Finally Found

by Lyn Cote

  “Maybe I do.” But I doubt it. Your father wouldn’t welcome me, an Hispanic immigrant, with open arms. Just because I’m a doctor now doesn’t change who I am and who you are. No matter what you say. That point had been driven home to him on more than one occasion in college.

  He pulled up to Mrs. Dorfman’s front door.

  Spring said in a stiff tone, “Don’t get out. I’ll see myself to the door. You said you have an early morning.”

  She sounded muy enojado, very upset. Why? “Spring, I—”

  With a wave to Marco, Spring walked to the door and into the house. The man was impossible! Dense! This plan would never work! One of her high heels pinched her toes, but she didn’t slow. She closed the door behind her.

  The house was only dimly lit, but this didn’t fool her. She stifled her frustration. She couldn’t dash Matilde’s and Aunty’s hopes. “Aunt Geneva?”

  “We’re in your aunt’s room,” Matilde called out. “Come. We’ve been waiting!”

  Spring walked down the hallway toward the light. The sound from the TV suddenly cut off.

  Matilde in a bright turquoise robe met her at the door. “Where did he take you?”

  Exhausted from an evening of trying to be different, more desirable than usual, Spring walked past Matilde over to the chair beside Aunty’s chaise longue. She collapsed onto it.

  Aunty sat up. Her housekeeper hurried after her and perched on the end of the chaise.

  Shrugging out of her jacket, Spring sighed. “He took me to a Greek restaurant near the hospital.”

  “Not to the country club?” Aunty raised her eyebrows.

  “Not to the Riviera Restaurant on the Boulevard?” Matilde complained, crestfallen.

  “I don’t think he considered it a real date, so he just took me to a restaurant he was used to.”

  Matilde grimaced and shook her head. “The man is loco. A beautiful señorita like you, he takes to a plain restaurant!”

  Aunty studied her intensely. “Do you think you made any progress with him?”

  Spring sighed and slipped off the heels. “He’s going to be a hard nut to crack. But I think I’ve got him thinking.”

  “Thinking? About what?” Matilde demanded.

  “About there being more to life than work.”

  “Well—” Aunty drew in a long breath “—that’s a start.”

  “I’ll pray tonight for you, querida.” Rising, Matilde patted Spring’s cheek. “Marco isn’t stupid, but you have much to teach him.”

  Spring nodded. When Matilde closed the door behind her, Spring looked to her great-aunt. “Are you too tired to talk?”

  “What is it?”

  Spring leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes for a moment, drained but keyed up. “I don’t have the energy to pose this gracefully. I’ve been trying to ask you a very important question since I arrived here over a week ago. The right time never seems to come—”

  “What is it?”

  “Was your childhood friend, Connie Wilson, my mother’s biological parent?”

  Chapter Five

  Aunt Geneva stared at Spring, openmouthed.

  Her heart suddenly thudding, Spring waited for several moments, then she prompted, “Aunty, will you tell me?”

  “What…why?” Aunty shook her head. “How?”

  “My sisters and I are afraid that Mother might come out of remission—”

  “But she’s been fine! Why are you worrying?”

  “She is now, but she’s still tested every three months. Remission isn’t the same as cured. Recurrence is always possible.”

  Aunty looked shocked, unhappy.

  Spring reached for her aunt’s hand. “We want to be prepared. Not one of us girls was a bone marrow match.”

  “I was tested, too.” Aunty squeezed Spring’s hand but looked down.

  “Mother didn’t tell us that you were tested.”

  “Of course I was.”

  Spring leaned closer. “And you didn’t match, either?”

  Her aunt shook her head as though in pain. “We’re not blood relatives, after all. There was only the slimmest possibility of a match.”

  “Then, you know how helpless we felt.” Releasing her aunt, Spring leaned back, feeling her own deep weariness. “We just can’t let it drop. If at all possible, we want to locate Mother’s natural parents—”

  “No!”

  “Why are you so adamant?” Spring observed her aunt closely for her reaction. “Why won’t you tell me about Connie Wilson?”

  Her aunt seemed stricken. “Who is Connie Wilson? Who gave you that name?”

  “You did.”

  Aunty’s mouth fell open again. “I never did.”

  Pursing her lips, Spring nodded. “You did. You showed me a photograph of you and grandmother and a friend—”

  “When?” Aunty snapped. “I don’t remember that.”

  Spring went on gently, “I remembered your friend’s name, Connie Wilson.”

  “It’s a very common name. I might have had a friend with that name.” Aunty stared at her hands.

  “But you acted very upset that you’d showed it to me. I couldn’t figure out at the time why you were so quick to regret that I saw that photograph of the three of you.”

  “I don’t remember it at all. Besides, who told you a Connie Wilson was Ethel’s mother?”

  “Your sister—my grandmother—told Father on her deathbed.”

  Aunty frowned and looked as though she was struggling against tears. “It’s not what you think—and you’re asking me about events that happened over fifty years ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long ago Mother was born and adopted. My sisters and I have decided we must find her natural parents.”

  “I can’t believe that Ethel has agreed to this—”

  “She hasn’t.” Spring rested her head back against the chair.

  “You’re going against her wishes, behind her back?” Aunty turned pink with agitation.

  Spring nodded. “My sisters and I can’t stand the thought that she might need a donor and might die because none can be found in time.”

  “But even if you located— They might not agree to be tested.”

  “That’s right, but at least we’ll have done all we can do to help Mother. We won’t contact them, just locate them. We’d be ready if her remission ends. Now will you tell me about Connie Wilson?”

  Aunt Geneva shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. You know how much I love your mother. I only had one sister. We were both childless, and she only adopted one child, your mother. There’s much about this you don’t know—and you’re asking me to break a promise I made to my sister fifty years ago. I can’t do so without a lot of thought and prayer.”

  “That’s what Father said when we asked him for help, but surely you can understand how difficult this is for my sisters and me.”

  Spring waited, silently praying for God’s will.

  Aunty moved her hands in a nervous gesture, then touched her temple as though it pained her. “I’m very tired—”

  Accepting this dismissal, Spring rose, kissed her aunt’s lined cheek and paused. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  With a wan smile, Aunty patted her face. “I love you, too, my dear. Now go to bed. It’s been a long day and night.”

  Spring nodded, and dragged her tired body down the hall to her room. She undressed beside her bed, then donned her pink pajamas and slipped between the crisp sheets. The word exhaustion didn’t come close to describing how tired she felt. Her body and mind ached with fatigue. She hated the shock she’d just given her dear aunt. Lord, bless her, my family. Bless Marco and help me know what I’m to do about Mother and about loving him.

  As soon as Spring was fully awake the next morning, she dialed her bedside phone. When the ringing stopped and a familiar voice answered, she said impetuously, “Hannah, I’m so glad I got you! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t picked up.”

 
“Spring, you sound upset.”

  “I am. Last night I asked Aunt Geneva about Connie Wilson—”

  “What did she say?” Hannah’s voice was eager.

  “She bluffed her way through it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I dropped the name Connie Wilson on her, and she tried to deny any knowledge without—”

  “—actually denying it,” Hannah finished. “What are your plans?”

  “I’ll wait her out. Keep praying.”

  “I will.”

  Spring needed help on another front: handling Doree. “And do me a favor. You remember how it feels to be on the front line—”

  “I do. Don’t worry. I’ll relay this to Doree.”

  “And—”

  “And I’ll threaten her with dismemberment if she calls to bother you!”

  Spring sighed. “I love you, sweet sister.”

  “Ditto.”

  “How’s Guthrie?”

  “I love him so much, my teeth ache!”

  Spring laughed out loud and said goodbye. Lucky Hannah! She’d found her true love on a church roof.

  Wearing a white dress with a V neck and puffed sleeves, Paloma sat in the wicker chair in Aunt Geneva’s garden. Spring picked up her pastels and began to sketch Paloma’s face and form.

  “Your choice of dress is excellent,” Spring murmured.

  “I bought it for her.” Matilde sat beside Aunt Geneva and behind Spring. Paloma had spent most of this Saturday helping Matilde clean cupboards in the kitchen and pantry. “I want this portrait to be a surprise for Santos and Anita.”

  “I’ll do my very best,” Spring promised. “I hope your parents will be pleased.”

  Paloma scowled. “Nothing pleases my father.”

  “Querida,” Matilde soothed, “he just wants what’s best for your future.”

  “I got a B-on a math test, and he acts like it’s the end of the world! I’m grounded for a whole week!”

  That did seem a bit strong. On the paper, Spring outlined Paloma’s shoulders and began carefully sketching in her arms. “The week will be over before you know it,” Spring said encouragingly.

  Matilde nodded. “You will do better on the next test, and everything will be fine.”

  Spring smiled at Paloma. “I need you to relax. I know this can be tiring, but you’ll do fine.”

  The young girl relaxed her shoulders and lifted a subdued but smiling face to Spring.

  “Perhaps your brother could talk to your father?” Aunt Geneva suggested.

  “My half-brother never talks to my father. My father talks, but Marco never says anything but sí, no, gracias and de nada.”

  “Marco will come around someday,” Matilde predicted placidly.

  Marco is definitely a stubborn man, Spring agreed silently. I wonder why he won’t talk to his stepfather?

  Three days later, Marco looked as if he were close to being in a coma. On the Golden Sands veranda, the garden show committee was in the midst of its third meeting. Spring tried to look interested, or at least awake. How could she be so bored, yet keyed up at the same time?

  Aunty asked, “Well, what is your decision?”

  “I don’t know,” Eleanor exclaimed. “What do you think, Verna Rae?”

  Spring couldn’t even remember what they were trying to decide. Too many other thoughts kept popping up and distracting her.

  Aunty had turned down another retirement home yesterday—the fourth one. Doesn’t Aunty want to move? Did she ask me down to help her or was it just a ruse to get me here for longer than one week? Does she need me more now that she is approaching ninety? The thought wasn’t a new one. She’d always known she’d move back when Aunty needed her. Had that time—?

  “Maybe we should ask our male colleague?” Verna Rae drawled. “What do you think, Doctor? Should we take out an ad in the Suncoaster?”

  Marco’s eyes had glazed over. “What?”

  Spring couldn’t help him now. She’d offered him a way out, but evidently he preferred sitting here through another interminable meeting to trying the alternative. This fact did nothing for her ego. She had to be rock bottom on his list.

  Discouraged, she slouched against the back of her chair. Had he counted on his phone rescuing him this time, too?

  Trying to ignore Marco was maddening. Because of temperatures in the humid eighties, he’d shed his suit jacket and tie. Didn’t the man own anything but suits? His white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, revealed a V of strong, tanned neck. The breeze sent tantalizing hints of his lime scent. How could he snare her notice without even trying—especially when she’d tried to catch his and failed miserably?

  Spring realized her low spirits had come from so many things, including her mother’s illness and her aunt’s refusal to tell her about Connie Wilson. But how could she not take Marco’s attendance at the garden show meeting as a sign that he’d rather do anything than spend time with her? This reflection lodged in her throat like a rock.

  All three of the ladies gazed at Marco.

  He stared back at them.

  He doesn’t have a clue. Spring bridled.

  “Why don’t we take a vote?” he suggested.

  Spring wanted to unmask his inattention and ask, On what, Marco? But she shouldn’t embarrass him—even if he did find her unappealing.

  The vote on buying the ad in the Suncoaster passed with unanimous approval, after Marco hesitantly raised his hand to make it so. And the meeting rumbled to an end.

  As they all rose to depart, Marco cleared his throat. “Ladies, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to resign from the committee.”

  Spring held her breath. He’d refused her suggestions. What excuse would he give?

  “I’m going to take Spring up on her offer to teach me how to play golf. I’ve been invited to participate in a March golf tournament, a fund-raiser for our hospital, and I need to prepare for it.”

  The three ladies beamed at him. Spring felt her lips part in surprise. She was just an amateur golfer herself! Still, a thrill shuddered through her. She tried to ignore it, but a smile lit her face and sparked a rosy glow deep inside her.

  “Are you sure you haven’t played golf before?” A few days later, Spring stood beside Marco at the club’s driving range under a brilliant blue sky. She had dressed with care in white shorts and a blue, cotton-knit top. She had some concern about her appearance today, since Matilde had contributed her bit to Spring’s new look. Saying Spring needed to do something more with her hair, Matilde had swept up one side of it with a tortoise-shell clip. A sheaf of blond hair rose over her ear and cascaded temptingly to her shoulder—at least, that’s what Aunty had said. “You were a groundskeeper. You must know some golf.”

  “I know which club to use for which kind of shot. I know how to score. I know some other odds and ends.”

  His lack of enthusiasm could have been cut with a knife. Spring found this admission fit the peculiar attitude he had about himself and his relation to the country club that he’d revealed on their “date.”

  “But you never played?”

  “I never had a set of clubs.” He shrugged, looking away.

  So he hadn’t had clubs. And had he wanted to play, but feared jeering from the caddies?

  Spring gazed at the green lawn in front of them. “Well, you do now—”

  “Your aunt didn’t need to give me her late husband’s gear.”

  Spring swung her hair back over her shoulder. “It was just gathering dust. He was about your height, so we can use them to get started. You’re just borrowing them until you have time to purchase your own—”

  “I don’t know that I intend to take this up—”

  “My point exactly,” she cut in. “Now, do you know how to take a proper stance when you address the ball?”

  He said in a grim voice, “I know I have to stand in line with the hole and at right angles to the ball.”

  She ignored his tone and fidgeted with the gold locket on
her neck. When she realized what she was doing, she dropped her nervous hand to her side. “Good. Set your tee and let’s see your stance.” She stepped back. You specified golf lessons and you’re going to get golf lessons!

  Without comment, Marco bent to set his tee and ball. He selected the one wood from the bag and took his place beside the tee.

  Spring eyed him critically, trying to ignore how handsome he looked in navy slacks and crisp white shirt with his cuffs rolled back—though it was not really golf garb. “Stand straight with your shoulders back, head up and arms at your sides.”

  Marco obeyed.

  Her insides stuttered like a damaged CD, but she went on in a calm voice. “Keeping your back and legs straight, push your bottom out, bring your head over the ball.”

  Marco grunted but followed her instructions.

  “Relax your knees.” Giving Marco, a man who emanated intelligence and competence, simple directions struck Spring’s funny bone. She suppressed a grin.

  “Okay, what next?”

  Spring had heard men sound happier when getting a parking ticket, but she said calmly, “Let your arms swing freely.”

  As instructed, he swung his arms—and grumbled more.

  “You are now in address position. Now here’s your club.” She glimpsed an older man who stood a few feet away, watching them. Amusement lit his face. No doubt triggered by a woman trying to teach a man how to play golf.

  Spring tried not to make eye contact with the stranger. She wasn’t in the mood for any humorous comments about her teaching Marco. And this man looked like the kind of duffer who had a store of jokes he wished to share. Normally she’d indulge him, but Marco presented enough of a challenge to her patience already.

  “Now let’s see your grip.” Spring motioned toward Marco.

  He took the club and placed his hands around it, just so.

  To view the grip from all angles, she bent and nudged his wrist slightly. She caught herself just before she slid her hand up the taut, smooth sinew of his arm. She turned her head and bumped noses with him. “Sorry.” She blushed.