Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

“How would you like to come to my house for dinner tomorrow evening? I imagine there are pictures of your father in my aunt’s photo albums, and you’re welcome to some of them, if you’d like to have them.” I decided not to mention the possibility of personal items because I didn’t want him to end up disappointed should there prove to be none.

Delaney’s face lit briefly with a smile. “That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll take you up on the offer of dinner, too. It’ll be real nice to have a meal with someone for a change.”

“I’m glad you can come,” I said. “How about six? Will that time work for you?”

“That’ll be fine,” Delaney replied. “I have the address.”

“Do you need a ride?” I asked. “I’d be happy to pick you up and take you home again afterward.”

“I thank you, but I’ll find my way there,” Delaney said. “No need to put you to any extra trouble.” He picked up his bag and stood.

“Okay, but the offer’s still on the table if you change your mind.” I got to my feet since it was evident he was ready to go.

Delaney smiled briefly. “See you tomorrow evening.”

Diesel came from behind the desk and warbled loudly as if he were adding his invitation to mine. Delaney reached out with a hesitant hand and touched the cat’s head. When Diesel warbled again, he stroked the cat briefly. Then Delaney ducked his head in a gesture of farewell and walked out of the office.

“We don’t have much time left for lunch, boy,” I told the cat. “We’d better eat. Is that okay with you?”

Diesel answered with two loud, assertive meows. I laughed as I retrieved our lunch from the fridge in the staff kitchen. Diesel accompanied me there and back again to the desk. I fed him bites of boiled chicken while I ate my sandwich and a banana.

My thoughts turned to Bill Delaney again. The first thing I wanted to do when I got home was dig out one of those photo albums and look at pictures of Uncle Del. To save my life, I couldn’t recall his face clearly at the moment. If Bill Delaney looked like Uncle Del, then that would be a clincher as far as I was concerned.

I felt sorry for the man. My father had been a good, hardworking man who sometimes had difficulty showing his emotions, but I knew he loved me and was proud of me. As an adult and a father myself, I appreciated him even more for all the things he taught me about fatherhood without my ever having realized it.

I hoped there would be some things of Uncle Del’s that my aunt kept. It would be nice if there were something concrete for Delaney to have as a physical connection to his father. But if there were no mementos, he would at least be able to see where his father had lived.

Where his father had lived. The words resonated in my mind. I recalled that, according to the information in our patron database, Delaney lived in a small apartment in a shabby area of town. As my uncle’s son—my step-first-cousin, I supposed—should I do more for him?

I thought then about what Aunt Dottie would have done in this situation.

She would have opened her door and welcomed him in to stay. That’s what she would have done.

Could I do any less?

TEN

The afternoon passed quickly. I helped patrons with their questions and also spent another couple of hours cataloging. All the while I concentrated on the task at hand, in the back of my mind I kept coming back to that one thought: Should I really consider inviting a stranger into my home? I felt sorry for the man because I figured his living conditions were probably not comfortable, perhaps even unsafe. Over and above that, though, I felt a sense of obligation to my aunt and her principles of charity and inclusiveness.

My parents had reared me to do what I could for those who needed help, and my aunt had reinforced those lessons by her actions. She was a tireless worker through her church, slowing down only when the cancer that took her life made her too weak to leave her bed. I had no doubt what my aunt would do in this situation.

The question was, did I have the courage—and the spirit of charity—to do the same?

By the time Diesel and I were in the car and on our way home, I had made my decision. I would offer Bill Delaney one of the vacant bedrooms on the second floor. Now that both Sean and Laura had vacated their rooms, I had plenty of space for another person. There was the possibility, of course, that Delaney would decline my offer. I would simply have to wait and see what transpired tomorrow evening.

Once we were home, I left Diesel to visit the utility room and headed for the den. I wanted to look through Aunt Dottie’s old photograph albums and find pictures of Uncle Del. Would Bill Delaney bear any resemblance to him? If he did, that would explain the niggling sense of familiarity about him that I had felt from the first time I saw him.

I opened the cabinet and pulled out one of the albums from more than fifty years ago when Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del were first married. I sat at the desk, turned on the desk lamp, and opened the album. I thumbed through several pages until I found a photo from the time right after they were married and settling into life together in this house.

I stared at it. Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del, both in their early thirties, stared back at me. Aunt Dottie was smiling while Uncle Del looked somber. I recalled him as a quiet man who hadn’t had much to do with me because of his invalid status, and he died when I was nine or ten. My memories of him had been dimmed by time, but I got a shock as I examined his face more closely.

No wonder Bill Delaney had seemed familiar. He looked like an older version of Uncle Del. I went back to the cabinet and found an album from the year I was eight years old. It took me only a minute to find a picture of an older Uncle Del, worn down by his poor health. The likeness between Bill Delaney and my uncle was even more striking.

I closed the albums and put them away, my mind buzzing the whole time. The implication seemed clear. Bill Delaney was definitely related to Uncle Del. With a likeness that striking he probably was my uncle’s son. With my aunt and my parents gone, there was no one else I knew who knew Uncle Del or might know more about his past before he married my aunt.

No, that wasn’t correct, I realized. There was one person who might know. Azalea Berry had worked for my aunt for many years before Aunt Dottie died and after she became a widow. Azalea knew more about Aunt Dottie than anyone else. I wouldn’t see Azalea again until Monday, but could I wait that long to talk to her? I didn’t like calling and disturbing her on her days off unless it was an emergency. I couldn’t really call this an emergency, could I?

After dithering over it for over a minute, I decided I had to call. Otherwise I would have to wait until Monday morning, spending the weekend fretting over all this. I had better things to do with my time, not to mention my mental energy. Laura and Frank were bringing my grandson over tomorrow for me to look after while they went out to lunch and a movie. I didn’t want to be distracted while he was in my care. I pulled out my cell phone, found Azalea’s name in my contacts, and called her.

The call went to voice mail, and I left a brief message asking her to return my call at her convenience. I stressed there was no urgency, that I simply had a question I wanted to ask about my aunt’s husband.

That done, I realized I was hungry and ready for my dinner. I found Diesel in the kitchen, waiting by the refrigerator. He knew what time it was, and he was hopeful that there was more chicken lurking inside the big white box. He meowed three times to let me know how near starvation he was, then threw in a few sad chirps to emphasize his dire state.