’t have it. There was something about me that set her off.”

“There was something about everyone…” Nora mumbled. “You could have at least called me.”

“I should have, but I didn’t want to force you to lie or be secretive. There’s no other way to put it—she was vengeful when she didn’t have her way. That worried me.”

“But you said you lost even your visitation,” Nora said.

“I did, but not in a legal action. I went to pick you up for our day together and you weren’t there. Things like that happened very often. And Therese started screaming at me, accusing me of terrible things and I lost my temper. I punched a hole in the wall. I don’t think I ever punched anything in my life before that, or after. I’m just not that kind of person.”

“I remember that hole!” Nora said. “She never fixed it!”

“She called the police and there I stood with banged-up knuckles. While you played at a friend’s house, I was taken away in handcuffs.”

“And then?”

He shook his head. “I knew it was bad for you, that it was never going to get better. There were so many fights and standoffs when I came to get you, I stopped coming. I didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to protect you from that anger. I saw lawyers, but I wasn’t going to get custody of you and trying to see you only lit a fire in her. Therese had feuds with anyone who would talk to me. She was completely estranged from your aunts because they checked on you on my behalf. They haven’t spoken since you were seven or eight years old.”

“Aunts?” Nora said weakly.

“Therese was the youngest of three girls and a good many years separated them. Her eldest sister is deceased now, but Victoria is still alive, living in New Jersey. She was named in your mother’s will. And I didn’t know your mother had died until it came to my attention that checks I’d been sending for alimony and support weren’t being cashed. I don’t think there’s anything you can do about her will, I’m sorry.”

Nora put her head in her hands. “Checks? Will? Aunts? Oh, my God.” She looked pleadingly at Noah. “This is nuts. This can’t be true. She said there was no family, that there was never any support. I was on partial scholarship and I worked—my mother only paid for textbooks, nothing else.”

“You could’ve gone to Stanford for practically nothing,” Jed said. “I’m a professor there. Your mother said you had no interest.”

“I only went to college for a year.” She looked at Jed. “If this is true, she must have been completely insane.”

“I don’t think so,” Jed said. “At least not clinically. I’ve done a lot of reading and have talked to a few professionals—there are people who lie, manipulate, hold terrible grudges who are not mentally ill but have anger problems the rest of us just don’t understand. And what made her so angry? I have no idea.”

“And you couldn’t do anything?”

“Nora, she was completely functional. She held a full-time job, paid her bills, raised a child. You were clean and fed. You did all right in school. You seemed happy and had friends…unless I came around and the whole world went to hell…”

“She was a train wreck! She didn’t have friends, at least not for long. She lied about her family, about you. There was never a single picture of you in the house, not one. And why didn’t she get fired from her job? Explain that?”

“I don’t think she was well liked by everyone, but you have to understand that especially in a situation like hers, an educational institution, just being difficult and slightly dysfunctional on the job wasn’t going to get her fired. She knew how to do her job, and she had a great deal of seniority. I know she had problems from time to time, but for some reason there never seemed to be consequences. I can give you the names of a few coworkers—they might talk with you. In that envelope you’ll find a list of the books I read, trying to understand who she was. I can’t say I came to any conclusion—just a lot of guessing.”

“When did you get a divorce?” she asked.

“I moved out when you were four years old and we divorced quickly.”

“Why do I think I was six? That’s what I remember.”

“I stopped coming for you when you were six—those two years must have been the worst of your life—your mother and I fighting every time I came, hiding you from me, refusing to let you come with me. I never went to the house without a fierce battle. So I stopped.”

“I thought this might give me answers,” she said. And when she said that, Noah reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m so sorry,” Jed said. “You were used as a pawn and eventually I abandoned you, hoping that would set you free. I can’t imagine the trauma. Counseling might be in order. I’ve had a lot of it.”

“How could you trust a counselor? She was a counselor!”

“Listen, Nora—there are good and bad in every profession—doctors, lawyers, teachers—”

“Clergy,” Noah put in. “Jed’s right. And a lot of troubled people study counseling to try to figure out their own issues. I might’ve been guilty of that myself.”

Her eyes filled when she looked at Noah. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life.”

“Maybe you and your father should continue all the questions and answers over the phone or computer. Take it one swallow at a time. You can use my computer at the church—we’ll set up an email account for you.” Noah glanced at Jed.

“Absolutely,” Jed said. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’m just so relieved to find you alive. One thing—is there anything you need? Is your health all right?”

She gave a nod. “And you?”

“Blood pressure medicine, statins for cholesterol—everything under control.”

“And you’re teaching?”

“At Stanford—history. I’ve been there twenty years now. I’d like to hear more about what you’re doing. When you’re ready. Everything you need to find me is in the envelope.”

“Thank you,” she said, hugging it to her. And without touching him, she turned away from him, heading back toward Noah’s truck. Then she stopped, turned back and said, “How did she die?”

“Complications of pneumonia. She went to the emergency room, was hospitalized and slipped away very quickly. I’m sorry, Nora.”

She nodded and went to the truck.

Noah stood and spoke with Jed for a few minutes while Nora just escaped. They were under way for several miles before she spoke. “All that driving for a thirty-minute meeting. I hope you’re not angry about that.”

“We agreed, the meeting was to be on your terms. No one else would control it—only you. I think you accomplished a lot. What do you think?”

“I think it was surreal. And I am completely drained.”

Chapter Five

Noah Kincaid had become a passable detective over time and necessity—Nora wasn’t the first person he’d helped thusly. He knew how to verify an address and employment and with the help of Brie Valenzuela, court documents. He reported to Nora that Jed Crane checked out and provided information on her aunt Victoria with a phone number to call when she was ready. There were three cousins—the entire family back east. All the items in the envelope were legitimate. There was one surprise included—a check. It was more money than Nora had had at one time in her life—five thousand dollars.

“What is the money for?” she asked Jed in an email sent from Noah’s church office.

“I made alimony and support payments and after your mother died, checks weren’t cashed. I thought maybe you could use it,” he wrote back

“But I’m sure you’re not rich,” she fired back.

“Can you put it to good use?” he returned.

Could she! The first thing would be car seats, just in case anyone offered to take her with the girls anywhere. And they were in sore need of clothes, all of them. She’d have to get the girls outfitted for winter—secondhand was perfectly adequate, but still cost money and should be done soon. The church always threw a little something her way, but she would still have to buy things like underwear and shoes. Disposable diapers for the baby cost the earth and formula wasn’t cheap. And then there was preschool and day care.

And there was one other thing that gnawed at her. She went to Noah and said, “I have a confession to make. It’s about the house… .”

“What house?” he asked.

“The one I’m living in.” Her cheeks grew hot and rosy. “I have no idea who owns it. It was a broken-down hovel when Chad brought us here. Fay was a newborn. It didn’t look like it had been lived in for years and the door was unlocked. I asked a man who was walking by with his dog who lived there and he said different renters on and off. The gas and electric were running, so we just went in. Noah—I’m squatting.”

“Squatting?” he asked.

“No one knows this, but no one has collected rent. The gas and power—I don’t use much, but I’m behind on the bills. Bills come in the mail to someone none of my neighbors has ever heard of and I get a money order from the Corner Store and pay a little something and miraculously, it keeps running. No one questions me. And now I have some money so I should make it right. And I’m scared. What if…”

Noah laughed. “Nora, that house was abandoned years ago—that’s why it wasn’t kept up. There are at least a few of them in town. Utilities are on?”

She nodded and chewed her lower lip. “Oh, my God—what if I’m evicted?”

“It’s shelter,” he said. “I’ll try to figure out who owns it, but sometimes it’s better not to ask a question if you can’t stand the answer. It’s probably owned by the state or bank. One tiny house with one bedroom—it can’t cost much in utilities.”

“But someone could notice I’m behind one of these days and shut everything off,” she said. “And what if it happens in winter?”

“Call me if that happens, meanwhile use a little of this money to catch up on the utility bills as much as you can,” he said with a smile. “We’re there for you, Nora. We don’t have much, but we always have lights and heat. You can bring the apples.”

* * *

Tom had a lot of friends from high school still living in the area, many of them working on family ranches, vineyards or farms; most of them married and some already parents. He had missed his ten-year high school reunion; he’d been in Afghanistan. His Marine Corps friends were either still serving or separated and returned to homes all over the U.S. And, there were a few deceased—he kept in touch with some widows and parents of fallen marines.

As for a social life, he occasionally drove all the way to the coast for a beer where there might be datable girls. He hadn’t met any particularly tempting women, however. And there was always Jack’s, but Maxie was so intent on cooking up a good evening meal for him that he had to head her off before she even planned one in her head. “Friday night I think I’ll go out,” he’d say. “Maybe hook up with some of my old friends.” Maxie was always delighted to hear that. She wanted Tom to have some fun. But what she didn’t know was that he seldom hooked up with anyone.

One thing he did do was give his only female employee a ride each morning and afternoon. She had stopped protesting and he found himself looking forward to those few minutes coming and going, fascinated by the updates on her family situation. She had met her father and began either talking to him for a few minutes a day or emailing from Noah’s church office.

“There’s a lot to process,” she told him. “It’s shocking how much I have to learn about myself—how my experiences growing up influenced some of the choices I’ve made.”

“As in bad choices?”

“Sure, some. But Reverend Kincaid has been wonderful in helping me navigate this minefield and tries to prompt me to find some of the good choices I’ve made. Like the choice to be a loving mother. Now, I don’t know about you and your views of fatherhood, but I always thought I’d be stuck with the kind of mother I turned out to be and to tell the truth, I was afraid I’d stink at it. It never occurred to me I had a choice.”

“I think some people are naturals, though,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure. Your grandmother, for example. If I could be like her one day…” And then she smiled at him with a smile that so lit up her pretty face he thought it was a miracle he didn’t drive off the road.

He realized they were becoming friends, the most unlikely friends imaginable. If she were a little older and less encumbered, they might even be more than friends. That was out of the question, of course. Tom was not in the market for an instant family. He was especially unwilling to take on the kids of some unknown guy or guys.

It was too bad she had that baggage because there were things about her that really blew his whistle—like her undeniable beauty. She had rich mahogany hair—long, silky, thick. She usually kept it in a ponytail but had a habit of letting it loose, shaking it out, combing it with her fingers back into the tie that held it. And her eyes were smoky, a kind of odd brown shade that grew almost gray in the bright light. And those slim, dark brown brows—she could lift just one and it became provocative. Sexy and even suggestive. He loved that she took her breaks in the orchard rather than the break room in the barn—she said fall was her favorite season and it would be gone too soon. And it touched a place deep inside him when she said working in the orchard was like a fantasy she hadn’t even dared dream of—a luxury.

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