One Perfect Spring

by Irene Hannon

Something was very wrong.

  For several long beats, David didn’t speak. Nor did she ask any more questions.

  Instead, she braced.

  When at last he began, his tone was gentle. “Keith is fairly certain he’s located the couple that adopted your son.”

  Again, her heart stumbled.

  Her prayers had been answered!

  Except . . . why didn’t David look pleased?

  “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  He took a long, slow breath. “There’s no easy way to lead up to this, Maureen. I’ll give you all the particulars—or as much as Keith was able to learn—in a moment, but I’m very sorry to tell you that the boy we think was your son was killed in the Middle East two months ago while serving with the Marines.”

  As the words hovered in the air between them, the rest of the world went silent.

  The evening song of the birds stilled.

  The faint hum of car engines from the main road a block away faded.

  The tinkle of the wind chimes on the patio ceased.

  The only sound she heard was a rushing in her head—and the keening wail of a silent “No!” echoing and reechoing in her brain.

  She’d been in this terrible place once before, on that fateful day she’d called Hal’s hotel in Venice and listened to the clerk tell her no one by that name had been registered. As she’d struggled to accept that the man she’d given her heart to had vanished without a trace, the bottom had fallen out of her world.

  Now it was falling out again.

  The son she’d never known was dead.

  No! No! No! No! No!

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  The faint words came from a distance. From another realm.

  She blocked them out, struggling to process the news.

  It wouldn’t compute.

  Her son was dead?

  Killed in a foreign land, at the peak of his youth?

  God, how can this be?!

  She sucked in a breath as pressure built behind her eyes, and a choked sob ripped past her throat.

  Someone touched her face, pulled her close. Beneath her ear, a heart beat steady and sure.

  But her son’s heart had been stilled forever.

  A tear trickled down her cheek even as numbness began to creep over her. She didn’t try to stop it. The dulling effect of shock would allow her to gather information and sort through the facts without emotion clogging her brain. Later, when she was alone, she could fall apart. David didn’t need to be dragged into the muddled mire of her anguish.

  With a self-discipline she didn’t know she possessed, she eased out of his arms. He refused to relinquish her hand, but that was okay. She needed something solid to cling to.

  “Tell me what you learned.” Her voice sounded hollow, disembodied.

  She listened as he told her how Keith had tracked down Father Ryan’s sister through the woman at St. Columba rectory. How the priest’s sister had kept the cards and notes from couples she’d worked with during her volunteer days at the agency. How the timing of the adoption fit. How both adoptive parents had been teachers.

  It was a match.

  She knew that as surely as she knew God had led her to this moment for reasons known only to him.

  “Tell me about my son.” She looked down, focusing on their entwined fingers. Drawing as much strength as she could from this man, so new in her life but already so much a part of it.

  “I don’t have a lot of details, except that he was killed while on routine patrol with his unit.”

  “What was his name?” She choked out the question as her composure began to slip again.

  “Paul Phillips.”

  “Paul.” She whispered the name, savoring it on her tongue.

  “The adoptive parents are more than happy to talk with you if you want to contact them.” David slid a small piece of notepaper toward her across the table.

  She read the names. Beth and Joseph Phillips. Under the names, David had written a phone number.

  With her free hand, she picked up the sheet of paper—her only link to the son she’d never known. Would never know.

  The pressure in her throat built again as she stared at the names. “David . . . I think I need some time alone to . . . absorb all this.”

  He stroked her face again, and she made herself look at him. Compassion had softened his features, and his eyes were filled with kindness and empathy.

  “I don’t mind staying if you want company.”

  She swallowed. “I appreciate that. But I’ll have company. God and I have a lot to talk about it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, but thank you for offering to stay. That means a lot.”

  After studying her for a few seconds, he rose and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’ll let myself out. Will you call me later?”

  “Yes. In an hour or two. Thank you for understanding.”

  “Always.” After one more tender touch, he moved toward the house.

  She didn’t watch him leave, but she heard the sliding door open, then close, behind her.

  For a long while she sat there, the paper cradled in her hands, letting the news—and its implications—sink in.

  She’d missed her chance to meet her son . . . to explain . . . to apologize . . . by two months.

  Why, God?

  Why did you bring me this far, let me get this close, only to snatch away any hope of a reunion?

  As she wrestled with that question, the sun set.

  Darkness fell.

  And still no answer came.

  The breeze picked up, and she shivered in the evening chill. At last she rose and made her way back inside.

  David had cleared the table of their uneaten dessert but left the coffeepot plugged in. She wandered over and poured herself a cup . . . but the brew was bitter on her tongue.

  Or was that the taste of regret?

  She dumped it down the sink.

  A glance at the clock on the far wall told her she’d been outside for two hours. Hard to believe. Time had just . . . stopped. But she owed David a call.

  He answered on the first ring, as if he’d had his phone in hand, waiting for her. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m still in shock.”

  “That’s understandable. I’m so sorry it ended like this.”

  “I have to believe God had his reasons.” Though what they were, she couldn’t fathom.

  “Are you going to contact the Phillipses?”

  She examined the paper clutched in her hand, soggy around the edges now from the moisture in her fingers. “I think I’ll sleep on it before I make that decision.”

  “I could spend the night on your couch if you don’t want to be alone.”

  Her heart contracted with tenderness.

  “My couch is meant for sitting, not sleeping. You’d have a crick in your neck for a week.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  No, he wouldn’t.

  The man was a gem.

  “Thank you for offering, but I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Or tonight if you can’t sleep.”

  “No sense both of us being awake.”

  “I’m not certain I’ll sleep very well, anyway. I want you to promise you’ll call if you need to hear a friendly voice—or just feel like talking.”

  “If it comes to that, I will. Otherwise, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you—and praying.”

  “I appreciate that. Good night.”

  Once the line went dead, she locked up and wandered back to her bedroom. It was too early to turn in, but maybe a long, hot soak in the tub would help her relax.

  If only.

  Still, a bath would use up a small portion of the dark, lonely hours she’d have to face until dawn signaled the start of a new day.

  But even when the sun rose tomorrow, she had a feeling it would be a long while before light would manage to p
enetrate the darkness in her grieving soul.

  21

  Claire sank into a chair in the teachers’ lounge, pulled her cell out of her tote bag, and started to tap in Keith’s number.

  Stopped.

  Scowling, she set the phone in her lap and unwrapped the turkey sandwich she’d retrieved from the refrigerator.

  There was no reason to bother Keith at work.

  So what if he’d seemed distracted when he’d called last night? That didn’t mean he was having second thoughts about sharing his past with her. Maybe his mother had asked a lot of questions about them yesterday during their weekly dinner and he was annoyed. Or some issue might have come up at work that had him worried, like those job-site problems in Springfield he’d referenced while they were skating. His preoccupation probably had nothing to do with their relationship.

  Still, it would be nice to talk to him. Just to make sure.

  She reached for the phone again.

  Stopped.

  “You might as well call whoever’s got you twisted into a pretzel.” Plastic container of salad in hand, the fourth-grade teacher dropped into the chair beside her. “You went through the same drill a couple of hours ago, on break.”

  Great.

  Now other people were tuning in to her anxiety.

  “It can wait.” She took a bite of her sandwich.

  “Yeah?” Ruth tore open a packet of dressing and drizzled it over her chicken Caesar. “Doesn’t look like it. Must be a guy.”

  Warmth crept over her cheeks. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” She forced herself to take another bite of her sandwich, praying it didn’t get stuck in her throat.

  “What else could it be?” Ruth speared some lettuce, jabbed at a piece of chicken. “I’ve been there—too many times to count. That’s why I’ve sworn off men. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

  In other words, she’d broken up with her latest beau. But her resolve wouldn’t last long. The thirtysomething double-divorcee never went more than a month without a man in her life.

  “I’m sure there are a few good ones out there.”

  Ruth sent her a skeptical glance. “You couldn’t prove it by me. All of the guys I’ve been involved with started out looking like Porsches but ended up being clunkers with a capital C.” She crunched a crouton. “I didn’t think your opinion of men was all that high, either.”

  Not for the first time Claire wished she’d kept her opinions to herself when Ruth had probed about her past during her early days on the job. She hadn’t said much . . . but the other woman had gotten the gist.

  “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

  “Since when?” Ruth tipped her head. Narrowed her eyes. “You have met a guy, haven’t you?”

  Claire choked down another bite of her sandwich and checked her watch. “I need to run a quick errand before lunch break ends.” She stuffed the remainder of her sandwich in her tote bag, along with her phone, and stood. “See you later.”

  “I’ll be around.” Ruth sent her a smug smirk.

  Once in the hall, Claire paused to take a deep breath.

  This wasn’t good.

  She was letting Keith get under her skin. Fretting over how he felt about her, where she stood with him—the very things she’d vowed never to do again after the Brett fiasco—and it was stressing her out. Enough that other people were noticing.

  But she’d also vowed that if she ever again met a man who interested her, she was going to be up-front with him rather than stew about her concerns.

  So she would make that phone call. Ask him straight out what was going on, and settle this thing.

  Striding down the hall, she exited the building and tucked herself into a quiet nook on the side. Her fingers weren’t quite steady as she tapped in his number, but at least she was being proactive instead of passive.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Claire? Is everything okay? Are you at school?”

  He didn’t sound distracted today. He sounded the way he usually did—warm, welcoming, glad to be talking with her. But she also heard a thread of concern, thanks to her out-of-the-blue, middle-of-the-day call.

  She’d overreacted—big time.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to bother you at work.”

  “It’s no bother. Hearing your voice is the bright spot in my day. I was going to call you after school, but you beat me to it. What’s up?”

  The muted shouts of children at play drifted her way from the back of the building.

  Just be honest, Claire. You’re too far in to back out now.

  She held on tight to the handle of her shoulder tote. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Okay.” His tone grew more serious.

  “I’ve been kind of worried since you called last night. You seemed very distracted, and I wondered if you might be having regrets about confiding in me on Saturday.”

  She heard him expel a breath. “Trust me, my distraction had nothing to do with you.”

  Her pounding pulse slowed a hair. “That trust thing is . . . it’s still hard for me.”

  “I know. Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I wish I was there right now to give you a hug.”

  The tension in her shoulders eased, and she leaned back against the side of the building. “Can I get a rain check?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, this is two-for-one day. But I’m sorry to say you’ll have to wait to redeem them. Those problems in Springfield I mentioned to you got worse. I’m heading there this afternoon to sort things out. I could be gone until Friday.”

  She wouldn’t see him the whole week?

  Bummer.

  “Is that why you were distracted last night?”

  “No. I didn’t find out about the trip until this morning. Last night’s preoccupation involved Haley’s birthday project. I had some news. Have you spoken with Maureen today?”

  “No. Did you find her son?”

  He hesitated. “I think it might be better if you talk to her directly. I know you and she are friends, but David and I promised her total confidentiality.”

  “I understand. And I respect your commitment to that promise. I’ll touch base with her later.”

  “I think that might be a good idea.”

  Why?

  She bit back that question—and the others clamoring for answers. Keith was right. It was up to Maureen to decide what she wanted to share.

  “I’ll stop in at her place tonight. In the meantime, have a safe trip. Are you driving?” She watched a robin land in a nearby tree and poke a few twigs into a half-completed nest.

  “Yes—but I plan to be back in time for dinner Friday. Are you free?”

  “As a bird.” The robin took off on another scavenging mission. “My usual Friday night consists of eating tuna casserole with Haley and watching an old movie.”

  “If you can part from your daughter for one night, I had more upscale fare in mind.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you asking me out on a real date?”

  “Yeah. Interested?”

  “Very. I’ll just need to line someone up to watch Haley.”

  “My mom might volunteer, unless you have another preference.”

  He was willing to ask his mother to babysit . . . and let her grill his date’s daughter?

  That had to be a super positive sign.

  The bell rang, signaling the end of recess, and Claire pushed off from the building. “Maureen’s watched Haley on the few occasions I’ve needed a sitter for a school-related function—but my instincts tell me it might be better to have someone else do it this time.”

  “Trust your instincts. I’ll run the idea by my mom and call you with details. Now I better let you go. I remember that bell from my youth—and the consequences for ignoring it.”

  “For students, not teachers. But I do need to get back to my classroom.” She walked around the side of the building, ran up the steps, and pushed through the door. “I’m looking forward to Frida
y.”

  “Me too. Talk to you soon.”

  As she ended the call and tucked the phone back in her purse, she spotted Ruth approaching down the hall. “Friday, huh? That open-mind thing must be working for you.” With a wink, the other teacher continued on her way.

  This time, though, the woman’s comment didn’t fluster her in the least.

  Because it was true—and to sweeten the deal, she had a double-hug rain check waiting to be cashed.

  Maureen slipped her rarely used Do Not Disturb sign on the knob, closed her office door, and returned to her desk.

  The hour she’d chosen had arrived.

  At six o’clock in Boston, most people would be at home, eating or preparing dinner.

  Including Beth and Joseph Phillips.

  After a restless night, much prayer, and two encouraging phone conversations with David, she was ready to talk to the only parents her son had ever known.

  And having that conversation in the familiar, predictable, orderly professional setting where she felt most in control would help her get through it in one piece.

  She hoped.

  Heart pounding, she picked up the slip of paper David had left with her and tapped in the number.

  Three rings in, just when she began to think the phone would roll to voice mail, a woman answered.

  “Mrs. Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  Her mouth went dry, and her fingers tightened on the receiver. “This is Maureen Chandler. I believe Delores Kohler spoke with you about me last weekend, though not by name. I’ve been trying to locate the son I gave up for adoption twenty-one years ago, and from all indications it appears you and your husband were the adoptive parents. She said you were receptive to a call from me.”

  “Oh my. Yes. Yes, of course. Let me just . . . I’m going to sit down here at the table.” The scraping of a chair sounded in the background before the woman spoke again. “I was so surprised to get that call from Delores after all these years. But . . .” The woman’s voice broke. “Did she pass on our sad news?”

  “Yes.” Maureen swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Paul was our only child. It was . . . there are no words. He had such a promising future. We tried to convince him to finish college and save the military for after graduation, but he said college would be there when he came home and he wanted to serve his country now, when the need was great.” Her words choked, and a sniffle came over the line. “Joe and I tried to instill patriotism in him, but I think we did too good a job.”