As was their habit, Mama uttered a brief prayer of gratitude and then they ate in silence. Mama always insisted that her guests savor each bite and not waste time with chitchat. After they finished, she spoke. “Your brother called.”
Mattie had been waiting for him to call for months. He’d called Mama T last August, asking her to see if Mattie wanted to reconnect, and then nothing. Of course he had to call now, just when she needed to focus on work and finding Adrienne. “What did he have to say?”
“That he is glad you will talk to him. He took your cell phone number and your home number both. He said he will call you soon.”
“Okay. How did he sound?”
A frown line formed between Mama’s brows. Apparently she considered the question important enough to give it her full concentration. “He sounded tired. And maybe at first, afraid you would not want him to call you. Then he sounded relieved. Happy. But still tired.”
Her foster mother could gather a great deal from even a short phone call. During high school, Mattie learned she could hide nothing from her Mama T.
“He said to tell you thank you, and he looks forward to talking to you.”
Mattie couldn’t help giving her head a slight shake. Her brother Willie was a mystery to her. She’d hoped, for all the years since they’d been separated after Willie was sent away, that he would find her someday. And now that he had, he’d delayed their reunion for months. It didn’t make sense. She preferred tackling this kind of situation head on, not waiting around for the moment to fester.
“Did he leave you a phone number?”
“No. It’s strange. I asked for it, but he said no, he would call you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just wait to hear from him then. Thank you, Mama, for being the middleman on this. It seems kind of crazy the way he’s handling it.”
The lady smiled. “Middlewoman,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Then she sobered. “It does seem strange. Like he’s hiding something. I hope it will be all right.”
Mattie touched her warm hand and then stood to carry her dishes to the sink. “Don’t worry. This is good. You said so yourself.”
“I did, mijita. And so it is. Now you go to your work. You have much more important things to do than washing my dishes.”
Mattie hugged Mama T and let herself out the door. On the way to the car, she suppressed a shiver. She zipped her jacket, pretending it was the cold air that caused it. But she couldn’t hold back the bad feeling she had swelling in her chest. Was it about Willie? What if he didn’t call? She’d been unable to retrieve Willie’s number because Mama T still used an old-fashioned rotary phone on her kitchen wall. Detective LoSasso had suggested they subpoena her foster mother’s phone records to find the number, but Mattie hesitated to abuse a system meant to trace criminals and not long-lost relatives.
Or was the bad feeling caused by something else, something that lay hidden out there that she had yet to discover?
Whatever it was, she didn’t like this feeling of dread one bit.
Cole could smell bacon cooking when he came down the stairs for breakfast. He was mentally thanking his sister for finding Mrs. Gibbs, until he heard that dear woman’s voice wafting up the stairway alongside the scent of bacon. Her Irish brogue colored her speech, and her angry tone heated up the kitchen.
“Ye’ll not be going to school in that outfit, young miss. Not while I’m in charge, anyway.”
Cole resisted the urge to turn around and head back to his bedroom. He sighed and trudged into the kitchen to face the battle. He sought out Angela—for he knew it must be his eldest drawing fire—and recognized immediately what had instigated the housekeeper’s censorship.
In addition to a stony face, Angela wore an extremely low-cut tank top that Cole hadn’t seen since summer. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked.
“It’s shameless, it is. I’ll not have you parading around school with your bosom exposed.”
The last thing Cole wanted to talk about at breakfast was his teenage daughter’s bosom. Angela had vacillated between being his right-hand girl and acting out since school started. He understood the difficulties a teenager faced, but he felt compelled to stand behind the housekeeper and present a united front. Especially since he agreed on this one. “Mrs. Gibbs is right, Angie. You need to go upstairs and change.”
“I’ve worn this shirt to school before, Dad. You didn’t complain about it then.”
After receiving his divorce papers, Cole had been in a depressive funk when school started last summer. Back then, he probably hadn’t noticed. “I don’t remember that, but I’ll take your word for it. Letting you wear this shirt was my mistake. Let’s not repeat it. Go change, Angie, before you miss the bus.”
“Dad.”
How can she load such disgust and disappointment into one syllable? “Do what I say. Hurry up.”
Throwing him a look that would kill a lesser man, Angie left the table. Cole turned his attention to his youngest, Sophie. She looked rather self-satisfied after witnessing her older sister’s defeat and was dressed in a freshly ironed pink blouse, her brown curls tied up on top of her head with a gauzy pink scarf. Mrs. Gibbs’s work, no doubt. Belle, their Bernese mountain dog, sat beside Sophie, eagerly watching for anything that might drop. Cole smiled. Belle knew who was the messy one in the family.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Cole said to Sophie as he made his way to the coffee pot.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, taking a bite of scrambled egg. “Mrs. Gibbs made breakfast.”
“Mmm . . . I could smell it on my way down the stairs. Thank you, Mrs. Gibbs.”
Standing at the stove with spatula in hand, the woman gave him an approving nod, probably more for backing her up with Angela than for his expression of gratitude. She wore her gray hair in tight curls around her round and ruddy face. She’d only been with them for a few days, but so far she appeared to prefer more formal dress—black trousers with creases and neutral colored blouses that had a look of starch about them—rather than the denims and T-shirts that Cole and his youngsters were used to.
“How do you like your eggs, Dr. Walker?” she said, brandishing one above the skillet.
“Please, call me Cole,” he told her for the umpteenth time.
She gave him a slight shrug.
“Scrambled is great. Two please.” He took his seat beside Sophie, relishing her smile, a childish greeting around the toast she was taking a bite out of at the same time. “Do you have your backpack ready?”
“Yes, I do. Today we’re going to start a science lesson about stars. Mattie showed us the dippers and the North Star, so I’ll have a head start.”
“Sounds good, little bit.” He looked at Mrs. Gibbs, wanting to draw her into the conversation. “Are you all still planning to go out to the Hartman place after school?”
“Yes,” Sophie said, while Mrs. Gibbs said, “We will.”
“Do you need directions?” Cole asked.
“Angela can show me the way, can she not?”
“I’m sure she can.” Cole hoped Angie was in a better mood when the time came.
Mrs. Gibbs set his plate—piled high with steaming eggs, four strips of bacon, and toast—in front of him. He could get used to this. Since he’d taken over kitchen duty, they’d had nothing but boxed cereals to choose from in the morning.
“Mrs. Gibbs, I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.”
The crow’s feet deepened around her green eyes when she smiled. “Oh, I have a notion how much you like your bacon. Most men do.”