Reviews

"His Real Father (4) by Debra Salonen is a character-driven read. Joe and Lisa are a perfect pair, with feelings of guilt and inadequacy that they manage to triumph over in the end."

—Romantic Times BookClub

"HIS REAL FATHER by Debra Salonen will grab you by the heart strings and fully engage you in the loves and lives of the people at Joe’s Place. For a totally absorbing read be sure to pick up your copy today."

—Donna Zapf, CataRomance Reviews

"Ms. Salonen writes about every day people in tragic situations that can happen to anybody, and her stories are always written to allow the reader to understand or relate to her characters in one way or another."

—Marie, Love Romances

"HIS REAL FATHER is a strong character study that looks at a couple that almost made it as teens, but did not and now have a second chance to rectify their error. The support players enhance the relationship between the lead duo so that readers understand motives to not act on feelings. Debra Salonen writes a strong family drama with the emphasis on a fully developed functioning cast."

—Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews

"I really like stories like this with more mature characters. Unlike many of the children in romances, Brandon's emotions are portrayed as every bit as complex as those of his mother and uncle and his issues are as serious as theirs. The author skillfully fills in the characters' histories without losing the focus on the present. It's very well done and is a wonderful romance."

—Marjorie Holme, Rendezvous

Excerpt

“Joe’s Place. Name your poison.”

Joe Kelly frowned. The youthful voice on the other end of his cell phone undoubtedly belonged to his nephew, Brandon, but what was a sixteen-, or rather, recently turned seventeen-year old doing behind a bar?

“Brandon? Is that you?”

“Uncle Joe.” The boy’s shout made Joe’s eardrum ring. “Are you at the airport? Mom just called all p.o.’ed because she couldn’t find you.”

He’d missed Lisa? Damn.

Joe stacked his bags and gear in a pile to keep from tripping other passengers who were exiting the Modesto airport. He looked longingly toward the parking lot where a fleet of rental cars was neatly lined up.

“The plane was late leaving LAX. A huge downpour. In mid-May. Can you believe it? I told your grandmother I should rent a car instead of bothering Lisa.”

“Well, you know Grams,” Brandon said sagely.

But did he?

Joe wasn’t sure. Nothing in his thirty-five years of being Maureen Kelly’s son had prepared him for the bombshell she’d dropped when he called her on Mother’s Day. “Well, darlin’ boy, I’ve decided to sell the bar. And I’m getting married.”

Sell Joe’s Place? Joe had been too shocked to even register the other half of her announcement.

Joe’s Place was a fixture in Worthington, the small, ag-based community in central California where Joe had grown up. His parents had owned the combination bar and grill since before Joe and his twin brother Patrick were born, and he’d never thought they’d sell it – much as he’d wanted them to. The bar had become a huge point of contention when Patrick died in an alcohol-related traffic accident the summer after the twins’ high school graduation. Joe had demanded his parents sell the place. His father had flatly refused.

Joe remembered their argument all too clearly. Many times since, he’d wished he could take back his hurtful words, but apologies didn’t come easy to the men in his family. And, now, with his father gone two years earlier from a heart attack, there’d be no reconciliation.

“The bar was your dad’s dream,” his mother had added when Joe failed to comment. “I kept it going after he died because everybody said not to rush into any big changes. But when Gunny asked me to marry him I thought why not? What’s keeping me here? Lisa graduates from college in a few weeks. Brandon only has one year of high school left. Everyone’s life is changing, but mine.”

“Marry?” Joe had managed to choke out.

“The good thing about having cancer is that you get your priorities straight,” she’d said in a slightly defensive tone. “I’m tired of being alone.”

Maureen had been a widow for a little over a year when she discovered a lump in her breast. Surgery and aggressive treatment seemed to have eliminated the disease. Joe was grateful, but he hadn’t expected such a radical backlash. And because he hadn’t really been there for his mother, he didn’t know what to say, except, “Umm…congratulations.”

Later, after the shock had worn off, Joe had given her announcement some serious thought and realized he wanted to make a movie about the bar.

Just speaking the words seemed to trigger memories. His father dispensing wisdom to a host of regulars. His mother stirring a huge vat of chili. He and his brother doing their homework on top of cases of beer.

The bar had been the center of his universe for over half his life, but like every small town watering hole he’d ever seen or heard about, it also served as a hub of social exchange, where one could take the pulse of the economy, trace the changes in societal mores and track the life – or death – of a community. Joe knew he couldn’t let Joe’s Place pass into other hands without documenting its history – the good and the bad.

He hadn’t mentioned this aspect of his visit to his mother when he called to tell her he was coming home. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure she’d approve, given his vocal antipathy toward the place. And he had no idea what to expect from the new owner since she’d been reluctant to share any details of the sale. “We’re still negotiating,” she’d told him.

Joe figured if he couldn’t postpone the sale for a month or two, he’d at least have a few weeks to film on site before escrow closed. If he needed to come back to pick up any extra footage, he couldn’t imagine why the new owner would object. Free publicity was free publicity, even if the movie flopped.

Documentaries were odd ducks. Some flew to mass distribution, some never got off the ground. Joe tried not to think that far ahead. At the moment, he just knew that he had to make this movie. Which was why he’d brought his camera with him.

Bending down, Joe checked the locks on the silver, rigid-sided case that was about the size of a microwave oven. He’d already shipped his fluid-head tripod, portable mixing deck and laptop, which he would use to process the raw footage he planned to film. The hardcore post-production work he’d do when he returned to L.A.

“So, is your mom coming back for me?” he asked, re-focusing his attention on the conversation at hand.

Lisa Malden, Brandon’s mother, was Joe’s “almost” sister-in-law. Unfortunately, Patrick had died before they could tie the knot.

She was part of the reason Joe didn’t come back to Worthington more often. It was never easy to look your living, breathing conscience in the face.

“Yeah,” Brandon said, “she was just pissed because she has so much to do before graduation.”

“That’s right. Mom mentioned that Lisa was graduating.”

“Next Saturday,” Brandon said. “’Bout time, huh?”

Lisa was the only person Joe had ever known who managed to drag out her college experience for nearly ten years. Although privately Joe had rolled his eyes every time his mother mentioned Lisa’s newest major, he didn’t approve of the slightly deprecating tone he heard in her son’s question.

“Well, she beat me to a degree. I dropped out of film school my final year, you know.”

“So you could make movies and get rich and famous,” Brandon argued.

“Not exactly.” Although that had been his intention at the time. Cocky, brash, certain he was the next Spielberg, Joe had let the small modicum of fame that came from the release of his student film “Dead Drunk” lure him from the path he’d set out on the first time he picked up a camera.

“Anyway, I’m here now, if she checks in with you,” he said, reluctant to discuss his mistakes with a young man he barely knew. He’d made plenty over the years. Both personal and professional.

“Cool,” the boy said. Brandon was a junior in high school. Joe wondered how these impending changes would affect his nephew. “Grams says you’re supposed to come here for dinner. Martin is going to watch the bar while we eat.”

Martin Franks. The seemingly ageless, enigmatic bartender who had been around for as long as Joe could remember. From all reports, Martin had stepped in to help run the place during Maureen’s illness and recovery. Was he the mysterious buyer?

Joe had asked the buyer’s name, but his mother had answered, “I’d rather not say. I don’t want to jinx this.”

“Great. I’m starved. Is Gunny going to be there?”

Gunner Bjorgensen, his mother’s fiancé, was a man Maureen first met in grief therapy. Since his wife had suffered from breast cancer, too, he’d been able to help Maureen negotiate some of the hurdles, both financial and emotional. Joe didn’t have anything against the man, but he was worried about the timing of Gunny’s proposal. For his mother’s sake, Joe hoped she wouldn’t regret this decision.

A honking horn startled him out of his musings.

“That could be her, Brandon. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait. Did you remember my poster?”

Joe smiled. Brandon might sound grown up on the phone, but his interest in desirable young starlets was very predictably that of a teen. “I got it.”

“Cool,” his nephew said.

Joe pocketed the phone then looked at his mountain of luggage. At first glance, one might think he was moving.

“Do you think this pilgrimage will let you set things right in your wayward past, young Odysseus?” his friend Modamu Davies, a composer who’d scored two of Joe’s movies, had asked him last night.

“I doubt it,” Joe had answered. “But Joe’s Place is where my passion for filmmaking began. One of the first things I ever shot was a checkers tournament. I can still picture those grizzled old coots – cigarette in one hand and glass of beer in the other -- hunched over a table that had a backgammon board on one side and a checkerboard on the other. None of them knew how to play backgammon. They called it ‘That furin game.’ ”

Both men had laughed, then Joe had added, “I know this movie idea sounds crazy.”

“Particularly given the fact that you’ve avoided Worthington like the plague for so many years,” Mo had interjected.

“And highly unprofitable,” Joe had finished, ignoring the all-too true comment. “But, at least, I won’t look back some day and wish I’d made the effort.”

“Traveling down memory lane can get you in trouble, my friend,” Mo had warned. “Every director I know is a control freak who spends days upon days editing and re-editing the minutia of color, lighting, scene and sound because this venue alone gives him the illusion of control.

“If you return to the source of your neurosis, you might fix what made you crazy in the first place and then where would you be?”

“Sane? Healthy? Gainfully employed?” Joe had answered, laughing.

Mo, being a true friend, had minimized Joe’s recent string of bad movies, but Joe was a realist. His first film had garnered awards and been picked up for distribution by a major player. For a short time, he was Hollywood’s golden boy. Unfortunately, his next two productions – neither scripts of his choosing – had reviewed well but didn’t do much at the box-office. His contract hadn’t been renewed, so he started his own production company – where he learned the pitfalls of business, the cut-throat nature of competition and, above all else, humility.

Returning to the present, he hoisted the strap of his garment bag over one shoulder, picked up his camera case and grabbed the handle of his rolling suitcase. The pneumatic doors opened as he approached. The parking lot was tiny by L.A. standards but pretty much filled.

Lisa, behind the wheel of a sunshine yellow convertible Bug, had pulled to a stop in the loading zone and was arguing with a woman in a black uniform.

He paused. Although just six months younger than Joe, at the moment, she looked twenty-something. Her long, reddish-blond hair was pulled through the back of a white baseball cap. Joe couldn’t read the logo above the brim, but the symbol was hot pink, which matched her tank top. Over that she wore an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to her elbows.

She pointed animatedly at her watch then nodded toward the terminal. He knew the moment she spotted him because she rose up on one knee and waved, her other hand resting on the neon pink fur steering wheel cover.

He couldn’t see her eyes because of the tortoise-shell sunglasses she was wearing. But her smile was all Lisa. A sudden lifting sensation in his chest made him miss a step. He honestly couldn’t tell if it was something good…or bad.

---

“See?” Lisa said to the parking matron who’d tried to make her leave the curbside loading zone, even though she’d only just arrived. For the second time. “There he is.”

The woman, who was probably ten or fifteen years older than Lisa, stared slack-jawed at the handsome man walking toward them. Some things never change, Lisa thought ruefully. That infamous Kelly charm still works.

The security guard smiled at Joe before strolling off.

Lisa took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her denim skirt. She hated the nervous flutter in her chest. Stop it, she sternly scolded herself. This is Joe. Her deceased fiancé’s twin brother. Her son’s uncle. Her old friend.

But he was also a wild card that could ruin her plans. What if he shot down her idea of buying the bar from his mother? Just the thought made her a little ill.

She’d rehearsed her whole spiel on the way to the airport, only to be disappointed when she found out his plane was delayed. With graduation looming and a wedding to help plan, she had no time for late planes.

Lisa got out and walked to the front of the car and opened the trunk. Thankfully, Modesto’s airport was located on the edge of town. Instead of wasting time, she’d back-tracked to a service station to fill up her gas tank.

When she’d left Worthington, her gauge had read: empty. Fortunately, a mere sixteen miles separated the two towns. Sixteen miles of land that was becoming increasingly more urban, increasingly more expensive.

“Hi, Lisa,” Joe hailed. “Sorry about the delay.”

Just over six feet, he moved gracefully for a man burdened with several suitcases and a bulky silver box. His hair was the same ash blond she remembered from high school, but the style a little shaggier than she’d expected. Tan cargo pants, a khaki camp shirt that needed ironing, and loafers without socks completed his “rumpled artist” look.

At one time, Joe had been Lisa’s best friend -- the shoulder she’d cried on when his brother was being a jerk. But then graduation night happened. Opportunity had awakened desire, which led to a choice with ramifications that Lisa had just recently discovered.

She pushed the thought aside. She needed to deal with Joe in a businesslike manner because Maureen had warned her that Joe had been asking questions about the sale. Once Lisa had negotiations out of the way, she could bring up the possibility that for seventeen years she’d been living a lie.

“Brandon said you were here earlier.”

Smile. Pretend everything is normal. She had too much to do. The question of her son’s paternity would have to wait. Besides, as an uncle, Joe left a lot to be desired. He probably wouldn’t be any better as Brandon’s father.

“No problem,” she called, pushing her gym bag and running shoes out of the way to make room for his stuff.

She watched him look over her car, a 1975 VW Bug. Lisa had helped restore the car’s engine during her three semesters as an automotive major. The body work and paint had been redone by a guy her mother used to date. Lisa had unapologetically added the paisley seat covers and frivolous accessories just for the fun of it.

Brandon had been horrified. “Mom, I can’t drive that car,” he’d complained. “It’s too girly.”

She’d silently chuckled since that had been part of her plan. She didn’t want her son driving a sporty convertible. Lisa was quite content to see him behind the wheel of his grandmother’s older, far more sedate sedan.

“Sweet bug,” Joe said.

“Thanks.”

“Is it new? Well, old, but you know what I mean.”

“It was a work in progress through most of my college years,” she said, running a hand over the curved fender. Lisa loved her car. It made her feel young at heart. Almost carefree. Which was an illusion, of course, but she could pretend.

“Mom mentioned that your commencement is coming up. Congratulations. How come I didn’t get an announcement?”

“Thank you. I didn’t see the point. Considering how long it’s taken me.” Suddenly embarrassed, she motioned toward the bags still sitting on the curb. “Instead of crowding everything in the trunk, why don’t you put the rest in the back?”

Joe picked up his leather garment bag, which looked expensive enough to hold an Armani tux, and tossed it carelessly across the seat. The large, silver box he lifted as if it contained a donated heart awaiting transplant.

Lisa bit down on a smile.

“What?” he asked, apparently sensing her amusement.

“Remember when you used to zip your camera under your coat to protect it from the fog and rain? Patrick called you Mr. One Breast.”

“You know, I’d forgotten that detail. Quite happily, actually.”

Lisa was glad to see that Joe appeared to have done well for himself. If he was financially set, then he might not care how much his mother took for the bar. Lisa wanted to pay a fair price to Maureen, but with a son going to college next year, Lisa’s resources were limited.

She was nearly thirty-five. In just over a week, she’d have her bachelor of arts degree in education. And instead of applying for a teaching job, she’d decided to buy Joe’s Place. At first, Maureen had been delighted by the idea of “keeping it in the family,” but, now, she was dragging her feet pending Joe’s okay.

Before getting in, Lisa pointed toward her ball cap and said, “There’s an extra one under the seat, if the sun and wind is too much for you.”

“The reduced level of smog might send my lungs into shock, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

His wink flipped her straight back to junior high. A brand new seventh-grade student in a strange town. The principal had been showing Lisa and two other transfer students around. The first person they bumped into was Joe Kelly. Racing to class. Late. “Mr. Kelly,” the principal had barked. “Come here.”

Instead of giving Joe a lecture, the principal had introduced the new arrivals and ordered Joe to take over the tour.

The meandering expedition had been punctuated with wit and humor -- Joe’s trademark, she’d learned. His appreciation of the absurd, warm, inclusive smile and wavy hair was enough to make a girl fall in love. Which Lisa did. A fact that turned complicated the minute she met his twin brother.

Once they were both seated with seatbelts fastened, she put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. The sun was warm on her shoulders and thighs, but not as hot as it would be in a few weeks when summer hit the valley. Then, she’d have the top up and the air conditioner running.

Maureen wanted an outdoor wedding. The last weekend in June. The idea had Lisa sweating.

“Are we headed straight home?” Joe asked.

Lisa shifted into neutral as they waited for the light to change at the intersection. “Uh-huh. Unless you need to stop somewhere. Your mother is preparing an Irish feast. Corned beef and cabbage, red potatoes, rye bread, the works.”

She happened to glance sideways and saw his pained expression. “What’s the matter? You don’t like corned beef?”

He shook his head. “No. I like it fine. Yum.”

She recognized the lie. Joe didn’t lie worth squat – unlike his brother. Patrick and Joe were fraternal, not identical, twins. They’d shared a number of personality traits, but honesty wasn’t one of them.

“Baloney. No pun intended,” she said, groaning softly.

He acknowledged her lame joke with a tip of his imaginary hat. “Actually, I’ve been on a pretty strict diet since the holidays. Doctor’s orders.”

“Why?”

“I was at a party on Christmas Eve, and I started having chest pains and shortness of breath. The hostess thought I was having a heart attack and called 9-1-1. Turned out be acid reflux from too much champagne and rich food. How embarrassing is that?”

Lisa frowned. Although he tried to make the experience sound funny, she sensed that he’d been unnerved by the episode – no doubt remembering the cause of his father’s death.

“Not my most pleasant holiday on record,” he added.

She started to reach out to touch his arm, but a horn sounded alerting her to the green light. She quickly shifted and shot through the intersection. A convenience store was just ahead on the right so she pulled into the parking lot. A flowering tree provided enough shade for them to sit without sweating in the sun.

“I bet you were freaked out. Your dad was only fifty-eight when he died.”

Joe nodded. “My doctor says a genetic predisposition to high blood pressure is only part of my problem. Mostly, he blamed stress, my sedentary lifestyle and poor eating habits for what happened.” His full ruddy lips turned up in the corners producing the infamous Kelly dimple in his left cheek. “He said I was lucky.”

“Luck being a relative thing. When your mother finds out that you didn’t tell her…”

He scrubbed a hand across his face, a gesture her son often used when he was frustrated. Lisa’s stomach produced a little extra acid of its own.

“I know,” he said, sinking down so his knees bumped against the dashboard. His fingers drummed an impatient tune on his thighs. “But when I saw her at my cousin Paige’s wedding in November she finally seemed at peace with things. I didn’t want her to worry.”

Lisa and Brandon had been at Joe’s cousin’s wedding in the Bay area, too. Lisa had thought Joe looked tired and unhappy. Later, Maureen told her Joe had broken-up with his girlfriend of several years a few weeks earlier.

He gave her a sheepish look and added, “Plus, I knew she’d say ‘I told you so.’ At the wedding, she really gave me a hard time about not getting enough exercise.”

Lisa understood completely. Since Maureen’s medical crisis, she’d become very proactive where everyone’s health -- family and customers alike -- was concerned.

“Since the first of the year, I started walking to the beach from my studio everyday at lunch. It’s a couple of miles, and I even jog a little.”

He kept talking, but Lisa’s imagination lingered over the image of Joe strolling through beautiful women in skimpy bikinis. Why that bothered her, she didn’t know.

“…if I sell my studio.”

Lisa’s heart missed a beat. “Did you say ‘sell your studio’? Why would you do that?”

“Money. Remember the movie Slippery Slope?”

She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“My point, exactly,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “It chronicled the rise and fall of Vanilla Ice.” He sang a few bars of the singer’s signature song. “Not my idea. In fact, I tried to talk my investors out of doing it, but they insisted. And when it flopped, who’d they blame? The director, of course.”

Lisa’s stomach churned with acid. “That doesn’t seem fair. But that’s only one movie. You’ve had more successes than failures. Right?”

He let out a long sigh. “The movie business has changed, Leese.” Nobody had called her that in years. “Or, maybe, I’ve changed. I don’t know. But one thing I do know, making commercial movies hasn’t been fun for a long time.”

Lisa knew squat about the industry, except that there seemed to be a lot of money to be made if you were good at what you did. For as long as Lisa could remember, Joe had dreamed of making movies. He’d left home to attend the prestigious Visual Arts Center in L.A., majoring in film.

His first important project, which focused on the effect a drunk-driving death had on a family, had garnered all kinds of awards. When a national distributor picked up “Dead Drunk,” Joe’s future had seemed set.

“Are you telling me your career is over?” she asked. Sympathy warred with panic.

He extracted a pair of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Don’t pull any punches on my account, Leese,” he said facetiously.

“Sorry. Didn’t know I had to. You’re the one who once told me you were destined to greatness, which was why you couldn’t get out of Worthington fast enough.”

He pretended to take a jab to the chin. “Good lord, I was an egotist. How did you stand me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead he said, “The harsh truth is I feel like I’m at a crossroads in my career. Epiphany by chest pains,” he said breezily. “One day I woke up and realized I wasn’t a kid with a camera anymore. I was this intense, mostly unlikable businessman creating crap for anyone who was willing to pay.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the silver box sitting on the back seat. “So…you’re moving home?”

“Yeah. For a while. I’ve decided to make a movie about Joe’s Place.”

“What?” The question came out as a peep, but Joe didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t have the exact storyline together yet, but ideas have been percolating in my head ever since Mom called. Maybe something nostalgic using archival footage. Or a reflective using interviews with locals on the role the bar has played in the community. Or, it might take a more personal focus. I’ve been thinking about Dad and Patrick a lot lately.”

A movie? Interviews?

“The first thing I have to do is talk Mom into postponing the sale for awhile.”

Lisa was speechless. Postpone the sale? But her loan was pre-approved. And the interest rates were going up. If they waited too long, she wouldn’t be able to afford to buy the place.

He lowered the shades to the end of his nose and turned to look at her. “Something wrong?”

This wasn’t the first time a Kelly boy ruined her plans. “Yes, actually.” She hesitated a second then blurted out, “I’m the buyer, Joe. Your mother told me she was thinking of selling because Gunny wanted to travel and didn’t want to be tied down. I had no idea you had any interest in the bar. I thought you hated Joe’s Place.”

He sat up sharply. “You’re buying it? Good lord, why?”

“To keep Brandon gainfully employed while he goes to college. It worked for me,” she added, unable to keep the pride from her tone. “I’ve saved enough money to pay for Brandon’s college, as long as he lives at home and earns his own spending money.

“I figured that over the four years he was in college, I’d slowly fix up the place. The real estate market is going through the roof around here. When he’s done with school, I’ll sell the bar and re-invest the money wherever I want.”

Joe appeared shocked. “I can’t believe it. You, of all people, should be overjoyed to see the damn thing gone.”

Lisa knew what he meant. Joe felt the bar contributed to Patrick’s drinking problem. After Pat’s funeral, Joe and his father had argued about the subject. The fight had driven a wedge between them.

“I know you think that what he saw at Joe’s Place influenced your brother, but I don’t agree. The bar is part of our community. Working there paid my way through college while giving me time to spend with my son.

“Brandon’s been helping your mother three days a week, sweeping the floor, re-stocking the cooler and handling exterior maintenance. The job keeps him out of trouble and gives him enough money to pay the insurance on your folks’ old car, which your mother gave him. Insurance is a big ticket item for young drivers in California, let me tell you.”

“Grunt labor? Nothing behind the bar?”

Lisa found his tone slightly judgmental. “Of course, not. He helps out in the kitchen once in awhile, but he can’t tend bar until he turns twenty-one. And even that would depend on his grades.

“I want him to finish school the way normal people do -- in four years, not ten.”

Lisa had scrimped and saved to be able to pay for her son’s tuition. She couldn’t afford Harvard, but she could handle California State University-Stanislaus in nearby Turlock, her soon-to-be alma mater -- provided Brandon did his share.

Uncomfortable with Joe’s scrutiny, she tilted her wrist to look at her watch. “Oh, cripes, we’d better hurry. You know how freaked out your mother gets whenever someone is late.”

Or, maybe, he didn’t. He hadn’t lived around his mother for nearly eighteen years. Right after Patrick’s funeral, Joe had moved to L.A. Following the success of “Dead Drunk,” he’d bought a house in Topanga Canyon. He probably hadn’t returned home more than a dozen times in the past eighteen years.

Lisa, on the other hand, had chosen to remain in Worthington. She’d lived with her mother most of that time. Partly to save money and partly because her mother’s home shared a common fence with the Kelly’s, which meant two grandmothers and one grandfather in calling distance. Lisa couldn’t give her son a father, but she could make sure he had plenty of extended family – even if that meant living in the shadow of Patrick Kelly’s ghost.

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