“Why exclude me?” Corrie blurted out.
“I’ll explain that in a moment. Like I said, I went on the Internet.”
Confession time for her, too. “I did the same thing.”
Her husband’s eyes connected with hers. “She hasn’t registered.”
Corrie knew that. She didn’t understand it. By whatever means, their daughter had been able to track them down without any of the adoption advocacy groups. And yet…
“That’s why you’ve kept me out of it,” Corrie murmured. “Because you’re not sure of her motives.”
Roy nodded. “If she wanted us to find her, she would’ve registered, but she didn’t. That tells me all of this isn’t as innocent as it might seem. She found me, but doesn’t want to be found herself. She’s content to mail anonymous postcards, send flowers. She’s taunting me. This is all one big game to her, and for some reason she seems to have more of a problem with me than with you.”
“I wonder why,” Corrie mused aloud, “but I think you may be right.” Her husband had always been cautious, and perhaps more importantly, suspicious. He considered every angle of a situation, methodically catalogued each detail. The way he worked reminded her of people who did jigsaw puzzles, carefully studying every piece.
“The adoption laws in California are different from those in Washington,” Roy added. “I was thinking—”
“California?” Corrie broke in.
Immediately Roy had that chagrined look—he’d said more than he’d meant to. “Yes, California. That’s where the final adoption took place.”
Corrie hadn’t noticed where the baby’s home would be as she signed her name. Perhaps the attorney had told her, but if so, she had no recollection of it. “I don’t suppose you happened to notice the date, did you?”
“No, why?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No reason.”
“Corrie?”
She glanced down, forcing back emotion, unwilling to say.
“I was wrong not to tell you everything I found out.”
“You mean there’s more?” she snapped. She felt angry that Roy had gone about this investigation and left her out. Yes, she was guilty of the same thing. But she had a good reason. Roy had claimed he didn’t want to know; he’d refused to discuss the subject, so she’d had to learn what she could on her own.
“No. I couldn’t find anything else. I’ve hit a brick wall with the California records. Only Alabama, Alaska, Kansas and Oregon are ‘open records states.’ The reason I was able to find out as much as I did was through an old friend who works for the California state government.” Looking at Corrie, he narrowed his eyes. “How did you discover we had a daughter?”
She gazed down at her folded hands. “My mother’s diaries. I have them and I looked up the year and month. She knew. She never said a word to me, but she knew we’d had a daughter.”
“We’ll find her, sweetheart, and when we do we’ll explain everything.”
Corrie just hoped it was enough for this child to know she was loved and always had been, despite the fact that she’d sent her out of their lives.
Thirty-Two
Allison Cox marched into the living room and sat down across from her father, who was in his recliner reading the paper. She waited patiently for him to lower it, which he did after a few minutes.
“Is there something you want to say?” he asked.
She nodded, and looked down at her hands, struggling to find a way to broach the subject of Anson. He wasn’t her first boyfriend, but he was special, and she needed, somehow, to convey that to her father.
“Does this have anything to do with Anson?”
“Yes.” She wondered how he’d figured that out. Or maybe she was more obvious than she thought.
Her father frowned darkly. “He hasn’t broken his word, has he?”
“No…”
Her mother stepped out from the kitchen and her parents exchanged glances. They did that a lot lately. Maybe it’d been going on a long time and Allison hadn’t noticed. She did now, because she and Anson communicated in the same way. He hadn’t talked to her since his court date, not even once, but they spoke with their eyes each and every day in French class.
His gaze told her he loved her, and Allison wanted him to know she shared his feelings. Not that she’d ever let her parents find out. They’d say she was too young and insist Anson wasn’t right for her. They’d be wrong, but it was a waste of breath to argue. She knew she loved Anson and would for the rest of her life.
“Do you want me in here, too?” her mother asked.
Allison had never intended this to be such a big deal. “Ah, sure.”
At least her little brother was in his bedroom. Eddie was mostly a pest, but he had his uses.
Rosie sat on the arm of the recliner and placed her hand on Zach’s shoulder. “You were saying?” her mother gestured toward Allison.
“I hadn’t really started,” she explained. “Dad asked if Anson’s been talking to me.” Righteously, she added, “He hasn’t.”
“Good.”
“It hasn’t been easy, you know.” Both her parents seemed to take it for granted that she’d kept her promise. She had, but it’d been the hardest thing she’d ever done. The temptation was so strong because she loved Anson so much. He was the resolute one, not her, and she wanted her parents to appreciate him.
The next part was important. “Dad, I know you helped him get the job at The Lighthouse and I’d like to thank you.”
Her father shrugged, as if it was a small thing. “I checked with Seth Gunderson, and Anson appears to be a good employee.”
“Really?” Allison was sure this was true. She felt it in her heart, but having her father verify it made everything seem better.
“Yes.” Her dad smiled slightly. “According to Seth, Anson shows up early and works hard. He doesn’t drive, so he walks to the restaurant after school and pitches in until his shift starts. The only problem Anson had was with another kid who works there named Tony.”
Allison bit her lower lip. “What kind of problem?”
Her father shrugged. “Seth didn’t really say, but I got the impression that this Tony seems to think Anson makes the other employees look bad because he’s so eager to do a good job.”
Anson’s attitude pleased her. “If he walks from school to work, how does he get home?”
Her father shook his head. “Seth didn’t say, but I suspect one of the other crew drops him off.”
“Not Tony,” she said, musing out loud.
“Probably not,” her father agreed.
Allison hoped someone was giving Anson a ride. It had to be two miles between The Lighthouse restaurant and the trailer court where his mother lived. She knew for a fact that his mother wouldn’t come and get him. Anson had said enough for Allison to know the woman possessed virtually no maternal instincts.
“Maybe you should tell her what the attorney said,” Rosie advised, sharing another of those looks with Allison’s father.
Zach nodded. “Anson’s turned every paycheck over to the city as reimbursement for the shed that was destroyed.”
“That’s wonderful.” Allison clasped her hands. She was so pleased, it was difficult to hold still. “As soon as it’s paid for, he can see me again, right?”
Her father grinned. “That was our agreement.”
The doorbell rang, and before anyone could move, Eddie tore out of his bedroom and raced to the front door. They could hear him talking as he stood with the door open for a minute or two. Then he closed it and came into the family room. He looked around and saw everyone watching him.
“Who was it?” Rosie asked.
“Allison’s boyfriend. He says he wants to talk to Dad.”
“Anson?” Allison was immediately on her feet. “You left him standing out there in the cold?”
“He said that’s where he wants to wait, so don’t get all bent out of shape.”
Zach set aside the ne
wspaper and stood. He exchanged yet another glance with Rosie, arching his brows in obvious surprise. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He pointed his finger at Allison. “And no, I’m not letting him in the house. A deal is a deal.”
Allison felt the room close in on her as her father stepped outside. “Mom?” she cried, hardly knowing what she wanted. She found it torture to sit in the same classroom with Anson five days a week and not be allowed to speak. Now this. It killed her to know that the boy she loved was on the other side of the front door, talking to her father. She had no idea what their conversation could possibly be about, and that made it even worse.
“Everything will be fine,” her mother assured her as Allison sat down again.
“Dad’s not going to do anything, is he?” So far, her father had been cool. He’d been the only one willing to stand up with Anson in court, and he’d helped get him a job, too.
It seemed forever before her father came back in. The instant he did, Allison jumped up and hurried over to him. “What did Anson say?”
Her mother joined Allison and slid an arm around her shoulders.
“It was man to man,” Zach said.
“Dad!” she cried in frustration.
He smiled then, and she knew he was teasing her.
“Anson wanted to give you a Valentine card,” he explained.
Allison pressed her hand to her heart. This was so incredibly sweet and romantic she could hardly believe it.
“He felt he should talk to me first. He did promise not to have any contact with you and didn’t want to go back on his word.”
“I can have it, can’t I?” She’d die, simply die, if her father said no.
Her father hesitated. “I was impressed that he’d come and ask my permission.”
“He respects you, Dad.” She knew that just from the way Anson had said her father’s name after they’d gone to court. “You told him I could have the card, didn’t you? Oh please, it would mean so much.” She hated to plead, but this was quite possibly the most important moment of her life.
Her father pulled a thick envelope from inside his jacket and held it out.
“Oh, Daddy, thank you! Thank you so much.”
“He said I could read it.”
Allison’s gaze flew to her father’s. “He didn’t?”
“Zach,” her mother said. “Don’t tease.”
Her father grinned and handed Allison the envelope. She needed every ounce of restraint not to rip it open right then and there. Instead, she took it to her room. She sat on the end of her bed and very carefully opened the envelope. The card was expensive and romantic, and the second she caught the word love, she thought she might cry.
Inside the card was a letter, consisting of four sheets of paper, folded into fourths. Before she read it, she studied the inside verse and blinked back tears at the sentiment.
“Soon,” Anson had written at the bottom of the card, “we’ll be together again.” Then he’d signed his name.
Allison devoured the letter, reading it as fast as she could. When she’d finished she went back and read it all the way through a second time.
Anson told her about his job and how hard he was working to make a good impression. Being a dishwasher wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and he struggled to keep up with the demand. He liked his boss. Seth Gunderson was a big Swedish guy who didn’t put up with any nonsense. Anson claimed he didn’t mind that, because he knew where he stood.
He also told her that if he continued to work extra hours, he could have the reimbursement monies paid by the middle of the summer. As soon as that happened, they could see each other again. She noticed he didn’t refer to any of his troubles with this other guy, Tony.
Six months, Allison reflected. It would be six very long months, but she could wait.
The last part of the letter was the best. Anson wrote how difficult it was to see her every day and not be able to talk to her. In French class, he said, he found it almost impossible to keep his promise to her father. But he’d do it because of everything her father had done for him. He told her that some nights he dreamed about her and always woke with a happy feeling inside.
She dreamed of Anson, too. She hated knowing it would be another six months before they could see each other. Anson was of legal age now and she would be soon. All of this seemed so junior high and yet, at the same time, it was the only way they could be together and not alienate her parents.
She sighed heavily as she folded the letter and slipped it back inside the card. She ran her finger over the embossed image—an old-fashioned picture of cupids and flowers. It was an expensive card bought at a specialty store.
Even when he was putting aside almost every penny he earned in order to pay restitution to the town, he’d bought her a lovely Valentine card. There’d been no need to purchase the best one available, but that was what he’d done.
Her heart was so full of love for him that she wanted to weep. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden movement, a flash of darkness. She rose from her bed and hurried to the window.
Anson.
He wore his long black coat and a black knit hat that covered his ears.
Anson walked across the yard and stood on the other side of the window.
She smiled and he smiled back, her eyes looking into his.
He pressed his bare hand to the cold glass. She pressed her hand to his. Through the glass they mouthed “I love you” to each other. Seeing him, reading his card and letter—it was the best Valentine’s gift she’d ever received.
Thirty-Three
Maryellen Bowman sang a soft lullaby as she finished bathing Katie and dressed her daughter for bed. Katie stuck her feet in her footed pajamas, chattering happily, the volume of her comments rising when Jon walked into her room. He wrapped his arms around Maryellen’s waist, resting his palm against her still-flat stomach. It was a sweet gesture acknowledging the baby nestled in her womb.
“Let me read to Katie tonight,” he offered.
Maryellen agreed. She’d had a busy day at the gallery and was exhausted. She’d experienced this same fatigue when she was pregnant with Katie—and the baby she’d miscarried, too. She felt as though all her energy was used up by eight o’clock. Jon never complained, but she worried that she wasn’t giving her husband enough attention.
“Come to bed early tonight,” she suggested, caressing the side of his face. “I miss spending time with you.”
“You’ll be asleep.”
“I won’t be if you wake me up.”
Jon slowly grinned. He knew exactly what she meant and what she wanted. They hadn’t made love since Christmas morning, and Maryellen craved the intimacy. She was well aware of the reason Jon so often delayed coming to bed. He was afraid their lovemaking might distress the pregnancy, but there was no indication of any problem. She felt fine, and other than the fatigue, she was perfectly healthy.
“Is it…safe? I mean, are you farther along now than you were with the other baby?”
Smiling, she nodded. She’d miscarried at nine weeks and was currently entering her fourth month. Jon took over with Katie, letting their daughter choose her favorite book—Goodnight, Moon at the moment—and then settling in the rocking chair with her on his lap. In the meantime, Maryellen prepared for bed. She fell asleep almost immediately and woke some hours later, when her husband joined her. She’d chosen a low-cut, silk gown that he’d given her a year ago on Valentine’s Day.
“What time is it?” she asked, rolling onto her back.
“Eleven,” he whispered, moving closer to her.
She yawned sleepily. Slipping her arms around his neck, she brought his mouth down to hers. His kisses were deep and probing, and his lips devoured hers with urgency.
“Oh,” she sighed softly. “What took you so long?” she whispered, excited by the way her nipples hardened at his touch.
Their lovemaking was exquisite, painstakingly slow and filled with passion and tenderness. Afterward,
Jon held her and kissed the tears from her face. Her emotions seemed so close to the surface; that was another effect pregnancy had on her. She felt everything more intensely. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, she was so moved by Jon’s devotion to her and their family that she began to cry.
“Why are you crying?” he asked between kisses. He followed one stray tear to the edge of her mouth and kissed her again.
She was breathless when he finished. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too…and Katie. And this baby.”
“I know you do,” she whispered, but that didn’t stop the flow of tears. Jon held her in his embrace and with her arm draped over him, she returned to sleep.
At some point during the night, she felt Jon get out of bed. He often stole away for an hour or two and then came back. Most of the time she was only vaguely aware that he’d left. One night, his leaving had stirred her awake and she’d climbed out of bed and gone to see if he was ill. Maryellen had found him sitting in the living room, reading the Christmas card that had accompanied the gift from his father. He’d turned on only one small lamp. Deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed she was there, and rather than disturb him, she’d returned to bed alone. A small crack had developed in the wall Jon had built blocking out his parents. One tiny fissure. She prayed that eventually the relationship would be restored.
The next morning, Jon was whistling and in a cheerful mood. Come to think of it, Maryellen was in a good mood, too. A very good mood. Jon had a cup of herbal spice tea waiting for her when she came downstairs, dressed for work. Katie sat in her high chair banging her cup and looking pleased with herself.
“What time will you be home tonight?” Jon asked as he walked them to the car.
He asked this same question every morning; it was part of their ritual and the answer never changed. “Same as usual,” she promised.
Jon placed Katie in her carrier and buckled her in, kissing the top of her head before climbing out of the rear seat. “Have a good day,” he said and she saw the reluctance in his step as he rounded the car to kiss her, too. “I wish you didn’t have to go into town.” This was a familiar complaint.
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