From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Thirty-Five

JAYMES

Melissa’s online research confirms everything Dwight told me. He has a daughter named Barbara Keane and a sister, Samantha Keane, although she can’t find an address for either. But if what I suspect is true, Samantha (my mom) is dead. Melissa also doesn’t find records of his parents’ deaths or, if they’re living, their whereabouts. Sadly, the trail runs cold quickly for Mel because details on Dwight and his family are confined to reports about the fire.

I don’t have direct patient contact on my half day back at work. Supposedly not because of my face, but who are they kidding? I look scary. I research Dwight, but his medical records don’t shed new light on his past or mine. It’s possible I’m missing something, since digging into his past records is not part of my job, and I don’t relish the idea of getting caught snooping around.

As my swelling decreases over the following days and my eye begins to look normal again, I manage to use enough makeup to soften the bruising. The only patient to notice anything is Dwight.

“Is someone abusing you?” he asks as I pick up the book at the end of his bed. California Grizzly. “I haven’t seen you in a while, and nobody would tell me why.”

“No one’s abusing me. It was an accident. I’m fine.”

“A car accident?”

I lift my gaze and take the excuse he’s offering me. “Yeah. The airbag got the best of me.”

He glowers for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried.”

“Thanks.” I step back and pull my phone out of my pocket. “Can I show you a picture of someone you might know?”

His brow tightens before he relinquishes a tiny nod.

I’m not sure I’m ready for this. If he doesn’t recognize her, all will be right in my world again. If he does ... well, I don’t know what I will feel. I’ve tried to imagine it, but I can’t.

I hold up the picture of my mom.

Dwight doesn’t have an immediate reaction. He studies it, taking the phone from me. “She looks so blissful.”

The photo was taken on the day I graduated from nursing school.

“Do you recognize her?”

After inspecting the photo for a few more seconds, he glances up at me. “Of course. It’s Samantha. Did you talk to her? Is she coming to visit me?”

I think I knew, but it still didn’t prepare me for this moment. The noose tightens around my neck. Swallowing past the suffocation, I clear my throat. “Are you sure it’s her?”

He scoffs, returning my phone. “She’s my sister. Of course I know it’s her.” He curls his lips and taps his front tooth. “She has a crown on that tooth. Broke it in half when she fell off her bike.”

Jesus Christ . . .

“Yeah, s-she told me that.”

He stands and heads to the door. “Tell her to come see me.”

Just as I enter my apartment building after work, Fitz calls me.

“Hey.” I make my way down the hall, eyeing the door where the incident happened as I pass it.

“Halloween party at Gary and Evette’s on the thirty-first. Can you make it?”

“Uh ...” I switch to speaker and peek at my schedule. “I work the thirtieth, but I could try to get a flight late that night or early the next morning. The question is, Can you make it—or Gary, for that matter?”

“All we can do is try. We might get an early snow.”

I open my apartment door and lob my bag on the counter.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Yeah. Do you remember what I told you about the patient I thought could be my uncle?”

“Yes.”

I toss my phone onto the bed and retrieve the box beside the washer and dryer. “Well, I think it was confirmed today that he is, in fact, my uncle. I showed him a photo of my mom, and he recognized her. He even knew about her crown on the tooth that broke when she fell off her bike.” I rip the tape off the box. “But now I wonder, Why did she lie to me?”

“Jaymes, speaking from experience, people lie about their past to prevent pain. Pain to themselves or pain to other people.” Fitz leaks his past to me one morsel at a time.

I sit on the bed next to the box and deflate. “I know. She was probably embarrassed that her brother was in a mental hospital. Still, changing her name? That seems a little excessive. He’s in California. We were in Florida. Wasn’t distance enough?”

“Did he commit a crime?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps she didn’t want to be part of the publicity. What did he do?”

“I’d rather not say yet. I think I’ve already crossed a line by giving Melissa so much information about him.”

“That’s fair. How are you feeling?”

I can’t help but smile. “Physically? I’m feeling so much better. No surgery is needed for my nose. The swelling is gone. And I can hide most of the residual bruising with makeup.”

And my uncle started a fire ... the kind you must risk your life to extinguish.

“And the asshole who did it?”

I retrieve folders and manila envelopes from the box. “He’s been charged with aggravated assault.”

“You seem preoccupied. I’ll let you go. I have some things to finish up before I can head home.”

“Sorry. I’m looking through a box of random documents that belonged to my mom. Trying to find ...” I blow out a breath. “I don’t know.” I set a stack of large envelopes on my lap. “I miss you, Fitz. And I’m not saying that to guilt you, I just—”

“I miss you too.”

His words wrap around my heart, giving it just what it needs after I showed that photo to Dwight. Uncle Dwight.

I open my mouth to say I love you , but I stop short of those three words. He knows I love him. We’ve come too far. I don’t want to spook him. I want him to feel my love but not feel suffocated by it.

“I’ll book a flight for the end of October.”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye,” I murmur before ending the call.

Just as I suspected when I threw these papers in the box, they’re a bunch of tax returns, old rental agreements, and car-loan documents. Another envelope has my father’s death and birth certificates.

Karl Hayden Andrews

He was thirty-seven when he died—a computer engineer for NASA.

I don’t remember much about him, but I remember watching a shuttle launch from Kennedy Space Center. I remember being on his shoulders. At least, I think I remember. Maybe my mom showed me a picture, and I’m remembering that.

Her death certificate is in its envelope, which I shoved into the box before moving to Missoula. I sift through the papers to see if her birth certificate is there, but I come across mine first and set it aside to put it in a spot where I can find it easily.

I continue searching for her birth certificate and find it folded between her high school and college diplomas.

My chest grows heavier with each passing minute. Both her diplomas and her birth certificate say Samantha Grace Keane . Nothing has the name Lauren.

Why did she change her name?

I call Melissa.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“Good,” I say, without sounding believable. “I need to find Barbara Keane, Dwight’s daughter. Today, I showed him a picture of my mom, and he knew ... he knew right away that she was his sister.”

“Damn.”

“I know. Right? I think I knew before I showed it to him, but I was still taken aback when he confirmed it. So I’ve been digging through this box of stuff I kept after cleaning out my mom’s place. I found her birth certificate and her high school and college diplomas. Her name was Samantha Grace Keane . Not Lauren Samantha Mendes, which she told me was her maiden name. The truth’s been right here all along.”

“Shit, Jamie. That’s . . .”

“I know. Trust me. I know. So before I announce a reunion with my uncle Dwight, I need to find Barbara, if she can be found. Something tells me she’s the only one who can help me make sense of this.”

“You need a private investigator. When I searched for Barbara Keane, my head was spinning because I couldn’t find any mention of her beyond the articles about the fire. And if she’s married, she’ll have a different name. But that’s beyond me. I’m not an investigator.”

“Is that crazy? Getting a private investigator?”

“Crazy is trying to figure this out yourself.”