explained away as simply the generosity of a lonely man with no children of his own.
Round and round her thoughts went, Maria's reticence nagging at her. Why hadn't Nick's mother backed him up? Did Maria know he was running a scam and while unwilling to expose him, was not brave enough to give weight to his claim? She found no answers and eventually dropped off into an uneasy doze. She didn't know how long she had slept, but something woke her. Bleary-eyed, she gazed around the room, surprised to find that dusk had fallen, shadows filling the room.
She lay there a moment, trying to wake up. A tap on the door jerked her upright, and after fumbling for the switch on the lamp near the bed, she flicked it on. Soft, yellow light pooled near the bed, dispelling the shadows and spreading the sensation of warmth throughout the area.
Seated on the side of the bed, she yawned. There was another, more insistent tap on the door.
Rubbing her forehead, she called out, “Who is it?”
“Nick. May I come in?”
She hesitated, then replied, “Sure. The door's not locked.”
Nick slipped into the room, a tray held in his hands. He walked up to her and put the tray down on the table near the bed. Grabbing one of the chairs, he pulled it up and sat down.
Shelly looked at the contents of the tray and couldn't help grinning. The total items were a big plate of Oreo cookies, a half-gallon carton of milk, and two tall glasses.
Picking up a cookie and taking a bite, she looked at Nick. “Did Maria tell you they were my favorite?”
He smiled uncertainly. “Nope, I remembered from when we were kids.” His smile faded. “Look,” he said, “I want to apologize for what happened this afternoon. Mike was right about one thing—my timing stinks. I should have kept my mouth shut and given you time to settle in before I said anything. I'm sorry.”
Pouring them both glasses of milk, she shoved one in his direction. Indicating the cookies, she mumbled around a mouthful, “Help yourself.”
They ate cookies and drank milk in silence. It was a friendly silence. A comfortable silence, and Shelly remembered times from the past when she and Nick had done just as they were doing now, eating cookies and drinking milk in complete accord with each other.
Putting her empty glass down a few minutes later, she asked, “Your timing wasn't the best, I'll grant you that, but the problem doesn't go away.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Was Josh really your father?”
He hesitated, took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “Yeah. I believe he was. He never admitted it, and Mom…” He looked puzzled and hurt. “She won't talk about it—but she and Juan were always open about the fact that Juan
wasn't
my father—even if I carry his last name.” He sighed and glanced down at the plate of rapidly disappearing Oreos. “Whenever I questioned her about my father, Mom just said not to worry about him—we had a nice home and she had a nice job and we didn't need him. We were happy without him—besides, she was married to Juan. By the time I was old enough to really question her about him, I guess I'd just accepted her explanation and didn't think about it too much.” He looked off into space. “I must have been about fifteen, sixteen, when I found out differently. Until that time, Josh had always just seemed like a really neat guy, you know. He was good to Mom, and he was great to Raquel and me after Juan died—in that easygoing, careless sort of way he had. I never suspected a relationship—even between them.” He grimaced. “OK, I'll admit that now and then after Juan died I thought that it would be great if Mom got something on with Mr. Granger. But I never even once considered that your brother was my father.”
“How'd you find out?” Shelly asked around an Oreo.
“Some wise-ass kid at school. It was at football practice, and I don't remember what happened exactly, but we got into it.” He grinned. “All that young, male
Round and round her thoughts went, Maria's reticence nagging at her. Why hadn't Nick's mother backed him up? Did Maria know he was running a scam and while unwilling to expose him, was not brave enough to give weight to his claim? She found no answers and eventually dropped off into an uneasy doze. She didn't know how long she had slept, but something woke her. Bleary-eyed, she gazed around the room, surprised to find that dusk had fallen, shadows filling the room.
She lay there a moment, trying to wake up. A tap on the door jerked her upright, and after fumbling for the switch on the lamp near the bed, she flicked it on. Soft, yellow light pooled near the bed, dispelling the shadows and spreading the sensation of warmth throughout the area.
Seated on the side of the bed, she yawned. There was another, more insistent tap on the door.
Rubbing her forehead, she called out, “Who is it?”
“Nick. May I come in?”
She hesitated, then replied, “Sure. The door's not locked.”
Nick slipped into the room, a tray held in his hands. He walked up to her and put the tray down on the table near the bed. Grabbing one of the chairs, he pulled it up and sat down.
Shelly looked at the contents of the tray and couldn't help grinning. The total items were a big plate of Oreo cookies, a half-gallon carton of milk, and two tall glasses.
Picking up a cookie and taking a bite, she looked at Nick. “Did Maria tell you they were my favorite?”
He smiled uncertainly. “Nope, I remembered from when we were kids.” His smile faded. “Look,” he said, “I want to apologize for what happened this afternoon. Mike was right about one thing—my timing stinks. I should have kept my mouth shut and given you time to settle in before I said anything. I'm sorry.”
Pouring them both glasses of milk, she shoved one in his direction. Indicating the cookies, she mumbled around a mouthful, “Help yourself.”
They ate cookies and drank milk in silence. It was a friendly silence. A comfortable silence, and Shelly remembered times from the past when she and Nick had done just as they were doing now, eating cookies and drinking milk in complete accord with each other.
Putting her empty glass down a few minutes later, she asked, “Your timing wasn't the best, I'll grant you that, but the problem doesn't go away.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Was Josh really your father?”
He hesitated, took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “Yeah. I believe he was. He never admitted it, and Mom…” He looked puzzled and hurt. “She won't talk about it—but she and Juan were always open about the fact that Juan
wasn't
my father—even if I carry his last name.” He sighed and glanced down at the plate of rapidly disappearing Oreos. “Whenever I questioned her about my father, Mom just said not to worry about him—we had a nice home and she had a nice job and we didn't need him. We were happy without him—besides, she was married to Juan. By the time I was old enough to really question her about him, I guess I'd just accepted her explanation and didn't think about it too much.” He looked off into space. “I must have been about fifteen, sixteen, when I found out differently. Until that time, Josh had always just seemed like a really neat guy, you know. He was good to Mom, and he was great to Raquel and me after Juan died—in that easygoing, careless sort of way he had. I never suspected a relationship—even between them.” He grimaced. “OK, I'll admit that now and then after Juan died I thought that it would be great if Mom got something on with Mr. Granger. But I never even once considered that your brother was my father.”
“How'd you find out?” Shelly asked around an Oreo.
“Some wise-ass kid at school. It was at football practice, and I don't remember what happened exactly, but we got into it.” He grinned. “All that young, male
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