“She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s processing this. She’s had a long bus ride to get over the initial shock.”
“Does she hate me?” Tammy’s voice sounds small and frightened.
“No! Her first concern was for you. She didn’t confront you because she was worried about your pregnancy.”
“How did she find out about the adoption?”
“Well, Lissa apparently overheard her parents talking about this being your first pregnancy.”
“Oh no, Rach. How did this happen?”
“I guess Lissa thought that Jennifer should—”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean how did we get here? To this point? I always meant to tell her she was adopted.”
I rake my fingers through my hair, wishing my sister were here so we could figure this out in person instead of long distance.
“I should have explained that she was adopted, that we chose her. I knew she’d find out someday. She grew up faster than I thought she would.” She gasps. “I can’t breathe.”
“Tam, calm down. Maybe you were afraid that if you told her she was adopted, she’d find out all of it. This is my fault, really.”
“No, it’s not. It’s mine. Time just got away from me.”
Suddenly Russ’s deep voice breaks in. “Okay, enough kicking yourselves, girls. There’s plenty of blame to go around. Including to Jennifer who shouldn’t have run away. How are we going to handle this?”
“I’m going out there,” Tammy squeaks.
“No, you’re not,” Russ replies, and for a minute I envision them standing in the same bedroom speaking into different phones, their gazes locked. His voice gentles. “The doctor said bed rest, and we both know that doesn’t include a five-hundred-mile round-trip to Arkansas. I’ll leave now and be there in the morning.”
One of the things I love about my brother-in-law is that he’s levelheaded and filled to the brim with common sense.
“Wait. You need to stay with Tammy. I can bring her home. I have a half day tomorrow and then the weekend. We’ll leave right after I finish seeing patients.”
They confer for a minute in muffled voices, so apparently they both have their hands over the mouthpieces of their respective phones. Then Tammy comes back. “Rachel, we have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“Can Jennifer stay with you awhile?”
My stomach churns. “Why? Don’t you think she needs to see y’all?”
“I want her home right now more than anything, but we have to think about what’s best for her. She was going to visit this summer anyway. She’s been talking about coming for years, remember?”
I remember. But even then the thought had made me nervous. What if she figured it all out? And now, as a precocious fifteen-year-old, hot on the trail of her birth mother, how much bigger is the chance? I brush my hair back from my clammy forehead. I can’t think.
Shadow nuzzles my arm, and I look down into her worried face. Cocoa sits on the other side of me and presses her head against my leg. I know they can tell something’s wrong.
“We’ll talk to her, of course, but we think maybe she needs some time to accept this without having to actually face us. If we bring her back right now, she might just run away again.” Her voice breaks. “Maybe to somewhere we can’t find her.”
My heart pounds in my throat at the thought. “She can stay here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely,” I squeak, then take a deep breath and will myself to sound calm. “Why wouldn’t I want my favorite niece to stay with me a few weeks?” Other than the fact I’m terrified she won’t love me anymore if she finds out the truth.
Tammy sighs. “If you’re sure and she wants to stay, I really think it’s the best thing.”
“You might not when you hear what she said to me tonight.”
“What?”
“She wants me to help her look for her birth mother.” I give Tammy a second to absorb that bombshell. Which is more than I had. I don’t even remember how I responded to Jennifer earlier, but shortly after her request, I do know I suggested a long, hot shower to wash off the bus grime.
“Oh boy. Just stall. Do whatever it takes to distract her. Introduce her to Allie’s daughters. Take her out to see the horses. And to visit Mama and Daddy. I’ll call them in the morning and explain the situation so they don’t give anything away.”
“Okay.” In spite of tonight’s drama, I feel the same twinge I always feel when she talks so easily about “Mama and Daddy” and her communications with them. When I left home all those years ago, I left Mama and Daddy behind. From then on they became Mom and Dad in my mind. I even considered Alton and Daphine, but my Southern upbringing wouldn’t let me go that far.
So now I live in the same zip code as they do, but Tammy, five hundred miles away, talks to them more often. My choice, I know.
She hesitates. “You’re going to have to try harder with them if Jenn’s going to stay for a while. They’re her grandparents.”
“I know.”
“Adopted and biological.” Her tone is gentle, but she couldn’t have said it plainer if she’d just said, “They’re your parents, too.”
“I know.” As if I could ever forget.
“Okay, it’s settled then. We’ll send her clothes and some money first thing tomorrow. But, Rachel?”
“Yeah?”
“I made you a promise fifteen years ago that I wouldn’t tell her you were her biological mother unless you agreed. I’ve kept that promise, and now I need you to make me one.” My normally flighty sister’s voice is strained with earnestness.
“Anything, Tam.”
“Well, obviously I can’t deny she’s adopted, but don’t tell her the whole truth until I can come out there.”
A humorless laugh escapes my lips. “I don’t plan on ever telling her that. Not in a million years.” Memories of Jennifer growing up, looking at me with adoring eyes, flash through my mind. I can’t imagine how she’d look at me if she knew the truth.
Tammy stammers for a second then finally speaks. “Rach, I think we have to tell her—”
“No.” I’m shaking my head in the empty room. “No, we don’t have to tell her. You can admit she’s adopted, but I have to have more time. When you tell her I’m the one who gave her up, I’ll lose her completely.” Panic constricts my throat. “I can’t do it.”
“Okay, we don’t have to decide this tonight. Calm down.” Tammy has shifted into big sister mode, and now our roles have reversed—she’s soothing me.
Shame, hot and nauseating, trickles through my veins. I’m a coward. But I can’t seem to help it.
I turn off the main highway toward my parents’ ranch. Beside me, Jennifer sits, slouched down in the seat. Her hair is stuffed up under a Braves cap; one renegade curl sloops across her shoulder. “So, you looking forward to seeing the Grands?”
As the only grandchild, she could call them anything she wants and they’d be happy, but this term she coined when she was tiny makes both my parents beam.
She nods.
I’m relieved that she doesn’t say anything about them not “really” being her grandparents, like she did about Tammy last night. As a matter of fact, she hasn’t mentioned the adoption issue since she talked to her parents on the phone last night.
I turn the car down the lane leading to Mom and Dad’s ranch.
“Maybe they know who my birth mother is.”
So much for not mentioning it. My gut clenches. I look over at her. “I know you’re upset, but it might be good if you just spend a little time visiting before you start questioning them, kiddo.”
She mumbles something then closes her eyes, cranks up her iPod, and pretends to be completely absorbed in the music coming from the tiny earbuds in her ears.
Switch the iPod for a Sony Walkman and you have me the day my dad drove me the opposite direction down this lane. We didn’t stop, other than a restroom break, until we
got to Russ and Tammy’s house in Georgia. I remember sitting in the passenger seat, much like Jennifer is now, trying to pretend the headphones blocked out the silent disapproval coming from my dad.
Only then, Jennifer was in my womb.
Even though I’ve been back many times since then, something about driving here with her beside me feels as if I’ve come full circle.
My parents are waiting on their wide porch looking as if they stepped right out of a lemonade commercial. Indeed, everything about my parents’ ranch would fall in the “idyllic” category. Two-story white house with a red barn rising up behind it. A row of pines that flank the yard, planted when they were saplings, now towering above the house. A massive oak tree, perfect for climbing, in the front yard. Such perfection should have come with perfect daughters.
Unfortunately, I messed that up.
They wave broadly as I pull up in front and park. In an instant, they descend on my vehicle. And go straight to the passenger side.
Jenn slips off her earbuds.
Mom bends down to hug Jennifer as she’s getting out of the car. “You look exhausted, honey.”
I’d sent out an emergency e-mail to Lark, Allie, and Victoria while Jennifer was on the phone with Tammy last night, and my friends insisted on meeting me for breakfast so they could pray with me. I slipped out early and left Jennifer asleep, ate breakfast, and worked at the office until noon. She was still asleep when I got home. I doubt she’s terribly exhausted, but Mom is overprotective. If she cares about you.
“Hey, girl,” Dad says and pulls her into a bear hug. “You’ve grown up since Christmas.” He nods to me over her shoulder. “Rachel.”
I nod back. “Dad.”
“Lunch is ready,” Mom offers. “Come on in and eat before it gets cold.”
They escort Jennifer up the steps while I follow behind.
I’m one of those corny people whose childhood home is her dream house. Maybe because I had a happy childhood. Until I ruined it with one impulsive act. I wasn’t a troubled kid. Not even as an adolescent. I was just gullible and stupid.
But I don’t think anyone in our family remembers much about my growing up except for that one gullible, stupid moment. Not Mom, not Dad, and certainly not me. It’s mostly a haze before that point.
Mom ushers us directly to the big oak table. As I pull out my chair, I glance out the dining room windows at the rolling green pasture. “It’s beautiful out here this time of year.”
“Maybe you’ll get out here more often since Jenn’s here,” Mom says under her breath. “To the house and not just to the barn.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s pray,” Dad says. He thanks God for allowing Jennifer to be with us then thanks Him for the food and asks Him to bless the hands that prepared it. When he says “Amen,” I remember how special I always felt when I helped fix supper and Dad would say that in the prayer. The thought of God blessing my hands. . .
Suddenly I realize that God has blessed my hands, by allowing me to help so many people with them. I wonder if my being a chiropractor is partly an answer to my dad’s prayers.
Mom has cooked a full spread. She’s a once-a-month grocery shopper. Hard to believe she threw all this together after Tammy called her this morning.
“I ran into Alma Westwood in Price-Chopper this morning.”
So either today’s grocery day or she made a special trip. “You did?”
“She said she made Jack go with her to your office yesterday.”
With the new privacy laws, I can’t acknowledge that Alma comes in to the clinic, but like most of my patients, she doesn’t hesitate to tell the world. Which is good for business but puts me in a bad spot sometimes when someone wants to discuss a patient with me. I concentrate on my green beans, unsure how to answer.
“He was very impressed with your presentation of Alma’s X-rays.”
I almost choke on a bean. Is my mother really joining Alma in her matchmaking? Why would she bother?
My dad clears his throat.
I look up from my plate.
“Your mother’s talking to you.”
I feel like a sullen teenager myself. “Sorry. Thanks to the privacy laws, I can’t discuss patients.”
“Well, Alma tells me all about her treatments.” Mom stabs a piece of pork chop with her fork. “I wasn’t asking for her medical history.”
“Sorry.”
“She said you’d taken Ron Kingsley’s place on the centennial committee.”
Thanks to Jennifer’s unexpected arrival, I’d almost forgotten the committee. “Temporarily.”
We eat in silence for a while.
Mom looks over at Jennifer, who is sneaking glances at us as if we’re from another planet. “So, honey, are you glad school’s out?” Leave it to Mom not to acknowledge the fact that Jennifer ran away. You’d think this was a regularly scheduled visit.
Jennifer shrugs. “I guess.” She stares back at her own plate.
“Dad, what have you been working on lately?” I ask, because let’s face it, right now, in terms of comfortable and easy, our dinner conversation is one notch above an IRS audit and one notch below a blind date.
“That fence along the lower half of the Strausand forty has been in bad shape for a while. I’m repairing it this week.” My folks bought their ranch forty acres at a time, and they still call each piece of ground by its original owner’s last name.
“Cool.” I pick up my knife to cut my pork chop. “Sounds like fun.”
Jenn looks at me. “You like to work on the ranch?”
This time I shrug. “I used to help Dad with fence repair every summer. It wasn’t too bad.”
Dad smiles at me, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. I’ve seen that smile directed to me so rarely in the last decade and a half that I’ve almost forgotten how good it makes me feel. “You were a big help from the time you were old enough to hold a pair of pliers. Tammy never did like to get her hands dirty, but I could always count on you to dive in, no matter how messy the job.”
I return his smile. Maybe I remember more of my childhood than I thought.
“Yep. Even after you got older, you were always there to help, on up until you were. . .” His voice drifts off, and he lowers his gaze.
“Time for dessert,” Mom says as she jumps up from the table. She hurries from the room.
“What did she make?” The way my stomach is churning, I ask more to fill the awkwardness than because I care about dessert.
Dad glances at Jennifer. “You two will just have to wait and see.”
“Sorry,” I say, because now I have a pretty good idea of what the dessert is.
Sure enough, Mom reaches back and flips the light switch off then steps into the dining room with a two-layer chocolate cake, complete with flaming candles.
“Happy birthday to you,” Dad begins in his rich baritone, and Mom and I quickly join in.
Jennifer’s face lights up, and I relax a little. When we finish singing, Mom and Dad lean together and harmonize: “And many mooore.” Their signature closing. Even though I haven’t celebrated a birthday around them in years, when anyone sings “Happy Birthday,” no matter where I am, I always add that “and many mooore” in my head at the end.
Dad disappears and comes back with Yarnell’s homemade vanilla ice cream. My mouth waters. I don’t eat much sugar, but everyone knows I make an exception for this ice cream.
He scoops generous helpings on the four pieces of cake Mom has cut.
“Let’s take our dessert into the den,” Mom says. She leads the way and motions Jennifer and me to the loveseat. She and Dad sit in their chairs across from us.
Once we’re seated with our bowls, Mom hands Jennifer an envelope. “Sorry it’s a day late. There’s one already waiting for you in Georgia, but your mom said you didn’t get it yet.”
“I can wait—,” Jenn starts.
Mom holds up her hand and smiles. “Actually, we thought we’d just give you two this ye
ar.”
Jennifer opens her card and squeals at the check amount.
“Not like we have any other grandkids to get their feelings hurt that you get double,” Dad says gruffly.
“Yet,” Mom says.
I assume she means Tammy’s pregnancy, but the look she gives me is really pointed, so I’m not so sure.
I glance away in time to see an expression flit across Jenn’s face that I can’t define. But if she’s anything but happy, she covers with a remarkably gracious smile. “Thanks, Granddaddy. Grandmom.” She stands to give them both a quick hug then sits back down.
“So, Rachel, business is good?” Dad asks.
I nod and take a bite of my cake and ice cream.
“Alma said she saw some drawings—plans for a new clinic—on your wall,” Mom says.
I nod again, motioning toward my full mouth.
Dad frowns. “I don’t remember you telling us about that.”
I swallow. And stall. “I’m sorry. Right now, it’s just a dream.” One that will involve buying some—if not all—of your land. I actually got the idea a few years ago when my dad mentioned something one Christmas about their intention to sell the ranch and buy a smaller place sometime in the not-too-distant future.
The conversation stalls until Jennifer finishes and sets her bowl on the table beside her. She points toward something. “I forgot that you barrel raced, Aunt Rachel.”
I lean forward to see what she’s looking at. A trophy. Puzzled, I turn to Mom. “Where’d you find that?”
“In a box in the attic. I got that one out to remind me to have you take the box the next time you came by.”
I cringe as Jennifer reaches over and wipes a layer of dust off the trophy with her finger. It’s been a while since I stopped by, hasn’t it?
“Your grandmother was quite the barrel racer in her time, too,” Dad says, his green eyes sparkling with pride as he looks at my mom.
Jennifer picks up the trophy and examines it from all angles.
“Awesome. I’ve always wanted to be in a rodeo.” For the first time since her arrival, excitement twinkles in her eyes.
Along Came a Cowboy Page 4
