Who Am I? Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-59789-782-5

  Copyright © 2007 by Lena Nelson Dooley. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  Leiann Hambrick clutched her upper arms as if to hold herself together while she stared through the sheer curtains that veiled the picture window. Would she have to leave all this behind? She no longer saw the Hurst athletic complex, which had been built a few years earlier. In her mind’s eye she saw the thicket full of wild mustang grapevines that used to grow on that spot. Grapes she had picked so her mother could make her famous jelly. Jelly her father loved on his biscuits in the morning. She longed for that simpler time, when she knew who her father was. When she knew who she was.

  Leiann swiped at the tears that streamed down her cheeks, ruining the makeup she had taken such pains to apply a few hours ago as she prepared for the reading of her mother’s will. How different her world had been this morning.

  The Hambricks had moved to this house on Cimarron Trail in Hurst, Texas, when Leiann was in the fourth grade. Leiann had been excited when they moved to this ranch-style house on the quiet street. A lot of undeveloped property surrounded them. Besides the thicket across the road—and it had been a country road then, not a four-lane street as it was now—a creek ran along the back of the property. Leiann and her friends played there often, wading and hunting bullfrogs on hot summer evenings.

  Leiann yearned to go back to that time when she knew what her life was all about. She wanted to hug her mother and have her daddy tell her that everything was all right because they were together. Of course, that was impossible. She didn’t think anything would ever be all right again.

  Squeezing her eyes shut could not erase the pictures that danced through her mind. The lawyer’s office. The reading of the will. . .

  “And to my daughter, I leave all my worldly goods.” The lawyer’s voice had droned on, listing the things that had belonged to her mother, which were now Leiann’s. Family heirlooms, bank accounts, furniture and household goods, jewelry. But not the house. Her mother hadn’t owned the house.

  “Leiann?” From across the living room, the soft voice of her best friend brought Leiann out of her confused thoughts. When Leiann didn’t respond, Arlene came to stand beside her. “You really need to eat something.”

  She turned, but she didn’t loosen the grip she held on her upper arms. If she did, she might fly apart. “I’m not really hungry.” Forcing the words past the desert that had taken up residence in her throat took a major effort.

  Arlene put her arm around Leiann. “I know. But you need sustenance, whether you’re hungry or not.”

  Leiann stared into the familiar azure eyes for a moment. Then the precarious hold on her emotions broke. Arlene pulled Leiann into her arms and patted her back while murmuring soothing words into her ear. Leiann sobbed so hard she couldn’t make out the words, but the soft sound was like a balm that began to calm her soul. . .at least a little.

  After Leiann had cried for what seemed like an eternity, Arlene convinced her to go to the kitchen. Thankfully, people weren’t hovering around the house as they had after the funeral yesterday.

  Arlene settled Leiann at the table, then dished up two plates of leftover food from the refrigerator. “I know it’s too hot to eat much, but we have a nice assortment of salads.”

  She placed a plate in front of Leiann, then sat across the table from her with her own plate of food. After taking a bite, she waved her fork as she talked. “This salmon salad Mrs. Howard brought is really good. It has apples, celery, and walnuts in it. Try some.”

  Leiann took a bite. The food awakened her taste buds and ignited the realization that she really was hungry. How long had it been since she ate last? Not breakfast. Not supper last night. It must have been after the funeral, and then only a few nibbles. No wonder she felt ravenous.

  “Thanks, Arlene. I needed this.”

  For a few minutes, the two friends ate in silence, enjoying the mixed green salad and fruit salad, too. When Leiann laid her fork on her plate, she pushed back from the table and started to stack the dishes.

  Arlene stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “When are you going to tell me what happened at the lawyer’s office?”

  She went straight to the point. Of course, that was the kind of friend she was. They had gone all through public school together, were college roommates, and now both taught at Thompson Elementary. If Leiann hadn’t chosen to stay in the house with her mother when Milton died of a heart attack, the two friends probably would have moved into an apartment or house together.

  “He read my mother’s will. What makes you think anything else happened?” Leiann looked away, hoping Arlene would let it go at that. She wasn’t sure she could verbalize what she felt.

  Arlene huffed. “You’re much more upset today than you were yesterday.” Her eyes bored into Leiann’s with an intensity that penetrated the wall Leiann had tried to erect around her heart.

  Leiann slumped like a marionette that just had its strings cut. “So I’m upset. My mother just died. What do you expect?” She hoped her clipped words would be a barrier her friend wouldn’t cross.

  “Do you think it would help to talk about it?”

  Leiann knew Arlene had only her best interests in mind. “I’ve never kept secrets from you. I guess I shouldn’t start now.” Her gaze roved around the room. “Where did I put my purse?”

  “I think you left it in the front room.”

  The two young women went to the living room. Leiann sat on the couch, where she’d dropped her bag when she returned home earlier. She opened it and dug through the papers stuck in the side pocket. Arlene settled into the rocker across from her.

  “Here it is.” Leiann pulled out an envelope. She opened it and extracted a letter.

  “That looks like your mother’s handwriting.” Arlene leaned forward.

  “It is.” Leiann took a deep breath. She didn’t want to start crying again. “She wrote this to me some time ago.”

  “And she gave it to the lawyer instead of you?” Arlene sounded as surprised as Leiann had been.

  “Yes. He was instructed to give it to me after the reading of her will.”

  Confusion puckered Arlene’s brows. “Why would she do that?”

  Leiann couldn’t read the words aloud. Without comment, she handed the letter to Arlene.

  “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  She nodded slowly. Arlene turned her attention to the letter.

  Leiann knew the moment Arlene reached the part that was most upsetting. Her eyes widened, and she gasped. After lowering the paper, she stared at Leiann for a long moment, then picked up the missive again and continued to read. Tears slipped down her cheeks as they had down Leiann’s the first time she went through the confusing document.

  “Well, that’s. . .” Arlene folded the paper precisely the way it had been in the envelope and handed it back. “. . .really a shock.”

 
A shock that had caused Leiann’s world to spin out of control. Milton Hambrick, the man she’d always thought was her dad, wasn’t her biological father. Apparently her natural father was no longer alive. But she had a grandfather she’d never been told about. . .and he owned the house they lived in. If she wanted to continue living there, she had to go to his home in Massachusetts and meet the man. Unbelievable.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Leiann didn’t have an answer. What could she do? If she didn’t comply with the instructions in the letter, she wouldn’t have a home.

  “I’ll tell you what I’d do.” Arlene sounded as if she were on a crusade. “I’d go to Massachusetts and tell that Mr. Johnson what I thought of him.”

  Once more clutching her arms across her chest, Leiann stood and crossed to the window. After gazing out for a moment, she turned halfway around. “The problem is, I don’t know what I think of him. I can’t process this information overload.” She whirled back to stare out the window.

  What was she thinking about when she stood here earlier? Anything to take her mind off the stark message. Oh, yes, the grapes. When her mother made green grape pie the first time, she told Leiann that magic made the juice in the pie pink when the unripe fruit was green. For years, she’d believed her mother. Somehow, being lost in thoughts of the past didn’t keep the present from breaking through. Arlene joined Leiann. “You could go see the guy and deck him. I’ll help you.”

  Leiann chuckled. “That guy is my grandfather.” There, she’d said it.

  All these years she’d thought her grandparents were dead. Her dad’s parents had been killed in a car crash when she was a baby. Mother’s parents had died when she was in high school; she never would have been able to go to college if she hadn’t received scholarships. And she wouldn’t have met Daddy if she hadn’t gone to college.

  “This is complicated, isn’t it?” Arlene sank into the chair again.

  “I may never know the whole story unless I go talk to this man.”

  Arlene smiled. “According to the letter, all you have to do is meet him and the house becomes yours.”

  Leiann looked around the room her mother had lovingly decorated. All the furniture, knickknacks, doilies, pictures, and even the rug belonged to Leiann. But not the house. It belonged to a man who was supposedly her grandfather but had rejected her mother. And rejected Leiann, as well. And now he wanted to meet her. If only Mother’s letter hadn’t been so sketchy. Why couldn’t she have told Leiann more details? Then she’d be better able to make a decision about how to proceed.

  Did she really want to meet this stranger? If she did, could any good come of it?

  Two

  As his eyes scanned the document he’d just received over the secure line, Gerome fisted his hand against the low-slung waist of his pajama bottoms. He couldn’t let this continue. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long to take care of it. No one should be allowed to take advantage of the Old Man like this.

  After slamming the paper on the table beside the fax machine, Gerome extracted his cell phone from its holster on the belt dangling across the chair and punched a speed-dial number. “Mays here,” he said when his boss picked up. “When can I come in to see you?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Gerome emerged from the elevator of his apartment building onto the middle level of the parking garage below the Houston high-rise. He scanned the area, making sure no one else was around, a long-ingrained habit. As the door swished shut, the final snap echoed in the concrete cavern. He clicked the remote to unlock his Corvette, his one real extravagance.

  When he arrived at the office building, which always reminded him of a fortress with narrow windows, Gerome took the express elevator to the top floor. “He’s expecting me.” He threw the words over his right shoulder at the receptionist, never slowing his pace.

  She leaned her arms on the desk and smiled up at him. “What? No greeting for me today?”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned back. He couldn’t antagonize one of his greatest allies in the company. Forcing a smile, he gave a husky whisper. “Morning, Sheree. You look ravishing as always.”

  The bleached blond leaned back in her leather chair, which squeaked as she gently rocked it. “It’s too late for your honeyed words. Go on. He told me to send you right in. Must be important.”

  You don’t know how important. Gerome pushed open the massive door, quickly closing it behind him. He strode across the plush carpet.

  The older man behind the desk looked up, the overhead light glinting off the threads of silver in his dark hair. “Have a seat, Mays. What can I do for you today?”

  Gerome dropped into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “I want to take a leave of absence.”

  His boss steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together in an irregular rhythm, and stared at Gerome. “How long are we talking about?”

  “I’m not sure. Some questionable things are going on in my family.” Gerome didn’t flinch away from the man’s sharp perusal. He’d learned long ago to hide his feelings and hold his own in any situation.

  After a few clicks on the keys of his laptop, his boss studied the page he pulled up. “According to the files, it’s been quite awhile since you took a vacation.” He swiveled back toward Gerome. “You know that’s not good. I’ve told you before that you should take all your allotted time off.”

  Gerome gave a quick laugh. “Yeah, it’s not easy to take off when you’re in the middle of a desert or jungle.”

  The man joined in the laughter. “I know how hard it is for you to shut down, but you’re always sharper after time away from the job.” He turned back toward the computer. “How about if I make your leave open ended?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  A few more clicks, and the man faced him once again. “When do you want to start?”

  Gerome stuck his long legs out in front of him, trying to look nonchalant. He didn’t want his employer to know what was going on, at least not yet. “Is right now too soon?”

  ❧

  Back at his apartment, Gerome grabbed a beat-up duffel bag. He dug through his closet and drawers to find his oldest and rattiest jeans and T-shirts. Just in case, he threw in a couple of oxford cloth shirts, too. He chose one pair of running shoes to pack and another one to wear. Although they’d been worn a lot, they would still support his feet in case he had to chase anyone.

  He wished he could take his leather jacket, but he threw in a worn camo jacket instead. His toiletries would have to be pared down, too. By the time he traveled halfway across the country, he needed to look disreputable. He was already several weeks overdue for a good haircut. That should add to his bad-boy appearance.

  He collected a few disposable razors, a can of cheap shaving foam, nondescript deodorant, and soap, then thrust them into a denim drawstring sack.

  Gerome returned to the parking garage, descending to the lowest level. He approached a dented, rusty pickup off in the corner. Its appearance belied its abilities. Gerome kept this vehicle in tip-top shape. He never knew when he’d need its power in a crunch. He unlocked the door and threw the duffel onto the floorboard on the passenger side.

  Before he started the engine, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel to clear his mind. Focus was essential to the success of this venture.

  ❧

  Gerome drove almost straight through from Houston to Boston, taking only a few short naps in rest areas along the way. After crossing the Massachusetts state line, he enjoyed the lush countryside and abundant trees, with the fresh green leaves of late spring. A few patches of wild lupines, his mother’s favorite flower, gave the landscape a blue haze. Every time he came back to this part of the country, he felt like he was coming home. At least, the only true home he’d ever known.

  He didn’t want to take the time to go through the city, even though he was drawn to its historical significance. When he reached 128, he looped west, then took 117. But every mile he drew closer to
the Old Man’s private domain, he tensed. Knowing how important his mission was, he was afraid to lose his edge to nostalgia.

  Gerome turned onto the private road that led to the mansion. He began to mentally assume the personality he would need for the time he was there. How long had it been since he was that young man drifting in the quagmire of the world before Herman Johnson became his stepfather? Too many years and too many miles to think about.

  When Gerome reached the front gates, they stood open, inviting anyone to enter. He frowned. That didn’t bode well. Herman had always been very careful, knowing people would take advantage of his wealth if they had half a chance.

  Gerome drove up the long drive leading through a corridor of trees whose branches formed a canopy, then around the cobblestone circle to the front door.

  As he killed the engine, he flicked the hidden switch that made his pickup backfire. That should convince anyone who might be watching that the vehicle was on its last legs—or wheels, in this case.

  Before Gerome reached the front door, the heavy carved slab of cherry wood, with stained-glass fan windows in the top section, opened. An austere stranger in a black suit lowered his brows and frowned at him. Who’s he? A new butler? Interesting. Gerome would have to check into this, too.

  “How may I help you?” The man’s frozen expression was probably meant to discourage him from entering.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Johnson.” Gerome hooked his thumbs in the empty belt loops on the front of his jeans.

  “Is he expecting you?” The icy tone didn’t soften.

  “No, but I think he’ll see me. Just tell him Jerry’s here.”

  When the door closed in his face, Gerome slouched against one of the pillars that lined the front of the imposing house. Crossing one ankle over the other, he waited in alert repose.

  Unobtrusively, he scanned the perimeter. All around him were shrubbery and flower beds that needed attention. The fountain, which usually shot sparkling water high in intricate patterns, wasn’t on. He wondered what other changes he’d find once he got inside.