All this time Jake’s identity had been the one given to him by his mother, his environment, his upbringing. He’d fashioned a view of who he was from the knowledge that he wasn’t wanted by his father. That bit of his personality, the awkwardness of becoming a man without that influence? It was a huge part of him.
Now, coming here, finding his roots, learning that his father had searched, getting a taste for another way to live . . . it had shattered that perception of himself into a thousand pieces.
Maybe he was afloat and looking for that connection so he could reimagine who he was now that his father was gone and reconciliation wasn’t possible. But Jake already knew he wasn’t afloat anymore.
With everything that had happened, Tanner’s words weren’t validation for him to find himself, they were confirmation of who he had become in the short time he’d been here.
This place, Liz, his brothers, these were the missing pieces that had dogged him. Tanner’s certainty that Jake fit into this world was not a reinvention, it was filling in the gaps.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Jake answered finally.
Tannerhmmed as he crossed the kitchen and rummaged across the key rack at the door to the mudroom. It held dozens and dozens of keys, mostly for farm vehicles and buildings; some looked like they hadn’t moved in years. Tanner came up with one on an amber-colored polished rock fob, palmed it, and gestured to the back of the house.
“This is for Dad’s war room. Peony told me you looked in it for paperwork. Let’s go take another look. I keep feeling like we’re missin’ something.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Jake drained his beer and followed Tanner as he strode through the house to the back. Tanner stopped in front of the door and examined the key. Jake resisted the urge to pull the key from over the door and be a smartass. Tanner obviously didn’t know about it, and Jake sensed he needed to let his brother have this moment to process what they were doing without him trying to lighten the mood.
“Dad would never let us go in here. I remember once he left the door cracked and I peeked in. I think I was what, seven? He was sittin’ at the desk, writing in a book, papers piled up on the desk,Jeopardy!blaring on the TV. He yelled at me to get the hell out.”
“You never went in, even if he wasn’t in here?”
“He was that kind of mad you don’t mess with. It scared me so I never did it again. If me or Brady even thought about tryin’ to go in, the threat of what he’d do kept us honest.”
Tanner inserted the key into the doorknob. He turned it with aclickthat echoed through the quiet house, and both men looked at one another at the sound. Tanner gestured in the doorway to him.
“He can’t yell now, can he?” he said, and Jake chuckled. No indeed, he couldn’t.
Tanner fumbled for the light switch as they entered the tiny room, and the lamps lit the interior. It was just as imposing as it was when he’d been in here with Peony, the stale cigar smell, the old furniture, the presence of his father looming in the air.
“I didn’t know what to expect,” Tanner said as he stepped in, and his eyebrows rose. “Thirty years ago, time stopped in this room.”
“Maybe he liked it this way. It was familiar, comfortable. The rest of the house is a showpiece, you know,” Jake said.
Tannerhmphed and gave Jake a look. “You’re not wrong. Dad renovated the entire place after Mom died, but I guess he didn’t want them touching his space. He didn’t like change much.”
No kidding. Like father, like son, Jake thought.
They stood just inside the door, neither of them moving into the room. Tanner obviously needed a moment, turning in place, eyes moving from one thing to another.
“We didn’t find anything in the desk, but I didn’t look too closely at the bookshelf. Maybe there’s something there?” Jake said finally, restless. “Peony looked a bit, but I think it overwhelmed her when we were in here.”
“Hard for her maybe, being where he wouldn’t let anyone else in, not even his wife,” Tanner said, looking around, and his eyes landed on the throw across the back of the desk chair. “Hey, we had tons of those when I was a kid, all packed away in the back of the big linen closet in the hall. Mom gave ’em all to Peony and Liz the day they moved into the bunkhouse. Said they were ugly and needed gone. Must’ve missed one.”
“My mother made those,” Jake said. “I recognized the pattern when I saw it before. Maybe Dad rescued it as a reminder of her?”
“He was never sentimental like that, but who knows anymore.” Tanner grunted and turned to the bookshelf, cracking his knuckles. “There’s some binders on the end, let’s check those.”
He and Jake pulled each of the dozen or so hard-backed blue binders off the shelf one by one, leafing through random pages. Jake found invoices from private detectives, neatly ordered and stampedpaid. Brett’s ranch paperwork was a mess, but in here everything was filed neatly, in order, years and years of fees and expenses, reports typed out, carbon copies of missing person reports slowly fading purple. It was like two different men had inhabited the same place.
“Is this all from him looking for you?” Tanner asked, thumbing through grainy photocopies of pictures, notes and lists of what looked to be names in an old phone book.
“Maybe? I have no idea. Peony told me he did. Found me two years or so ago, from what he told her.”
Tanner closed the binder in his hands with a thump. “There’s nothing in here,” he snapped, obviously frustrated, and shoved it back onto the shelf. It wouldn’t go in all the way, and frowning, he gave it another push. “Come on,” he hissed.
“Hang on, there’s something blocking it,” Jake said, and fished in behind it.
