I hope you all had a lovely Christmas (or, you know, whatever else kind of holiday you celebrate or don't celebrate at this time of year). I certainly did. I recieved a special pen that converts my writing to typed text, which means that in theory ya'll won't have to wait as long for a chapter once it's actually been written, because a lot of times I will physically write a chapter on the train on my way to and/or from work and then when I get home I have to spend time typing it up. With this new technology I can skip that entire step (at least I can once I get it working properly, it kinda shit itself today). Aaaanyway, I wrote this chapter today, so you may wanna read it.

Chapter 19

After a twenty minute conversation with my mother, during which I was forced to give every detail of the boys' optometrist visit the previous day along with how they were going in school and life in general, I finally managed to get out of her the location of Grandma. Of course, I also had to promise that we'd come to dinner that evening, something that I was a bit hesitant to do, given what I was planning on discussing with my grandmother today. I had no idea how I was going to break it to my mother that I'd found my long lost half brother that I didn't even known about – if in fact he was my half brother – nor how she would react to the knowledge that I now knew about what she had done. And quite frankly, I wasn't looking forward to that scene.

Once I got off the phone I made my way to the laundry to put a load of washing on, dodging through the obstacle course of toys the boys had managed to leave in the hall between coming home last night and leaving for school this morning. I was on my way back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of my designated driver for the morning. We'd decided as Carlos was herding Mat and Edi out the door that it was probably easier to just have my driver come here and pick me up rather than Carlos taking the Porsche with the boys and I to drop them off then to work where I'd pick up my designated driver and he would catch a lift back home to pick up the SUV. This way, Carlos already had the SUV and my DD could park their own SUV here for the day while we took the Porsche.

"Just come in," I called, picking up the next toy and plopping it with the collection already in the basket on my lap. "It's open." I rolled forward another couple of feet and snatched up another toy – a pillow in the shape of a battle axe that Hank had given them. When I looked up in order to continue my journey Lester was stood at the end of the hall with his hands on his hips. "Hey Les," I greeted.

"Don't hey, Les me, missy," he frowned. "What would your husband say about what just happened?"

I tilted my head to the side, allowing myself a moment to think before guessing, "Leave the toys for the boys to pick up?"

Lester shook his head, narrowing his eyes at me. "About the door," he prompted. "What would he say about the door?"

"Right," I agreed. "Check the peephole first." Gesturing to my wheelchair I pointed out, "But it's a little more cumbersome a task than usual."

"Beautiful," he warned, stalking down the hall toward me and snatching up the basket from my lap. "What the hell was the front door doing unlocked if you're the only one home?" Rather than wait for my reply he began picking up the toys and plopping them in the basket, clearing the way for me to roll straight through.

"I can do it myself," I told him, ignoring his previous accusations as he placed the basket on the end table.

"And you proved that," he said. "But just because you can do it yourself doesn't mean you have to. I like helping you."

I made my way to the front door, snatching my purse off the side table on the way past, Lester trailing behind probably clenching his fists to stop himself from taking over the responsibility for my forward momentum. "After yesterday's success walking the bars, I'm feeling adventurous," I told him over my shoulder. "What do you say we take the SUV today instead?"

A whining noise escaped his throat as I rolled down the ramp ahead of him. "But I wanna drive the Porsche!" he complained. "God knows I won't be allowed to once you get back on your feet permanently. Ranger will never allow it."

"This isn't about you," I said. "This is about me gaining back more of my independence."

He was silent for the duration of me manoeuvring past the Porsche at the end of the ramp, so I spun around to face him. The view I was met with was utterly pathetic. Lester was doing a fairly accurate imitation of a sad puppy, looking down at me from the porch with big sad eyes and a pouting lower lip. I'm sure if I left him hanging long enough he could squeeze out an actual tear, but instead I rolled my eyes and made my way back to the passenger side of the Porsche. Rather than hefting myself straight from chair to car, though, I decided to stand from the wheelchair by the back window and use my firm grasp on the car's roof to shuffle-walk to the door, where I slid almost gracefully into the front passenger seat.

Lester opened the driver side door and wedged himself behind the wheel, an excited grin on his face, just like the boy's got whenever they got a present. "Thank you so much, Beautiful!" he exclaimed, revving the engine and rolling his shoulders appreciatively. "You have no idea how much this means."

"I didn't do it for you," I lied, buckling my seatbelt as he reversed at breakneck speed down the drive way. "I thought Grandma might like a ride in a sports car for a change."

"Grandma?" Lester groaned, changing gears and proceeding down the road at a much more respectable pace. "That's not fair."

"Consider it a reward," I said. "As a prize for putting up with Grandma's wandering hands, you get to drive the Porsche."

He cut his eyes to me as we reached the end of the street. "Any trade off involving Grandma Mazur is unfair, but I'd be willing to agree to this one if I can have an ice cream."

I shook my head, smiling as we continued out of the neighbourhood. "You're worse than the boys," I told him, directing him to head toward the funeral parlour. "At least Mat and Edi know not to try and negotiate their rewards."

"The boys are five," he retorted. "They haven't learned to always ask for more. I'm planning on teaching them next year."

"I hope you're ready for the mat time when I tell Carlos you're the reason the boys are being disrespectful, then," I countered.

"Fine," he gave in. "I'll buy my own ice cream."

"Damn straight you will," I agreed.

Ten minutes later I hauled myself from the car and plopped down into my wheelchair which Lester had conveniently positioned directly behind me. We found Grandma sitting on a folding chair in the entrance way with a plate of cookies and a cup of tea, seemingly content with her lot in life.

"Stephanie!" she greeted when I rolled in the door.

"Hi Grandma," I replied, coming to a stop in front of her with Lester keeping me between himself and the old woman as a protective barrier. I looked around the empty hall before asking, "What are you doing here so early?"

"There's a midday viewing for the Swanksy brothers," she explained. "I like to get here early so I get a good seat."

"Right," Lester agreed. "Wouldn't wanna miss seeing the dead body."

Grandma beamed up at him, clicking her dentures in the process. "Exactly!"

"Listen, Grandma," I started, trying to think of the best way to word what I needed to say and ask. "I, uh, need to talk to you."

A sparkle lit her eyes as she gazed at me then to Lester behind me. "I thought we were already talking."

"Alright then," I agreed. Nodding my head, I decided to just barrel through it. "I need to ask you something." She said nothing, clearly waiting for me to get on with it, a tactic I'm sure she picked up from a combination of too many crime shows and a lot of time spent studying the Merry Men. "Did, um... Did anyone in Mom's uh, generation date a Scottish college exchange student when they were in high school?"

Her usually kind and pleasant eyes narrowed on my face, her smiling mouth turning down in a frown. "Why do you ask?" she said, rather than answer the question. I couldn't really blame her, it was rather a blunt way of broaching the topic. I could have beaten around the bush at least a little before asking.

I sighed, moving my chair a little to face her more directly. "I met a guy last week," I started. "He's from Scotland. And his reasons for being in Trenton are a bit, well, curious." I took a breath, waiting to see if she was going to say anything. She didn't. "He has this crossword, you see," I continued hesitantly. "It lead him here."

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"The answer to the first clue was Trenton. The place where his mother lived and he was born." Was that a flash of recognition I saw on her face? "But it gets a little weirder," I added, soldiering on. One way or another I had to get it all out there so I could find out for sure if Brodie was indeed related to me. "All the clues pointed to me." I paused again, watching her reaction carefully. She seemed to be trying very hard to keep her surprise in check. "So we figured his father – his father was the one who left him the crossword when he died, by the way – was steering him here to find his family."

She nodded her understanding, but stayed quiet, which was quite uncharacteristic for Grandma. Usually, she had an input for every topic; it's what drove my father mad. The whole situation set my Spidey Senses a-tingling, like I was on the verge of something big. And considering what I already knew about Brodie's DNA, I wasn't going to leave until she confirmed that Brodie was related to us. I already had confirmation, I just needed to hear it from Grandma and find out to whom Brodie belonged specifically so I could point him in the right direction.

Bobby's words ran through my mind, "We think he may be your brother." Then I recalled Brodie's story about his parents when we'd met in the cafe last week. "She died from complications after the birth." Something definitely wasn't adding up here. Which is why I needed whatever information Grandma could give me.

"Anyway," I went on, clearing my voice. "After some more morsels of information from Brodie – that's the guy's name, by the way - Carlos had Bobby and the guys in the lab run some DNA tests. They took Brodie's DNA and also a sample of Mom's, suspecting, given the evidence, that his mother was from our family. From Mom's generation." Mom, I added silently.

"And?" she prompted, setting her cookie plate and tea cup aside on the nearby table.

"And the result was positive," I said simply. "We're related to Brodie McKenna. I'd like to know how so I can help Brodie find his family. And I think you have that information."

She sighed, looking older than I'd ever seen before. "I do," she confirmed, meeting my eyes solidly. "I've been waiting the day you came to me with this query ever since you met that husband of yours."

I didn't dare break eye contact, lest I break some spell along with it. My words were soft when I spoke the question that had burning on the end of my tongue. "It's Mom, isn't it?"

Whoops... guess I left you a cliffie as usual... Oh well, guess you'll have to review to find out more.