by JoAnn Durgin
Disconnecting the call, he clicked on the message and quickly scanned the attached report. As he suspected, there wasn’t much to go on, but his eyes widened when he saw the last known address for Elise McClaren. Long Island, New York. Fingers shaking, heart pounding, he opened his drawer and grabbed the paper where he’d written the social security number Serenity gave him. Sure enough, the numbers matched. Something else that might be significant? He stared at her middle name displayed on the screen.
Rose.
He’d never had a reason to ask Serenity about it, never thought to ask. If what he knew in his heart was true, then Justin’s given first name was…
“Liam,” he said under his breath, lowering his head to his hands for a few seconds.
“This can’t be happening.” Jackson closed out of the email and turned off the computer. Swinging out of his chair, he rushed for the door, not bothering to close it behind him. He should stop and pray, but he couldn’t. His one-track mind took over and nothing—not even the Almighty—was going to stop him.
Sorry, Lord, but I’ve got to get some answers. Now.
~CHAPTER 30~
Dropping by the house to check on her dad during her lunch hour, Serenity was surprised to see a book by a well-known, popular Christian author and speaker sitting on the table beside Clinton’s recliner. She picked it up and glanced at the photo of the author—a handsome, dark-haired man in jeans and a white shirt, perched atop a stool—then thumbed through the book. She’d seen his name and those deep smile lines gracing the cover of a magazine or two at McHenry’s Market. Based on the chapter names, the primary emphasis centered on becoming a Godly husband and father. Why would her father read a book like this?
Clinton carried an open container of yogurt with a spoon and a pear as he came around the corner from the kitchen. He grinned when he caught her smile. “Yeah, I’m eating this stuff, and not because you’re here to see me do it, either. It’s not too bad.” Thank goodness, he seemed to be taking the advice of Dr. Saunders to heart. The whole healthy living plan might actually be carrying over into other aspects of his life. For one thing, he no longer lounged around the house in his undershirts and shorts. Lately, he’d taken to wearing decent shorts and shirts. Nothing that pulled over his head, though. Only shirts with buttons, the way he’d always preferred.
Serenity held up the book. “I’m curious. Where’d you get this book?”
“Your friend Dr. Ross gave it to me.”
“When did you see Jackson last?” Although she kept her tone casual, she wasn’t fooling her dad. Leafing through it a few more seconds, her mind worked overtime. All kinds of changes were taking place with her dad. Good changes.
“He comes around sometimes.” He shrugged. “Earlier in the week. Monday, I think.”
She looked up at him, startled. “Jackson just...drops by the house? To chat?”
“Sure. Here, sometimes the coffee shop, the park. He’s a good man. We talk.” Settling in his chair, he pretended to watch the game show. Some things never changed.
Serenity sat in Mama’s chair, still holding the book. “This book is about being a better man, husband and father. You’re aware of that, right?”
Watching her, Clinton spooned mixed berry yogurt into his mouth before answering. Licking his lips, he appeared to be formulating an answer. “Yeah, I’m aware. Don’t look so shocked. That book has good advice. Like you said, tips for how to be a better father.” He darted a glance at her before returning his focus to the television. “Might be a little late, but you’d probably be all for that, wouldn’t you, girl?”
“Did I ever complain? You could try not calling me ‘girl,’ though. That’s annoying.” Why was she so defensive? He’d never been much of a reader and she was more surprised by that than anything else. A Christian book, no less. Mama was the one who’d always devoured every new thriller within a day or two of its release. She’d never understood how Mama could love medical thrillers when she worked around life and death every day. Much like she couldn’t understand how a man who’d fought fires for a living had ever smoked cigarettes.
“Well, thanks for telling me after fifteen plus years,” Clinton muttered with a scowl, shoving another spoonful of yogurt in his mouth. “Old habits die hard.”
“I know, and it doesn’t bother me that much. Does Jackson talk with you about God?”
An ad came on the television, and Clinton surveyed her with lowered lids. “Why don’t you ask what you really want to know?”
“I really want to know if Jackson talks with you about God.”
“You’re holding the book. What do you think?” When he laughed, she was surprised how white his teeth appeared. Had he had some cosmetic whitening done? Impossible. Something was definitely afoot. Had Karen Gorham finally convinced him to take her on a date? Surely not. That thought brought a frown. After seeing how Spencer’s dad had moved on, she’d wished her father could do the same. Still, there was a difference. Spencer’s mom had died. Even if they found out Mama was gone forever, she doubted her dad would entertain the notion of dating another woman. Now, his loyalty pleased her. How fickle am I?
Serenity snapped out of her reverie. “Have you learned anything from this book or your talks with Jackson?”
Although he shifted in his chair, Clinton didn’t appear uncomfortable with her continued questions. “A few things, yeah. But I also learned more about Jackson’s family and growing up in Illinois. Guess he got full of himself when he was in college. I pegged him for an athlete, and I was right.” He shot her another grin. Two in the span of five minutes? “Bet you didn’t know your boyfriend got drafted into the NFL straight out of college.”
The book slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. “Jackson’s not my boyfriend, but he what?” Her question came out somewhat garbled. “He what?”
“Yep. Went through the training camp, passed it with flying colors and was all ready to suit up. But then he turned them down and walked away. Chose another life. Stunned the spit out of his family and the Bears. They thought he was crazy. Patriotic, but still nuts. You’ve gotta admire a man who sticks up for his beliefs.”
She gulped. “The Bears? The Chicago Bears?”
Clinton chuckled. “No, the Bad News Bears. Yes, girl, the NFL team.”
Flabbergasted, she sputtered, “I had no idea.” When Jackson told her about his family, he said nothing about a professional football career. Not even a hint. Then again, he really didn’t reveal much about his life other than his relationship with and issues with his family. That’s all she’d asked about, and it seemed the man wouldn’t freely offer information. He needed to be asked. Dazed, she shook her head. For one thing, an athletic career would put his attention to physical fitness in perspective and might explain the on-and-off pain in his knee.
“What do you mean he chose another life?” He’d better not make an open-ended statement like that and then clam up on her.
The television program came back on and her father returned his attention to the screen. “That’s a question you should ask Jackson. Better if you hear it from him.” Catching her chastising look, Clinton blew out a breath. “Look, it’s all fine. Nothing to worry about. Like I said, he’s a good man. With a mighty interesting story.”
“I’ll be sure and do that.” Rising from the chair, Serenity retrieved the book from the floor and put it back on the table before hurrying through a few chores—dusting in the living room and folding laundry before putting a casserole in the oven for his dinner. The whole time she worked, questions ran through her mind. She couldn’t wait until she talked again with Jackson, but she’d have to be careful and not pummel him with questions. The man was humble, yes, but this was ridiculous. Not that it would change anything about their relationship, but why hadn’t he told her?
“I need to run,” she called to him, retrieving her purse in the kitchen. “I’ll talk with you later.”
“Serenity?”
She turned in the doorw
ay to the family room. “Yes?”
“I hope you know that man loves you.”
Tears filled her eyes even as she shook her head. “I hardly know him.” That was a bald-faced lie. She already knew Jackson better than she’d known Danny, a man she’d grown up with and played with in the sandbox. He’d dribbled sand in her hair when she was in kindergarten and thrown spit wads on her head in the auditorium during an assembly in grade school.
“You’re preaching to the choir on that one.” The smile she used to adore as a little girl stretched across her daddy’s face. How she’d missed it.
Telling Clinton good-bye and closing the front door behind her, Serenity leaned against it and deep-breathed. Maybe there was hope for them, after all.
Mrs. Toomey opened the front door of the office and called after him. “Dr. Ross!”
Swallowing his mounting frustration, Jackson turned and forced calm into his tone. “Yes, Audra?”
“Don’t forget you have that meeting with the Town Council at nine on Thursday morning to sign the contracts for the playground. I need to RSVP for you.”
“It’s on my calendar. Oh, and please call Serenity McClaren and remind her. Thanks, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a quick wave, he ducked inside the car and heard her call to him that breakfast pastries would be served. Bless her heart, the motherly receptionist always made sure he was fed. If she kept up her daily ritual of bringing him something sweet, he’d need to step up his workouts to counteract the extra calories.
Jackson walked through the open doorway of the Vital Records Office in Town Hall less than ten minutes later. A clerk sat at a desk across the room, clicking away on her computer keyboard. When he cleared his throat, she jumped.
“Oh, mercy me. I didn’t know anyone had come in.” She pushed away from the desk and hurried over to where he stood by the counter. Tall and thin, this woman reminded him of his socialite mother—perfectly-groomed hair and clothing—although she appeared more accommodating with strangers. “I’m Jillian Montgomery. What can I do for you, handsome stranger?” Brushing aside a stray strand of dark hair from her otherwise stylish haircut, she gave him a warm smile.
“I’d like to look up a birth and death record, if that’s possible.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Let’s start by getting some information. I’ll need the person’s name and either the year of their birth or death, if you know them.” She picked up a pen and poised it above a legal pad on the counter.
“Actually, it’s an infant. From what I know, he was born at Croisette Shores Hospital but died either the same day or the next day.” He was determined not to give her a name unless she pushed.
“Well, now, that’s awful sad,” she said, dropping the pen and crossing her arms on the counter. “Enough to break my heart. I moved here from Beaufort and took over when Luellen Mays retired last year. I don’t remember hearing anything about a baby. How long ago are we talking?” She drummed a slow march on the legal pad with her pink fingernails.
“About five years ago, right around this time of year.”
Jillian stopped midway to the computer. “Ah, hon, I’m afraid that information’s probably not available yet. Records that recent are still closed to the public.” She shrugged. “Rules, you know. Luellen said they used to wait five years, but for whatever reason, they wait seven years now.”
“I see.” Jackson swallowed his disappointment. “I appreciate your help.”
“If you ever need any more information, you call on me. I’ll be happy to help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Jillian. I’m Jackson Ross, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
Her dark eyes grew larger. “You’re Dr. Ross? Forgive me, sweetie. I’ve heard about you moving to town, of course, but to be honest, I expected someone twenty years older and at least twenty pounds heavier with a whole lot less hair on top.” She broke into a wide grin. “You’re sure a long tall drink of water if ever I’ve seen one. You married?”
“No, ma’am.” He felt a slow flush crawl up his neck.
She waved her hand. “Fine looking man like you, I’m sure the women of Croisette Shores will help you out with whatever you need. Okay,” she said, giving him a sidelong grin, “I can see I’m embarrassing you, so here’s what you need to do. Go to the website for the Croisette Shores Daily News. I’m not sure how far back their online records go, so you might need to look at the paper on microfilm at the library. Ask for Myrtle and tell her I sent you. She’ll take good care of you and get you all set up. That should give you what you need to know.” Jillian tilted her head, brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly are you hoping to learn about that poor child?”
Jackson’s heart palpitated as his mind raced for an answer that might satisfy her curiosity. He should have left the office when he had the opportunity and before he’d revealed his name. The way the grapevine worked, if she’d heard he was friends with Serenity, she’d probably figure out why he was interested. She’d mentioned she was new to the area, so that might be his saving grace. In a small town like this, everyone knew everybody’s else’s business. He imagined it was a mixed blessing.
Assuming what he hoped was a neutral expression, Jackson shrugged. “In my profession, I’ve found it’s best to verify every fact for confirmation and accuracy.” Hopefully, she’d buy it and not ask any more questions.
“Yes, I see your point. It never hurts to be too careful.” Jillian blew out a sigh. “Trust me, working in this office, I understand how important it is to get things right. Good luck with your research, Dr. Ross. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks again, Ms. Montgomery. I appreciate your help.” With a wave, Jackson departed.
He needed to call Serenity, but what could he say? Inner Serenity was only a couple of streets over, and—as it always did—the urge to drop in at her office and say hi was overwhelming. If he stopped by today, though, he’d invariably say something out of place. As smart as Serenity was, she’d quickly pick up on the fact he was hiding something. He’d always been a terrible liar, an even worse actor. Best to stay away from her for now.
As he walked to his car, Jackson thought over the session with Justin, recounting everything he could recall from memory from their previous sessions. Things were starting to simultaneously add up and bother him. When he got home, he’d make a list. At least as of two years ago, her mother was alive and living in Long Island, New York. And today? She might be right here in Croisette Shores with a boy who may—or may not—be Serenity’s son, Liam.
Walking back to his car, Jackson passed a ladies boutique. He paused, feeling silly, but pushed the door open and went inside. Soft music played and he heard laughter from the back of the store. One customer browsed through racks of clothing and another did the same by a display of shoes and purses.
“May I help you?” A blonde woman wearing too much makeup and about a hundred jangly bracelets on one arm moved toward him with a friendly smile.
“Do you have any perfumes or bath...things?” he said, feeling ridiculous.
“Yes, we have a line of products if you’d come over here with me.” He followed as she led him to a back wall. “Is there a particular scent you’re looking for?”
“I can’t think of the name of it, but it’s honey something-or-other. Grows on bushes during the summertime? I think it’s yellow or white?”
“Oh, you must mean honeysuckle,” she said, picking up a bottle on the display rack to read the label. “We usually have that one in the summer, so let me see what I can find.” He waited while she called to someone else. “Darla, do we have anything in honeysuckle?”
Jackson shifted from one foot to the other, hoping no one he knew came into the store until he could escape. If pressed, he wasn’t sure he could come up with a plausible explanation for being here. When he was a boy, his mother sometimes dragged him into places like this on occasion while she shopped, and it drove him crazy. Shopping had to
have been invented as a punishment for men. The only thing that would make it tolerable would be shopping for Serenity. He shoved that thought aside and tried to concentrate, although he realized he’d probably missed her birthday. The Newport Jazz Festival when her parents met would have been in August, and nine months later would have been May. Sometime in the last few weeks.
“I think we have a body lotion in honeysuckle.” An older woman emerged from the back, wiping her hands together and swallowing. “Sorry,” she said to him, “finishing up a snack. Let’s see what we can find. Another lady came in the other day asking about honeysuckle, too.” She gave him a quick once-over. “Maybe you know her? Tall, thin, short red hair and speaks with a more northern accent?”
His pulse quickened. “Did she wear sunglasses?”
The woman laughed. “Yes, she did, as a matter of fact. At least until I brought her back here. As you can see, the lighting’s not the best in this back corner, so she took them off.”
Jackson’s mind raced as fast as his pulse. How could he find out what he wanted to know? “Did you, um, notice anything odd about her eyes?”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Say anything. “Well, she’s had a problem with her left eye and the ophthalmologist advised her to leave the glasses on.” He lifted his shoulders and gave her a smile. “Checking to see if she’s following the doctor’s orders.” Forgive me, Lord.
“Well, she seemed okay and read the label fine,” the woman said. “As a matter of fact, I noticed how blue her eyes were. They were really piercing and pretty and stood out against the color of her hair. As I recall, she bought two bottles of the honeysuckle lotion and I think this display tester bottle is the last one.”
“Here’s the body lotion,” the first salesclerk said, pulling out a bottle and lifting the top. She offered it to him. “Take a whiff.”
As soon as he inhaled the sweet scent, Jackson recognized it. The same one Mrs. Johnson wore. The same as lingered in Justin’s T-shirt. Honeysuckle.
