Common Ground

By linda stober

Henry Jeffers thought hed left an abusive father and estranged, affluent family behind. But, nothing proved more unsettling than a secret that refused to remain buried.
The mystery surrounding the death of his youngest brother, at age twenty, resurfaces and threatens to tear apart the life Henry has built with his new partner, Daniel Graves, and a close-knit unit of friends. And, no one could predict the actions of a long-grieving parent, eager to know the truth.
Through it all -- tension and turmoil, laughter and love -- the reader will be held captive from beginning to end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491836392

linda stober

Linda Stober lives in West Des Moines, Iowa, and this is her first book of fiction.

Book preview

1

Do you know why your father never loved you? The question still punctured a hole in Henry’s heart with the passing of time. True physical pain.

He tilted his head back to allow the warmth of the sun to blanket his face. Murmurs of close and distant conversations blended together, permeated by the occasional peal of laughter from a neighboring table.

Sitting on a winery’s open-air patio in Napa Valley, Henry was cognizant of relationships all around him. Loud chatter came from a foursome of tourists as they grumbled about the prices at previous tasting rooms visited. A giggly young couple reminisced about their wedding reception from earlier in the week.

And Henry’s favorite—a vintage couple seated at the table next to him. Quiet, intimate conversation. Holding hands on table-top. Deep love, reasoned Henry.

Do you know why your father never loved you? He shook his head to clear the interrogative from his thoughts. He glanced at his watch as he had a habit of doing, as if waiting for a friend or lover to stop by.

Henry closed his eyes to recall an evening some years earlier when, through a random introduction, his life changed forever.

2

Daniel believed he’d been subject to every pathetic legal wisecrack imaginable—at least until senior partner Kenneth Poole relayed a joke, told by a grandson earlier that day.

What do you have when you put one hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start! Poole coughed and sputtered at his own delivery.

Daniel Graves and Elliott Mattern, friends and fellow attorneys at Poole, Lambert and Essings, groaned in unison at the tired gag. Both saw this as an opportunity to exit the happy hour masquerading as the firm’s holiday party.

With a forced smile for a partner’s wife ambling by, Elliott conveyed, "This is why my wife refuses to attend these soirees now. Bad food, marginal conversation—present company excluded—and horrid jokes. He nodded to a nearby coworker. I avoid my in-laws for those very same reasons."

With a hand on Elliott’s shoulder, Daniel rotated him towards the entrance of the large party room. We should leave now while we still have some semblance of our dignity intact, reasoned Daniel. I can feel it—one of the partners, probably Essings, will launch into an embarrassingly long speech. He’ll rehash every trial, every court case we’ve had this year. You and I will slip into comas, never to awaken.

I’d rather suffer through a root-canal, surmised Elliott, examining an appetizer. "Do you have any idea what this is?" He turned the exotic piece of food over.

Daniel puzzled. I think fried ravioli… but, then again, maybe not.

Daniel’s athletic build, topped off by a transplanted Londoner’s accent, was in contrast to Elliott’s father-of-three, sedentary and slightly pudgy physique. Both brought into the firm at the same time, their personalities meshed perfectly.

"Whoa, is that Essing’s wife—his third wife? She is gorgeous." Elliott cast a glance at Lambert through round Harry Potter glasses and then back to Lambert’s wife in an attempt to discover the attraction.

Okay, first off-women are not really my department, remember? And, I think she’s his… Daniel tallied out-loud, "fourth wife."

Elliott sighed. I’m making a break for the door. If you’re smart, you’ll follow me.

Go ahead. I’m stopping by the main bar. Maybe they’ll actually incorporate alcohol in my next drink. Daniel stared down into his glass. I’ll catch a cab after a bit.

Suit yourself. Have a good weekend, Elliott called over his shoulder as both men turned, hands thrown up into the air as good-bye salutes.

Daniel made his way into the restaurant’s bar area, maneuvering around an animated group of college-age revelers waiting for a table. He ordered an Absolut Vodka, and pivoted to survey the patrons for any stragglers from the firm’s gathering.

Daniel observed a party of five seated at a round, festive table near a large gas-infused fireplace. Two gentlemen, early-forties, engaged in a quick kiss, as the group’s lone mid-thirties female tearfully offered a toast. She embraced her male companion as a thirty-something chap, clearly enjoying the company of his friends, sat back and laughed along with his table mates.

He slipped the evening’s bill from a buddy’s grasp while expressing my treat to their protests and approached the counter to settle the tab.

He was a few inches shorter than Daniel’s 6'1" with a similar build. Rimless eye-glasses in hand, he searched the counter for a napkin to clean them, finding only cardboard drink coasters.

Daniel followed the man’s movements and offered a handkerchief from his jacket breast pocket.

He looked to Daniel and shrugged. Not even a dirty bar rag in sight. Thank you.

Daniel observed, Looks like a celebration at your table.

He scanned his comrades. Clayton and Mike have been together for ten years. They actually met at this restaurant. Ten years of commitment. There was admiration in his voice.

He extended a hand to Daniel. Henry Jeffers.

Daniel Graves.

Henry handed the handkerchief back with a smile. He signed and slid the receipt with his thanks over to the waiter. As he turned back to Daniel, his pals approached with coats in hand.

Thank you again, Henry, for dinner, the woman gushed, kissing his cheek. We’ve got to get home and parole the babysitter. The married couple studied Daniel, then Henry, anticipating an introduction.

Oh, I’m sorry, Daniel. Terese and Simon. Clayton and Mike—it’s their anniversary. He gestured to the assembly, Daniel Graves.

Congratulations, replied Daniel, handshakes all around.

And yes, their kids are great, but they are hellions, added Henry.

The pair nodded to Daniel. It’s true. Daniel, it was nice to meet you. Henry, we’ve got to run. Take care.

The celebrated male couple shook hands with Daniel, while offering one last chance to share a cab to Henry.

Henry deliberated a split-second. Thanks but I’m going to finish my drink. I’ll catch a taxi.

Later then, Mike glanced at Daniel, and then to Henry, giving a masked wink.

The newly acquainted strangers acquired the remaining two seats at the end of the wrap-around bar. The resonant noise level from the eclectic crowd required they tilt heads close to carry on a conversation.

Their proximity allowed Henry to take in thirty-seven year-old Daniel’s cultivated, quiet British accent, his short light brown hair, dark blue eyes and easy smile. For his part, Daniel was enamored by Henry’s contagious, warm laugh and dark cocoa-tinted eyes. His short-cut brown hair hinted a trace of grey, and his right cheek had a long faint scar running under the cheekbone.

The men engaged in conversation for ninety minutes discussing their work—Henry, an architect, and Daniel, a lawyer. They dissected their Bay Area sports teams, their travels, and their favorite eateries.

Henry happened to glance at Daniel’s watch and grudgingly confessed, I’ve got to call it a night. I have an off-site meeting at 7:00 a.m. and have to be alert or at least awake for it.

The two hesitated. Having enjoyed his company, Daniel was determined this meeting not be their last.

He nodded. Would you be interested in dinner one night soon? That is, if you’re not… involved with anyone right now? Daniel hoped this issue would have surfaced in conversation already.

Henry shrugged. Dinner? Love it. He handed Daniel his business card, then hesitated. How about we set up the place and date right now?

Italian? Dagistino’s on Florence is very good, offered Daniel. And, no fighting the college crowd.

Henry agreed. Thursday at 7:00 p.m.?

I’ll be there.

The new friends shook hands, clasping longer this time.

As Henry watched Daniel depart, apprehension seized him—just as it had in the not-so-distant past.

3

As Henry pulled into the drive at 656 Goodman Avenue in San Francisco, he spotted a two-year-old apple red Volvo wagon parked askew as it had been numerous times before. Without knocking or ringing the bell, he ambled into the house through a kitchen filled with the warm, sweet scents of baking, and an ensuing discussion between a fourteen year-old and her granddad. The topic revolved around the lack of volunteerism among young people.

Grandpa, listen. The trend shows extreme apathy among my age group and those up to age eighteen. We live in the Entitlement Age now. It’s every man for him or herself. This is the theme of my essay for English class this quarter, Melissa reported proudly.

That should go over well with your fellow ninth graders… her granddad, Jack Albright, added cautiously.

Melissa, an intelligent girl and seemingly advanced beyond her years, both in school and thought, continued on. So, tell me your opinion and I’ll include it in my report along with the others I’ve interviewed, she stated diplomatically.

All I wanted was iced tea. I wandered into the kitchen, minding my own business and… hey, Henry. Jack seized Henry by the shoulder.

Henry would agree with me, argued Melissa.

No, I wouldn’t, he joked. Melissa, I smell your grandma’s sugar cookies.

That’s angel food cake, hon, Claire Albright flashed a smile. Go tell Simon we’re about ready to eat. He’s out on the patio. The proud grandmother planted a kiss on Henry’s temple.

Maneuvering around the hub-bub of activity in the kitchen, Henry ruffled the close-cropped, dark-blond hair of three-year-old, Duncan, as the child tapped on his mother Terese’s knee for attention.

Sitting at the breakfast nook table trimming strawberries for a dessert topping, Terese interrupted a conversation with her mother, Claire, to grasp Henry by the wrist. "I need to talk to you," she whispered.

Realizing the topic of the inquiry, Henry cast an escapist glance in her direction and headed out onto the patio.

Being the only non-blood relative or related-by-marriage individual in the house didn’t impede the sense of family Henry felt when in the chaotic, friendly mix. Henry had been Jarrod Albright’s partner for three years till the relationship broke apart. Jack and Claire had later lost their only son, Jerrod, to a car accident in Seattle. The topic was rarely discussed, and Henry had been accepted into the family as one of their own.

You know Terese is going to interrogate you about Daniel and the other night at the restaurant, right? Focused on the newspaper, Simon Hamilton was seated on a plush deck chair, beer bottle balanced on one knee by two fingers. A quiet man ten years older than Terese Hamilton, and father to Melissa, Ella and Duncan, Simon’s position as an engineer for a petroleum company took him frequently around the world for weeks at a time. When home, he enjoyed the semi-quiet sanctity of his in-law’s house, which differed greatly from his own bustling residence.

I’m pretty tough, she can’t wear me down. Henry popped the top off a Corona.

Simon dipped his head to peer over half-reading glasses.

"Oh, like you’re not scared of