A flood of memories of the girl we both dearly missed came rushing back.
“Really nice job,” Margaret said. “I can see you had the gift, even in high school.”
“There are so many technical problems with the negative,” Lisa said.
“I see none,” I countered. “It’s absolutely perfect. I’ll frame it. I know exactly where I’ll hang it in my house.”
The bells of the shop jingled, and Addie pushed through the door. Carrie, hearing Addie, began to kick, fuss, and cry.
Margaret shook her head as she pointed at the baby. “She was not crying while you were gone. Do not believe her.”
Addie grinned as she set down her purse. The baby cried louder and kicked her feet. “Did Margaret lock you in a trunk again?”
The baby cried as Addie pulled her from the front pack and kissed her on the face. Carrie wailed and smiled all in the same instant.
“I’m being set up,” Margaret said. “The kid and I were inventorying doorknobs and reviewing my witch bottle presentation. I talked. She burped. She was happy until she saw you. She’s a sly one.”
Addie kissed the baby in the crook of her neck until she stopped fussing. “I know. Carrie’s a little con artist. She does the same when Grace watches her. How is Grace doing?”
“Sleeping. She babysat earlier today and the kid wore her out. But she’s fine. The kid and I held down the fort.”
“I knew you would.”
“So, do we have press yet?” Addie asked.
Margaret pulled her phone from her back pocket. “The reporter texted and said any minute.”
The doorbells jingled and I turned to see a tall blond woman. She wore skinny jeans accentuating a flat belly, an off-the-shoulder T-shirt, and boots. “Am I late?”
It didn’t take a Ph.D. to see the tension ripple through Addie as she smiled. Putting two and two together, I came up with Janet Morgan, Addie’s sister and the baby’s birth mother.
“Hey, Janet,” Addie said. “You came to hear Margaret talk about the bottles?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She moved to the baby, grinned, and held out her hands. The baby smiled back as Janet reached for her. Addie allowed her to go, but kept a close watch.
As I studied Addie’s body language, my respect for Susan grew. She could have handled Michael’s relationship with me a dozen different ways. It wouldn’t have been hard to shut me out completely. I’d certainly made it easy for her over the years. But she stepped back and let her son, our son, find his own way. Michael and I weren’t guaranteed anything. We would both have to want it. Susan loved Michael enough to let him love me. And Addie was doing the same for Carrie.
Janet nestled the baby on her hip, though her hold wasn’t quite as relaxed as Addie’s. One baby and two mothers.
I checked my watch and realized Margaret’s show was starting in a few minutes, if she stuck to schedule. Michael and his mother would be here soon. Tension banded across my chest. I stole another glance at the clock and door. Maybe they were stuck in traffic. Susan didn’t live in this area and she might very well have underestimated the time it took to find a parking space. Maybe I should have told her to leave earlier? Should I call and check on them? Or would that be too pushy? Technically, they weren’t late, and she could be circling the block right now looking for parking.
The bells jingled again and I turned to see Zeb and Eric. The boy’s grin was wide, thrilled as he rushed into the room and up to Janet.
“Mom!”
Janet rumpled his hair with her hand. “Hey, baby. How are you doing?”
Eric’s exaggerated frown almost made me laugh. “I’m not a baby.”
She made a good-natured face at him. “You’re my baby.”
“I’m not a baby, Mom. Carrie is your baby,” Eric said.
Addie took a small step back, fingers tightening on her forearms.
Zeb placed his hand on Eric’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Puzzled, the boy looked up at his dad.
Janet was oblivious to Addie and Zeb’s tension as she held the baby closer.
Margaret coughed loudly and clapped her hands. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The loud noise startled the baby. Her eyes widened and she began to cry. Janet rocked the baby for a minute or two longer, but when the crying didn’t ease, she turned to Addie, who gladly took the child and rested her against her shoulder.
Janet’s hands trembled slightly as she tucked them in her pockets. I studied her more closely and caught the averted gaze and the nervous tap of her toe. No wonder she couldn’t deal with a crying baby. She couldn’t deal with herself. I didn’t know exactly what she struggled with, but clearly, the burden required all her attention.
Margaret, in a hushed voice, said, “I’ve a lot of good information on Faith and the witch bottles.”
Glancing toward the door, I wanted to ask Margaret to wait but caught a glimpse of Addie’s stone face. Carrie was Janet’s child by birth, but Addie was the child’s mother in every other way. “Your reporter isn’t here, Margaret.”
“She said she would be here any minute and I’ve e-mailed her all the facts.” She rubbed her hands together, more quietly this time, and grinned. “Let’s talk witch bottles.”
We all took our seats, Janet in the front next to Eric and Zeb, flanking the boy’s other side. Lisa and Addie took the second row and I opted to sit in the back, choosing the row with the most empty seats. Plenty of room for Susan and Michael. I looked at the door again and when I faced front, found Zeb looking back with a questioning look. When Michael and his mother arrived, he’d learn more answers about the McDonalds than he ever wanted.
Eric turned around. “Hey, Dr. McDonald.”
Hard to hold on to worry around that boy. “Eric. Are you excited about all this family history we’re learning?”
He nodded yes and in a small whisper said, “Witches are pretty cool.”
Zeb ruffled his boy’s head and turned it back toward the center of the room. “Margaret has a new fan.”
“Can’t fault him for that.”
I settled in my seat, refusing to look toward the door again. Checking my watch, I calculated that Susan and Michael were now fifteen minutes late. This was normal with Beltway traffic, but it felt like fifteen years.
Margaret set three boxes on the table and opened each. She removed the shattered pieces of the Shire/Morgan family’s bottle and then the very intact bottles created by a McDonald and a Smyth.
“This has turned into a very interesting story, not just about three bottles, but three women and their dire circumstances that brought them together to create a pact that bound them for a lifetime.”
March 2, 1770
My Dearest Children,
The farmer’s wife died on a snowy Wednesday afternoon. She was forty-nine years old. Mr. McDonald and Patrick were at her side. Neither of the men wept, but stood solemnly without speaking a word.
We buried her in the back field and the three of us stood at the grave, silent, not holding hands or giving comfort. When the farmer turned and walked back to the main house, Patrick took my hand in his, but did not look at me. “Thank you,” he whispered. He pulled free and went back into the house. Marcus, at my invitation, joined us and the four of us ate dinner in silence that evening. As I sat in my rocker by the fire, the boys sat close, talking in hushed whispers. This was a rare and precious moment, and I should have savored it. But I could only think about the thousands of moments just like this that had been stolen from me by the woman we buried today.
—F
Chapter Twenty
Rae McDonald
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 5:15 P.M.
A pact that bound them for a lifetime.
Margaret’s words did not register with me. My focus remained on my phone, the back door, and Michael and Susan’s arrival. As
the minutes ticked by, the sharp edge of my excitement dulled. I watched as Margaret flashed slides of the contents of Addie’s bottle. Nails. Shards of glass. A strip of cloth. A lock of hair. She explained the meaning and the context, but I wasn’t there. I wanted to see Michael, if only for a few minutes. Had he changed his mind? Was he angry with me?
When my cell buzzed in my hand and I saw Susan’s number, I rose immediately and moved out the side door to the alley. Pressing a finger into one ear to block out the noise of the street, I clutched the phone closely. “Susan. Is everything all right?”
“No. I should have called you earlier but this is the first time I’ve had the chance to get to my phone.” Her voice shuddered with worry.
“What is it?”
She hesitated, drawing in a ragged breath. “There’s been a car accident. Michael was injured.”
The world around me shifted and I felt the ice cascade over me, freezing every cell in my body. “How bad?”
Her voice wavered. “It’s serious.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s in surgery at the hospital in Alexandria. We were on our way to your event. We were broadsided at an intersection.”
As I looked to the setting sun, the vibrant oranges and yellows shattered like glass. “Susan, can I come to the hospital?”
“Yes. In fact, I was hoping you could donate blood. He’s AB negative, like your medical record stated.”
“I’m leaving right now.” I mapped the journey in my mind. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
A sob escaped. “Hurry, Rae.”
When I turned, Zeb stood by the door, his face etched with concern. I’d done my best to keep my emotions in check, but he knew something was wrong. As much as I wanted to hide all this, I was overwhelmed. “I’ve got to go.”
He stepped in my path. “What’s wrong?”
Whatever locks I’d fastened to the past had broken with Susan’s call. “I have a son, Zeb. I was sixteen when he was born and I gave him up for adoption. I just got off the phone with his mother. He’s been in a serious car accident in Alexandria. I need to go now.”
Without looking away, he reached in his front pocket and pulled out car keys. “I’ll drive.”
“What?”
“You focus on what needs to be done. I’ll drive. We’ll get through this.”
“What about Eric?”
He went up to Addie and whispered something in her ear, and she got up and moved directly behind Eric. “Addie’s got him.”
Tremors rattled deep under the ice. “You don’t have to do this.”
He pressed his hand to my back. “We’ve got to move. Stay positive. The boy will need it.”
I was always in control. I ran my own show. It had been a long time since I’d accepted help, but right now, I was so grateful for it. “It’s Alexandria Hospital.”
“Understood.”
He grabbed me under my arm and nearly lifted me out of my shoes as we sprinted to his truck. He slung open the passenger door and pushed me inside. I clutched my purse to my belly, which now ached with a sensation I’d not felt in years. Worry. Fear. Dread. Sadness. It was all there.
“Buckle up,” he said.
Frantically, I clicked the buckle in place as he slammed the door. Seconds later, he was behind the wheel and we were in route. He didn’t ask me any questions as we drove across town. He didn’t prod or pry. He did what he did best. He acted. No hesitation or doubt.
We both hurried through the emergency room doors, and I rushed up to the nurses’ station. “My name is Dr. Rae McDonald. I’m here for Michael Holloway. His mother, Susan Holloway, called me.”
“Are you family?”
I raised my chin. “I’m his birth mother.”
“Ah, you’re the one we’ve been waiting for. We may need you to donate blood if you’re a match.”
“Where are Michael and Susan?”
“She’s in the family center waiting for the surgeon’s update.”
The paltry details didn’t satisfy, but I understood that regulations prevented her from telling me more. Legally, I was not family. “Take me to where I should go.”
The nurse studied Zeb, her stern eyes sizing him up.
“I’m with Rae. And I’ll go back with her.”
“I can only take blood donors back.”
Zeb grinned, but there was no humor in his dark eyes. “Then I’m a blood donor.”
The nurse handed us both visitor badges. “We can always use blood.”
We moved down the sterile hallways, the fluorescent lights buzzing as monitors beeped, gurneys rolled, and people talked in hushed tones. We entered a lab where there was a collection of large chairs. They were equipped with adjustable armrests.
A nurse looked up from a clipboard. “Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Rae McDonald. You’re expecting me.”
“Especially if you’re AB negative today.”
“My blood’s not a match,” Zeb said. “But you’re welcome to it.”
“Great. You can sit next to your wife.”
I would have been slightly chagrined by the comment given a different set of circumstances. Both Zeb and I let the comment stand.
Without a thought, Zeb took the seat beside me. “I’m O positive.”
The nurse nodded. “We’re short all types right now, so glad to have you.”
I tipped my head back against the seat, and as tears brimmed, I closed my eyes to stop them. When I thought I could trust my voice, I said, “Thanks, Zeb.”
His dark eyes softened with a tenderness that stirred more emotion than I could handle. “You would’ve done the same, Rae.”
That startled a nervous laugh, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me.
As the nurse readied to put a needle in my arm, I asked, “Do you know where Susan is? I’d really like to speak to her.”
“She’s waiting for the surgeon’s update and said she’d find you as soon as she could. From what I understand, the operation is nearly finished.”
I instinctively drew my arm back. “And he’s okay?”
She eased me back in the chair. “I’m not supposed to say.” She winked and smiled, suggesting the outcome was good. She pushed up my sleeve and traced the deep blue vein on my arm. “You’re in good shape. You work out?”
“I run most days,” I said, more to myself than to her.
“How far do you run?” She positioned the needle over the vein.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me. I promise I’m fine. Just stick the needle in me.”
The nurse regarded Zeb, as if she had something important to say. For an instant, I looked at him, and the nurse slyly slid the needle into my arm with little pain. She quickly taped it in place and asked me to squeeze the rubber ball in my hand. “I heard you were a psychologist, but we nurses also have a few tricks up our sleeve.”
“Well played,” I said.
Within minutes, Zeb, too, was attached to a bag and we had nothing to do but wait.
I was amazed that the clock’s second hand now crawled around the face of the dial.
Zeb tracked my gaze and said, “The nurse said he was going to be fine.”
“But what does fine mean? It’s one of those words that really doesn’t say all that much when you think about it.”
“You’re thinking too hard. Fine means he’ll be okay. I could tell by her expression that she meant fine in the best way.”
I knew he meant well, but his reasoning grated against my fears and left me annoyed. “So you’re a psychologist as well?”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “You don’t run a successful construction business without learning a thing or two about people. You should meet some of my clients.”
I stared at the rubber ball in
my hand. “We can’t be sure of anything regarding Michael at this moment.”
“Take you, for instance,” he said, as if I’d never spoken.
“What about me?” Annoyance sharpened the words.
A smile tweaked the edges of his lips as he leaned his head back and paused a long moment, until he was satisfied he had my attention. “You don’t like your house.”
“What? Of course I like it. It’s been in the family for hundreds of years.”
“You stay there because it belongs to your family, but you don’t like it.”
“It’s a wonderful house.”
“For whom? You’ve been slowly dismantling it for the last couple of years since your mother passed. First, you had me gut the kitchen, and then you hired me to redo your room and the suite. Then your office. You’ve transformed the spaces. Now, the addition.”
“The house needed it.”
“And the stone hearth. You’ve been eyeing that for a couple of years.”
“How do you know?”
“While we were working on the kitchen, I’d watch you go outside and stand in front of it and just stare.”
“It was an unsightly pile of rocks.”
“That you were told never to remove.”
She shook her head. “Maybe my mother was right. I’ve seen more change in the last six weeks than I’ve seen in the last sixteen years.”
“That so bad?”
“No. It’s not that bad.” I relaxed back against the headrest, energy fading. “Thank you.”
“If it were Eric, I’d be demanding answers.”
A part of me felt as if I had the right to be here and another part told me this was not my place.
“You’ve a right to be here,” Zeb said, reading my thoughts.
I searched his steady, determined expression. “Do you really believe that?”
He shoved out a breath. “I’ve had a lot of issues with my ex-wife. I resent the way she just took off and abandoned Eric. I know she’s sick, but the facts don’t lessen the anger. But one thing I have admired about Janet is that she gave Carrie to Addie. That kid is better off with Addie, and Janet knows it.”
The View from Prince Street Page 27
