by Garcia, Rita
“How long have they been gone?”
“My grandmother—eleven years ago. My grandfather—close to ten years ago. My mom’s parents were older. They both died before she did.”
Attacked with melancholy, pangs of jealousy twisted my insides. What had it been like having grandparents who loved and protected you? Maggie and Logan had been blessed with two sets. No one claimed life had to be fair. “You must miss your grandparents?”
He nodded with a grimace. I tucked my arm into his and we made our way into the kitchen. It no longer had the antique stove like Maggie’s. Old-fashioned compared with the contemporary, yet modern compared with the early nineteen hundreds. Butter-cream walls enhanced the natural cherry wood cabinets. “The granite countertops are popular now—are they original to the house?”
“No clue. Maggie would know. She’s done extensive studies of early homes and furnishings. If she had chosen this house, she’d have restored the kitchen back to the original design.”
I looked around. “Where’s Goldie?” We found her near the front door, apparently tired from her adventures on the bluff. “It’s not often she leaves my side.”
“She trusts me.” He ran his hand down the back of my head, threading my hair through his fingers.
“Shall we head home?” I stepped back. Had he felt the heat of the moment?
In the truck, Goldie curled into a ball on the back seat and slept until Logan turned in to the alleyway. “We need to install motion sensor lights back here.”
“Especially considering Maggie works late in the summer.” I opened the door and paused when Logan still hadn’t moved. “I can’t wait to see what dessert Abby included—if we’re lucky, it’s something decadent and chocolate.”
In the apartment, he placed the basket on the kitchen counter. “Abby included a thermos of coffee.”
“I’ll get cups.” I eyed the hamper. “Never mind. I’m sure she included plates and cups.” One bite of the triple layer chocolate cake, my taste buds were tantalized with pleasure, and if the disappearing piece on Logan’s plate was any indication, he agreed.
We finished, and I stuffed the plates into the carrier and refilled our cups. “It’s been a wonderful evening.”
His teasing smile spoke to my out-of-control heart. “A hint I should leave?”
“Will you forgive me if I spoil the mood talking about my grandparents?”
“Alec and I visited John this afternoon. He says Anne dated a Roger Monroe but claims the guy isn’t your father. Didn’t have much else to say.”
“I wanted to respect their wishes so I’ve avoided the decision. Now there isn’t an alternative. I’m going to visit my grandparents—I have to find the truth.” Would meeting me in person change their minds? I kept telling myself that when my grandparents saw me, they would realize they still had a part of Anne—the daughter that they had lost.
Chapter Eighteen
I beeped the horn twice, waited and beeped it again. Our signal. When Maggie came out on her porch, the big brother in me didn’t like knowing she was alone. I had my own neurosis with commitment. Maggie and I had witnessed two people who obviously adored and loved each other torn apart by death. Our mom never fully recovered, I believe a part of her wanted to check out and be reunited with my father. She never considered taking her own life, I’m sure. Nonetheless, she stood face to face with cancer and chose not to fight. Sam was the closest I’d come to loving someone—and that story remained unwritten.
Maggie waved from the porch. “I hoped you might stop by. How’d the date go?”
“Watched the light show from the bluff and enjoyed a great dinner.” I omitted telling her about the personal fireworks—some adventures were best left unshared.
We sat in the matching rockers. Waves crashing onto the shore served as a reminder of the sea hidden by the darkness.
Lines formed on her forehead. “Tell me about Lilyan.”
“Dr. Jefferies refused to release her for trial.” I found myself taking up Alec’s habit—tapping my fingers on my leg. Might be one way to figure out the warped tune in his head.
“Sam and I chatted online earlier. She’s decided to go and see John and Elizabeth. She believes she’s the only one able to repair the breach. Maggie’s rocker squeaked rhythmically against the wooden boards.
“Do you know a Roger Monroe? According to John, Roger was a friend of Anne’s in high school.”
“Don’t think so. I know a Tess Monroe. She lives in Mariner Bay, but her sister once lived in Serenity Cove. If I’m not mistaken, Tess has two grown sons. I purchased a few antiques from her several years ago.”
“One of the sons named Roger?”
“I don’t recall hearing their names.”
“Send Tess’s number and address to Alec.”
“Will do.” She stifled a yawn. “Serenity Cove is having its share of mystery for a quiet little town.”
“I’m taking off. You go count sheep.” I stood, and placed my hands on my lower back, stretching.
“You’re welcome to stay—the guest room’s made up.”
“Not looking forward to getting back in my truck.”
“Rest helps give one a new perspective.” She gave me what Sam called her “Maggie smile.”
“I intend to solve this mystery for Sam—she has a right to get on with her life.”
“We need faith.” She paused. “Prayer opens doors.”
“Love you, sis.” I trekked down the hallway to the guestroom. Exhausted, I needed to connect my head with a pillow. I breathed a prayer before succumbing to sleep.
Much too soon, the coyotes howled, announcing the rising sun. Showered and dressed, I traipsed into the kitchen, glad to find Maggie up.
I sloshed coffee into a mug, and checked out the food on the stove. “Looks great.” I stacked a plate with bacon, eggs, and hash browns. “Busy schedule today?”
Maggie slid into the chair across the table, her plate neatly arranged with smaller portions. “A meeting with the Wheelers. They’re restoring her grandparents’ home on the ridge. They purchased some furnishings from my shop and are looking for a couple of more pieces, although I get the feeling their budget’s a bit cramped—it’s not easy for a young couple.”
“Yeah, I met Steve and Audra at Jake’s. She seemed familiar—couldn’t figure out from where.” I looked through the bay windows at the sun doing a morning salutation to the sea.
“They’re staying in one of the summer cottages.” Her dramatic sigh caught my attention. “Consider yourself warned—I invited Sam and Dr. Ellie to lunch, together.” She rubbed her finger on the rim of her mug and lowered her eyes, like a child caught stealing the teacher’s eraser from the chalkboard.
“Ambushing? Does Dr. Ellie know?”
She began clearing the table. “I’ll call and cancel.”
I shrugged. “I trust your judgment.” I added my mug to the dishes in the sink. “Gotta run. Appreciate the accommodations. Send Tess Monroe’s info to Alec this morning.” I heard I love you and responded with love you, too along with a wave in her direction, allowing the screen door to slam. My thoughts churned as I climbed into the truck. Could Roger Monroe be the break we needed? If he held the key to unlock the past, would it only further complicate Sam’s life?
Chapter Nineteen
A web woven—not by my design. I’m left to examine each delicate strand, for therein lies the essence of who I am. Hope keeps fighting to emerge from a place deep inside. Fear and doubt keep pushing it away. Why do I keep allowing life to toss me around at whim? The other me was never that way. ~ Journal entry
On impulse, I retrieved Dr. Ellie’s card from Goldie’s vest where I had stuffed it that day on the beach with Maggie. I composed a text and cringed as I sent it. Like dark clouds before a rainstorm, a covering of regret moved in. What could she possibly say? She didn’t have the power to change reality.
While I waited, I shuffled through the papers littering the kitchen table, again
. I wanted something, anything to catch my attention. It proved frustrating—I had no idea what I was searching for. Six weeks had slipped by and I wasn’t any closer to the truth.
My phone lit up on the table next to me with a text from Dr. Ellie. “Working from home. Eleven works for me.” Oddly, it reminded me of being summoned to the principal’s office—that same sense of dread.
I showered, changed and headed out to Dr. Ellie’s. I looked up the address she sent me—she lived in one of the summer cottages on a stretch of Shoreview Drive not far from the shops on Main Street. I decided to walk. When Goldie and I stepped outside, Maggie was busily arranging a display in front of her shop.
“Hey, Maggie.” I strolled to her.
“Where are you two headed?” She ruffled Goldie’s fur.
“Taking your advice, having a chat with Dr. Ellie. Are we still on for lunch today?”
Her hesitation sparked my interest. “This is awkward. I invited both you and Dr. Ellie to lunch. I already canceled with her.”
I bit my lower lip to repress a smile—the smile won. “It’s all good. I’ll give you a report on how it goes.”
“Drop by for a cuppa after?” Her mouth stretched into an uncertain smile.
“Will do.” I walked a few steps, flipped around and called to her. “Maggie. Thanks for caring.”
She lifted her hand and her smile brightened. I returned her wave and continued toward the unknown.
Where the row of shops ended, we followed the curve onto the coastal road. Sun glistened on the playful waves. I wanted to forget my appointment and go sit on the shore and squish warm sand between my toes. You can do this, I lectured myself and kept going.
We neared the cottages. Most were lovely, two-story summer homes. We passed the first one. On closer inspection, some needed a coat of paint, though the roughness created a natural charm. I saw Dr. Ellie chatting with a young couple.
When I reached her walkway, she motioned to me. “Hello, Samantha, I see you found me. Come meet my neighbors, Steve and Audra Wheeler. They’re renting the Wilson’s cottage.” She wrinkled her forehead and looked from me to Audra and back again.
We exchanged greetings as Steve also shifted his gaze between his wife and me, more than once. It felt unsettling. I wanted to get on with my appointment—before I lost courage.
Audra filled the exaggerated silence. “We’ve only recently moved here. We’re planning to open a real estate office.”
“Drop by the Sea Glass Bookshop—I may be your first client.” I tugged Goldie’s leash closer.
Audra’s smiled glistened as though life had granted her a wish. She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to me. “Call me when you’re ready. I’m available anytime.”
I shoved the card into the front pocket of my jeans. “Thanks, I will.”
Dr. Ellie put her hand on Audra’s arm. “It was lovely chatting with both of you.” Then she climbed the steps to her front door and held it open for me. “Welcome.” Her short, wispy auburn hair suited her petite features.
The nautical sea blues and soft white décor was both refreshing and inviting. Maggie’s influence on the space left a tangible mark. “You have a delightful home. And please, call me Sam.”
“Thank you, Sam. This is where I spent most of my summers growing up, a tradition I continued with my own sons. Now I use it as my home base when I’m in Serenity Cove. I have an office at the church, but my front room is much more comfortable.” She lifted her hand toward the room. “Have a seat.”
A prepared tray with a teapot, accompanied with almond cookies, rested on the large ottoman in front of the sofa. If she and Maggie weren’t already friends, I’d introduce them.
She filled our cups and leaned back on the sofa. “My husband, Gerald, and I live in Mariner Bay.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea. “We have three sons who are now grown, married, and living in different towns.”
She got up and opened the drapes, revealing abstracts of blues and greens rippling on the sea. “Serenity Cove is a…place, I…living here year round.”
Lip-reading often presented a challenge, like filling in the gaps when I missed words. “Do you speak with an accent?”
“You’re spot on. I’m originally from Sidney, Australia. My father decided to uproot the family and we moved here thirty-five years ago. Think by now I’d lose the accent—especially the Aussie slang.” Her laughter reached her eyes as if she treasured unspoken memories. “A defining period for my family. I’m positive it changed many courses of our lives.”
I smiled at the term spot on, an Aussie saying that I had heard many times.
On opposite ends of the sofa, we sat angled toward each other, like friends casually chatting over tea. “I’d like to start with a prayer.” She reached for my hand.
“I keep my eyes open when I pray with another person. Lip-reading is how I listen to the words and grasp the essence of the prayer.”
“Father, we invite you to be with us today as we search for truth. Bless us with the light of Your loving peace. Amen.”
I nodded, moved by her prayer. “Amen.” I liked that she kept her eyes open, too. It created an easy commonality between the two of us. She also spoke more slowly and distinctly, making it easier for me to catch her words.
She wrapped her hands around her teacup and began the session. “I’m curious—what motivated you to call?”
I knew the answer to this one. I’d actually rehearsed it. “Confusion. Like I’m attempting to put a puzzle together, one of those with thousands of pieces. The ones where you have to keep combing through the pile, searching to find a needed piece.” I recited the practiced analogy, but this time I added something new. “This puzzle doesn’t have a picture on the box.”
She made notes on a pad. “Two words jumped out at me. Confusion. Searching. Tell me more about those.”
“Learning I was adopted. I felt violated—my identity stripped away. My life based on lies and deception. I want to know the truth.”
“Have you discussed this with your parents?”
“They were older when they adopted me and were gone several years before I found out. My father died from a myocardial infarction. Mother died less than a year later from a stroke. They celebrated their fiftieth anniversary five months before my father’s heart attack. Dr. Wallace, our family physician, felt my mother didn’t know how to keep breathing without my father.”
Dr. Ellie stilled her pen and made eye contact with me. “So how did you discover you were adopted?”
“After my mother’s death, the staff closed up the house. Last year, my aunt, who is in charge of the family trust, decided to sell it. In the process of the house being packed up, I received several boxes containing my parents’ personal papers. In one of my mother’s boxes were letters she’d received from my birth mother, Anne Makenna.” Had saving Anne’s letters been my mother’s way of telling me the truth?
She rested her arm on top of the couch. “What was your first response?”
“Like being stuck at the top of a roller coaster and not sure if I wanted down.” My stomach flipped, threatening to empty its contents. I swallowed hard and with a deep breath, I continued. “The coaster finally dropped, and my whole world changed. New words were added to my vocabulary—terms seeking to redefine my life.”
“What were the words?”
“Birth mother. Biological parents. And the one I hate most, adoptee.”
“How did these new terms make you feel?” She leaned back and picked up a tissue box from the small table next to the sofa.
I accepted the offered tissue and dabbed my eyes. “I rebelled against them as much as being labeled handicapped because of my deafness. As though I’d been role-playing my whole life—I wasn’t the person I believed myself to be. The words fought to characterize me. And a whole new set of questions were attached to my birth mother.”
“For today let’s concentrate on your adoptive parents. Tell me about your childhood.”
“Interesting. People often assumed my parents were my grandparents—my parents laughed about it. They called me their miracle child. My mother gave birth to me in her late forties—or so I’d been told. We lived among the wealthy and privileged. I attended the finest schools. My father gave me a shiny sports car for my sixteenth birthday. It was a year later before I even had my license. I’d never made a bed, washed dishes, or vacuumed before I moved into the college dorm.”
“No chores—you must’ve been the envy of your friends.” She chuckled.
I nodded with a shy smile. “Most of my friends were given jobs to do.”
“You seem to relate your childhood to being given things. Did you feel loved by your parents?”
I slipped my foot out of my sandal and rubbed my bare toes in Goldie’s fur. “The world I grew up in—it was different. Being a financial genius consumed my father’s life. My mother supported causes. When the hospital needed a new children’s wing, she chaired a committee and made sure it happened. We never spent an evening watching a movie or sitting around the table for a family dinner. I saw more of my nanny and the other staff than I did my parents.”
“Certainly a unique lifestyle. But I want to back up a little. Did you feel loved?”
She compelled me to dig deeper, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there. “The main reason they wanted a child involved correcting what they viewed as an imperfection in their lives.” I watched the waves out the window. “A child didn’t fit well into their world.” I hadn’t given her the answer in the way she wanted, but I didn’t have it.
Grabbing her notebook and the bag next to her, she nodded toward the glass doors. “Let’s move out to the deck and finish up for today.” She went over and opened the slider. “One of these days I want to have French doors installed.”
I breathed in the soft, salty air. Two loungers had been slanted toward each other, enabling me to see her as we talked.
“I have a journal for you.” She pulled a book from her bag. “It includes a few short articles you may find helpful. There are also a few scripture references, and several pages to jot down your comments. It’s for your personal use. You’re welcome to share it, or keep it private. The fruit of your journaling will naturally flow into our sessions.”
