Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

NINE

Bill Delaney’s revelation surprised me. He had originally said his mother and Uncle Del were friends, and I had seen no reason to doubt that. I could understand why he hadn’t told me the full story before. Until he knew of my connection to Uncle Del, his past really was none of my business.

“I wasn’t aware that Uncle Del had any children,” I said. “I can’t remember my aunt ever mentioning a son or a daughter.” I knew she would have loved to have had a child, even a stepchild, to lavish love and attention on after the loss they suffered.

“I’m pretty sure he never knew about me,” Delaney said.

That was even more surprising. How could Uncle Del not know he had a son? Another thought followed swiftly on that one. Maybe he never had a son, and Bill Delaney was trying to deceive me for some reason.

“How could he not know?” I asked in a neutral tone.

“He and my mother were married for about six months,” Delaney said. “Guess they found out they couldn’t stand each other, though according to what my mama told me, they were desperate to get married. But he walked out on her, and she didn’t find out she was pregnant until a month later.”

“Surely she would have let him know,” I said. “Are you sure she didn’t?”

Delaney shrugged. “You’d’a had to know my mama. The Lord never created anybody stubborner than her. The way she told it, she wasn’t going to go running after him and try to get him back just because she was going to have a baby. Far as I know she never saw him again.”

“When you were old enough, did you try to find him?”

“Didn’t know his name,” Delaney said. “Mama wouldn’t tell me. That’s why my last name is Delaney. She went back to her maiden name right away. Wouldn’t talk about him. Threw away anything that had to do with him. Every picture she had except one. That’s what she told me.”

“How did you find out who he was?” This story sounded like something out of a melodrama.

“Mama only died three months ago,” Delaney said. “She was ninety-two. I found their marriage license in an old shoe box with some other papers. There was his name, Delbert Collins.”

“You originally told me that Uncle Del and your mother had once been friends,” I said.

Delaney nodded. “I had to think of something to explain why I was interested in where he lived. I didn’t want to go around telling strangers I was his son. At least not until I knew whether he was still living or not.”

I had watched him closely as he told me his story, and he came across as completely sincere. I have always fancied myself as a good judge of character, but I have been fooled before. I thought he was probably telling me the truth, at least as he knew it, but I wasn’t going to accept his story without concrete proof.

I thought about how to phrase the question I intended to ask, but I couldn’t come up with a tactful way to do it. If he was telling me the truth, he shouldn’t be offended, I realized.

“Do you have the birth certificate with you?” I asked.

“In my bag,” Delaney said. “I left it by the chair I’ve been sitting in.” He rose. “I’ll go get it and be right back.”

After he left the room I looked down at Diesel and found him regarding me with what I called his serious expression.

“What do you think, boy?” I asked in a low tone. “Is he telling us the truth?”

Diesel meowed, and I interpreted that as a yes.

“I think he probably is, too,” I said, “but until I know for sure, and know exactly what it is he’s after, I think caution is the watchword.”

Diesel meowed again, and I rubbed his head.

While we waited for Delaney to return, I realized I felt hungry and ready to have my lunch. I was such a creature of habit. I had my routine, and I liked to stick to it. My lunch hour was nearly over, and I might have to skip eating, though I would give Diesel his tidbits. I couldn’t sit and have a meal in front of Bill Delaney when he didn’t have anything to eat himself. I decided, however, that missing a meal would do me no harm.

Delaney returned and handed me a folded document before he resumed his seat. He set his bag down beside him. I accepted the paper and opened it gently. The paper looked new. The birth certificate must have been kept in the shoe box and rarely ever removed all these years. According to the date on it, Bill Delaney would be sixty-six this coming December.

“I see you were born in Tullahoma County,” I said. The county and its county seat, both named Tullahoma, lay only about two hours’ drive southwest of Athena. He had lived so close to his father yet had never met him. There was a sad irony in that.

“Lived there most of my life,” Delaney said. “Except for the time I spent in the service. Marine Corps. Eight years.”

I heard the note of pride in his voice when he mentioned his branch of the service. My father had served in the Marines in World War II, and he, too, had always been proud of that.

I nodded before I turned my attention back to the birth certificate. I found the parents’ names and ages. Sylvia Delaney, age twenty-five, and Delbert Collins, age thirty. I had no idea when Uncle Del was born, though I knew he was a few years older than Aunt Dottie. She would have been eighty-eight this year.

The certificate looked legitimate. At the moment I had to accept it at face value. “Thank you for showing it to me.” I handed the paper back to Delaney.

Delaney nodded. He folded his certificate and placed it in a pocket in his bag. “Can you tell me anything about him? I haven’t been able to find out much in the newspapers here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to tell you,” I said, “but I’m happy to share what I can. You see, he died when I was about nine or ten. My memories of him are pretty hazy.”

“Whatever you can remember is surely more than I know now,” Delaney said.

I could feel the sadness in him, and I suddenly imagined myself in his place. How would I feel if I had never known my father? I figured I, too, would want to know as much as I could, especially if he weren’t around for me to meet and talk to in person.

“He was an invalid,” I said. “Frankly, I don’t know exactly what the problem was, other than supposedly a weak heart. I remember that when I went to visit them, Uncle Del was usually in his room resting. I wasn’t supposed to make any loud noises that might startle or upset him.” I smiled briefly. “For me that wasn’t a problem, because my aunt had lots of books. I spent most of my visits with her reading.”

“He didn’t have a job?” Delaney frowned.

I shook my head. “Not that I ever knew. I was always told he was too sick to work. Aunt Dottie worked, though, and took care of him. She had help, of course. They always had a housekeeper who would look after him while my aunt was at work.”

In the back of my mind I was having cynical thoughts. I wondered whether Delaney was angling to find out if Uncle Del had had any money. Was he hoping for an inheritance of some kind? If he was, he was bound to be disappointed. Aunt Dottie earned all the money and paid all the expenses, including the mortgage. The house was in her name, which was unusual for the time. After Uncle Del died, she invested money and invested wisely. She became moderately wealthy because of her own hard work and good business sense. She left everything to me. Bill Delaney had no viable claim on her estate.

Even if he wasn’t angling for money, I knew he did want to know more about his father. That I could do something about. Aunt Dottie had kept photograph albums over the years, and there were probably numerous pictures of Uncle Del. There might also be some mementos of him that she had kept. I had several boxes of her things stowed away in a closet. Azalea could help me go through them to see whether there was anything that belonged to Uncle Del. I would be happy for Bill Delaney to have such things.