Again the words hitched. “Because I gave him away.”
“You gave him to parents who would love him.”
I shook my head. “Adoption is filled with emotion. Feelings aren’t always black-and-white.”
“You weren’t always so logical, Rae. Serious, yes. But you used to laugh and cry. At your dad’s funeral, your mother and sister didn’t shed a tear, but you cried.”
“And I remember feeling very foolish,” I said. “Out of control.”
“Human, alive.”
“Maybe. But I’m not that person anymore. I’ve become my mother.”
“You aren’t Diane,” Lisa said.
“How can you say that?”
“Because Diane wouldn’t be sitting here talking like this. She’d be in denial cleaning a closet or scrubbing a floor.”
“I considered doing the same when I first read his e-mail.”
“But you didn’t.” She leaned forward. “Addie said our ancestors’ wishes have become our curses.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m destined to be like all the women in my family.”
“Can’t be that much fun, keeping all your thoughts buried.”
“I never thought about it before.”
Lisa settled her feet on the floor. “How can I help?”
“Michael.” I paused. “I’m still not used to saying his name out loud.”
“That’s a shame, Rae. It’s a great name, and it’s okay to love him.”
None of this felt okay. “He’s not my child. I gave that right up a long time ago.”
“You haven’t given up anything.”
Clearing my throat, I willed my heart to beat slower. “He wants to meet me face-to-face. His mother will also be there.”
“And you need a wingman.”
“I’d rather not do this alone.”
She fingered a dangling earring. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know how he’ll react.”
“He’s a kid. He’s curious. Maybe a little goofy and awkward. We all were at that age.”
Skimming my index finger along my pearls, I nodded.
A sad, thoughtful grin tugged at her lips. “Look, I’d be glad to go with you. “Give me the time and place and I’ll be there.”
“We haven’t set a time and place.”
“I’d say pick a pizza place. Teenagers love pizza, and a restaurant will be public enough so that it makes the meeting a little less stressful.”
“I think that’s what we’re all hoping. Are you sure you can do this?”
“Rae, I’ll be there. And I promise if it all gets a little awkward, I’ll find a way to cover your back or find a graceful reason why we need to leave.”
“Thank you.” Hugging her was a natural response, but my hugs were always awkward and stilted.
She walked me to the front door. “I’m glad you came to me.”
April 6, 1754
Dearest Mother,
My milk remains dry and I cannot nurse my three-month-old daughter, Hanna. The witch cares for all three children, who get along well enough. The best times of the day are spent reading to my son, who adores the written word. I read the Bible to him and I can see he is captured by the stories. Marcus, the witch’s son, likes to be outside and enjoys rough play. Never were there two boys so different. Baby Hanna spends most of her days with the witch. The child is always irritable and it suits me fine not to have to deal with her.
—P
Chapter Twelve
Lisa Smyth
SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 10:00 A.M.
With Charlie at my side, I watched Rae leave and smiled when she got into her car. Waving, I kept my body relaxed and casual until I saw her drive away. When I closed the door, my shoulders slumped. “I did that to her, Charlie. I’m the one who screwed up her life. If I hadn’t been drunk, the accident might have never happened.”
I tipped back my head, and a tear trickled down my cheek. Over the last couple of days, my doubts about carrying a secret shame had grown heavier and more cumbersome.
“Stop whining, Lisa. We both screwed up that night. I was drunk before we got in the car. We both know I created the chain of events.”
“Doesn’t matter how it all started. It’s how it ended.” I groaned. “Why are you here, Jennifer? Just go to the light and find some damn peace.”
“For now, I’m stuck here in Purgatory, just like you.”
“Shit.”
“Look on the bright side. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe I’m here to help you fix all this.”
“How can we fix this? She gave up her son. She can never get back the time they lost.”
“There’s so much more time for them, Lisa. I don’t want to see her lose that as well.”
My head pounded. “I could use a drink.”
“You and me both, sister, but that’s off the table. I need your head in the game.”
Charlie pushed his nose against my hand, sensing something. When I didn’t look at him, he nudged me again and barked. “It’s okay, boy.” I scratched his head. “I’ve lived with all this for a long time. Some days are just worse than others.”
The front doorbell rang, startling me from my mood. I wiped my cheeks with my palms and looked into the mirror hanging in the hallway before I opened the door. Standing on the porch was Colin, along with a very sleek-looking woman wearing a red suit, crisp white shirt, and black high heels. Pearl earrings matched a necklace and a bracelet. Her manicured hands reminded me a bit of Cruella de Vil.
“You’re early,” I said.
“Hopefully, this isn’t too much of an imposition,” Colin said.
Cruella de Vil grinned. “It was my fault. My schedule is insane today.”
“No worries,” I said.
Colin made a quick sweep of my appearance, taking in the jeans and bare feet, then looking beyond me to Charlie. “I’d like you to meet Rebecca Tuttle. She’s one of the best real estate agents in the city.”
I’d intended to change before they arrived, but Rae had tossed the schedule out the window. Whatever. I wasn’t looking for love or approval right now. I simply wanted the house sold. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Tuttle. Please come in.”
Charlie pushed past me to Colin, who rubbed him on the head. “How you doing, boy?”
“He’s fine,” I said, tugging him gently out of the way to allow them to enter. I slid my feet into clogs I kept by the front door. “I’m a little off schedule this evening. A friend just stopped by, but the house is ready for your inspection.”
Ms. Tuttle openly appraised the walls, the flooring, and the furniture. “The house has been remodeled. And it doesn’t smell like dog.”
“Amelia remodeled and Lisa’s been taking good care of the place,” Colin said.
Praise from Mr. West. I wasn’t sure if I should make a smartass comment or accept him as an ally. I chose the latter. “The original finish has been removed from the floors,” she said. “That won’t help with the value.”
Feeling a need to rise to Amelia’s defense, I said, “I would think the brighter colors would attract more buyers. These older houses can be a little stuffy.”
“Not stuffy,” she corrected. “They’re traditional and represent a very specific market that will pay for that colonial look.”
“The house is in a prime location,” Colin said. “It’s not negotiable but colors can be changed. It’s all about selling the product.”
As she passed, I gave him a thumbs-up. Smiling, he held out his hand and gestured for me to go first. She moved straight through the center hallway into the kitchen. I wasn’t much of a baker, so there was no cookie aroma to entice anyone, but I had purchased a bundle of irises and arranged them in a crystal vase that now sat in the center of the polished marble island.
Charlie and I followed as Ms. Tuttle ran a manicured hand over the marble and inspected her fingertips. “Compliments to your cleaning lady.”
I hitched my hands on my hips. “You’re looking at her.”
The real estate agent turned from me, unwilling to give away any hint of what she was thinking.
However, Colin’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve done a good job getting the place ready for sale.
“Rebecca,” he said to the agent, “she had the basement cleaned out over the summer. The space was jam packed.”
He slid a hand into his pocket, and the joint of his jaw pulsed. Turning, he spotted a collection of my prints on the farmhouse table. “Is that the picture you took of the house yesterday?”
“It is. Not exactly finished, though. I developed a few prints last night, but as you can see, I’ve experimented with several different types of exposure. Once they’re dry, I’ll wax them, and that will really make the contrast pop.”
He hovered over a print, not touching, but clearly interested. “These are really good, Lisa.”
“Thanks.”
“Rebecca, you should come and have a look,” he said.
Tapping a finger on her purse, Rebecca obliged. To my satisfaction, her focus lingered. “Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
“So, is this your hobby?” Rebecca asked.
“It’s what I do.”
“A professional artist?” Rebecca said.
“That’s right.”
“I’m very active in the art community and know most of the up-and-coming artists,” Rebecca said. “I’ve not heard of you.”
“Until yesterday, I’d not heard of you.”
“Stick around another few weeks. You’ll find I’m very well known in this city, and a good person to know.”
I honestly didn’t care. “Do you want the listing or not?”
Rebecca didn’t miss the intentional bite snapping behind the words. “I’ll list it.”
“How long will it take you to sell the place?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” Rebecca said.
“I bet you have an idea,” I countered.
“The markets are hard to predict,” she said.
“You have forty-five days,” I said, using her tone. “If you can’t move the property at a competitive price by then, you’re out.”
Colin looked amused but didn’t interfere. Props to him for that.
A plucked eyebrow arched. “I’ll sell it.”
As much as she criticized the place, she knew it was worth good money. Bitchy, but not stupid. “Then it’s a win-win for us both.”
“I’ll draw up the paperwork tonight and have it for you to sign in the morning.”
“Drop it by my office,” Colin said. “I’ll review it first and then bring it by with comments.”
“Of course.” Rebecca pulled her car key from her slim purse and made for the front door. “Then I’m off. Keep the house clean, and I’ll sell it.”
Colin closed the door behind her. “She’s a top producer.”
“Lovely woman.”
“No, but she’ll sell the place and get you top dollar. She’s the best.”
“As long as I get the money for Amelia, I’ll deal.”
He didn’t make the hasty departure I expected. Stepping closer, he said, “Your aunt is lucky to have you.”
“I could say the same thing about her.”
His eyes lingered an extra beat, and I wasn’t so lost in my own world that I didn’t pick up on his interest. One word from him and we’d be upstairs messing up the bed I had so carefully made an hour ago. But Colin West was Amelia’s attorney and business came first, especially when helping Amelia.
“Thanks for your help and for finding Rebecca,” I said, folding my arms.
He nodded, understanding the evening was over. “Glad I could help.” As he moved toward the front door and reached for the doorknob, he paused. “I almost forgot. I found a picture that I thought you might want.”
“What?”
He reached in his breast pocket. “I’m still reviewing Mr. Murphy’s files, and this picture was tucked in the back of one. I don’t know how it came to me.”
The three-by-five photo was black-and-white, and the coating reflected the light. The picture showed a group of high school kids, their teacher, and a couple of parents in front of the warehouse at the corner of King and Union Streets. The printed date on the side read September 1968.
I scanned the faces, searching for anyone I knew, and then I saw Amelia, standing in the center. She would have been in her midtwenties. “Who are these people?”
“That was taken the year Amelia came back to Alexandria and taught high school.”
“She taught high school? I thought she was trying to crack Broadway in those days.”
He tapped the face of a tall, lean man standing by Amelia. “See that young twenty-something-year-old man next to your aunt?”
The man had warm eyes, and instead of staring at the camera, he was looking at Amelia. “Yeah.”
“That’s my dad’s law partner, Mr. Murphy. They opened Murphy and West in 1970.”
“Amelia’s husband?” My memories of the man conjured three-piece suits, a stern face, and a deep voice.
“Yes.”
“I thought they met in New York.” I knew the story well. She was waitressing in a coffee shop, hoping for a callback from her last musical audition, which she swore would be her last. Distracted, she spilled hot coffee on a young man and when he looked up at her, his irritation immediately melted. That man was Mr. Murphy, Amelia’s husband.
“Yes, but apparently when he asked her out there, she said no. Fast-forward a few months and they both found themselves back here in Alexandria.”
Behind the crowd stood a tall brick building with a large glass window that was boarded up. “That looks like the Shire Architectural Salvage yard,” I said.
“It certainly is the salvage yard.”
The corner didn’t look as tony or smart as it did now. There weren’t tourists, and judging by the rubbish on the brick sidewalk, the city had been in rough shape. “I wonder what the group was doing there.”
“The city was struggling in those days. Lots of crime and poverty. I have to hand it to your aunt for taking a bunch of kids there.”
I pressed the picture to my chest. “Thanks, Colin. It was kind of you to give this to me. I don’t have much history on Amelia.”
“Glad you like it.” He grinned, pleased with himself. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow about the contract.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
When I closed the door behind him, I studied the image again. There must have been twenty kids in the picture. I studied Amelia’s smiling face, so full of life and happiness. Her concentration appeared clear and sharp. “So unfair.”
A closer look showed she was holding something in her hand. I grabbed my glasses and held the picture up to the light. I realized Amelia was holding a witch bottle.
“I’ll be damned.”
May 10, 1754
Dearest Mother,
I’ve lost so much to the witch who has an uncanny mind and memory. She grows more beautiful with each year. There is not a gray hair intertwined in her auburn locks nor is there a wrinkle marring her flawless skin. My children love the witch who now reads to them and helps them with their letters and numbers. I also now fear that my husband has fallen under her spell. I am certain the Devil conjured this woman and sent her into my life to taunt me.
—P
Chapter Thirteen
Rae McDonald
SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 6:00 A.M.
The boy and I’d e-mailed in a rapid-fire exchange as we’d tried to settle on a meeting time. I suggested Saturday. He had a Saturday morning soccer practic
e that ended at noon. Would one P.M. work? I’d agreed and asked him to select the restaurant. The pizza place on Duke Street. Lisa had been right. Teenagers loved pizza. A date was set, and I’d sent a quick text to Lisa of the place and time.
Done.
Simple, right?
Not even close. The idea of meeting Michael churned up so much turmoil that I could barely concentrate or sleep more than a complete hour on Friday night.
Finally frustrated with pretending to sleep, I rose before sunrise and went for a jog. My hope was that the run would elevate endorphins and calm my nerves. I sweated out a five-mile run along part of the Potomac, but my nerves were just as unsettled as they had been when I first stepped out the front door.
As I finished up the run and turned down the street that led to my house, the morning sun rose over the treetops, coloring the green leaves with a bright shade of orange. I rounded the final corner and jogged down my cul-de-sac. The sunlight streamed over my property, hitting the slate roof and cascading down the sides of the house’s worn red brick and glinting off the windows’ wavy glass panes. Breathless, I slowed to a walk and picked up the morning edition of the Washington Post on my way toward the backyard and its barren patch of land, where the stones had once stood for centuries.
The soil remained soft and small puddles of water still pooled, but according to the news, we were due for a stretch of dry weather. Perhaps a string of sunny days to finally dry the patch of land. I hoped we’d turned a corner.
Though the rain had bought me time to hem and haw over the design of the garage, it was time to decide. Zeb had said he would have to move on to other projects if I couldn’t, and I knew he would do it out of principle. To the back of the line I would go. Just like in grade school.
I stood at the edge of the neat square of raw dirt, now wondering if my decision to remove the stones had set off a chain reaction, overturning my entire life. That sounded like blasphemy for someone in my line of work.
My mother hated the stones, would have loved to see them gone, but would never have actually considered getting rid of them. She couldn’t articulate why they needed to stay, but insisted they did. Maybe she had good reasons.
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