"Tonight I stand in the presence of a living, breathing miracle. I could not be happier for you both." He raised his glass. "To miracles.""
"To miracles," they all toasted.
June pointed to the sketches of Rose on the wall. "Who is this?" she asked.
Grace felt a rush of warmth at the memory of Rose. "She was my foster mother. But more than that, she was like a mother to me. I drew these shortly before she passed away."
June smiled tenderly. "I'm sorry, Grace. I'm sure that was very difficult for you."
Grace nodded and June continued perusing the drawings. She stopped suddenly and reached toward one of the drawings. "Is this...me?"
"Yes." Grace waved her hand over a series of sketches. "They all are. Every time you appeared in one of my dreams, I did a sketch from memory. You were a different person in every dream, but your face was always the same, and so was your name. That's how I became convinced that you were my mother."
"I remember from the book," June said. "I've been thinking about it, how it might have been possible. And you know, after I lost you, I did quite a bit of volunteer work with a few of the orphanages in the greater Los Angeles area, including St. Francis."
June's face grew pale. She sat down on Grace's old trunk with a thud. "Oh God, I might've held my own daughter and not even known it."
Grace sat down beside her. "My God. Maybe Carolyn was right." She turned to June. "She was my therapist. She suggested that maybe yours was a face I had seen before, someone warm and kind who got buried in my subconscious."
She studied her mother. "Do you remember me at all from that time?" She wanted her mother to say yes, that she remembered her, that she'd stood out from all of the other children. That she'd felt their connection.
But she knew it was unfair to even ask. "I'm sorry, Mom, you don't have to answer that."
June sighed. "Oh, Grace. I looked at every single child your age and imagined that they were mine. Truth be told, I've done it ever since. But I had your death certificate to remind me that my child was gone."
"Well, there was obviously some powerful connection between the two of you in order for Grace to dream about you. She must have sensed it." Antonio grinned. "It''s a good thing her handsome husband convinced her to write a book about it, isn't it?"
Grace gave him a kiss. "It is indeed, my love."
They finished touring the loft and settled into the living room. June had brought some family photo albums, and she pulled them out. They munched on the tapas Antonio had made, and June showed them pictures of her mother and father, and her grandfather.
She told Grace more about her grandfather, how they'd had date night every Friday for years. "Even after I moved to New York, we would go see the same movie and eat the same foods, and then call each other and review the film. I''m so sorry you never got to know him. You would've loved him."
June showed her pictures of Bernie and told her how special Bernie had been to her, and still was. And then she showed Grace the photos of her and Will, taken the summer that Grace was conceived.
Grace looked carefully at the photos of her parents. "It's easy to see how in love you were."
Grace showed her mother the meager photo album from her own childhood, and June told her she wanted copies of all the pictures. June pointed to one photo in particular. In it, Grace was wearing a beautiful white dress and shiny new shoes, but she looked like she was about to cry.
"That was the day I did my first communion. I'd done my first confession the week before and screwed it up royally, and I was determined to get this day right. I was terrified, as you can see."
"So, you were a perfectionist, even back then, huh?" Antonio said, and they all laughed.
Over dinner, Grace finally found the courage to bring up the question that had been haunting her throughout their conversation. "Mom, I was thinking about what we talked about last night. The part about who is responsible for taking me away from you?"
June nodded. "Me too, but I just can't imagine who would want to do that to me."
"It really comes down to motive and opportunity," Antonio said. "From what Grace says, it doesn't sound like anyone in your family would have the motive, and they certainly didn't have the opportunity."
"Right, so that leaves the doctor, or someone else at the hospital," Grace said. "Or the nurse who was at the house during the delivery. What was her name?""
June stared blankly across the table. "I don't remember. She was new. I'd only met her a couple times at the office before that day. Dr. McIntyre''s first name is Emmett, though."
"Sounds like a good place to start," Grace said.
"You're going to talk to Dr. McIntyre?" June asked.
Grace looked at Antonio and he smiled. Then she turned to her mother. "Try and stop me. I'll go next week."
June put her fork down and groaned. "Antonio, that was absolutely wonderful. Your skirt steak is the best I've ever had."
"Thank you, June. The rice was supposed to have peas in it, but your daughter picked out every single one. She's convinced she inherited that from you, and that you also think peas are vile and disgusting." He gave his wife a satisfied look. They both stared at June.
June laughed. "I used to hide them in my milk so my mother would think I ate them. I think she knew my trick, but she let me get away with it anyway."
Grace gave him a victorious smile. After dinner, Antonio put the cake and the cannoli on the dining room table and made some coffee. Grace excused herself and came out with the painting she'd made for her mother, draped loosely in a sheet.
"For me?" June asked.
"Yes, I couldn't sleep last night so I went into my studio. I painted all night and I was able to finish it this afternoon. I hope you like it."
June removed the sheet and drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, Grace, it's exquisite!" She pulled her daughter into her arms and held her close. ""I love you, my darling."
"I love you too, Mom. I can't believe how good it feels to say that."
Antonio came and put his arms around both of them. "You two are going to make me cry. Welcome to the family, June."
"Thank you, Antonio, and I promise to try not to be one of those annoying mothers-in-law, although I do want to spend as much time with my daughter as possible."
"You're welcome here any time." He gave her a hug before letting the women say goodnight to each other.
When Grace crawled into bed that night, she curled into his arms, and he told her how happy he was that she and her mother had found each other.
"Um hmm," she murmured before falling fast asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Grace made arrangements to fly to Los Angeles the following Wednesday. She planned to use her time until then doing a little background work, starting with Dr. Emmett McIntyre. She was pleasantly surprised to find quite a few articles about him.
She spent hours on Sunday night reading everything she could find on him. The good news was that he was still alive. The bad news was that he'd had a stroke a few years before, and she didn't know how bad it'd been. In all the articles she found, she could not dig up any dirt on him. There were the typical malpractice suits that all doctors, especially obstetricians, experienced but no sinister patterns, and they all seemed to have made routine settlements. So why would he have stolen the child of one of his famous clients? It made no sense.
Then she decided to research her grandfather, Edward Crandall. She found pages of photos and articles about him, and by the time she'd finished reading them, she felt like she knew him. At least the public persona.
Edward had been a successful Hollywood producer and was once considered Hollywood's most eligible bachelor. He'd received three Academy Award nominations, including one for a foreign film he'd worked on with Prince Lorenzo Borgese, father of Elena Borgese. The irony struck her. Her grandmother was an Italian princess! Vinni will die when he finds out. He was right all along!
Edward had been a legend in Hollywood, but his sexual
prowess had been even more legendary. There were pictures of him with countless women on his arms. And then she found a photo of Edward and Elena on their wedding day, and she could see the love in his eyes. She knew then that her mother's memories of her fairytale childhood were probably true. She read several articles that talked about Edward's transformation and his devotion to his new bride. She even found a picture of the couple with their newborn daughter, June, born nine months after their marriage.
She studied the pictures of Edward. In his younger days, he had a full head of wavy black hair that swept across his forehead and prominent eyebrows. Ruggedly handsome, with a dignified touch of gray along his temples and his mustache. She wasn't able to find any photos taken in the past twenty years or so, but she imagined him with the same full head of hair, more gray now, and still handsome. Her mother bore some resemblance to him, but she definitely favored her mother.
She looked forward to meeting her grandfather, but the meeting would have to wait until she returned from her trip. She needed to find the person responsible for separating her from her mother so they could all put the past to rest and move forward and enjoy being a family.
A family. Just saying the words out loud brought a fresh wave of tears. She pushed them back, determined to stay focused on her goal. Once her mission was accomplished--once she understood who was responsible for the life she'd led and why--she would have plenty of time to enjoy her newfound happiness.
The plane touched down at the Bob Hope Airport in Burbank at noon on Wednesday. She collected her bag and rental car, placed her bags in the trunk, and pulled out the map to guide her to her destination. She had one stop to make before checking into the hotel.
Thirty minutes later, Grace sat across the street from the house she'd been born in. Except it wasn't a house, really. It was more like a palace, or possibly a monstrosity, a mixture of elements from Versailles, Blenheim, and a baroque wedding cake. June had described the property, but words didn't do it justice. She'd wondered whether she would feel any connection to it. But she didn't.
She knew Edward had sold the place several years back and moved to New York, and she wondered whether the people who lived there now were happy, or whether the sorrows that had befallen its previous tenants had somehow tainted the place. She thought about her own childhood, and wondered whether her mother had been any happier than she'd been growing up in an orphanage. With a few fleeting exceptions, she doubted it. Her mother had lost her child as well as her own mother. How could anyone endure such loss and find happiness?
Grace surprised herself by sleeping until almost nine o'clock the next morning--noon by New York time. She leapt out of bed and into the shower. After a quick breakfast, she made the short drive to the McIntyre residence. She drove up to the gate and punched the buzzer.
A woman's voice asked who was there, and Grace announced that she was there to see Dr. McIntyre. When asked who was calling, she gave her name and quickly added that she was the granddaughter of Edward Crandall. Before she had the chance to say any more, she was buzzed in.
She drove through the gate and parked in the driveway. As she walked up the neatly tiled path to the front, the door opened and a matronly woman with perfectly coiffed hair stepped out to greet her.
"Hello, Ms. Crandall, I'm Shirley McIntyre. So nice to meet you. How is your grandfather these days?"
"Um, just fine," she said, surprised at how easy this seemed to be going. "Thank you for seeing me without an appointment. I just happened to be in town and I wondered if I might speak to Dr. McIntyre for a few moments. There's...a bit of a mystery I'm trying to solve, and I think your husband might be just the person to help me.""
"Oh, what fun." Mrs. McIntyre led Grace inside and closed the door behind them. "You won't mind if I join you, I hope. You see, my husband has had a stroke and he can't speak very clearly. You might need me there to translate for you. And if it's confidential, don't worry. I can keep a secret as well as anyone."
Grace felt sorry for the poor woman. She seemed lonely, desperate for company, and she hated what she was about to do to her. But she couldn't think of any way around it. She needed answers, and she was prepared to do anything to get them.
"Thank you," she said simply. "There is one thing I wanted to ask first, if you don't mind? My grandfather was just talking recently about the nurse who worked for your husband at the time I was born, and he couldn't remember her name. Do you happen to remember? He was so fond of her."
"Oh, you must mean Mary Henderson," Mrs. McIntyre said. "She worked for Emmett for twenty-five years." She looked at Grace as if to assess her age. "But I think she might've left us before you were born. Or there was Alice Royster, who worked for him sometime after that. He had several in between the two, but I don't remember their names."
"Thank you so much. I'll let my grandfather know."
"Of course, dear. And please give Edward our best. Was there anything else before I let my husband know he has a visitor?"
Grace smiled. "No, thank you. You've been so kind."
"Very well then, dear. Give me just a moment."
Shirley McIntyre disappeared behind thick, oak-paneled doors and Grace paced nervously in the foyer. She clutched her handbag, which contained the documents she thought she might need, and steadied her jangled nerves. She knew this was her best shot of finding out what happened the day she was born, and she sent up a silent prayer that she didn't mess it up.
"Well then, shall we?"
The voice startled her and she spun around to find Mrs. McIntyre holding open the oversized door she'd just emerged from.
Grace smiled and followed Mrs. McIntyre into the library, her heart pounding so hard it sent shockwaves through her body. The room was wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and every one of them was filled to capacity. Slumped in an oversized, wing-backed chair with a friendly floral print was a puny old man, sitting by the fireplace and listening to Vivaldi. His eyes were closed and he was conducting the piece with one hand, the other lying lifeless in his lap. He didn''t notice their presence until the music stopped and Shirley cleared her throat.
Dr. McIntyre turned his gaze to Grace. His eyes were penetrating, filled with questions. And something else. But what? Guilt? It was hard to tell.
"Dear, this is Ms. Crandall. Edward's granddaughter."
He eyed Grace warily and grunted, and Shirley pointed to the chair across from him, indicating that she should sit. She did, and Shirley pulled up a third chair and formed a circle.
"Go ahead, dear," Shirley told her.
"Hello, Dr. McIntyre." She could see the old man's face relax slightly at the friendly greeting. "How are you?"
He grunted again and nodded.
"My name is Grace Adams. Thank you for agreeing to see me. I'm the daughter of June Crandall. Do you remember her? I believe you delivered her. You also delivered me."
He nodded, his eyes giving nothing away. He would've made a good poker player.
She glanced quickly at Shirley and returned her smile as her stomach tightened. Turning back to the man in the chair, she spoke softly. "I only have a couple of questions, Dr. McIntyre, and then I'll be out of your hair."
He leaned back in his chair, pulling the blanket up farther on his lap with his good hand. His eyes leveled and he nodded as if indicating she should go on.
She paused a moment to make sure her voice would stay steady. "I was hoping you could tell me what happened the day I was born. I believe you know what I'm referring to, but I'd be happy to refresh your memory if you'd like."
He muttered something she could not understand and she turned to Shirley.
"He said he's sorry, but it was so long ago, he just doesn't remember. His memory isn't what it used to be, dear, especially since the stroke."
She turned back to the good doctor. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but I did bring something with me that might help jog your memory." She reached down and pulled a document out of her bag. She turned to Mrs. Mc
Intyre and offered an apologetic look, and then handed the paper to him, making sure to deliver it to his good hand.
"Just so we're all on the same page, that is a copy of a death certificate, showing that I died at birth. And that is your signature on the document, isn't it?""
She pointed to the signature. "So what happened that day, Dr. McIntyre? Did something go wrong with your plan? Did you plan to sell me to one of your rich clients and somehow got caught?"
Dr. McIntyre's face contorted his good hand flailed in the air.
Shirley flew out of her chair and came within inches of Grace, wagging her finger in the air and yelling.
Between Shirley and her husband, she couldn't understand a word of what was being said. She focused her attention on him, trying to hear what he was saying, but it was no use.
She turned to Shirley and pleaded with her. "Someone took me away from my mother that day and told her I was dead. I was given to an orphanage, where I spent my entire life thinking my mother didn't love me or want me. I deserve answers. Please, Mrs. McIntyre, help me find out what happened."
For a moment, Grace thought she'd gotten through to the old woman, but then Mrs. McIntyre turned to her husband, whose face was still contorted as he continued spewing unintelligible words, then stared at Grace with hate in her eyes. "Who do you think you are coming in here and making these accusations against my husband? He is a good man and would never do the things you're accusing him of. Please, leave my house right now!"
Grace looked at them both one more time. Shirley was quiet now, but seething. Her husband sat in his chair, unmoving now, his eyes boring into hers, silently denying the accusations she had hurled against him.
Her gaze held his and she tried to decipher the message he was sending. She wanted desperately to find the truth in his eyes, the admission that he was the one who stole her from her mother. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't find it. He was either a brilliant liar or he had not been involved.
She smoothed down her blouse and tried to slow her breathing, which was coming fast and hard. She had more questions, but she knew that her time was up. "I'm sorry," she said. ""I just thought I deserved to know what happened that day. I didn't mean to upset you both." She left the copy of the death certificate lying on the floor and showed herself out.
The Many Lives of June Crandall Page 19
