A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [30]
There would inevitably be this day of reckoning.
“Dad and I have talked about this a thousand times. When is the right time to tell you? Secrets don’t stay buried. They come up at the craziest times. At a school bus stop,” Siobhan said.
“Frank Piccola didn’t say it to be mean,” Quinn defended.
“I’m glad it is on the table, son,” Dan said. “We waited too long, but long enough to know we belong to each other. You are Quinn Patrick O’Connell, named for a brave Marine, and you are our son.”
“I was adopted?”
“Yes,” Siobhan said, and went through the entire story, as much of it as they knew.
Quinn took their hands with utmost maturity. “I love you,” he said. “We are now and forever a family. This answers so many little questions that have popped up about me that seemed to have no answers…but I love you…I love you.”
Dan and Siobhan knew the pain of pain. Quinn got up to leave the room. “What about my real—I mean, my other parents?”
“We don’t know!” Siobhan cried.
“In God’s name. In Mary’s name. We were told never to ask or we’d lose you! I swear to you, son, Mom and I don’t know,” Dan pleaded.
“The Church knows,” Quinn said, leaving.
The waters did not separate entirely. The three of them hung on to one another. Yet two ghosts lived in the house. Who were they? They were always lurking. At times it was sharply painful. At other times it drifted easily on through.
The years were good to all of them. Long fishing trips with his son…trips to L.A. to see the Dodgers…shooting the rapids…firing on the range. Dan’s hip kept him from running after a ball, but Quinn’s accuracy didn’t make it necessary very often.
Quinn’s great friendship with Carlos Martinez, son of the ranch foreman, formed early. Carlos was the non-rancher of his family. He liked chess, serious reading, and fine music. He also had a macho attitude of a Latin leading man. His conquests began in his mid-teens.
Quinn’s life, on the other hand, dealt with nature and cattle. Thus, each boy and, later, young man, brought gifts to the other. They reminded Dan somewhat of his own love for Justin Quinn.
The only young girl in the area was Rita Maldonado, daughter of the famed portrait artist and sculptor Reynaldo Maldonado. Reynaldo had built a magnificent A-frame home and studio on a plateau a mile down from the ranch. A widower, he had raised Rita with the help of a Mexican nanny.
Although Rita was considerably younger than Quinn and Carlos, she persisted in breaking into their two-person club. She rode with the wind, played ball, and helped build a monumental tree house. She hung out around the O’Connell kitchen. She learned chess well enough to beat both of her “brothers.”
By high school, Carlos Martinez knew where he was going and how to get there. His ambition became to gain admission to a law college, pass the bar, and become a great lawyer. The posh Eastern universities were beyond his reach, but he wanted to specialize in immigration and that could not be taught better than at the University of Texas.
While Carlos had direction, Quinn sort of treaded water, mainly honing his ranching skills.
Dan O’Connell watched Quinn with intent. Dan didn’t have college because of family economics.
He kept track of Quinn’s growth and skill on the fields of play. Quinn would stand five feet ten inches and weigh a hundred and seventy pounds, most of it brick hard.
Troublesome Mesa High School put weak teams on the field, fortunately, to play other weak teams. Quinn was a nifty first baseman in baseball. He played ice hockey and ski raced in a rather mediocre manner.
Dan harangued him into football. Quinn played fullback on offense and linebacker on defense. He was average to everyone except Dan O’Connell.
Dan worried about the growing bookshelves in Quinn’s room, some on subjects he did not comprehend. He saw it as a symbol of the boy’s desire to leave home permanently. For Daniel O’Connell it would be the ultimate nightmare.
* * *
As time went by, there was less and less interaction between