Chapter Thirty-Nine

Callie:

The house was hidden behind a tall hedge fence and a long driveway. I looked down at the address Kat had given me, then back up at the number on the fence. Yep, that was it.

It was my third day in Beverly Hills and not the first time I'd stood in this very spot, trying to work up the nerve.

Beverly Hills was a different world from Gulf City - in a good way. There was so much going on it made my head spin. Yesterday I'd gone to the beach and watched the surfers. They were good, some of them impressive. And the waves! I was itching to get out there. I never dreamed I'd get to surf in California, not this small-town Florida girl.

I was the girl who was supposed to be stuck in that place. That was who I'd always assumed I'd be. Now, here I was, doing things my way.

A smile formed on my lips as a shot of confidence jolted through me and my legs moved forward. The driveway was endless, but it led me to a large, white, modern house with a glass front door. A white shade was drawn down, preventing me from getting a peek inside. There were two expensive looking cars in the driveway. Colby would've been able to tell me what kind they were. The sudden thought made me wish my brother was there with me.

I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open before I got the chance. A startled older woman stared back at me.

“Ummm…” I said. “I might have the wrong house.”

Footsteps came up the walkway behind me, trapping me between them and the woman at the door. I looked back over my shoulder into the pale face of a man I recognized at once.

My throat closed up, preventing me from breaking the tense silence. He looked at me curiously. I thought I saw a hint of recognition on his face, but that was probably just wishful thinking. He didn't even know I existed.

There was a younger man with him, who was looking around in confusion. He pushed his long dark hair behind his ears and fixed beautiful emerald eyes on me.

“Hello there.” His Australian accent snapped me out of my stupor, and I turned my gaze to him. “I don't know what is going on, but this is awkward. So, since boss-man here has forgotten his manners, allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand, and I placed mine in it, jumping when he kissed it. “The name is Dylan. I'm one of Mr. Hendrick's technical advisers.” He looked toward his boss. “Okay, I'm a surf double, but working my way into the production side of things.”

I took my hand back. “My name is California McCoy, and my mother was Emma Bay.” I hadn't meant to just blurt it out but couldn't keep it in any longer.

Dylan's mouth hung open in shock. “Rack off. Emma Bay. Wasn't she the one who…” One look at the man beside him shut him up.

My dad - for lack of a better name - looked lost, but the woman put a hand on my shoulder.

“Let the child speak,” she said, a gleam in her eye. “You were about to tell us that you're my granddaughter, I believe.”

She took my arm, leading me into the house with the two men following. Explanation escaped me.

“How?” I asked.

“I knew your mother was pregnant when she left.”

That confession finally got my father's attention. He turned hard eyes on his mother who held up her hands in surrender.

“I couldn't have your father finding out,” she explained. “It was better for the child this way and for that sweet, sweet Emma.”

At her name, my father sank into the couch, burying his face in his hands. I watched the man who'd fathered me. His mouth opened and then shut again.

The house seemed even bigger on the inside. High ceilings enlarged the rooms. A glass staircase stood on the other end near a fireplace covered in marble.

I turned when I realized the woman was speaking. “I'm your grandmother Laura,” she said. “My son seems to have forgotten how to use the English language, but finding out about a daughter will do that to you.”

“And a son,” I said quietly, looking down at my hands. “I have a twin brother.”

She smiled. “I have wanted grandchildren for a very long time. You know, I used to imagine meeting you. I was very fond of your mother.”

“Your mother.” My father finally looked up, his eyes red. “Did she send you?”

Tears came to my eyes, unwelcome, and I shook my head. “Mom died six years ago. Our Aunt Kat has been taking care of us.”

His shoulders dropped, and the look that crossed his face nearly broke me in two. I couldn't take it any longer. The breath wheezed from my lungs as the tension squeezed all life from the room.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “This was a mistake.”

Tears streamed down my face as I bolted toward the door. I didn't know what I'd been searching for, but it wasn't this. I didn't want to bring the anguish of my mother's death onto anyone else. That was my burden. It belonged to me and my brother, not this man I didn't know.

I was out the door before Dylan caught up with me. “You can't just go.”

I wiped an arm across my face. “What do you want from me?”

“You obviously came here for a reason.” He grasped my arm, refusing to let me go. “Your… dad,” he paused, “is a good man. He's in shock right now. You have to cut him some slack.”

“I know.” I hid my face in my hands. “I just…” A sob escaped me, and Dylan wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Come back inside.”

I had no more fight left in me as he led me back up the steps to where Laura was standing. She took me in her arms. “It's okay, sweetheart. You're with family. You can cry.”

The dam broke and everything I'd felt about my father over the years poured out in a torrent of tears. He hadn't abandoned us. He hadn't left Mom. Even now, I saw it in his tear-stained face—he'd loved her. He still did.

I fingered the locket resting against my chest; the one Kat gave me for my birthday. Before I left, Kat told me that mom always planned on me finding out the truth when I was old enough. She knew I'd come. She wanted me to.

I turned toward the living room once again where my father now stood, his glistening cheeks matching mine. In this, we were together.

“California,” he said, his hands gripping each other in front of him. “You look just like her.”

I smiled at the best compliment he could have given me even as my eyes welled up again.

He looked to his mother helplessly. “Please don't cry again.”

“I don't know what I'm supposed to say,” I admitted. “I only planned the 'I'm your daughter part'.”

Dylan cleared his throat. “So, I take it we aren't surfing this afternoon?”

My father looked at him, then turned to me, a nervous twitch on his lips. “Do you surf?”

I grinned, wiping away the remaining tears. “Of course.” I met his eyes. “As you say, I am my mother's daughter.”

He laughed then, breaking all remaining tension and clapped his hands together, his face lit up with joy.

“To the beach?” Dylan asked.

“To the beach,” my dad responded, looking my way.

I nodded, knowing this was a language we both spoke. Surfing. It was a start. “Let's go.”