by Irene Hannon
Doug loped across her lawn. "You have quite a handful there. Can I help with anything?"
"No thanks"
"At least let me get the door."
Before she could protest, he pulled it open. Too bad she hadn't loaded up in the garage instead of pulling out first. But with full arms, it was easier to maneuver in the driveway than in a confined space.
"She sure is a cutie." Doug leaned down and smiled at Bridget, who observed him, finger in mouth, from her car seat.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Montesi?" Rebecca leaned past Bridget to set the plate of food on the seat.
"I thought I'd stop by and see if there was any news. We haven't run any updates on the case for a while, and all I get from the FBI is the standard line:"
"I don't have anything to add, either" Rebecca reached under her arm for the reading material she was taking to her mother. As she pulled the magazines out, a single sheet fluttered to the ground.
Doug stooped to pick it up, and Rebecca bent over to dump the magazines on the floor of the back seat. Bridget grabbed her hair, giggling as Rebecca tried to extricate herself.
"I think I'm going to have to call the tickle monster," Rebecca teased, rubbing noses with Bridget as she tickled her tummy. The flaxen-haired toddler chortled, releasing her.
Smiling, Rebecca swung around to find Doug staring at the printout of the Raggedy Ann doll the FBI had given her this morning. Her smile vanished and she snatched the photo from his hands, slammed Bridget's door, and backed toward the driver's seat.
"That's the doll Megan had when she was abducted, isn't it, Mrs. O'Neil?"
"No comment." She groped for the door handle behind her.
"But you mentioned it in a press conference, remember?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, his stance casual, his eyes probing. "It's public knowledge. The doll is awfully dirty, though. I'm surprised you let an infant play with it"
"It wasn't dirty before ..." Her voice trailed off.
"So the FBI found the doll:"
Rebecca opened the door and slid behind the wheel without responding. She'd said too much already. But the picture alone would probably have tipped off the reporter. The journalist might have a friendly, aw-shucks demeanor, but you didn't get to be the lead crime reporter on a paper like the Tribune without a lot of smarts. Plus some sense of integrity.
And as she shut the door, put the car in gear, and backed out of the driveway, she prayed he would use both when dealing with this new information.
At the chime of the doorbell, Jeannette's heart began to thump. She'd prayed for fortitude to get her through the coming ordeal, and she hoped the Lord had been listening.
Pulling open the front door, she held out her arms for Bridget as a distracted Rebecca handed her over.
"I have some magazines and food in the car. Can you take off her snowsuit?" Without waiting for a reply, Rebecca headed back to her car at a jog.
Five minutes later, after boots had been removed, coats hung, and food stowed in the fridge, Rebecca pulled out her cell phone. "Do you mind if I make a quick call before we visit, Mom? A reporter cornered me at home, and I want to let Agent Carson know about it"
"Was there a problem?"
"No. But he saw this" She pulled the photo of the Raggedy Ann doll out of the stack of magazines and handed it to Jeannette. "I'm assuming he figured out that it's turned up"
Jeannette studied the image. It was Megan's doll, no question about it. She'd put the original patch on that face three decades ago. It had been replaced several times through the years, and new ones had been added on the arms and legs, but the large one above the right eye had been the first.
The condition of the doll alarmed her, however. And con vinced her she'd made the right decision. She wanted her grandbaby back safe and sound-not torn and tattered, like this doll. Putting credence in Rachel Sutton's vibes might be a long shot, but she couldn't ignore any lead, no matter how improbable.
"Don't hurry, honey. I'll put Bridget down for her nap so we can visit"
Ten minutes later, after Bridget had dozed off in the portable crib in the spare bedroom, Jeannette found Rebecca in the kitchen. Her daughter was staring out the window at the frozen, lifeless backyard, the weary droop of her shoulders a silent testimony to the toll these past few weeks had taken on her usual upbeat spirit.
Jeannette set a dusty shoe box on the kitchen table and wiped her fingers on her slacks, leaving smudges on the dark fabric.
Turning, Rebecca eyed the yellowed cardboard container. "What's that?"
"A long story. How about some hot chocolate?" That had always been Rebecca's comfort drink. Whenever she'd faced a crisis-being snubbed by a friend, losing out on a part in the school play, missing the senior prom because of a flu bugJeannette had offered hot chocolate and a shoulder to cry on. In the past, the home remedy had worked as a soothing balm.
She hoped it still did.
"That would be nice, Mom. Thanks. Do you want me to make it?"
"No. I could do it in my sleep. Sit down and relax:"
As if that were possible for any of them.
"Did you have trouble putting Bridget down?" Rebecca took the spot she'd occupied since the day she'd sat at this table in her high chair.
Jeannette measured instant cocoa powder and filled two mugs with milk.
"No. I sang her a couple of songs and she went right to sleep"
"That worked on me too, as I recall. You had a way of making me feel safe and secure. You were always my protector" Rebecca blinked and looked down at the table. "I didn't do a very good job following in your footsteps, did l?"
"Don't ever think that:" Jeannette's tone was fierce as she moved beside Rebecca and put an arm around her shoulders. "You're a wonderful mother. What happened wasn't your fault."
"I shouldn't have left Megan alone"
"You only went to the bathroom. You couldn't have known someone was hiding in an empty church:"
"I should have been more careful:"
"Look at me, Rebecca." Jeannette waited until her daughter lifted her chin. For the first time she saw a crack in the strong, determined face Rebecca had maintained since the kidnapping, and her throat tightened. "You did nothing wrong. There was no reason for you to think you were a target. Whoever did this planned it well."
"It doesn't matter. I should have taken Megan with me" Rebecca pushed her fingers through her hair, distress pinching her features.
The microwave pinged, and Jeannette removed the mugs of hot chocolate. She put one in front of Rebecca and settled into her place with the other. Pulling the yellowed box toward her, Jeannette prayed for courage. "Mothers always have some regrets, Rebecca. It goes with the territory, I suppose. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as the old saying reminds us" She traced a design in the dust on the box. A heart appeared as she completed the second curve.
"You shouldn't have any. You were-and are-a wonderful mother"
"I hope you still feel that way when you leave here today." A tremor shook Jeannette's voice.
Frowning, Rebecca covered Jeannette's hand with her own. "Of course I will. Why would you worry about that?"
"Because of what's in here:" Jeannette rested her fingers lightly on the box.
Rebecca gave the box a look that was both curious and dismissive. "I already know what's in your heart. Whatever is in that box won't change how I feel about you."
As she lifted the lid, Jeannette prayed that was true. Sifting through the meager contents, she withdrew a photo and placed it face down on the table in front of her. "I've had this box for thirty-five years, Rebecca. For a long time, I told myself that I was keeping the secret for your sake. That I wanted you to have a secure childhood unencumbered by uncertainties or angst.
"But as the years went by and you grew into a confident, grounded young woman, that excuse didn't hold up anymore. Your father thought it was a mistake to keep it from you, but I held back. For selfish reasons. I was afraid if you knew the truth, you'd stop loving me
. And I couldn't risk that. You meant the world to me, and I was terrified of losing you"
Jeannette turned the photo over and examined it. "After all these years, I thought the secret was safe. That it wasn't important for you to know. You have your own family now, and the past seemed of little consequence. Then the Raggedy Ann doll led to Rachel Sutton. I can't begin to imagine the odds against that happening by chance. I have to believe it's a sign your paths were meant to cross. That you're supposed to know each other"
Sliding the photo toward her daughter, Jeannette folded her hands into a white-knuckled knot on the table as her heart lurched into a staccato rhythm. "Rachel Sutton is on the right"
For several long seconds, Rebecca kept her gaze on her mother's drawn face, fighting the fear sluicing through her. She didn't want to look at the five-by-seven photo on the table in front of her. Some instinct told her it would turn her world upside down. And she'd had enough tumult in the past few weeks to last a lifetime. Two lifetimes.
Yet the fact that her mother had a photo of the woman who'd found Megan's doll and had gone to the FBI with her bizarre story couldn't be mere coincidence, as her mother had noted. She had to face what was in this picture. Whatever the consequences.
Without touching it, Rebecca looked at the photo. The first thing she noticed was the brand-new Raggedy Ann doll. A seated toddler, with curly copper hair and a quarter-sized birthmark on her right temple, was clutching it.
She moved on to the rest of the picture. In the center, a young woman with long auburn hair parted in the middle smiled at the camera. A filigree gold cross hung around her neck. She had one arm around the child holding the doll-and the other around the child's mirror image on her other side.
Identical twins.
Except for the birthmark, it was impossible to tell the two little girls apart.
But everyone in the photo was a stranger to Rebecca.
Puzzled, she looked back at her mother. "I don't understand. How do you know these people?"
"That's your Raggedy Ann doll, Rebecca"
She examined the photo again. "But ... I don't have a birthmark"
"No. But your sister did"
The world tilted. She had a sister? Rachel Sutton, the woman who'd found the doll, was her sister?
But that would mean ... the woman in the photo must be...
"That's your birth mother, Rebecca. Your dad and I adopted you a month after that photo was taken"
Shock rippled through Rebecca. "That ... can't be. I've seen my birth certificate"
"When a child is adopted, the birth certificate is amended by court order so it bears the surname of the adoptive parents. The original certificate is sealed by the court"
Jeannette leaned over and took Rebecca's cold hand in hers. "I'm sorry, honey. I should have told you long ago. But in the beginning, I didn't want you to have to wonder who you were or if you were loved. Your dad and I couldn't have loved you more if we'd been your birth parents. Later, I was afraid if you knew, you wouldn't think of me as your mother anymore. My ego couldn't handle the competition. I'm so sorry, honey."
A barrage of questions clamored for answers as Rebecca tried to process her mother's bombshell. "What was my birth mother's name?"
"Michelle Sutton:"
"Who was my father?"
"He wasn't listed on the birth certificate:"
"Is Rebecca my original name?"
"Yes"
"What happened to her. To ... Michelle" Rebecca stared at the young woman in the photo, feeling numb.
"She was killed in a car accident when you were nine months old. We learned that she was an unwed mother who had been disowned by her family. There was no one to take you after she died. Your dad and I had been on a wait list for years for an infant adoption. We wanted a newborn, but the agency called us about you, and after one look we knew you were meant to be our daughter."
"Why didn't you take Rachel too?"
"She was hurt very badly in the accident, Rebecca. Your dad and I were older, and we didn't think we could cope with two toddlers, one of whom would need ongoing medical care-if she survived. Her side of the car took the brunt of the impact. You suffered only minor injuries"
"But ... if she's my identical twin, why don't we look alike? The agent from St. Louis would have noticed if there was a strong resemblance:"
"She had major facial injuries that required reconstructive surgery. I assume that could dramatically alter a person's appearance."
Rebecca touched the photo. `And this is Megan's Raggedy Ann doll:'
"Yes"
"Yet Rachel is holding it in the picture. How did I end up with it?"
"It was found in the car after the accident. It must have flown out of Rachel's hands at the time of impact. We didn't know who it belonged to, so the authorities gave it to me. I didn't discover until the pictures were forwarded to us that it belonged to your sister. But you never let it out of your sight. Perhaps it reminded you of her."
"So I have an identical twin:" Rebecca spoke the words, hoping that if she gave voice to them the reality would sink in.
"Yes. And identical twins are linked in ways science is still trying to understand. For example, you suffered from headaches when you were young, and the doctor could never find a physiological reason for them. I often wondered if it had something to do with your sister's facial injuries:"
"Do you think this ... link ... is why Rachel has had a feeling of uneasiness since Megan was taken?"
"I think there could be a connection" Jeannette slid the box toward Rebecca. "This is everything the agency sent to me. Your mother had very little worth keeping. I selected one photo of your mother for Rachel, and gave her the cross in that picture as well. With all of the medical problems she faced, I thought she needed the hope it represented. There's not much in here ... mostly photos, a few personal items, a couple of pieces of costume jewelry."
Rebecca sifted through the items, dazed.
"Are you okay, honey?" Jeannette placed a tentative hand on her arm.
"I don't know"
"Please don't hold this against me:" Jeannette's voice broke. "I've always wanted what's best for you. I'm so sorry I let my own insecurity stop me from sharing information you had a right to know"
"It's okay, Mom:" Rebecca squeezed her hand, not certain that was true, yet feeling compelled to offer a reassurance to the only mother she'd ever known. A woman who had earned the title in every way. "I just ... need to think this through. And I want to meet my sister"
"I understand that. Why don't you ask the FBI agent from St. Louis to set that up for you? And maybe if you see her, she'll have other feelings that could help the authorities locate Megan"
"Do you think that's possible?" The fading ember of hope in Rebecca's heart flared.
"I don't know what to think. But I wouldn't want to leave one stone unturned."
"I agree. I'll give the agent a call:" Rebecca wrapped her hands around the mug of hot chocolate, trapping in her palms the residual warmth that remained in the cooling beverage. "You know, I've been praying for a reunion. But I expected it to be with a daughter, not a sister"
"Perhaps it will be with both."
"I think it will. I'm more convinced than ever that Megan is safe, and that I'll hold her in my arms again soon. I don't think God brought Rachel back into my life as a substitute, but as a bonus"
"Hang on to that hope, honey." A tear spilled out of Jeannette's eye, and she wiped it away with shaky fingers. "Now call that FBI man and go meet your sister"
Nick's phone was ringing as he strode into his office late Tuesday afternoon after spending three hours on the tarmac at O'Hare thanks to an ice storm. For once he hadn't minded the delay. He'd been too busy sorting through theories that might explain the uncanny resemblance shared by Rachel, Rebecca, and Rachel's mother. The most prominent one was that the three women were related in some way. And he was determined to figure out how.
But the mystery was cleared up withou
t any further effort on his part when he picked up the phone, gave his standard greeting, and found Rebecca O'Neil on the other end. As he listened to her story, he felt relief rather than surprise. His instincts were usually sound, but he'd been starting to think he was off base on his hunches in this case. Instead, he'd been right on the money.
Rebecca concluded with a request. "Since you've already had dealings with Rachel, I wondered if you'd be comfortable breaking the news to her and seeing if she'd be willing to get together with me. I can drive down as early as tomorrow if that works with her schedule. I'm anxious to meet her and to thank her for following up on those vibes she felt about the doll:"
"I'll be happy to arrange it. May I call you later tonight?"
"That would be fine. Thank you"
As Nick hung up, Mark stuck his head in the door to the cube. "How was the trip to Chicago?"
Nick turned toward him. "Eventful:"
"Yeah? How so?" Mark stifled a yawn and leaned against the doorway.
"Rebecca O'Neil and Rachel Sutton are identical twins"
"What!" Mark straightened up, his posture morphing from relaxed to rapt in a heartbeat.
"Amazing, isn't it? I knew Rebecca's photo in the file last night looked familiar. And when I met her this morning, she shared some of Rachel's gestures. That's when I realized she bore a striking resemblance to a photo Rachel has of her mother."
A frown creased Mark's brow. "But I've seen pictures of Rebecca O'Neil. And I've met Rachel. They don't look alike. How can they be identical twins?"
"According to Rebecca, Rachel was badly injured in the accident that killed their mother. Surgery could have altered her appearance. Rachel may be able to fill in those blanks."
"I wonder if their relationship also explains the vibes she's been getting?"
"That's my guess. Do you think Emily could shed any light on the situation?"
"Let's ring her and find out. The conference room is free. Want to duck in there?"
"Yeah. Give me a minute, though. I just walked in the door and I need to check messages"
