Girl in the Spotlight

by Virginia McCullough

  She closed the gap between them by lightly touching his arm. “Let me finish my whole thought. Then you can judge.” She repeated her reasoning for listing herself on the registry with the state of Minnesota. She’d assumed their daughter would look for her first. That pattern was well documented by decades of research. “But I would never have gone beyond the first contact—if I were blessed enough to have a contact at all—without making it clear to her that I could, and would, get in touch with her father.”

  His features relaxed and a faint smile appeared. “Thanks for that.”

  “Here’s the other reason for acting alone. I didn’t know how you turned out, or what kind of life you have. Or whom you’d confided in.” She lifted her open hands high in the air to emphasize her point. “After I saw you at the mall I assumed you were married. I could have tried to reach you, but I imagined that would have disrupted your life—in a big way.”

  “Funny you should say that,” he said, nodding. “My ex-wife is the only person who knows about what happened. No one else.”

  “Ha! That’s one more person than I told.”

  “What? You must have told your ex-husband.”

  She lowered her gaze and studied her boots. “Not on your life.”

  His voice turned from puzzled to concerned. “I don’t understand.”

  She waved him off. “Oh, it was very calculating on my part. I decided that if I’d, you know, confessed, then he’d have had a big fat issue as an arrow in his quiver. Sooner or later, he would have pulled it out and sent it flying toward me to wound me in some way.”

  “Wound you?”

  His shock surprised her, although it shouldn’t have. She’d already sized up Miles as a far more decent man than Lyle. The irony of that thought threatened to sink her into a bout of harsh self-doubt about her choices. “Lyle would have made me pay. One way or another.”

  “Wow.”

  She smiled wryly. “My ex is not a particularly nice guy.”

  “Okay, I admit it. I’m stunned that you were afraid to talk with the man you married about such a significant part of your life.”

  It was time to change the subject. “Tell me how your ex-wife reacted when you told her.”

  “She was a little shocked.” Once again he stared off into the distance. “But I told her before we decided to get married. And I never believed she’d use it as a weapon against me—and she never did.” He turned to Lark. “We divorced for other reasons, and they had nothing to do with the past. It never came up.”

  Lark met his eyes directly. “My ex didn’t fight fair. That’s what I’m saying. He looked for advantages, a little edge here and a point to score there. He still enjoys the sense of power any weakness on my part provides.”

  Miles’s eyes had softened with sadness. “It can’t have been easy.”

  “I didn’t mean to draw you into what’s old news.” She hesitated. “Or, more or less old news. Lyle and I still have our struggles.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Did your wife wonder why we didn’t keep the baby?”

  Miles stared at the ground. “At first. But I told her we weren’t...”

  She watched his face change as he seemed to struggle for words. “Serious about each other. Is that the word you’re looking for?”

  “It will do. But I explained that we weren’t ready. Either of us.” He sighed. “Probably mostly me.”

  She nodded, but didn’t like seeming to agree with him. Or maybe she didn’t want to let him off the hook, or be let off the hook herself. They could have done better, couldn’t they? Was adoption really their only choice? Why had it felt that way, so much so that she hadn’t seriously entertained the notion of keeping the child and raising her alone? At least she hadn’t considered that choice for long and never to the point of forming a plan. Why? Back then she’d blamed the emotional chaos of her parents’ split. She shook off that train of thought. Her parents and their troubles were issues to address another day.

  “I know you’re leaving town, so let’s get on with it.” She pointed down the beach. “My house is just past the edge of the park. You can pull into the drive behind me.”

  “We say we’re going to make our plans, but we take these side trips instead.” He stared at the lake. “And I want to know what’s happened with you over the years. Now I wish we’d kept in touch. Ever since I saw you walking toward Hugo’s with your hair flying in the breeze, the past has come rushing back for me.”

  Feeling her face warm, she pointed to their cars and started walking toward them. “We’ll be at my place in two minutes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “DID YOUR FAMILY own this place before you moved in?” he asked, scanning the room.

  She smiled. “Nope. I chose it after Lyle bought me out of my share of our house. I could have found a larger home for the same money, but I traded all those possibilities for this cottage with a view of the lake and empty space on each side of me.”

  She beckoned him farther inside and pointed to the cushioned window seat as an invitation to sit. “The location meant much more to me than the size of the rooms.”

  A sleek wooden desk sat angled so her office chair looked out the window at the lake. High bookcases lined the wall next to it and three tall file cabinets provided a boundary where the living room and dining area ended and the office began.

  The main room housed a short couch and a couple of reading chairs and lamps, but left no space available for more shelves or even a TV.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “We have three tiny bedrooms, and the smallest is our TV and game room, more or less. Evan regularly grumbles about being cramped in there. His father’s place—our old house—is about four times the size. We have joint custody, so Evan spends a lot of time there, too. But this place is big enough for him to bring friends around, especially in the summer, when we grill on the patio at the side of the house.”

  Miles stared at the whitecaps rippling over the gray water. “Don’t worry, one day Evan will tell stories about the great little cottage he grew up in.”

  “Promise?” she said with a laugh. “Somehow, we do manage to make it work. His room has a good view, and he has his space, small as it is, fixed up exactly the way he wants it—and it’s that way at his dad’s, too.”

  He recognized something in her voice. The same wistfulness that came over him from time to time. Lark, too, had been forced to accept a family arrangement that bore no resemblance to the one she’d imagined on the day she’d married this Lyle guy. Miles well understood the back-and-forth shuffle common for divorced parents—if they were lucky and managed to work out an arrangement with their ex.

  “Brooke’s life is like your son’s. She has a set of things in her room in my house, more stuff at her mother’s and a few belongings she carries from one place to the other in her backpack.”

  Wanting to change the subject, he pointed to piles of files, clippings and a laptop. “So, what are you working on now?”

  “A series on various types of migraines.” She tapped three file folders in turn. “Plus, I’m a contributing editor for an online monthly for parents of kids with disabilities.” She picked up a file from another stack. “Research abstracts. Seems like almost everything I do these days circles back to autism.”

  Her expression darkened.

  “What is it?”

  “I see—or rather hear and read about—so much pain,” she said, wincing. “Parents hurting because their kids struggle. They’re constantly hoping for an autism breakthrough. Something that gives their kids a chance at a so-called normal life. I’ve been so lucky with Evan. It makes all the hard times as a parent pale in comparison to what other people go through.”

  She tapped her temple. “It just occurred to me that if Perrie Lynn is the one, then we truly a
re among the luckiest people I know.”

  “Because we’re pretty sure she’s okay? Is that what you’re saying?” He extended his hands toward her. “Well, better than okay—she has dreams, a passion.”

  Nodding, she added, “And she’s pursuing those dreams and making them come true. I’ve so hoped she was happy and healthy.” She cast a pointed look his way. “I imagine you’ve had the same thought.”

  No, he hadn’t. He’d assumed everything was fine. He didn’t know how to explain that detachment or his lack of worry. Sometimes, what he and Lark had been through barely seemed real. But he wasn’t going to admit to that now. Instead, he smiled and nodded.

  He turned to the window. “Not much separates you from the park. Some maples and birches, and a few rows of cedars.”

  She moved to his side. “I love those trees. They frame my view. And for about eight months of the year I walk the beach almost every day. I head over to the stony beach way beyond the downtown park. Even when tourist season peaks in the summer few people venture that far. Fall is the best season of all.”

  “The water is a little rough today. And it looks cold.”

  She grinned. “But you should see it when the moon is out on a still, clear night. No wonder someone thought to name this town Two Moon Bay. The moon is reflected so perfectly it’s easy to believe you could swim out and lift it right out of the water.”

  “And take a bite out of it, too, I imagine.”

  “Right you are. And it’s not cheese. I like to think of it as a big sugar cookie.”

  Miles grinned. He was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off her. When Lark had come to mind these past few years, he’d thought of her as taller. But the top of her head reached just above his shoulder. Her hair matched his memory, though. Thick and wavy, it brushed her shoulders. His mother used the word extravagant to describe hair like Lark’s. Her delicate features were a stark contrast to his sharply angled face.

  “This is what I propose,” Lark said, backing away from the window and resting her hip on the corner of her desk. “Let’s start by investigating the adoption and disclosure laws in Michigan. I can check back with the adoption agency in Minnesota to see how this works across state agencies.”

  “According to what Brooke told me, and that came by way of her babysitter, Mamie, Perrie Lynn and her mother are in Ann Arbor only to work with a specific coach,” Miles explained. “Her father stayed in Minneapolis, where he runs a business. Their home is still there.”

  “Are you sure about that? The website mentioned Michigan.”

  “I know, but apparently, uprooting part of the family isn’t unusual for these skaters. They accept that they’ll be living in two places for a time. The commentators talked about it yesterday. Perrie Lynn and her mother made the move by themselves and her dad visits and goes to the competitions.”

  “I get it. That happens in gymnastics, as well.” Lark laughed. “Your little Brooke is becoming a walking encyclopedia of figure skating. Mamie must be quite a babysitter.”

  “She is, and Brooke likes her a lot. By the way, from what the commentators said, Perrie Lynn’s new coach is the main reason for her fast rise in the standings.” Miles paused and searched his memory. “I caught his name. I think, no, I’m sure it’s Declan Rivers. He’s coached a few International medalists and world champions.”

  “You picked up a lot of information in one afternoon,” Lark said, grinning.

  “Hey, I’m on a first-name basis with Katie and Allen, the commentators. They fed me all kinds of random facts.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, “let’s start with what we know and see if we can figure out a way to reach her.”

  “No, at the most, we could reach her parents,” he said, enunciating each word. He needed confirmation they were of one mind on this.

  Lark’s hand flew up in a defensive gesture. “Yes, of course. I meant to say her parents.”

  He chose to believe her.

  “Perrie Lynn’s father is Eric and her mother is Maxine,” he said. “The website provided that information.”

  “I can only imagine how many Eric Olsons are listed in the Minneapolis phone book,” she said, “but maybe not so many Maxines. And we could see if she has a Facebook page and send her a message.”

  He held up his hand. “Wait. You’re suggesting we get in touch through a Facebook page?”

  “Well, she’s more likely to be active on Facebook than Eric, and we can’t message Perrie Lynn on her page—and she has one. I checked. Besides, Maxine and Eric might restrict Perrie Lynn’s access. She’s a public person now, and I’d be surprised if the Olsons let her manage it by herself.”

  Miles shook his head, amazed he was even having this conversation. “Listen to us talking about Maxine and Eric, as if we know them.”

  “You’re right.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest.

  “And you’re nervous. Are you afraid?”

  “Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped. “What if we send a message and Maxine doesn’t reply? What if they message back and tell us they aren’t the right people in the first place? That they aren’t even her adoptive parents.”

  “Her parents,” Miles warned. “Once people adopt children, they’re parents, no qualifiers.”

  She waved him off. “I know, I know. You don’t need to lecture me.”

  “Okay, but it seems as if you’re thinking of yourself as Perrie Lynn’s mother, I mean, now that she’s turned eighteen.” He’d raised his voice, startling Lark, but he had to make the point. “Even if we find her, we’ll always be on the edges of her life.”

  He drew back slightly in response to the flicker of anger in her eyes.

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  Forcing himself to lower his voice, he said, “C’mon. You’re jumping way ahead of yourself.”

  She hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’ve been jumping ahead of myself for eighteen years. This is the first time I can take a step, a real step, other than listing myself with the agency. Besides, like you said, her parents don’t call every shot now that she’s of age.”

  She stalked away, disappearing through the small dining room and into the kitchen. Out of his sight.

  There it was again, her expectations. He and Lark weren’t on the same page. Maybe they weren’t reading from the same book.

  Not knowing if he should go after her or leave her alone, he stared out the window, allowing indecision to take over.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, coming back into the room a few minutes later.

  “Are you okay?”

  “As okay as I’m going to be.” She flopped down on her desk chair and turned it sideways so she wasn’t facing him. “You’re right. I know perfectly well that she’ll never be my daughter in the same way Evan is my son. Never. That train left the station the minute I let that nurse, the one with the bright red hair and freckles all over her face and arms, carry my baby out the door.”

  “What? Freckles? Red hair? What do you mean?”

  She swiveled the chair, facing him. “I remember the moment like it was yesterday.” She tapped her forehead. “It’s all like a photograph stored up here. Every detail sharp and distinct.” She splayed her fingers across her heart. “And the feelings, too.”

  Her face reddened as she spoke.

  “Of course I remember the nurse’s hair and her freckles. And our baby’s scent, her tiny hands and the shape of her face—my face, a miniature heart.”

  He looked away. A memory formed for him, too. Young and stupid, with no idea the moment would be imprinted on him with such power, he’d stood behind her, hands squeezing her shoulders. He remembered, but Lark was right, the frozen moment in time was different for him.

  “And you, Miles? You gripped my shoulders harder when the nurse left
with our baby and closed the door behind her. You kept me standing when my knees buckled. I fell back and covered my eyes and sobbed. It was only minutes, but it felt like hours.”

  “I remember.” His mental image lacked something, though. Intensity. Reality. Something. “But it feels distant, as if it happened in another life,” he admitted. He’d never given a thought to the nurse. No trace of her remained in his memory. Even the baby who carried another generation of his genes had become more of an abstraction as the years passed, reawakened only with Brooke’s birth. Then, when he was home alone after holding his new baby girl for the first time, memories of Lark and the hospital came back, but in an unwelcome flashback that taunted him until he managed to push away the images.

  Making no attempt to fill the silence, he turned to the window, watching the gray water, chaotic with spray scattering every which way in the wind. Suddenly, he had an idea for moving out of the past and going forward. A safe, nonthreatening way to reach the Olsons. Facebook messages were out of the question, almost certain to alarm Eric and Maxine.

  “So, should we try to contact Maxine?” Lark’s voice was calm again, if not pleasant. “You know, through Facebook.”

  He shook his head. “No. Definitely not. Something tells me that would scare the Olsons. Make them uneasy, as if we’re threatening to them in some way. Put yourself in their position. Imagine Maxine seeing a message out of the blue from strangers claiming to be their daughter’s birth parents.”

  Lark shrugged. “No matter what we do, it will seem like it’s out of the blue.”

  “True. But hear me out. What if we were to contact the coach? We could explain the situation, assure him we have no intention of disrupting anyone’s life, least of all Perrie Lynn’s.” The idea grew in appeal, mainly because it was so safe. “Reaching out to the coach first is a way to demonstrate that we’re responsible people. We only want to find out if we’re Perrie Lynn’s birth parents. If we are, we can go from there. If not, we’ll disappear, no harm done.”

  Lark turned away and propped her elbows on her desk, holding her head in her hands. His heart raced. Apparently, she hated his idea, but even worse, he’d upset her—again.