Page 30 of Easton Island: Old-Fashioned Christmas
“Absolutely. If you want to stay here with Gerard, I know where my photo albums are. This should only take a minute.” Elizabeth excused herself.
Gerard waited until she was gone. “Where are they now?”
“Brett and Mr. Blakely are chatting in the library. Tristan is in the kitchen with Mrs. Arnsby. He was wolfing down a stack of pancakes when we left.”
“This is a sad set of circumstances.”
“For Tristan. The timing seems…a little odd, although Mr. Blakely explained he travels for work and squeezed in the visit during his time off,” Morgan said. “Hopefully, he and Brett are having a civilized conversation.”
“Your brother is pretty even-keeled.”
“The uncle strikes me as being sincere. It had to take some guts to show up on Easton Estate’s doorstep.”
“Or desperation.”
Elizabeth reappeared. “I found the photos.” She hurried over and placed the faded photographs on the counter.
Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. The resemblance between Brett and the boy was unmistakable. Tristan was the spitting image of his father. “You’re right. They could be twins.”
“Clearly, we’ll need to confirm the fact that Brett has a son, but as far as I’m concerned, we’ll only be going through the motions.”
“They’re booked at the hotel in town,” Morgan reminded her. “Do you think it’s wise for them to be staying in Easton Harbor?”
“If they’re from Las Vegas, as Mr. Blakely commented, they have no idea what they’re getting themselves into with this storm.”
“Damage control,” Gerard said.
“Gerard is right. I’m not sure we want Mr. Blakely and Tristan wandering around Easton Harbor, telling locals the boy is Brett’s son without confirming the fact first.” Elizabeth glanced at her watch. “I say we head downstairs to check on them and then hold a brief family meeting to discuss our next step.”
Gerard closed the lid on his laptop. “I’ll go with you.”
The trio exited the apartment, silently making their way down the back stairs and into the kitchen.
As they drew closer, Morgan could hear laughter…Mrs. Arnsby’s lilting voice and Tristan’s youthful replies.
Elizabeth and Gerard, with Morgan bringing up the rear, stepped into the kitchen where they found the boy still seatedat the bar. The plate of pancakes was long gone, and he was working on a generous slice of breakfast bake.
“I see the pancakes were a hit,” Elizabeth teased.
“Mrs. Arnsby is the best cook on the planet,” Tristan said as he took a big bite of breakfast bake. “Uncle Jeff and I usually eat frozen breakfast sandwiches. Mom wasn’t much of a cook. She could burn oatmeal.”
“In your mother’s defense, burning oatmeal is fairly easy to do,” Mrs. Arnsby said. “Leaving it unattended on the stove will make it stick to the pot pretty darn quick.”
Elizabeth made her way to the bar. “I’m glad you’re enjoying a home-cooked meal. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you living now that your…mother is gone?”
“With Uncle Jeff. He travels a lot. His neighbor lady lets me stay with her until he gets back.”
“You don’t have grandparents or other relatives who are able to keep you while your uncle travels?” Morgan asked.
“Nope. It was Mom, me and Uncle Jeff.” Tristan started to say something and abruptly stopped.
“What is it?”
“I thought. Well, I had a dad, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
Morgan’s heart went out to the boy, noticing his shoulders drooping. “So you thought you had a father but didn’t.”
Elizabeth and Morgan exchanged a glance over the top of Tristan’s head, a picture of what Addison Blakely’s life had been like starting to unfold. The boy had a father-figure but only while Tristan’s mother was alive. It was a sad state of affairs, with Tristan suffering because of his mother’s questionable actions.And he was way too young, at least in Morgan’s opinion, to be carrying the heavy burden and feeling such rejection.
