Lisa reached her hand around me and extended it to Susan. “I’m Lisa Smyth. Friend of Rae’s. I’m here for moral support.”
The comment relaxed Susan’s tense shoulders a fraction. This close, she looked so pale. So frail. “I think we’re all a little nervous. Todd would have been here, but he’s overseas and couldn’t get home.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Is he doing well?”
“He’s great,” Susan said. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Sounds good,” Lisa said. She nudged me into the booth and then took the seat next to mine, eliminating an awkward moment of where Michael and I would sit. He and I both looked relieved that she’d grabbed the bull by the horns. He slid into the other side of the booth and Susan sat beside him.
The waitress appeared, gave Lisa a menu, and took our drink order. We all read the menus, but I didn’t process a word. I couldn’t concentrate and found myself stealing a peek at Michael. The second time I looked, I caught him staring at me. His face turned a light pink, embarrassed.
I smiled and leaned back in my seat. Nonthreatening body language, I said to myself. Relax. Breathe.
“You don’t look like your picture in the paper,” he said.
“It’s not one of my favorites.” It made me look stern and angry, but of course, the writer had dubbed me the matchmaker with the heart of stone. So I suppose the photo fit the headline.
“Why did they write that article about you?” he asked.
“One of my clients is a friend of the reporter. She told the reporter about her experience with me and the reporter was intrigued. I suppose she thought the story would be a light, fun read.”
Susan carefully sipped her soda, studying me closely. “I didn’t realize you were a matchmaker.”
“I’m not, really. I’ve introduced some people who’ve ended up married. I told that to the reporter, but she wanted to hear something else.”
“The article outlines many of your successes,” Susan said. “Several couples had nice things to say about you. They called you a matchmaker.”
“I suppose so many people want to believe the perfect match is possible,” I said.
“Makes sense.” She smiled. “How is your mother doing?” Susan asked. She swallowed with care, her throat clearly raw.
Susan had met my mother a couple of times. In fact, it was Mom who found Susan and suggested I look at the Holloways’ profile. “She passed a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“And that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Remembering how cool my mother had been to Susan during the adoption process, I felt I owed her an explanation. “You met my mother at a difficult time. My older sister had recently died in a car accident, and she wasn’t herself.” Not entirely true, but I felt a need to defend her.
Susan’s eyes softened with sadness. “I remember that. I felt so sorry for her. And you.”
I drew in a breath and looked at Michael. “My sister Jennifer died just before her eighteenth birthday.”
“That’s what Mom told me.”
“You would have liked her,” Lisa said. “Jennifer and I were good friends.”
Susan stirred her straw in her glass and gently changed tact. “I remember your mother telling me the house that your family lived in was built in the 1700s.”
“It’s almost three hundred years old and has always been in the McDonald family. I still live there.”
Michael nodded. “Cool. Our house is only three years old, but I guess Mom told you that in her letters.”
Heat warmed my cheeks. “Yes.”
A silence settled for a few seconds before Susan asked, “So you’ve both known each other for a long time?”
“Lisa and my sister, Jennifer, met in kindergarten. She was always around the house when I was growing up.”
Lisa nodded and sipped her iced tea nonchalantly. “So, Michael, what grade are you in?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m a sophomore.”
“So next year you’ll begin looking at colleges,” she added.
“Yeah.”
“Any thoughts on where you’d like to go?” I asked.
“I’ve good grades,” he said. “I like UVA and Virginia Tech.”
“He’s downplaying his talents,” Susan said. “He’s very smart. Straight A’s and on schedule for AP Honors classes next year.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Mom.”
“It’s true,” she said.
“I took AP Honors,” I said. “It’s nice getting to college with a semester or two worth of credits under your belt. Plus I was able to graduate high school a year early.”
“That’s what Mom keeps saying.” When he realized he’d called Susan Mom again, he looked at me, worried he’d said something wrong.
There was a lot I’d not done right concerning Michael over the last sixteen years, but I was not going to mess up this meeting. “That’s okay. She is Mom.”
“But so are you,” he said, glancing toward Susan, worried again he’d said something wrong.
Susan nudged him gently with her elbow. “She’s your birth mom. And I’m proud of that, Michael. Without Rae, there’d be no you.”
“So what do I call you?” he asked me.
The ice around my heart dripped and melted under the heat of his watchful eyes. “Rae works just fine.”
He nodded, and again I sensed the rush of relief.
“Thank you for all the pictures,” I said to Susan.
Her dark eyes brightened. “Amazing how fast he’s grown.”
Feeling that I owed her an explanation, I said, “It was hard to look at them, but you kept your word and I am grateful for that.”
“Why was it hard?” Michael challenged.
A lump rose in my throat. I struggled for objectivity and a sense of calm. “It’s very emotional for me, Michael.” I struggled to corral the words that skidded just out of reach. “Giving you to your mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And looking at the pictures reminded me of what I was missing. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you and your family. You are so lucky to have each other.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through several screens before he found what he wanted and turned the phone toward me. “This is a picture Mom keeps in the den next to all the other family pictures.”
I took the phone and found a sixteen-year-old me holding Michael. My hair was tied back in a ponytail and the stark hospital gown made my face look sallow. “I remember when the nurse took this picture. It was the day you were born. I hadn’t slept much.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Sore from nineteen hours of labor. Worried about you.” For a brief instant, my eyes stung as tears threatened, but I willed them away. “Of course, I can see I had nothing to be worried about.”
“This is what I picture when I think of you,” Susan said. “Young. So very young. And now it’s nice to see you’ve become such an accomplished woman.”
I studied the picture an extra beat. “Michael is still a tiny baby in my mind. It’ll take some adjusting to the fact that he’s becoming a grown man.”
Silent, Michael traced his finger down the condensation on the side of his glass. Susan sat back in her seat, looking exhausted. Overwhelmed, I looked down, needing time to shore up my senses before I looked at him or even Susan. My roller coaster of emotions ranged from exhausted to exhilarated.
When the waitress arrived, the only one able to speak was Lisa, who grinned and ordered two pizzas—one cheese and the other with pepperoni.
“I’m proud of you all,” Lisa said, shattering the silence. “None of this is easy and yet you’re all here.” Susan looked up, clearly ready to focus on anything different. “Without heaping TMI on you, I’m
in AA. We talk a lot about secrets. They all eat away at you. Make life tough. Lead us to drink so that we won’t feel as much. Talking is good. This is healthy.”
Michael studied her, trying to get a read on her. “I guess.”
“Rae, you should tell him about the family papers that you’re having a historian study,” Lisa said. “Michael, Rae recently had an old hearth fireplace removed from her backyard. It was built in the mid-1750s.”
“Wow,” he said.
“It had become a tumble of rocks, not a hearth anymore.” I felt Lisa’s elbow nudge me and I gladly reached for benign facts that were only a curiosity to me. “The first McDonalds in Alexandria came from Scotland in 1749. Their names were Patience and Michael McDonald.”
“Is that where my name came from?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I just liked the name. I didn’t know about the first Michael when you were born.”
“Oh.” Michael asked.
“My family has always been good about saving family papers, and I recently gave the letters to a local historian who studies the city’s history. She found letters from Patience that she never mailed. They’re quite detailed.”
“Turns out,” Lisa said, leaning forward like a conspirator sharing a secret, “that there are three families that are connected.” She explained that the families all still had descendants in the area. She now had an attentive audience, so she added the story of the three witch bottles for good measure.
“Can I see the bottles?” Michael asked.
“I believe they’ll be on display very soon,” I said. “If you’re interested, I’ll send you an e-mail when the exhibit opens.”
“Yeah, that would be cool.”
I reached into my purse. “You’d also asked about the family’s genealogy. This is a printout of all the generations dating back to Patience and Michael.”
He scanned the pages. “Wow. Mom, your family only goes back a couple of generations.”
Susan shrugged, looking a bit chagrined in the face of the McDonalds’ long history. “We came from Ireland about eighty years ago and don’t have many records. You’re lucky that Rae can trace the McDonalds back so far.”
Lisa tapped a finger against the side of her glass of tea. “My people were here early, but I’m not thinking they were such nice people. They transported indentured servants and slaves.”
I tapped Patrick McDonald’s name, which rested under Patience’s and Michael’s. “The historian thinks he was adopted. There are letters that suggest Patience adopted one of Faith Shire’s twin sons.”
“Really?”
“The historian has a couple of portraits. One of Patrick and one of Faith’s other son, Marcus. They look like they could be brothers.”
“Cool.”
The pizza arrived and we all welcomed the chance to eat and reflect. Susan nibbled at the crust of her pizza but didn’t eat more than a bite or two. I wanted so much to ask her about her illness but sensed she did not want to discuss it in front of Michael.
When we’d finished eating, we boxed up the extra for her to take home for Michael and made our way out to the parking lot. The wind had picked up and blew a paper cup randomly across the lot, but the skies had cleared and the sun was warm.
I’d feared and dreaded this meeting for years, and now I had met Michael. Why couldn’t it have been so much sooner? We stood on the curb, Michael’s hands tucked in his front pockets as Susan loaded the pizza boxes in the backseat. When she faced us, a sense of awkwardness bloomed. Did I shake hands again? Would a hug be out of the question, and if I hugged both, how long was too long? Judging by Michael and Susan’s expressions, they were just as uncertain.
Lisa picked up on this and quickly leaned in and hugged Susan first, and then when Michael pulled his hands from his pockets, hugged him. She was our Switzerland. Our safe place. Following suit, I quickly embraced Susan, and cringed when I felt the bones in her back. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She squeezed me with a surprising strength. “It’s okay. Really.”
Tears burning my throat, I turned toward Michael. We both hesitated, but I put my arms around him. I wanted to hug him. To feel him. Hear his breath. Just as I had when he was a tiny baby.
After a not-too-quick hug, I backed away and tucked my hands in the folds of my jacket. “It was really nice to meet you, Michael.”
“Yeah, Rae,” he said.
I wanted the moment to linger just a little longer. “If you have any questions about those papers, just e-mail me.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Susan smiled. “Thanks, Rae. This really has been great.”
There was so much I wanted to thank her for doing. I understood that this moment was happening because she was supporting Michael as he reached out to me. “Thank you, Susan.”
They drove off while we climbed into my car. For a moment, I simply sat, completely exhausted, unable to start the car.
“Very intense,” Lisa said.
“Did you see his expression? He looked moodier toward the end.”
“It’s a lot to absorb. Seems there’s no easy way to do this.”
“As a psychologist, I can tell you that he underestimated the emotions of today. Until now, I’ve been a curiosity. A make-believe person he could tuck in a box and ignore or pay attention to when it suited him.”
Lisa clicked her seat belt in place. “No one can predict how they’ll feel in this kind of situation. I think all in all, it went pretty well.”
I sighed, fastened my seat belt, and started the engine. “We’re in the honeymoon phase.”
“What is that?”
“Where we’re polite and everyone was on their best behavior.”
“Maybe, but Susan seemed really cool about the whole thing.”
A dull headache throbbed behind my eyes. “I had no idea she was sick.”
“You think it’s cancer?”
“She shows signs of undergoing chemotherapy treatment.”
“Shit. How sick do you think she is?”
“I don’t know. She never mentioned it in her letters.” My head dropped back against the headrest. “And still, she’s here with Michael, and so gracious.”
“You picked a good mom for him.”
“I wish I could take the credit, but that was all Mom.”
“How?”
“She never said. But when I met Susan, I instantly liked her.” My hands trembled. “Mom was always good at introducing people that got along well.
“I wonder what he would have been like if I’d raised him. I barely knew how to take care of myself then, let alone a baby. He’s very together and secure.”
Lisa was quiet for a moment. “So where to from here?”
“Unless I hear from him, I’ll give him a little time. When Margaret displays the witch bottles, I’ll invite him and hope that this whole thing doesn’t scare him off.”
“You’re not a scary person, Rae. You may put up a front, but today the true Rae was there.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s face it, Rae. When you’re doing your I-must-be-perfect mode like your mother, you’re a little Stepford Wife–ish.”
“I am not.”
“You are, Rae. But when you’re like this, you’re pretty cool. Kid, you need to loosen your grip on the wheel of life.”
Sliding on my sunglasses, I backed out of the parking space and drove toward Duke Street. “Yeah, right.”
“See, there you go again, Rae. You’re shoring up the defenses.”
“Control is not a bad thing, Lisa. You attend your AA meetings in an effort to stay in control.”
“No argument here. But I also know I can’t control everything around me. I can only manage and accept.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
When we pulled up in front of the Prince Street house, a white Mercedes was parked in front. The front door was ajar and there was an Open House flag planted by the For Sale sign. The real estate agent, I figured.
“Great,” Lisa said. “I was hoping she’d be gone by now.”
“You don’t like her?” I was now ready to talk about something else.
“She’s a bitch.”
“Like me?”
“Not at all like you. I know you have a heart in there somewhere. Not so sure about that one.”
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
“Would you?” Her look of genuine relief surprised me. She’d handled the restaurant so well and now she was melting because of a real estate agent.
“Of course.” I parked and we walked into the center hallway. Charlie barked from his crate, clearly not happy with people in his house. Lisa hurried to the kitchen and let him out. He jumped up on her and she greeted him with a quick hug before she hustled him out the back door into the yard. She picked up a red chew ring and tossed it, and he took off running. She tried to slip back inside unnoticed, but the dog barked at the door. “Rae, I’ll be out here with Charlie if anyone needs me.”
“No trouble. I’ll call out if you’re needed.”
“Thanks.” She turned to wrestle the red ring from the dog and threw it again.
I turned to study the interior of the house. It had been years since I’d stood in this hallway. There’d been so many renovations that I barely recognized the place. “I like what Amelia did with the place,” I said to Lisa, who was still standing just outside the back door.
“I do, too. She always wanted to give it back to me one day in better shape than when she received it.”
Upstairs, we heard footsteps and then a couple appeared at the top of the stairs. I recognized them immediately. It was Samuel and Debra. Each was smiling and both were equally shocked when they saw me standing at the base of the bullnose staircase.
“Dr. McDonald?” Debra asked. Her face reddened a tinge, but she summoned a grin.
Samuel was more relaxed, extending his hand. “What brings you here? You thinking about buying the place?”
“I’m a friend of the current owner. No interest in buying.”
The View from Prince Street Page 21
