Dragonfly (24 page)

I let the documents slide back into their hanging file and moved further back in the drawer. Everything was mixed in, and I wondered how they found anything in here until I saw the pattern. Birth records were in red folders.

After a few more tries, I found it. Julian’s birth certificate. The lighting was dim, and it was hard to figure out where the vital information was located in the small boxes. I didn’t realize so much was crammed onto such a small sheet of paper. Finally, I found it. In the space for mother it listed Alexandra Marie LaSalle. Under father it was… blank.
Blank?
Was it possible to leave the father space on a birth certificate blank? I had no idea, but it was done in this case.

I sat back on my heels and sighed.
Now what?
I couldn’t prove anything if the birth certificate was blank, and short of Ms. LaSalle’s coming out and saying it, or of some desire for a paternity test on Mr. Kyser’s part, there would never be a way to know for sure. Not that it mattered, of course. But I was just so close… even if it was just for me, I wanted to see this through.

For a few moments I chewed my lip, wondering what a good journalist would do.
Talk
. Journalists talked. I dropped the file back into the drawer and closed it. Mrs. Ott was busy with another visitor when I left, so I waved and ran out to my car. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late.

* * *

My plan was forming in my mind as I packed my book bag. The last thing I expected was to look up and see Jack. I froze. It had almost been a month. I was just getting my confidence back, and here he was walking in my direction, stirring up all the old feelings I’d been working so hard to forget.

As usual, he was dressed in khakis that fit perfectly, and today he wore a blue oxford that made his eyes glow. I tried not to stare, but I stood unable to move as he walked over to me.

“Dad said you came by his office.”

The sound of his voice actually hurt. How was it possible that my feelings were stronger now than when I saw him all the time? “Nancy wanted me to talk to him for the bicentennial insert.” I managed to say.

“How’d it go?”

I shrugged. “Fine. I was nervous at first, but he was pleasant enough.” I wondered what Jack would say about my suspicions.

He waited a few seconds longer, his eyes flickering over my face. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” I said. Not as good as I’d wanted to believe, but he didn’t need to know that.

He nodded. “I was just picking up some final paperwork. See you around.”

“See ya,” I said softly, watching him walk away. Again I wanted to bang my head against the locker. Hard.

I thought I’d made such progress. Then he walked in and all I wanted was for him to pin me against the wall. My teeth clenched, and I wished I were far away where I could smash something or scream really loudly.

My brow was lined, and I was lost in thought when I heard Julian calling me.
Great
. Feelings for him would remain on hold it seemed. But as he ran closer, he reminded me of what I was doing. Julian might be an artist and dress like a post-punk rocker, but his expression was the same one I’d left in the boardroom yesterday. It was exactly how Mr. Kyser had looked when the pieces snapped together.

What would Julian say if he knew his dad was Bill Kyser? Or that Jack was his half brother? He might be angry, and they might deny it. No, the identity of Julian’s dad was a bombshell I would never drop.

“What’s going on under all those curls?” he laughed. “That was one serious expression.”

“I thought I might visit your mom today,” I said, closing my locker. We walked together to the exit. “Nancy’s doing a piece on her art, and I thought maybe I could help her with it.”

Julian shook his head. “Not a good idea. Mom quit the business way back. She never talks about it anymore.”

“But why?” I studied his expression. “She encourages you so much. Don’t you think she misses it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, holding the heavy metal door. “I always figured something happened in art school. I just give her space.”

“Think she’ll talk to me?”

He shrugged. “She’s always liked you, and after that night at the hospital, she said something about you being very sweet.”

“Speaking of sweet,” I stopped and faced him. “Thank you for my birthday flower. That was very sweet.”

He smiled and reached over to move one of my curls out of my face. “I hated seeing you alone on your birthday.”

Jack might be stuck in my head, but at that moment, Julian’s arms were the ones I wanted around me. So much. Instead I exhaled, and we resumed walking.

“So I was going to drop by and talk to your mom,” I said. “But I’ll try not to make her mad.”

“Why bother her? I mean, she’s not painting anymore. Why start something?”

“I won’t,” I said, thinking.

If I could get some idea of her feelings, maybe she was as lonely as Mr. Kyser was. Maybe I could help them find their way back to each other. And maybe if that happened, together they could fix whatever had damaged Jack’s family so much. I thought of Lucy having a mother again… I thought of Julian having a dad…

“I’ll be careful,” I said, optimism filling my chest as I climbed into my car.

Chapter 24

Ms. LaSalle was dressed in a filmy, knee-length sundress, and when I arrived at her store, she was carrying a huge cardboard box from the front porch inside. Several large boxes along with an assortment of smaller ones were stacked around the front entrance, which was decorated with whimsical stained-glass ornaments and wind chimes. Her long hair swished down her back as she disappeared around the corner. Everything about her and her space was breezy and beautiful. A white boardwalk led to the entrance, and I parked the car and got out just in time for her to reemerge and grab another large box.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trotting up the walk.

“Anna,” she smiled. “Sure, you’re just in time for Christmas delivery. It’s the big one. Half the time I can’t even remember what I’ve ordered, so lots of surprises.” She bent her knees, dropping into a squat as she heaved up a huge box. “Just carry the smaller ones. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I was glad I’d worn pants and a tee. We would get hot carrying boxes, even in November. “But you’re carrying the big ones.”

“I’ve got more practice. Here.” She nodded toward a small one. “I think that has a new shipment of jewelry in it.”

I followed her inside the store, which was divided in half. One side displayed paintings, pottery, and all sorts of art, including a nice selection of Julian’s work. The other side was woven jewelry, clothes, and souvenirs ranging from the standard sea shells to stained-glass windows and items from local collectors.

“I love your store,” I said, placing the small box on the counter.

“Thanks!” She lowered her box behind it. “I haven’t seen you around lately. What’s going on?”

“Just school, work. You know. Stuff like that.”

“You have a job?” she asked.

“Well, it’s kind of part-job, part-school, I guess. I’m hoping to get a journalism scholarship, so I’m doing an internship at the paper in Fairview.”

She stopped and looked at me for a second. “With Nancy Riggs?”

“Yeah.” I picked up a small ring that was lying on the counter. She picked up a box cutter.

“Oh, look at this,” she said pulling out a piece of Raku pottery.

“Who did that?” I asked.

“I have a friend who makes these. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah, it is.” I twirled the ring in my fingers. It was glass that had been molded and shaped into a ring and it had streaks of color melted through the band. “I really like this.”

“That came from the Hot Shop in East End Beach. The glass-blowing studio? They make some really pretty pieces over there. Have you been?”

“No.” I waited, trying to decide how to broach the subject. “Julian never told me you were an artist.”

“
Were
is the key word there,” she smiled.

“But you still keep up with your artist friends.”

“Well, if I can sell their pieces, I try to, but that’s all really. This Raku pottery is flying off the shelves, and I know a guy who’s been making these since we were in art school.” She laughed quietly. “I was hopeless at Raku pottery.”

“Really? Why?”

“I kept breaking my pots. See, you work with very high heat, and they shatter so easily. I was much better with the brush.”

“Mom said they have some of your paintings in the old Magnolia Hotel. I haven’t seen them, but I heard you were very good.”

“I liked to paint when I was younger. It was sort of my escape.” She slid a piece of her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. “Or my protection.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “It’s kind of how I feel about my journal.”

She continued pulling out plastic packages of shark teeth and woven bracelets. “I kept a journal once. I was just starting art school, and I wanted to capture all my thoughts and experiences.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No, I lost it a long time ago.” A brief flash of something crossed her face. “I should probably try to find it.”

I held a package of Swarovski crystal beads to the light. “These are gorgeous.”

“I gave a few of those to Julian for that ring he was making,” she said. “Did you like it?”

I hadn’t worn it today. I’d decided to save it for special occasions. “It was so beautiful. Julian’s really talented. I guess he got that from you?”

She shrugged.

“You know, Nancy wanted to get a photographer over there to take pictures of your paintings. She really wanted to do something nice and positive about your art and how it influenced this area.”

She shook her head. “I have nothing to say to her, and I’m not interested in dredging all that up. No one even remembers me that way now.”

“You make it sound like it’s something bad. I think it’s neat that you were a painter and that you helped with the Phoenicians.”

“What do you know about that?” Her suddenly sharp tone made me nervous.

“I-I saw some old articles and pictures,” I said. “And I talked to Mr. Kyser the other day. Nancy wanted to do a piece on him also.”

“This is what I mean.” She slapped a package on the counter. “It starts with one thing and then it goes to another.”

I tried changing my approach. “I found a picture of you guys in high school,” I said. “It was taken at Scoops. I hardly recognized the place.”

She calmed down a little. “Things used to be so different here.”

“That’s what Mr. Kyser said. He said you weren’t too happy about his ideas.”

“Really.” Her eyebrow arched. “What else did he say?”

“Not much. I wondered why you would quit painting. I can’t imagine not writing.”

She stopped sorting and gazed out the window. “I couldn’t do it anymore after… it just turned my stomach.”

“After…?”

“Hey, I never told you I really appreciated you staying with me at the hospital that night,” she said. “It was sweet.”

“I was glad to do it.”

“I think it meant a lot to Julian, too,” she smiled at me then turned her back and continued unpacking. “You know, you can just call me Alex if you want. And don’t worry about all that ‘yes ma’am’ business.”

“OK. But I don’t think I can call you Alex. It’s too weird.”

“Aren’t you from up north?”

“Indiana.”

“So where’d all these Old South manners come from?”

“Peer pressure,” I said, sliding the plastic baggies apart on the counter. “Actually, my mom’s from Fairview. She just moved away when she was in elementary school. So I guess it’s her fault.”

“Listen, Anna. Ugly things happened back then. It’s best to leave the past… past.”

I looked down, unsure of what to say. I thought of that night at the hospital and how Mr. Kyser had looked at her. Julian’s mom was so beautiful. I thought of my idea, of helping them get back together, helping Julian…

“I think he’s still in love with you,” I said.

She paused. “Who.”

“Mr. Kyser. He saw your picture, and I think… well, he got up and fixed a drink.”

“Anna. Don’t.”

“But what about Julian?” I said. Then I jumped, biting my lip. That just slipped out.

“What about Julian?”

“I just meant…” I couldn’t meet her gaze. I was taking a huge risk, but maybe it could help them? My hands were shaking now. “Oh, Ms. LaSalle. You’re just so pretty, and I wish you weren’t alone.”

“I’m alone because I choose to be.”

“And Mr. Kyser… I always thought he was so mean, but he’s really not. He’s just so sad. I don’t think he wants to be alone either. I think he wants to be with you.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but…” My heart was racing. “I didn’t tell him what I know.”

“What do you know?”

I looked down.
Here goes
… “That Julian’s his son.”