by Terri Reid
Bradley tightened his hold on her. “Sorry, buddy, get your own girl.”
She smiled up at him. “Maggie’s right, I do… Oh! I nearly forgot.”
“See, she just remembered she loved me better,” Mike said.
“What is it, Mary?” Bradley asked.
“This morning… when we were out on the porch… Katie told me Maggie was adopted,” she said.
“Well, you’d never know it from the way she fits in,” Bradley remarked. “It was nice of them to adopt, especially after having all those boys.”
Mary shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Maggie’s adopted?” Ian asked, incredulously. “No, it can’t be that easy.”
“What’s the big deal?” Mike asked. “Lots of kids are adopted.”
“But Bradley’s daughter was adopted and the family was from Freeport,” Mary blurted out.
“What?” Bradley asked, lowering himself into a chair. “What did you just say?”
“I called a friend of mine who works for the Department of Children and Family Services in Chicago. I told him about your situation, and asked him if he could take a look at the file to see if there was anything that would help us find your daughter.”
Bradley sat up. “You just called someone and had him look into sealed court records?”
She shrugged. “Well, I didn’t ask him to break the law. I just asked him to see if there was anything he could share with me.”
“And?”
“He told me he’d have to pull the records back from Springfield and that was going to take some time,” she said. “But he did have a little information he could share with me. The family who adopted her was from Freeport.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, he met her eyes. “Freeport? You’re sure. Freeport?”
Mary nodded.
He sat back against the chair and ran his hand through his hair. “My daughter lives somewhere in Freeport,” he said slowly. “I could have met her. I could…”
Bradley’s eyes widened. “Maggie. She’s eight. She’s adopted. She lives in Freeport.”
Mary nodded again. “I know. Maggie,” she whispered.
“Maggie’s your kid?” Mike asked. “That’s not fair. You get the girl and you get the cute kid.”
“Wait a moment, here,” Ian said. “I’m hoping against hope that you’re right…”
“Maggie is my daughter,” Bradley interrupted, a stunned smile on his face. “She’s only been a few doors down.”
“Aye,” Ian said pointedly. “Only a few doors down with a family who loves her and is all she’s known her whole life.”
Bradley turned to Ian. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ian stood up and walked to the window, collecting his thoughts. Finally he turned and faced Bradley. “First, we only have circumstantial evidence to even suggest Maggie could be your daughter, nothing substantiated. Second, Maggie already has a family. She has a mother and a father and a horde of brothers who love her. Although you’re searching for her, she never knew or felt she was lost. And third, if Maggie is indeed your daughter, the Brennans did nothing wrong but open their home and hearts to a little girl who needed a family. They love her. Although she may or may not have your DNA, as far as they’re concerned, she’s their daughter.”
“The professor has a point,” Mike agreed.
Bradley inhaled deeply. “But she could be my daughter.”
“Aye, she could,” he agreed. “But you know better than most, you don’t rush an investigation.”
“Okay, you’re right, we’re rushing things. But, we can’t ignore the possibility,” Bradley argued.
“I agree,” Ian replied.
“So what do we do?” Bradley asked.
“I think we should go next door and tell Katie and Clifford what we think,” Mary suggested. “Go over there and tell them your story.”
Ian came back across the room and sat on the chair in front of them. Sitting on the edge of his chair, he placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in between his legs. “Aye, and what would happen to your friend at DCFS if they found out he’d given you the information that led you to Maggie?” Ian asked.
“I didn’t ask him to break any rules,” she said.
Ian smiled. “Aye, but it sounded to me like he’d do anything for you. You could charm the stars from the skies, Mary, and he was certainly under your spell.”
Mary paused and bit down on her lower lip. “He could lose his job,” she admitted. “Crap. I never considered that.”
“And what if you’re wrong about Maggie? What if she’s not Bradley’s daughter?” Ian asked. “Do the Brennans live in limbo until the records are officially opened?”
“Dammit, Ian, quit being so logical,” Bradley said with a sigh.
Ian chuckled. “I’m just saying the things both of you would have said, once you got over the initial shock.”
“Yeah, but that might have taken us a week,” Mary confessed, “and by then it would have been too late.”
“So, what can we do?” Bradley asked. “She’s three doors down. I can’t ignore the fact that she might be my daughter.”
Mary looked across the room into the kitchen. The entire refrigerator door was covered with drawings Maggie had created for her. Both of the children had left an indelible mark on her heart. “I don’t know,” she said. “They’re already a part of our family.”
“Just keep inviting Maggie and Andy like you did before,” Mike suggested. “No big deal. You get kid time, their parents get a break and I get to have some great conversations with a kid who’s not afraid of ghosts.”
“Not afraid of ghosts?” Bradley asked.
Mike shrugged. “She can see me. Says she’s been seeing ghosts since she can remember.”
“The sad lady!” Bradley said, remembering what Maggie said before her mother had interrupted them. “Maggie said the sad lady told her that I loved Mary.”
“Alden, you feeling okay?” Mike asked. “What the hell would some strange lady know about your love life? You haven’t been posting your feelings on Facebook again, have you?”
“This isn’t a joke,” Bradley said. “Maggie saw Jeannine. She has to be my daughter.”
“Maggie said a sad lady told her you loved Mary and you figure it was Jeannine?” Ian asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, it makes sense.”
“I remember when I was searching for Jeannine, she mentioned she had been visiting places. She mentioned her parents,” Mary said. “But she could have also meant her daughter.”
“But if she knew where Maggie was, why did she ask you to find her?” Mike asked.
“Well, ghosts can go to the place their loved ones are,” Ian said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean they know where they are.”
“Yeah, that’s as clear as mud,” Mike said.
“Like Joey Marcum,” Mary explained. “He could go to his brother, be with him, but he didn’t always know where that was.”
“Exactly,” Ian said.
“So, Jeannine went to Maggie at the Brennan’s, but didn’t know she was in Freeport?” Bradley asked.
“Well, if we are talking about Jeannine,” Ian said.
“Who else could it be?” Bradley asked.
Ian shrugged. “Okay, playing devil’s advocate here, the Brennan’s house could be haunted with its own sad lady who can look out the window and see how you two interact,” Ian said. “And she could just share her observations with Maggie.”
“Yeah, really, someone would have to be both dead and blind to miss how much you love Mary,” Mike agreed. “It could be just a random ghost.”
“But what are the odds of that?” Mary asked.
Mike laughed. “Okay, you are sitting in a room with three people who can see ghosts,” Mike said. “Talking about a little girl who can also see ghosts and you’re asking about odds?”
“Well, really, Ian came all the way from Sc
otland to work with me because we can both see ghosts,” Mary said. “So that’s not a coincidence.”
“And I can only see ghosts when I’m in contact with Mary,” Bradley said. “Or when a smart-ass ghost wants me to see him and plays with my mind.”
“I think I’m offended,” Mike replied with a grin.
“We don’t know why Maggie can see ghosts, or if she’ll retain her ability when she gets older,” Ian said.
“What?” Bradley asked.
“Lots of children can see ghosts,” Mary explained. “But once they get older, they tend to lose that ability. No one really knows why, but I personally think it’s because adults keep telling them there’s no such thing and so they finally believe them and stop seeing.”
“Usually they stop at about four or five,” Ian said. “Maggie still seeing them at eight is, actually, quite rare.”
“So, seeing the sad lady doesn’t mean she’s my daughter,” Bradley said. “We’re just going to have to wait until the courts open the files to find out the truth.”
“Hopefully before she’s old enough to get married,” Mike said.
“Aye, and don’t forget,” Ian said. “She’s marrying me.”
Bradley turned his head and met Ian’s eyes. “Over my dead body.”
Ian chuckled. “Aye, and now you’re sounding like a dad.”
“Oh!” Bradley exclaimed, “I nearly forgot.”
“What?” Mary asked.
“Dads,” he said. “Ian reminded me. I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day, in case you wanted to drive into Chicago and share our news with your parents.”
“Really?” Mary asked, a smile starting inside her heart and blossoming onto her face. “You really wouldn’t mind?”
Watching the looks passing between Bradley and Mary, Mike shook his head. “I guess I can forget about the steaks. I’m out of here,” he complained as he quickly faded away.
Ian shook his head in disgust. “Aye, and it’s lads like you who make life a bloody living hell for the rest of us insensitive clods,” he teased. “And I suppose you’ll be wanting me to get out of your way now, so she can kiss you right and proper.”
Bradley grinned. “That would be nice.”
Ian headed to the stairs. “I’ll be up in my room in case anyone would be needing me,” he laughed. “With the door closed, mind you.”
Mary stood up. “I need to change, but it won’t take me long,” she said.
He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and then lifted it to gently stroke her cheek. “How can I thank you for finding my daughter for me?” he asked.
“No thanks needed,” she said. “I did it because I love you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” he said, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms.
She looped her arms around his neck. “May I kiss you right and proper now?” she asked.
Smiling, he nodded and pulled her closer. “Aye, Mary O’Reilly,” he said in a mock Scottish accent. “Do your worst.”
Chapter Three
Mary knocked lightly on her parents’ front door. She slowly opened it and led Bradley into the house. “Ma, Da,” she called. “Where are you?”
“We’re in the kitchen, Mary,” her father called.
They walked down the hall towards the kitchen. “I brought a surprise with me,” she said as they neared the kitchen.
“As long as it’s not that bounder, Bradley Alden,” her father, Timothy O’Reilly, responded, his voice booming into the hall.
Mary froze, mortified, and quickly turned to Bradley. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Perhaps we’d better...”
Bradley shook his head. “We might as well get this settled now,” he replied quietly.
He moved past Mary and marched into the kitchen. “Well, it is that bounder, Bradley Alden,” he said. “And I’m going to marry your daughter. What do you say about that?”
Mary hurried after him, concerned about her father’s reaction to Bradley’s challenge.
“What do I say?” she heard her father yell when she was just steps from the kitchen. “What do I say?”
She rushed into the kitchen and stopped. The room was strewn with white streamers and paper wedding bells and there was a small decorated cake in the middle of the table. Her entire family was in the kitchen.
“Surprise,” Sean yelled.
Mary collapsed against the wall. “Surprise?” she asked weakly. “You’re not angry with Bradley?”
Her father smiled broadly and gathered her into his arms. “Angry? No, darling, I’m happy for both of you,” he said, kissing her on the top of her head and glancing at Bradley. “You do everything in your power to make my little girl happy.”
“I promise you that, sir,” Bradley replied earnestly. “Every moment of my life.”
“But, what?” Mary finally exclaimed. “How...?”
“Your Bradley came to see me when he was in Chicago and asked my permission,” her father explained. “We’ve just been waiting to hear if he was able to convince you or not.”
Mary beamed at Bradley. “You asked my father?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to be sure all my bases were covered,” he explained.
Mary’s mother, Margaret O’Reilly, came over and hugged her. “He’s a fine man,” she whispered into Mary’s ear. “And you are shining with love.”
Mary returned the hug and whispered back, “He makes me so happy, I just can’t imagine my life without him.”
“And that’s how it should be,” her mother agreed.
She turned to Bradley and spread her arms. “I’ve always wanted a son with manners,” she said with a grin.
Mary’s brothers laughed. “We’ve been such a disappointment to her,” Sean said. “Never did learn which fork to use first.”
“You never learned to use a fork at all,” Thomas replied.
Margaret shook her head. “Ruffians, the lot of them.”
“Yes, but we’re so cute, you can’t help but love us,” Art added, scooping his petite mother up into his arms.
She laughed and hugged him. “If you break your mother, your father will have to cook for you.”
He placed her carefully on the floor and kissed her softly on the forehead. “You know how to threaten a man, Ma.”
“How about some cake?” Timothy O’Reilly suggested, placing his hand around his wife’s tiny waist and guiding her to the table.
“Oh, no, I’m not the one to cut the cake,” she said, “it’s a job for the future bride and groom.”
“Be careful,” Sean whispered to Bradley. “The twins got the cake, there’s bound to be something inside it.”
“Thanks,” Bradley replied, glancing across the room at the snickering men. “Thanks a lot.”
Mary picked up the cake knife and waited for Bradley to step next to her. “Sean said the twins brought the cake,” he said quietly into her ear.
She lowered the knife, glanced at her brothers and then at the cake. She didn’t trust the wicked twinkle in their eyes. But knowing they wouldn’t risk annoying their mother, she smiled sweetly and turned to her mother. “Oh, Ma, I can’t cut the cake with Bradley,” she said. “It would be unlucky because we aren’t married yet. Why don’t you cut it?”
“No!” Thomas exclaimed, jumping forward and grabbing the knife. “You can’t let ma cut the cake.”
“Well, why not?” her mother asked. “I’ve cut plenty of cakes in my life.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a suggestion,” Bradley inserted.
“Oh, please, this is your celebration,” Timothy said.
“Well, in my culture, we have always believed that twins stood for good luck and fertility for the married couple,” he said, doing his best to keep a straight face. “I would consider it an honor if Art and Thomas would cut the cake for us.”
“Well, we just couldn’t,” Art said.
“And why not?” Margaret asked. “Your soon-to-be brother-in-law
just bestowed an honor upon you and you turn him down? Not in my house.”
Art and Thomas looked at each other and sighed. “Yes, ma’am,” Art said.
Mary pulled Bradley back, away from the table.
“Your culture?” Mary whispered to Bradley.
He grinned. “Yeah, my culture of self-preservation.”
“Brilliant,” Mary replied.
The young men approached the table, both grabbing hold of the knife’s handle.
“Ready?” Art asked Tom.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Tom replied.
The two men took a deep breath and plunged the knife into the cake. As soon as the tip of the knife made contact with the cake, there was a loud popping noise and whipped cream went flying across the room. Tom and Art stood next to the table, their faces covered in thick white cream.
“Well, that was certainly a surprise,” Sean said, wiping a bit of cream from his cheek. “Just think, if the twins hadn’t volunteered that would have been all over Mary and Bradley. Oh, wait, the twins didn’t volunteer.”
Bradley moved forward and picked up the remains of the deflated balloon sitting in the middle of the plate. “Well, that was actually quite ingenious,” he admitted.
Tom smiled, the whipped cream parting for his mouth. “Thanks. We worked on it all morning,” he said.
“Well, and now you can work on cleaning the mess from my kitchen,” Margaret said sternly. “I’m taking Mary upstairs for a few minutes and I’d like to see it spic and span by the time I get back down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the twins replied obediently.
“Are we not going to have cake then?” Timothy O’Reilly asked.
“Why don’t you, Bradley and I drive down to the bakery,” Sean suggested. “I’m sure we can pick up something that will do.”
“That’s a grand idea,” Timothy said. “You were always the good son.”
“We heard that,” Art said.
“And you were meant to,” Timothy said with a chuckle.
Mary and her mother listened to the conversation from the kitchen as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“Nothing but hooligans,” Margaret muttered. “I’ve raised nothing but hooligans.”
