Blood Debt, Page 2

The wheels touched down at the Charleston Airport. Although I wasn’t a world traveler, I recognized that it was a very small airport, two whole luggage carousels in baggage claim. I had been to San Diego’s airport lots of times; it was like a maze of endless signs and was seriously intimidating even for the locals. Charleston’s was small and felt welcoming. I had found pictures of Will on the internet. I knew he was near fifty, with graying hair, distinguished face, brown eyes, and a nose that was slightly larger than his face required. Not unattractive, but I doubt he’d ever been a huge heart-throb. The pictures I found of him were all with suit jackets and ties, so I scanned the baggage claim area for a middle-aged man in a suit. It was 10:30 a.m. on a Wednesday. I saw a few people who had the right attire, but none looked like the picture I’d downloaded of him. I kept checking my phone for a message from him, but nothing.

  I felt the nervousness gripping me, wondering if this was a mistake. Daniel’s words continued in my head; I tried to shake his warning away and knew I needed to come up with a plan. How would I get to Will’s house? I checked my phone again, nothing new. This was a dumb idea. I saw my bag approaching on the carousel. As I reached down to pick it up, a guy my age in a polo shirt, khakis and dress shoes loped through the large double-doors from outside. He was carrying a piece of paper with clear block letters that read, “Camille Benning.”

  It definitely wasn’t Will. I rolled my bag over to the guy and said, “Hi. I’m Camille Benning.”

  I saw his eyes widen momentarily and felt him look me up and down as a huge toothy smile flashed my way. “Hi, Camille, I’m Brent. Welcome to Charleston!” His brown eyes looked glad to see me, and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and it looked like he was either a sun worshipper or he’d never worked a day in his life – golden bronze skin was hard to come by with a full-time job.

  “Uh, thanks.” I wasn’t expecting a car service. Will was definitely losing cool points by not bothering to meet me at the airport.

  “Can I help you with your bag?”

  I shook my head, “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”

  He responded with a startled look, “I must have said that wrong. I’ll take your bag for you.” He reached for it, but my knuckles didn’t budge from the handle.

  My voice stern, “No, thanks. I’ve got it.” Years of caution from Mom about strangers, about not looking weak, I wasn’t about to let this clown think that I wasn’t capable of rolling my own bag. If he kept this up, there was no way I was going to give him a tip.

  With a snicker in his voice, “Headstrong just like Dad; he’ll be thrilled.” I raised my eyebrow, not understanding his comment. He must have seen my confusion because he clarified, “I’m sorry, I assumed Dad mentioned that I would be picking you up. I’m your brother, Brent.”

  Brother? Holy crap! A father, stepmother, and a brother – all in less than a day. I felt a smile erupting as some of the loneliness I’d felt the last month offered to evaporate. “Oh, uh, no. We didn’t talk that long yesterday.”

  “That figures. Well, the car is this way.” Brent led the way through the double doors while I rolled my own suitcase.

  Here I was excited to be flying across the country to meet a father I had just found out about. In the back of my mind I assumed he had a family, but I never expected for him to send his son to pick me up. When I ran the background check on him, it didn’t say anything about a son. That’s something that should definitely show up if you blow forty bucks to dig into someone’s past.

  As we stepped through the double doors to the outside, the heat nearly took my breath away. It was like stepping into an oven. “Wow, is it always this hot?”

  Brent chuckled, “This isn’t bad. Wait another couple hours: that’s when it starts to get uncomfortable.” It felt like a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity. I knew July would be hot, but I didn’t think I would be slow roasting. We stepped out to the curb where Brent motioned me to a beautiful BMW sedan. It was snowy white with tan interior. A guy waited in the driver’s seat and a second in the front passenger seat.

  As Brent put my bag in the trunk, I stole a glance at the two men waiting in the car. Neither looked old enough to be Will, either.

  Brent stepped back to the passenger side and opened my door for me, holding it while I sat down and then closed it for me—very gentlemanly. He walked around to the other side of the car and sat next to me in the backseat. The two guys in the front seat turned around. They each shared the same big toothy smile and bore a striking resemblance to Brent. As Brent reached for his seat belt he said, “Camille, these are your brothers Bart and Ben.”

  “Uh, nice to meet you both.”

  Bart began driving, so it was Ben’s turn. “We’re glad you’re here. I know you flew all night. Did you want to go back to the house and crash or stop for a bite first?”

  Until he mentioned food, I hadn’t realized I was hungry. “I don’t want to be any trouble. Whatever you were going to do was fine.”

  Bart let out a hearty laugh, “We were told to take care of you for a few hours until Dad can get home from work. There’re great restaurants here. Do you like seafood?”

  Bart had said the magic word. I loved seafood. “Yeah, if you guys are hungry, I could eat.”

  Ben turned around in his seat because I was sitting directly behind him. “So, you live in San Diego? Have you lived there your whole life?”

  “Yeah. Well, near there. I live in Oceanside; it’s a little north of San Diego.”

  “So, do you surf?”

  “Not well. But I’ve been on a board a few times.”

  “If you want to go surfing while you’re here, you can borrow one of mine.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “’Til Sunday.”

  “Wow, that’s a quick trip. So are you on summer break from school?”

  “No, I, um . . . I never went to college.” It never bothered me before that I couldn’t afford college, mainly because I never had any real desire to go. But looking at these three in this car, I, for the first time, felt a little intimidated about my choice.

  Ben casually asked, “So, what do you do?”

  Wondering if Ben was purposely trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I said confidently, “I’m a cashier.”

  I could tell Ben sensed that he’d sort of rattled me, and he smoothly tried to make up for it. “I was a cashier all through high school at a grocery store—that was a great job. I’m jealous.”

  Ben got an “A” for effort, but it was obvious that a mere cashier was not in the same league with these three. I decided I’d try to get the focus off of me. “So, how old are you three?”

  Brent answered, “I’m twenty-four, Ben’s twenty-five, Bart’s twenty-six, Bruce is twenty-seven and Beau’s twenty-eight. Bruce and Beau couldn’t fit in the car without cramming you in like a sardine. I just texted them to meet us at the Harbor Club.”

  I looked squarely at Brent. I didn’t know any family with five kids, “Five boys?”

  Brent nodded enthusiastically. He was notably cautious with his next question, “Um, how old are you, Camille?”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  No one responded right away, and just before the pause got seriously uncomfortable, Brent’s excitement returned, “Well, great, you’re legal. We could all go hit a club or something while you’re here.”

  The image of me walking into a bar with five very tall, handsome guys had its merits. “Maybe. Are there good clubs here?”

  “Probably not as sophisticated as San Diego, but there’re some decent places to dance downtown.”

  Brent was still pressing me for more info, “So, do you have any brothers or sisters, I mean . . . other than us?”

  I shook my head that I didn’t. “It was always just Mom and me.”

  Brent’s jovial tone came down a few octaves when he said, “Oh, yeah, I’m sorry about that. Dad said she passed away recent
ly.”

  I was beyond tearing up every time someone told me they were sorry for my loss, but the sincerity in his voice and eyes struck me tenderly. I didn’t want to break into full-fledged tears, so I asked, “So what does your mom do?”

  Ben and Bart exchanged looks, but Brent didn’t miss a beat, “She’s a housewife.”

  Five boys, all had been born a year apart, and a mom who didn’t work outside the house. What were they, Mormon? I only had a few friends growing up whose moms stayed home: they were all wealthy. Judging from the car and the way these three were dressed, maybe my assumption was correct.

  “So, when did your parents split up?”

  I felt that same tension from before. This time Ben turned around to answer, “Our parents are still together.”

  The reality of the situation hit me—like a Mack truck. Will, my father, met my mother twenty-three years ago. They had some sort of wild fling, with me as the result. Will was married when he met my mom, and he was still married to the same woman—Brent, Ben and Bart’s mother. My stomach cinched tight. No wonder my mom would never tell me who my father was. I could feel the color drain from my face.

  Ben, still peering at me over the seat, must have seen my stupor. “It’s okay, Camille. Dad called us all together last night and told us. Mom knows.”

  “And she’s okay with me being here?”

  Bart, from behind the wheel piped in, “I’m sure she had some words with Dad after we went to bed, but she told us all we were taking the rest of the week off to welcome you to the family.”

  “Seriously?” All three heads nodded in unison. “So, you all just called your bosses and took the week off?”

  Brent leaned in and said, “Yeah, we all work for the same guy. He understood.”

  Bart said, after they went to bed. Did they all still live at home? Who still lives with their parents when they’re adults and have the money to live anywhere? Were they a part of some cult? Something felt fishy. I texted Daniel discreetly from the back seat: “Arrived OK. Going 2 lunch w/ 5 brothers. Haven’t met Dad yet. Will call soon.” If this was some sort of a trick, I wanted Daniel to know where to tell the police to start looking.

  Bart pulled the car in front of a restaurant and handed the keys to a valet. I had nearly forgotten we were going to get lunch, and after the last couple minutes, I wasn’t sure I could hold any food down. As we stepped out of the car, I was again blasted by the heat. Luckily, it was exactly five steps from the curb to the restaurant’s door, and we were again in the cool.

  I had always been a little on the tall side for a girl, I was 5’10” – I looked at my newly found brothers: Brent was the tallest of the three and had to be at least 6’3”. Ben and Bart were both a couple inches taller than I was. As we walked to the hostess standing behind her podium, I could see the family resemblance with two more tall, slender men waiting right in front of us. Aside from the height and dark hair, I didn’t look much like them. Of the two who were waiting with the hostess, the one closest took a couple steps toward me and grabbed me in a strong bear hug, “Hey, little sister! We’re glad you’re here! I’m Beau.”

  My mind was working again, and I realized the next brother to take me in a hug was Bruce even before he introduced himself. He gave me a quick hug, sweet, but not bone-crushing like Beau, “Nice to meet you, Camille. I’m Bruce.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both, too.” I’d never been shy my whole life, but at this moment, I wasn’t feeling like a social butterfly. Luckily, each of my newly discovered brothers was genuinely welcoming and completely over-the-moon charming. As I looked at them, their handsome looks were obvious, the same perfect toothy smiles, warm brown eyes, dark brown hair, and dimples. Conversation had steered clear of me; I’d been worried I’d have a repeat of the awkward conversation in the car with the two new brothers, but Beau and Bruce were more interested in talking about plans for my time here, rather than how I came to be.

  After a lunch of appetizers oozing butter, fresh seafood and starches, over an hour of great conversation, I came to a single conclusion: If I never met my father, I wouldn’t feel slighted. I’d never dreamed that I would have a sibling, let alone five who were beyond cool, each seeming really excited to have a little sister. Not one of them seemed to care that I was only a half-sister. I’d never been a pessimist, so I refused to give in to the feeling that this was all a little too good to be true. Rather than question whether these guys were really glad to see me or if they were just the world’s best actors, I decided I’d just relax and enjoy it.

  Bart looked at his watch as a sneaky grin emerged, “It’s barely noon. We could buzz over to the club and take the boat out for a couple hours.” His suggestion had been made to the group, but he quickly turned and added, “I’m sorry, Camille, I guess I should be asking you. I know these guys are up for it.”

  The energy these five had was euphoric. I couldn’t think of anything I wouldn’t want to do so long as they were around. “Sure, okay.”

  As we were walking out of the restaurant, it occurred to me we had never paid. Having spent plenty of time as a waitress, I put on the brakes and said, “Wait, what about the check?”

  Bart shook his head, “We’re here a lot. They’ll just put it on our membership.”

  I still felt a little nervous as we approached the hostess, until she called out to Beau, “Mr. Strayer, I trust everything was to your liking?” Beau, the oldest of the group, was leading the way to the door.

  Beau shot her a big smile, “Perfect, like always, Janice. Tell Peter he outdid himself today with the Shrimp Pasta.”

  Janice wasn’t wearing a nametag and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that we didn’t sign a piece of paper. She had star-struck eyes as we filed past her. I was just a few steps away when Brent stopped, looked at Janice and said, “Oh, wait. This is our little sister, Camille. She’s visiting from California. Could you let the staff know she should be added to the membership and has full privileges.”

  “Yes, Mr. Strayer. I’ll take care of it right away. Welcome to Charleston, Miss Strayer.”

  I felt my heart flutter a little, not because she had called me by the wrong last name, but because Brent took the time to tell her that I belonged. I wasn’t some visitor—I was their little sister. I had been in this magical place less than two hours—I had found five brothers who I didn’t know I had and was developing a real kinship to them already. I had never been overly emotional, so the wetness in my eyes trying to get out felt completely out of place.

  Everyone was standing inside the door when Bart explained to me, “No sense standing in the heat; they’re bringing the cars around for us.”

  As if his words could make beautiful German automobiles appear out of thin air, two identical BMW sedans pulled up in front of the restaurant. I’m sure my mouth was gaping open when I commented to no one in particular, “You have matching Beamers?”

  Brent, standing next to me said, “Yeah, that was Dad’s idea. He didn’t want any of us to feel slighted, so we all got the same car. I tried to talk him into a Camaro, but that was a big no go.” I did the math in my head. I knew there was no way to get that model for under $50,000, and Will had bought five of them for his sons. Who does that? My mind flashed to my earlier idea that my family was a part of some religious cult.

  We drove just a few short blocks and left the cars with another valet. I looked at the inconspicuous sign indicating that this was the Yacht Club. When Bart suggested we go out on the boat, I was expecting. . . well, a boat. As we walked past the club to the pier behind it, Beau was again in the lead and made his way to the furthest slip. The largest yacht in the harbor was directly in front of us and displayed the name, “Easy Money.” Holy moly, this wasn’t some little cabin cruiser or something to buzz around the harbor on; we could take this thing to the Bahamas. I was careful not to suggest it. The little time that I’d spent with the five led me to believe we’d be at Nassau by dinner time if I weren’t careful.


  Although much more comfortable around them after lunch, I reminded myself that something didn’t feel right about them. There was a reason a person had instincts, and I refused to ignore mine. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something felt wrong. I sent another text to Daniel, “Going 4 a ride on the yacht w/ 5 brothers, will call U later.” As I put my phone in my purse, the pessimistic part of me wondered how far I could swim if I had to.

  Chapter 3

  Zandra Chiron – San Diego, CA