Page 68 of Winter in Paradise
“Me, too manly?” Huck says. He clears his throat. “I love you, Rosie girl. I’ll love you forever. I just hope you’re with your mama now. My precious LeeAnn.”
“Amen,” Maia says.
Huck smiles, though a couple of tears fall. LeeAnn was the only one of them who ever went to church—Our Lady of Mount Carmel: she loved the priest, Father Abraham, who has an enviable charisma—but some of the faith must have rubbed off on Maia.
She opens the paper lunch bag and produces a pink sphere. She holds it above the water with two pincer fingers and lets it go right next to the buoy. The water fizzes, just as it used to back in the day when Huck would make himself an Alka- Seltzer.
“What is that?” Huck says. He’s an ecologist by nature, so he’s concerned.
“Bath bomb, rose-scented,” Maia says. “Don’t worry, it’s organic.”
They both peer over the side of The Mississippi until the rose-scented bath bomb dissolves.
“For you, Mama,” Maia says.
Huck waits a respectful moment. Just as he’s about to start the engine, Maia pulls out a second bath bomb, this one pale yellow.
“What’s that?” Huck asks.
Maia brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. “Pineapple mint,” she says. “My favorite. It’s for Russ.” She drops it in the water. “For you, Russ.”
He couldn’t hope for a more natural segue, and yet when he starts to speak there’s a catch in his throat. He’s about to change this kid’s entire life. But he won’t live forever. He’s sixty-one now, and who’s to say he won’t drown or get struck by lightning, or die of a heart attack, or get bitten by a poisonous spider, or have a head-on collision on the Centerline Road? If there’s one thing Huck can say about Rosie, it’s that she firmly believed she would live forever. And she didn’t. So it’s best to err on the side of caution. If Huck dies, the girl will have no one. Ayers, maybe, if Ayers doesn’t move to Calabasas or Albany, New York, with some tourist—but Ayers has no legal claim of guardianship.
Maia needs family—a chance at family, anyway. And Irene is right—if Huck doesn’t tell her now, she’ll find out when she’s older. And hate him.
“Speaking of Russ,” Huck says.
“Uh-oh,” Maia says. She puts her elbows on her knees, rests her chin in her hand.
“Back when I told you the news,” Huck says, “you said that Russ was your father.”
“He is,” Maia says. “Was. They told me the truth on my birthday, back in November. Russ is the Pirate. We have the same birthmark.”
Huck shakes his head. “Russ has the birthmark?”
“The peanut,” Maia says. “In the exact same spot on his back.”
“No kidding,” Huck says. Maia’s birthmark, on the back of her shoulder, is the shape and size of a ballpark peanut.
“No kidding,” Maia says. “He was my birth father after all. I kind of already knew. We have the same laugh, we both love licorice, we’re both left-handed.”
“Do you know… anything else?” Huck asks. Like where the guy was the first seven years of your life?
“No,” Maia says. “Mom said she would tell me the whole story when I was older. Fifteen or sixteen. When I could handle it better, she said.”
“Okay,” Huck says. His job has been made both easier and more difficult. On the one hand, there’s no need to pursue a DNA test if the birthmark story is true—Irene should be able to confirm—but on the other hand, Maia may not want to know the truth about her father. “Well, I’ve made a new friend recently.”
“Seriously?” Maia says. “I thought you hated people.”
Huck gives a dry laugh. “My friend, Irene, Irene Steele, actually, used to be married to Russ.”
Maia’s face changes to an expression that is beyond her years. It’s wariness, he thinks, the expression one gets when one senses a hostile presence. “Used to be?” she says.
“Honey,” he says. “Russ was married. While he was with your mom, the whole time, he was married to someone else. A woman named Irene. She flew down here when she learned he was dead, and she found me. She has two sons, one thirty years old, one twenty-eight. They are your brothers.”
“My brothers?” Maia says. “I have brothers?”
“Half brothers,” Huck says. “Russell Steele is their father and he’s your father. Their mother is Irene. Yours is… was… Rosie.”
