by Traci DePree
Jack seemed to perk up at that suggestion, and Carl rubbed a finger across his stubbly chin as he considered. “They’d arrive the day of the contest?” Jack asked, eyeing his brother.
“They’re only in Pine Ridge. I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Paul said.
“And whoever wins, that’ll settle the matter,” Eli put in. “No backing out if the decision doesn’t go your way. Once the decision is made, it’s final.”
“And the winner gets the five grand and gets to be in the ads,” Carl added.
“Minus the vet bills,” Jack reminded.
“It’s a deal.” Carl put out his hand to shake. His brother looked at it for a minute, then tentatively gave it a shake.
“It’s a deal.”
“And who gets Scout in the meantime?” Eli asked, more of Paul than anyone else.
“How about this?” Paul said. “We can see if your Aunt Susan will take the dog for the time being, until we can work out the details of the contest with the dog-food company. You two can keep living at home”—he looked from one brother to the other—“if you can get along.”
They both gave the idea some thought. Paul hoped the forced time together would work to heal their rift, but seeing their hesitance, he wondered if his suggestion was indeed the best one. Or would Eli be calling him to come out every day until the contest to settle the latest battle?
Finally Carl said, “I’m good with that.”
To which Jack replied, “Fine. Me too.”
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET the following Monday morning, except for the sound of the cuckoo clock in the hall. Kate pulled out a sheet of seafoam green glass and held it over the stained-glass window that was taking shape. Finally deciding where she wanted that particular color, she cut a one-inch strip of it, then began to cut out the smaller pieces. The cutter made a zipping sound as it moved across the glass, leaving a thin line on the surface. Kate moved the freshly cut piece to the side of the table, gave it a snap, and it broke along the line. She held it up to the template and decided it needed another cut to get the angle just right, so she scored it once more and used the pliers to snap it. It crunched off in tiny shards, so Kate moved to the grinder and pressed the glass against the rotating wheel until it was just right. This time it fit perfectly against its neighbor. She set it in its spot on the paper template.
She was almost finished cutting the glass for the good-sized window. It had been a lot of work, but having been home three days last week, she’d been able to accomplish quite a bit on the project. Next came cleaning any grinding dust and shards off the glass and wrapping the edges in copper foil. She reached for the roll of penny-colored tape and fitted it into its dispenser. Then she focused on centering the glass edge on the thin tape and wrapping the tape around each piece. The foil served as the metal to which the solder could attach. It had to be secure, or when it came time for soldering, the tape would pull off with the hot solder.
Kate was bent over her work when the phone rang. When she lifted the handset, she heard Patricia’s frantic voice. She was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Kate asked, her heart in her throat. “Is it Marissa?”
“We got the test results back,” Patricia began. “The chemo didn’t work. All that time, all that praying...and the cancer is still there.”
“I’ll be right over,” Kate said and hung up the phone.
On the drive to the Harrises’, Kate prayed for wisdom and comfort for Patricia. What could she possibly say that would be of any help?
She thought of Patricia’s confession and realized there was still another way. If they found Kara, Marissa would have at least a chance of getting her marrow transplant. After all, siblings were much more likely to match on such tests, especially twins, though she didn’t know if Marissa and Kara were identical.
She pulled into the Harrises’ drive and cut the engine. When she climbed out of the car, Patricia was already standing at the front door. She let Kate in, and the two women embraced. Kate felt Patricia’s thin frame shaking, and she patted her back.
“Where is she?” Kate asked.
“On the couch.” She pointed toward the living room.
Kate moved past the wall of family photos and into the open living room at the back of the house. Sunlight streamed in through the east-facing bank of windows, filling the room with its warmth. Marissa lay sleeping on the plush, floral-print couch as the light played against her pale skin. She looked peaceful there, almost angelic. Kate sat in the wingback chair opposite her, careful to not awaken her, but Marissa’s eyes opened in a flutter, and when she saw Kate, she lifted her head.
“I fell asleep,” she said.
“You must’ve been tired.”
Her gaze glued to her daughter, Patricia settled into the rocker opposite Kate. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“Good, actually.” Marissa sat upright. “The doctor has to be wrong. I haven’t felt this good in ages. Truly. I feel fine, Mom. Don’t look so worried.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Patricia took a deep breath.
“There’s nothing to do,” Marissa said. “We wait for a miracle. Do whatever the doctor tells us to do, and in the meantime, we live our lives.” She reached for her mother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Then she glanced at Kate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m in the mood for a long soak in the hot tub. Do you mind?”
“You go on ahead,” Kate said.
The thin girl rose, kissed her mother on the cheek, and moved down the short hallway off the kitchen.
When she was out of earshot, Kate said, “I think maybe now’s the time to tell her.”
“I can’t!” Patricia said. “She’ll hate me. I couldn’t live with that.”
“Her sister might be her only hope. You can’t not tell her. You’re going to have to risk her not liking you.” Kate knew her words were harsh, but she had to say them. “It could save her life.”
Patricia nodded. “I know that, and that’s part of the reason I called you. I can’t look for Kara and take care of Marissa at the same time...” She sighed. “And I can’t face seeing Kara. After all this time, after giving her away, who knows how she’d react...” Her words trailed away.
“I can look for her,” Kate said. “You’re not in this alone.” She touched Patricia’s arm. “I can talk to her about Marissa and ask if she’ll agree to be tested.”
The look of gratitude in Patricia’s eyes melted Kate. “Even if she doesn’t want to meet us...me,” Patricia said quietly, “I want her to know that’s okay. At least there would be a chance for Marissa.”
Chapter Twelve
Livvy showed up at Kate’s front door just after supper. Kate had seen her come up the walk through the bedroom window. The librarian was armed with a pile of books that looked as though it was about to topple out of her grasp.
“What’s all this?” Kate heard Paul say as he opened the door.
“Books on adoption procedure.” She said, handing the stack to Paul. “That about killed my back!” She stretched. “Where’s Kate?” She glanced around the corner and caught sight of Kate, who was watching in amusement.
“I didn’t know you and Danny were adopting,” Paul teased.
“These are for your wife,” Livvy said with a raised eyebrow.
Paul turned to look at Kate, his mouth slightly agape.
“Honey, how old are we?” Kate said.
Paul shook his head at her, then she kissed him on the cheek and reached for the top half of the stack.
Livvy and Kate retreated to the dining room, where they laid the books out and began their research while Paul watched the news on CNN in the living room.
All the books said essentially the same thing. Couples wishing to adopt prepared a home study, though some called it by other names. Essentially it was a document with photographs that gave the birth mother and the government an inside view of the background and home life of the couple who wished to adopt. When the birth mother decided to make an adopt
ion plan for her child, she was given several of these packets to choose from. Thus, the birth mother chose the adoptive parents for her child.
Patricia had already given them what information she had about this. So Livvy and Kate knew that she had chosen the Family of Hope Adoption Agency out of Chattanooga and that the adoptive family was from a middle-class home. From what Patricia recalled, the mom was a stay-at-home mother, and the dad was a car salesman at one of the larger dealerships in town. But that had been more than twenty-two years before.
Kate flipped through the paperwork Patricia had given her and found the number for the agency that had placed Kara. “Here goes,” she said to Livvy as she picked up the receiver and dialed the number. Livvy watched expectantly.
The phone rang several times, but then a recording picked up: “This number is no longer in service. Please check the num—” Kate hung up.
“Dead end number one,” she said. Next she dialed Information in Chattanooga.
“May I help you?” a voice said on the other end.
“Yes, I’m looking for an adoption agency in Chattanooga. The Family of Hope Adoption Agency.” She told the operator the address listed on the sheet and waited while the woman looked it up.
“I’m sorry but I don’t have a listing for that business in Chattanooga.”
Kate thanked the woman and hung up. “There’s dead end number two,” she said. She drummed a pencil against the tabletop as Livvy paged through another book. “I’m calling my son,” Kate announced.
She dialed Andrew’s home number in Philadelphia. It was a Monday, but he would be home from work by now. It rang three times before a male voice came on the line. “Hello, Hanlons.”
“Oh, Andrew,” Kate said.
“Mom? What’s up?”
He sounded so much like his father, especially over the phone. Kate smiled to herself.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She could hear her grandchildren’s voices in the background. Andrew shushed them, and it became quiet.
“Fine, everything’s fine,” Kate said. “I have a legal question for you.”
“Okay. Fire away.”
“A friend of mine gave a child up for adoption twenty-two years ago, and she wants to find her daughter. Where do we begin?”
“You know I’m a real-estate lawyer, right?” She could hear the teasing in his tone.
“Of course I know you’re a real-estate lawyer, but I figure you know everything.”
He laughed, then his tone sobered. “I’d start with the adoption agency. Do you have that information?”
“They’re out of business, or at least they’ve changed their number and address.”
“Do they have a Web site?”
“I didn’t check.” Her gaze met Livvy’s.
“If not, the Department of Health and Human Services will know what agency to contact to help with the search. The county can give you nonidentifying information—age, nationality, occupation, that kind of thing. But the placing agency would be the place to get the details. I don’t know about Tennessee, but you might need a petition of some kind to open those files. Was it an international adoption or domestic?”
“Domestic.” Kate shifted the phone to her other ear.
“That makes it easier. You don’t have some foreign government to work through, although ours can be plenty tricky too. If you can find out the name of the person who ran the agency, they might be able to help.”
“I do have the name of the woman who ran it.” Kate shuffled through the papers on the table until she found a sheet listing the name of the person in charge at the adoption agency. “Margaret Smee is her name.”
“Talk to her first. She’ll be able to steer you in the right direction at least.”
When she hung up, she turned to Livvy. “Let’s look up”—she read from the sheet again—“Margaret Smee, m’dear.”
“It must be getting late,” Livvy said with a chuckle. “You’re getting punchy.”
Kate looked at her watch. “It’s only seven!”
Livvy lifted Kate’s thick Chattanooga phone book. Only one Smee was listed—an M. Smee.
“It has to be her,” Kate said. She reached for the phone again as Livvy read the number, writing it on a sheet of paper at the same time.
Kate was just about to hang up when a voice answered and said, “This is Margaret.”
“Ms. Smee?” Kate began.
“Call me Miss, if you don’t mind. Never much took to that women’s lib hoo-ha. Who is this?”
“My name is Kate Hanlon—”
“You’re not trying to sell me anything, are you? Because I don’t buy junk off the phone. So if you are, you can just forget—”
“No, ma’am,” Kate assured the woman. “I’m not selling a thing.”
“So, what do you want?”
“I’m looking for the person who used to run the Family of Hope Adoption Agency.”
“I’m the one. Still run it, actually,” she said. Then she started coughing. When the bout passed, she asked, “What do you need to know?”
“I’m trying to find a girl who was given up for adoption in the mideighties through your agency. I don’t know if you still have such information—”
“Of course, I still have it,” Margaret interrupted, “but I’m assuming since you’re calling me that the adoption was closed?”
“Um...yes?” Kate said. “This is kind of an urgent case. You see, the girl that was adopted has a twin who is sick. We need to find her quickly...or her sister might not live.” Kate knew she was begging, but it was the truth.
“Listen, it takes some time to track people down. I don’t have forwarding addresses or that kind of thing.”
“I understand that,” Kate said.
“You’d be surprised how many people don’t. They come thinking I’ve got their long-lost mother in my back room. Well, I don’t. And I can’t open sealed files for you unless you have a court order—that’s how it works. I’m sorry, but I’ll get in trouble if I let any old person look.”
“Can we at least come talk to you?” Kate didn’t know what else to say.
“Can’t keep a person from talking,” Margaret replied.
THE MOUNTAIN ROAD rose steadily in dips and swells. Conifers and deciduous trees towered over them as Kate and Livvy drove to the rural home of Miss Margaret Smee. She had said it was only a few miles southeast of Chattanooga. So far they’d driven twelve miles, and Kate’s cell phone had gone out of range awhile ago. But as far as they could tell, they hadn’t missed the turnoff. She’d told them to watch for a sign that said “Keith—48 miles,” which seemed an odd name for a town. Then they were to turn left at the next dirt road.
“There it is.” Livvy pointed up ahead.
Kate made the turn, and the road rose at a steeper grade. The little Honda complained but kept on. After a few miles, the road seemed to narrow, and the trees towered higher above them. They passed several shacks that looked as if they were about to collapse; their walls leaned in a gentle sway, and what paint had once covered them had now peeled off, revealing gray and weathered boards beneath.
Kate wasn’t sure they’d find the information they needed from Miss Smee, but she was feeling frantic, and the thought of wading through government red tape only increased her sense of urgency. If she could at least find out a few details, some clues. Nothing illegal, but something to help them on their way.
Finally the road took a slight downturn, a sign that they were close to their destination, according to Margaret’s directions, and they saw a dilapidated white house on the left. It peeked from behind a thick growth of pines. Kate turned into the drive as a large yellow Lab and a big black mutt came bounding out from a shed. The animals circled the car as Kate drove, and she slowed to a crawl for fear she would hit them. When she put the car into park, she noticed a dozen or more cats reclining on the covered porch of the house. They were an assortment of colors—some striped, others calico, others
solid-colored. They seemed unconcerned with the dogs that panted in never-ending circles around the Honda. Black-and-white chickens pecked the snow-covered ground inside their coop just off the detached garage. The yellow Lab took off after one that had gotten out of its yard. The chicken flapped its wings and squawked in protest as it ran. Then the dog gave up and returned to Kate and Livvy.
“Do you think it’s safe to get out?” Livvy asked.
“The dogs look harmless enough,” Kate said. “At least they aren’t growling.”
It was then that Margaret Smee came out on the porch. She looked exactly as Kate had envisioned her on the phone. She was quite heavy, nearly as round as she was tall, and her feet pointed out slightly when she walked so she had a bit of a waddle. Her hair was a dirty gray, and short like a man’s. She wore horn-rimmed glasses, and her clothes were so baggy that she had a bit of a potato-sack theme going on. Kate guessed her to be in her late seventies or early eighties.
“Mongrel, Mutt, get away from there,” she shouted at the dogs.
Kate rolled the window down, and Margaret said, “Don’t worry about them. They haven’t bitten anyone lately.”
Kate exchanged a look with Livvy before climbing out of the car and joining the elderly woman on the porch. The dogs followed alongside, panting and nudging Kate and Livvy’s hands with wet noses.
“Thank you so much for allowing us to come,” Kate began.
“Not a problem, not a problem,” Margaret said. She motioned to the dogs to stay, and they did an about-face and returned to their home inside the shed. “I like to help folks reconnect whenever I can... Come on in.”
“Do you still run your adoption agency?” Kate asked as she looked around.
“Yes I do, though there’s a bigger agency in town that’s taken over the lion’s share of the placements. I still have my license, though, and find children for any who come looking. I used to have an office in Chattanooga, but I moved it out here several years ago.”
Margaret led the way into the house that seemed a hodgepodge of additions. They moved past the kitchen and dining rooms, which were piled with dishes and empty food containers. An overweight orange tabby cat wove in and out through the obstacle course on the counters. “Scribble, get down!” Margaret said, though she did nothing to force the cat to comply. He simply gazed at her and turned to lick a bowl that had traces of cereal and milk in its bottom.
