Page 45 of Out of the Blue

Her writing in her diary.

I take a step back, distancing myself from the kind and warm woman next to me, and pace. “You could say that. She was. Until she wasn’t.”

“She always rooted for you. No matter what. Despite who your father was.”

I swing to challenge her, anger replacing all the good memories, my arm slashing through the air. “It was all a lie. All of it.”

My girlfriend doesn’t flinch. No. Her face remains a mask of kindness and understanding. “I know all about disappointment brought on by parents.”

She does. The wind vanishes from my sudden anger, and I collapse into an overstuffed chair. “I know you do.”

“What about your Aunt Gloria? Do you still have her number?” Cordy stands above me.

I cock my head. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you reach out to her? I mean, her sister—no matter how distant they were—was killed a few months ago. And she did come to the funeral.” She sits on my lap. “Don’t you think she wants to truly reconnect with her only nephew?” She pauses. “What’s the worst that could happen? She hangs up on you? I guess, then you’d be sure of where you stand.”

Desire to connect with my only remaining Washington relatives rises out of the ashes. “Well, she did make the trip for the funeral.”

“I think you should call her. Ask her why she fought with your mom. Try to forge a new, adult relationship with her.”

I weigh her suggestion. While it’s appealing, do I really want to get back in touch with this woman? Who helped my mother keep my real father away from me for my entire life? “No. I think she’s dead to me.”

“What if—”

Cordy’s words hang in the air. My mind can’t complete her sentence. “What?”

She flips her hair across her shoulder. “What if their disagreements stemmed from the secret your mother took to her grave?”

It’s like a Les Paul whacked me in the gut. All of the air disappears from my body, which goes cold. Should I do this? While I mull this over, my cell phone lands between us. “Call her.”

Her command propels me into action. I search my contacts. “Auntie Gloria” shows up right away. “Here she is.”

Cordy crosses her arms across her chest, obscuring her glorious tits. I’d much rather be taking advantage of them rather than being forced to make this call. Opting for the second option, I try to pull her into my arms, but she wiggles away.

“No. You can have meafteryou make the call.”

I know Cordy. She won’t force me to make this call. Nor will she withhold her delectable body from me if I don’t make it.

I also know myself. And her explanation may have some merit. Did Mom and her sister have a falling out over her keeping the truth about my parentage from me? It’s this possibility that spurs me to press the green button.

Seeing I’ve placed the call, Cordy points to the door. “I’ll give you some space,” she whispers. Taking her phone and laptop, she leaves me alone in the bedroom. With a phone sounding its first ring.

A woman’s voice answers. “Hello?”

I lick my lips. “Hello, Auntie Gloria. This is Trent.”

“Trent?” She coughs. Then sniffles. “Trenton Washington?”

No one calls me by my full name anymore. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you for calling! How are you doing? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to spend more time down in New Jersey after the funeral. Had to get back to our fishing business, you know. But that’s no excuse.”

Because I can’t contain my energy, I get to my feet and stride over to the oversized window offering a great view of the Vermont mountains. “I understand.”

“So, ah, Trenton, how are you doing?”

I turn around in the hotel room. We’re not the headliners—and won’t be so long as we’re the opening band for Hunte—but my “junior” suite is spacious, with a living area, bedroom area, bathroom, and a little kitchenette. All of us are blessed with the same rooms. At every stop. I fall onto the bed.

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