IMPORTANT NEWS!

NEXT THURSDAY, MY INSTALLMENT OF THE GRISLY GHOSTS OF GRUESOME TIME WILL BE RUNNING HERE. THE REGULAR INSTALLMENT OF REPAIRING THE LEGACY WILL RUN ON SATURDAY, AGAIN, AND THEN WE’LL BE BACK TO FRIDAYS.

With this segment of Chapter Thirteen of Repairing the Legacy, we continue the serialization of Repairing the Legacy. This is a rough draft work in progress and may not reflect the final form. Time period: set after the ending of The Martiniere Legacy main trilogy. I’m breaking longer chapters into sections for readability. This is the second part of Chapter Thirteen. There will be four parts to this chapter.

New to the series? Chapter order:

Chapter One, Section One

Return of the Prodigal Son (2 parts)

Conversations and a Dinner (2 parts)

Dancing into Change (2 parts)

Sisterly Compromises (3 parts)

Conspiracies at the Rodeo (3 parts)

Passing the Baton (4 parts)

Research Complications (3 parts)

Chasing After Shadows (3 parts)

Fifth Anniversary Present (3 parts)

Mariah (5 parts)

Shadows, Redux (3 parts)

Accidents Happen (4 parts)

MATERNAL MEMORIES

June, 2068

RUBY

Gabe looked up from gazing at the baby book as Ruby hobbled into his office. “What?” he snapped. “Oh. Sorry. I just got so much into—this—that I forgot my coffee. Thanks, Ruby.” He waved to the loveseat against the wall. “Sit down. I’ll show my baby book to you. I had thought it was lost.” He placed the book on the coffee table in front of the loveseat.

He took his mug, set it on the coffee table, then helped Ruby find a comfortable position before he retrieved the box and put it on the floor next to the loveseat. Then he sat, leaning forward to sip his coffee before picking up his baby book.

“You thought this album was lost?” she asked.

“It disappeared, along with these other things, after the plane crash. A lot of things that were personal to Mama, Papa, and Louisa did. I never knew if those items went into Family archives or thrown out. They were supposed to be in Family archives, but when I checked after becoming the Martiniere, there was no record of anything belonging to the three of them. I expect this means that there are personal things of Saul’s and Louisa’s floating around in yet another hidden space. Or so I hope.” His nostrils flared and he shook his head. Ruby hugged Gabe.

Damn you, Philip Martiniere.

Even after death, the son-of-a-bitch was still capable of hurting Gabe.

Gabe sighed. “So. I used to look at this baby book when I was little. Mine and Louisa’s both. I wonder where hers is?” A faint smile crossed his face and his features softened. He opened the book.

“You were a cute baby. Looks a lot like Brandon—and yeah, I see you in Lily as well.” Ruby studied the first picture. Newborn Gabe squinted at the camera. Long dark lashes and wavy black hair—lots of hair. Definitely resembled her son and her granddaughter at birth. Ruby had thought that Brandon looked more like Gabe when he was born—but now, seeing the infant picture—there was no question. Brandon was clearly a Martiniere. For that matter, so was Lily.

I would marry a prepotent man! the horse breeder in her thought. Stamps his get.

Oh, she saw her mannerisms in Bran and Lily—just about the only part of herself that Ruby could identify in her son and granddaughter.

But Mike picked up on them as well—no biological connection there.

The next picture was of Gabe with his parents. Angelica Ramirez Martiniere, dressed in a loose-fitting, flowing lavender top with matching lavender fleece pants, sat tall in a white wingback chair, baby Gabe in her arms. Saul Martiniere leaned on the chair, smiling down at mother and son. Angelica gazed at Gabe.

“That was the official Family birth announcement portrait,” Gabe said. A bitter tone came into his voice. “Of course, nobody mentioned who my biofather was.”

“Were Saul and Philip identical or fraternal twins?” Ruby studied Saul. He did look a lot like Philip—but there was a difference that she couldn’t name. Posture?

“Identical.” Gabe flipped the page. “Official baptismal portrait.” His voice sharpened. “And look. Philip was my godfather, along with Renate as my godmother. Philip left the Catholic Church shortly after Joey was born, to create his damned cult.”

“They are identicals. I see it now. But there’s still—I thought it was authority on Saul’s part, but the difference I see between them is more than that.” Ruby tapped the picture. “Saul carries himself differently. Like you. Head high, shoulders wide. Philip made me think he should be scuttling into the shadows somewhere. When I met him, I thought that hunching he did was due to age or injury. But he’s doing it even in this picture.”

“He was always that way.”

Ruby pulled the book closer and fingered through it. There were lots of pictures. A lock of black curly hair, so much like the one she had kept of Brandon as a baby. Many shots of Saul with Gabe. Saul beaming proudly down at Gabe as he toddled next to Saul on a beach. Playing in the sand. Gabe and Saul in a swimming pool. Gabe sleeping on Saul’s bare chest, Saul gazing fondly at him—Ruby had a similar one of Gabe and Brandon.

Smiles in all the pictures, except formal family portraits with Philip.

Telling.

“You were a very loved child,” Ruby said.

“For twelve years.” Gabe leaned forward to retrieve his coffee.

Ruby continued. The last picture was of toddler Gabe, seated in a rocking chair, grinning at a baby carefully tucked into his arms. “Is this your sister?”

“Yes.” Gabe’s voice softened. “I used to call her Weeza because I couldn’t quite say Louisa when she was a baby. It stuck for the rest of her life, especially since she insisted I’s Weeza! when she was first able to speak.” He stared off and smiled. “She adored me. Always tagged along behind. And I—damn it, I—” he choked, shaking his head and resting his forehead in his hands. “I didn’t think it would hit me like it—damn it, Ruby. Yeah, I was on the brink of my teen years, but damn it—” He gulped.

“You were a boy. You thought you had forever,” she said softly, guessing that it was one of those childhood squabbles. Except—the timing of this one.

Gabe rubbed his face and exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I called Weeza a snot-faced brat and got into a fight with her the last time I saw her alive. At least I apologized. The last damned thing I said to my sister was my apology for being mean and calling her names. She forgave me, like she always did. God. Oh God.” He buried his head in his hands again, groaning.

Ruby kept her hand on his thigh, squeezing it slightly. Gabe raised his head and dropped one hand on hers as he leaned back.

“I wanted to find that baby book after their deaths.” He swallowed hard. “The only pictures I had of my family were what I could find online. Philip claimed he couldn’t find any family mementos, that someone had broken into the house and stolen a bunch of things before he could get them boxed up.”

“Fuck, Gabe. I’m so sorry.”

No wonder he had reacted like that when he saw what was in the box.

He laughed bitterly. “It’s been—what? Fifty-four years? You would think I’d be over it by now.”

“Do we ever get over something like that?” Ruby closed her eyes tightly. 2014. Gabe’s family killed in a plane crash, and—well—she had nightmares about her father beating her mother to death that year. Of the terror sharpening her focus as she raised the pistol, just like Gramps had taught her, when her father turned on Ruby with that bloody tire iron—

2014. A nasty, bloody year for both of them.

“I guess not,” Gabe said softly. “After all, you still wake up screaming from nightmares about your childhood trauma. Ah, Rubes. You and me. Two broken people.” He sighed. “I’m almost afraid to look at the rest of what’s in that box. Maybe I should just put it aside, deal with it later.”

Ruby side-eyed her husband. “Yeah, yeah, right. I know you, Gabriel. You’ll say put it away, deal with it later. Then, the minute I leave, you’ll go to your desk. You’ll come back to the loveseat and either grab the box or sit here. You’ll rummage through it and brood, maybe splash some whisky in your coffee, and drink. Let’s talk about what’s in that box, now. Something bothered you, more than just memories getting stirred up. What was in that diary that spooked you so much?”

Gabe shook his head, features relaxing, smiling faintly. “You called it, Rubes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There were notes in Philip’s handwriting in that diary, from the very first fucking page. He went through this box. He knew about it, God damn him!”

Fuck.

“It just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn’t it?”

Gabe nodded. “I want to read what Mama wrote when she was pregnant with me. But the handwriting—gahh! I won’t be able to read it without thinking of him. Right now, I’m wondering how much he scribbled over it. What kind of hateful shit he wrote.”

“Would it help if I were to transcribe it? Not what Philip wrote, but what she did? Or did you want to read it in her handwriting?”

Gabe exhaled. “If you could do that—don’t feel like you have to.” His voice caught. “But just to know. She hated Philip. I knew that. She loved me—I think. Even though I was his son.”

“Gabe. I understand. I’ll do it.”

“You are far too good to me, my love. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do. Do you want me to—summarize any rough parts?”

“I—shouldn’t. But Rubes—use your judgment. Please.”

“I will.”

Part of THE GREAT SUBSTACK STORY CHALLENGE! ONE MORE WEEK

BEFORE MY INSTALLMENT.

Announcement—Repairing the Legacy will be releasing as a completed book soon, under the title of THE ENDURING LEGACY. Watch for further information!

Share Martiniere Stories

Leave a comment