“Seth? What’s going on?”
Seth licked his lips and dragged his gaze up to meet hers. “Y-y-you n-n-need to g-g-go home.”
“Why?”
Seth held up his phone. Lauren leaned in close to read the text message on the screen from Mom.
We found something in the loft. If you see Lauren, please tell her to come home.
Her whole body began to tremble. Aunt Jane. The ugly quilts. She swayed, clamping her fingers around Blake’s arm to keep upright.
“Whoa.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “Everything okay?”
“Aunt Jane.” Lauren managed to find her voice. “We argued today about my grandmother’s care. I think she’s determined to get the last word.”
“Let me drive you home.” Blake pulled his keys from his pocket.
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I insist. Come on.”
“W-w-want me to come, too?” Seth glanced at the screen one more time and then at her. Confusion and worry strained his features.
Lauren reached up and touched his cheek. “No. You and Molly stay here and have fun. Thank you for finding me.” Her heart ached. What would he think of her when this was all said and done?
The silence in the cab of Blake’s truck was oppressive. Lauren watched him from the corner of her eye, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the road ahead. She longed to fill the space between them—observations about the weather, the latest Mariners game, or when Jess might propose to Shannon. Anything. Then she could pretend for three more minutes that this wasn’t actually happening. Or should she warn him? Hey, would now be a good time to mention—she cringed, hating herself for manufacturing this downward spiral.
He dropped his hand from the steering wheel and she longed for him to reach for her one more time. Instead, he leaned over and cranked the stereo. Kenny Chesney’s latest hit blasted from the speakers.
Blake slowed down and maneuvered the truck up the hill toward the Inn. Stop! Turn around. She wanted to scream. There had to be a way to make this right. The fading sunlight cast long beams across the yard, bathing Aunt Jane’s rented sedan in a rosy glow. Icy fingers of dread snaked up her spine. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
“Go in there, now, with you.”
Blake shifted the truck into park. “Now you’re freaking me out. Let’s see what’s going on before we jump to any conclusions.”
She clutched the door handle but couldn’t move. Her heart pounded. Blake was already rounding the front of the truck. He opened her door and stepped aside. Sliding to the ground, her legs trembled again and Blake’s steady hand cupped her elbow.
Her eyes found his and the tenderness lingering there forced her to look away. How can I break your heart twice?
“Come on. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
No. Every fiber in her being told her to turn and run but she forced her feet to follow Blake up the steps. He turned the knob and pushed the front door open.
Matt met them inside, his face ashen. He motioned them toward the living room. “We’re in here.”
Dad stood in front of the fireplace with his back to them, one hand propped on the mantle. He didn’t turn around when they came in. Mom and Aunt Jane sat on opposite couches. The tension in the room was thick. A plastic bin full of quilts sat in the middle of the floor. Did they know? Lauren’s stomach churned. “What’s going on? Aunt Jane?”
“Hello.” Jane stood and came toward them, her hand extended. “I’m Debbie’s sister, Jane.”
Blake tentatively shook her hand. “Blake Tully.”
Jane’s eyes widened and flickered to Lauren. “Yes, of course. It all makes sense. Then you’ll want to see this.” She went back to the couch and lifted the lid on a small white box.
“No,” Lauren whispered. “What have you done?” She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. This couldn’t be happening. Her vision began to telescope. Blake slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, like a shelter from storm-tossed seas. She should be the one shielding him. His world was about to be shattered. Blake’s eyes darted between her and Jane’s hands.
“What’s going on?” He dropped his hand from her waist and stepped closer.
“Debbie and I were sorting through our mother’s things today.” Jane presented the photograph to Blake. “Imagine our surprise when we found this.” A picture of a swaddled baby with a knitted pink and blue hat filled Lauren’s vision.
Lauren started to shake. “How can you do this?”
“Who is this, Lauren?” Blake stared down at the photograph, his fingers trembling. He dragged his gaze up to meet hers, his brow furrowed.
Lauren opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. If only she could go back to that cold January day, when her decision altered the course of their lives. She would have done everything differently. Refused to sign. Picked up the phone. Told Blake the whole truth.
“Look. There’s more.” Jane grabbed another piece of paper. No, no, no.
“Blake, your name’s on this one.” Jane dangled the paper. “Maybe you’d like to read it?”
Lauren’s vision blurred and she sank to her knees. “Please. Wait.” She whispered as he stacked the paper on top of the photograph. I can explain.
Really? The voice in her head taunted. He’ll never forgive you.
“Lauren?” Mom’s voice sounded far away, like she was at the end of a long tunnel. “Say something. Anything. Please.”
Blake studied the paper for what seemed like an eternity. When he lifted his head, anger flashed in his eyes. Those amazing eyes which once regarded her with love and trust.
“What—’’ He dragged a hand through his hair. “How—where? My gosh, Lauren.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She sobbed. Her carefully crafted explanations were nothing but empty words now.
Blake’s mouth gaped open. Then he clamped it shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard and examined the photograph and paper again.
“Congratulations,” Jane said. “Looks like you’re a daddy.”
Mom moaned and buried her face in her hands. Matt slid his arm around her shoulders.
“That’s enough, Jane.’’ With a curse, Dad stormed across the room and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I think you’ve done enough damage for one night.”
“Let me get this straight.” Blake’s voice was ragged. “Is this my son? Our son?”
Mom leaned forward while Matt buried his head in his hands. Lauren felt the weight of everyone else’s expectant stares. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and nodded. “Yes. The baby’s mine. Ours.”
Dad blew out a breath and rubbed a hand across his forehead. Mom’s face went pasty white. Blake’s hand fell to his side, still clutching the evidence of her terrible secret. He pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head in disbelief. “No.”
“Well, isn’t this delightful.” Jane clapped her hands. “I would congratulate you, Debbie. But I’d be talking to the wrong sister, wouldn’t I?”
Her heart leaped into her throat. Wait. She got to her feet and stepped tentatively toward Aunt Jane. “What did you just say?”
“Lauren, I don’t think now’s the time—” Dad said.
She raised her hand to stop him. “No, I want to hear that again.”
“Nobody’s told you?” Jane’s eyes widened. “Well, this whole night is full of surprises.”
Lauren shot a glance at Mom. She huddled against the arm of the couch. Her shoulders shook and tears streamed down her cheeks. “What’s she talking about?”
“We wanted to tell you. Please believe me.” Mom dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
Jane snorted. “Please. You ran me out of town and kept Lauren for yourself.”
Lauren gasped and clutched her chest. Matt stood up and moved toward Dad, as if he anticipated an argument.
<
br /> “That is not true, Jane.” Dad’s face flushed red.
“Take it easy, Dad.” Matt placed his hand on Dad’s chest.
“Blake, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”
“Dad, wait.” Lauren pleaded.
Dad shook his head. “We’re not doing this tonight.” He motioned for Blake to follow him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Blake cleared his throat, feet firmly planted on the hardwood. “Believe me, sir, I’d like nothing more than to run as far from here as possible.”
Lauren winced. That makes two of us.
He walked toward her, tears brimming in his eyes. Please don’t hate me. He stopped in front of her and she swallowed hard. Less than an hour ago, she was wrapped in his arms, floating around the dance floor. Funny how quickly it all unraveled. Her heart pounded. His eyes dropped to the photo and he swiped at a tear that slipped down his cheek. He held up the picture but she refused to look. Couldn’t stand it. “There are so many things I want to say right now.”
“I’m sorry.” She choked back another sob. “You have to believe me.”
“I need answers.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “But it sounds like I’m not the only one. You’ve got to sort this out with your family. So I … I’m going to go.” He reached for her hand and pressed the birth certificate and the photograph into her palm. She let them both slip through her fingers and flutter to the floor, her whole body trembling.
“He has your nose,” Blake whispered, his voice breaking. It was like a dagger to her heart. Then he was gone.
Her head throbbed. She felt hollowed out. Gutted. Questions swirled through the soupy fog that was her brain. She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to formulate a complete thought.
“Are you happy, now?” she whispered, voice quavering as she glared at Jane. “You’ve singlehandedly destroyed my life in one fell swoop.”
“Lauren—” Dad stepped between them.
Jane smirked. “Please. I did you a favor. It’s exhausting living a lie, isn’t it? Maybe you and Deb could commiserate on that.”
She glanced at Mom, still huddled on the couch. How can you just sit there and take this?
Mom stood and drew her shoulders back, rising to her full height. “Get out.” She spat at Jane, pointing toward the door.
“Gladly. But I’m not finished here. I told you I’m taking Mother back to San Diego and I meant it. I’ll be at the Anchor Point Inn when you’re ready to discuss the details of her move.” Jane gathered her purse and marched toward the front door without a backward glance. The cloud of expensive perfume that hovered in her wake turned Lauren’s stomach. Aunt Jane slammed the door behind her.
Matt came and stood beside Lauren, placing his hand on her arm. “Hey.” He dipped his head, concerned eyes seeking hers. “We love you. No matter what.”
But his words did nothing to assuage the gaping wound in her heart. “I have no right to demand the truth, given all I’ve concealed from you, but I need to know. What was she talking about?”
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Matt asked.
A surge of anger coursed through her. “Why wait? It’s not like I’ll be getting any sleep.”
“Why don’t we sit down together,” Mom said. “Mike, will you get the pictures?”
Dad nodded and went into the kitchen.
“Need anything? Water? Coffee?” Matt asked.
“Water, I guess. Thank you.” Lauren squeezed his arm. He was being so thoughtful, giving up precious hours of sleep to support her. Whatever Mom and Dad shared with them would change things. She could sense it. Regret and confusion enveloped her, weighing her down as she settled on the couch across from Mom.
“I never imagined it would turn out like this.” Mom pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the tears on her cheeks.
Dad came back before Lauren could answer, a manila envelope tucked inside Mom’s well-loved copy of The Joy of Cooking. Matt trailed behind him, carrying four bottles of water.
Adrenaline tingled through her veins as Dad tugged the envelope free. The ink had faded, but she recognized Granny’s handwriting scrawled across the front.
“Honey, this is not easy for any of us. But it’s time you heard the truth. Let’s start with the photographs.”
Her heart lurched. Photographs?
Matt set the bottles of water on the coffee table and sank onto the couch beside her. Dad handed her the envelope, his eyes moist with tears.
She lifted the flap, her gut churning in a vortex of equal parts curiosity and apprehension. Slipping her hand inside, she pulled three photographs out of the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat. A teenage girl with a wild mass of curly red hair sat up in a bed, holding a tiny bundle of pink-faced baby in her arms. The girl’s green eyes were bright and a wide smile spread across her delicate face. She wore a locket identical to Lauren’s. “Mom?” she whispered.
“Yes. The baby in the pictures is you. The redheaded girl holding you is my sister, Mallory. She is your birth mother.” Mom pressed her knuckles to her lips.
Lauren’s vision blurred. She shook her head. How could this be? Matt slid his arms around her shoulders. “No. How? I don’t understand.” My mother is dead? Goose bumps pebbled her flesh.
Mom sighed. “I’m so sorry. We should’ve told you a long time ago.”
Lauren studied the other two girls perched on either side of the bed, each with an arm slung around the girl’s shoulders and a hand on the baby’s blanket. The curly brown hair and almond shape of Mom’s eyes were unmistakable. That had to be her to the left of the redhead. The girl on the right looked a lot like Aunt Jane with the exception of the long blond hair. “So you just kept these pictures shoved in your cookbook, thinking I’d never find out?”
“To be perfectly honest, it was easier this way. You were a tiny baby when Mallory died. Jane wanted to raise you as her own. But Pop refused to let her.” A hint of a smile touched Mom’s lips. “He loved you so. I remember you spent one night in the orphanage and Pop couldn’t stand it. Went down there first thing in the morning and brought you right back here.”
Lauren turned the photos over and studied the handwriting on the back, processing this news about Pop. Then she spread them on the table. Matt leaned in for a closer look. The second included Granny and Pop with the redhead still holding the baby. Pop was frowning. The third picture was just the baby, a tiny fist pressed to her cheek while she slept, swaddled in a striped blanket. It was all so familiar. Lauren trembled all over, her brain a fragmented slide show of images.
“We wanted to protect you, sweetheart.” Dad’s voice was gruff. He cleared his throat. “You were never an orphan. We loved you from the minute Pop brought you home.”
Orphan. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. She stared at the photographs in front of her. Where was my father in all of this? Is my son going to wonder the same thing one day? Pain pierced her heart and she covered her mouth to stop the cry from escaping.
Mom stepped around the coffee table and squeezed onto the couch beside her. “Oh, honey. It’s okay, just cry.” She slipped her arm around Lauren’s shoulders and pulled her in for an awkward hug. Lauren stiffened. Mom’s sweater was soft against her cheek and smelled faintly of laundry soap.
“Wait.” Lauren pulled away. “What about the microfiche? You took these from the library, didn’t you?”
Mom shook her head. “I didn’t take them. A dear friend brought that by. She was volunteering at the library, converting the old records to digital. When she came across this particular story, she thought I might want to hang on to it. Until the time was right. She was only trying to help.”
Lauren swiped the back of her hand across her nose. That explained her wild goose chase at the library. But still no one had mentioned her father.
“We’ve come so close to telling you. I know that sounds ridiculous now, but it’s true,” Dad said.
“My father?”
Lauren whispered. “Who is he?”
Mom exchanged glances with Dad. The uncertainty that passed between them was almost palpable. Then Mom reached for Lauren’s hand and captured it between both of her own. “Remember the day you got here and Granny called you Mallory? We were upstairs and I told you Mallory and her boyfriend died in the same accident? Honey, that young man was your father.”
Matt, silent until now, sucked in a breath. “Good grief,” he whispered, his hand trembling as he rubbed his forehead.
“We’re so sorry.” Dad’s voice broke. “Please know that we love you and raised you as our own.”
So that was it? Both parents gone in an instant and more than two decades spent concealing a secret? Although she had no right to be angry, she was. Livid, in fact. Dark spots peppered her vision. Nausea swept over her and she jumped up from the couch, her feet tangling with Matt’s. “I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I can’t even think … I need to go.” She ran toward the stairs and climbed to the loft. Tears were flowing freely and she gasped for breath between sobs. The waning twilight cast shadows across the room and her eyes struggled to adjust. She stumbled toward the bed and fell across it. Kicking her shoes off, she burrowed under the quilt and cried until she had nothing left.
twenty seven
Blake gripped the steering wheel with one hand, knuckled a tear from his cheek with the other, as his truck found its way down Hillside Drive. A son. The news pierced him to his very core. And to think she’d never even tried to tell him the truth. Granted, he hadn’t been in any shape to parent a newborn, but still—to have no input at all—He smacked the wheel hard with his hand. She had no right to make this choice without him.
His mind replayed their stolen moments together, spring of her senior year. He’d come home from college for the long Easter weekend. They were miserable apart and eager for the semester to be over. Things went too far that night, as they are prone to do, when two teenagers are nestled in sleeping bags in the bed of a truck.
“Of course,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. This explained her abrupt decision to leave town less than two months later. No amount of pleading on his part could change her mind, either. He’d always imagined she’d come back when she found what she was looking for. Turns out she was running. And apparently never looked back.
Unraveled Page 20
