“Mom says Amanda talks too much, but I would really like to know if you plan on getting married sometime in the future because Krissy Haygood, she’s a girl in my class, all she talks about is her big sister getting married this summer. She’s the maid of honor and said it was highly unusual for someone her age to act as maid of honor, and well, I sort of thought if you were to get married, or think about it, maybe I could . . . you know, be your maid of honor.”
For once, Melanie was at a loss for words. She never remembered having such desires or thoughts when she was eleven, but times were different; kids matured earlier nowadays. She took a deep breath, fearing she was about to put her foot in her mouth but decided if she did get married, there would be absolutely no reason that Ashley couldn’t act as her maid of honor.
“When I get married, I promise to ask you to be my maid of honor.”
Chapter 2
Melanie wrapped a thick towel around her wet hair, swooped her old, worn-out yellow terry cloth robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door, slipped her arms inside, then secured the belt around her waist. She hurried to the kitchen just in time to hear the microwave’s bell ding. After spending the day skiing, and the afternoon instructing the girls how to make a slipknot and cast on stitches, Melanie was pleasantly worn-out. Too tired to make a proper dinner, she’d popped in a microwave meal while she showered. Clovis and Odie were curled together beneath the kitchen table, waiting. She smiled at the sight.
“I know you two had more than your share of treats today, so what is it?” Melanie asked as she removed her lasagna from the microwave, placing the black plastic container on a dinner plate.
Odie yawned, and Clovis gave her his don’t-mess-with-me look. Sure that Clovis had been an emperor in another life, Melanie turned around and gave the feline a quick bow. She did a doubletake when Clovis nodded his furry head, then reclined against Odie’s belly. He really does think he’s an emperor.
I am definitely spending too much time alone.
This reminded her of Ashley’s earlier question. Would she ever marry? Have children of her own? She certainly didn’t have any prospects, but that was her own doing. Since she’d started working from her home, she’d devoted most of her spare time to caring for her pets and Stephanie’s little family. She loved the excitement on the girls’ faces when she surprised them with a visit or an unexpected treat. She often wished for a family, a child of her own, but knew until she met the man of her dreams, it was not to be. She was still young, still had enough time to pick and choose the right man. Thing was, the man supply had grown very slim since college. Most of the guys she’d met and dated in college were married with families of their own, and those who weren’t already taken were not her type. Whatever that was.
So, she thought as she grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, what exactly is my type?
Tall, dark and handsome? No.
Sensitive and shy? No.
Alpha male? Definitely a no.
She took a drink of soda. After several seconds’ contemplation, Melanie decided she didn’t have a type. She’d dated winners, a few losers, but none that knocked her socks off or made her feel like “he’s the one.” Nope. Nada. So, that left room for all those guys out there who were just waiting to beat her door down. Zero in that department, too.
For a young, well-to-do woman, she wasn’t doing all that well. Yes, she had a condo to die for here in Placerville, another in Telluride that she kept rented for most of the ski season, and was considering buying a house with a big yard, a white picket fence, the whole nine yards. She’d put that big purchase off, telling herself she didn’t need that much space. Her condo in Placerville was perfect for her. She scanned the kitchen. While not as large as her condo’s kitchen in Telluride, it was decent. Large enough for a table for six, an oak butcher-block island in its center, Sub-Zero refrigerator, a top-of-theline Wolf stove and oven, all stainless steel. She’d softened the sterile look with cheery yellow accent pieces: canisters, local pottery, and yellow and red Fiesta ware, accentuated by cherry-red place mats and matching curtains she’d had custom-made. She’d chosen pale pinks and cream for the master bedroom, and a neutral gray and maroon for the guest bedroom. Both bathrooms had Jacuzzi tubs and walk-in showers large enough for two. The living room needed some color; she’d just never gotten around to finishing the decorating. Two beige sofas with a matching love seat and two overstuffed chairs filled the room. A fireplace on the main wall had been used only once since she’d bought the place, but Melanie told herself it was too much of a hassle since she spent most of her time in the third bedroom she used for her office. She had a gas fireplace there, and, when needed, all she had to do was flick a switch and boom, within minutes the room was as toasty as a real fire. She did miss the smell of woodsmoke, but figured the lack of a mess was worth the sacrifice.
She finished her lasagna, rinsed the plate, and placed it next to the others in the dishwasher. Sometimes it took her more than a week to fill the dishwasher. Sad, she thought as she removed the box of Cascade from beneath the sink. She either needed to cook more, have company over more often, or acquire a big family. There it goes again! Why couldn’t she stop thinking about a family of her own? Was she spending too much time with Amanda and Ashley? Was she subconsciously envious of Stephanie? Growing up an only child, she’d longed for a brother or sister. Melanie had been a change-of-life baby—much wanted, her mother always added, and she knew that to be true; but she had also known that the chances of her acquiring a sibling were slim to none. She wondered why her parents hadn’t adopted another child. They were certainly financially able; they’d both been in good health and still were. Maybe it was a blood-is-thicker-than-water kinda thing. No no! Her parents weren’t like that. They would have welcomed another child. Maybe they’d never considered it. Whatever, she told herself, it didn’t matter now as she was a grown woman. She knew that her parents were counting on her to provide them with a houseful of grandchildren to spoil someday. She hoped they weren’t holding their breath.
Rolling her eyes at the path her thoughts were traveling, Melanie grabbed a damp cloth, swiped it over the countertops, then washed and refilled Odie’s and Clovis’s water dishes. She folded the dishcloth in half, placed it on the counter, and grabbed another soda from the refrigerator.
Odie emitted a low growl, which was followed by a junglelike meow from Clovis. “Come on, you two, it’s time to call it a day.” She said this every night to the pair of mismatched animals. Like clockwork, they wiggled out from under the kitchen table and followed her to her office.
She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to work the rest of the holiday season, said she wasn’t going to turn her computer on until the year had ended, but she hadn’t voiced the promise out loud, so that was okay. As long as she hadn’t verbalized the commitment to anyone else, she wasn’t really worried about being accountable to anyone for breaking her promise, something she normally wouldn’t do. Without another thought, Melanie went to her desk, clicked on the lamp, then hit the On button to her highend Titanus computer. A slight hum from the machine was the only sound in the room. Odie and Clovis had found their favorite spot by the fireplace. There wasn’t anything or anyone to prevent her from doing what she was about to do.
She logged on to the Internet, typed Google into her browser, then typed three words and hit Search.
Adoption in Colorado.
Her heart raced, and her stomach fluttered as though a thousand butterflies were dancing inside her. So many websites appeared, Melanie was sure she’d misspelled something. She typed the words a second time, this time watching her hands as they moved across her keyboard.
A-d-o-p-t-i-o-n-I-n–C-o-l-o-r-a-d-o. She hit the Search icon.
Again, hundreds and hundreds of websites appeared on her screen.
“Okayyy, I can do this,” she said out loud.
Melanie clicked on the first blue hyperlink at the top of her screen. She scanned the website,
knew she didn’t want to travel across the globe to China, and clicked on the second link. She perused the contents, then moved on to the next site. After two hours of reading about Colorado’s many adoption agencies, Melanie leaned back in her chair and twisted her stiff neck from left to right, her mind wondering at all the possibilities she’d just examined.
Is it possible?
She thought of all the tabloids she’d scanned while in line at the supermarket. It seemed just about every superstar in Hollywood was adopting a child. Many of them were single. If they could do this, why couldn’t she? She was financially able to provide for a child, and she certainly had lots of love to give. Her parents would be surprised at first, but Melanie knew that once they got used to the idea, they would be as thrilled as she was beginning to feel.
Yes! She could do this! She would do this. First thing tomorrow morning, she was going to call World Adoption Agency in Denver, a local orphanage. Out of all the websites, this one held the most appeal. Children of every age, every race, some with health issues, some with emotional troubles, resided at the state-funded home. Yes, this would offer her a wide selection of children from around the world. Sex or age didn’t matter to her. Melanie sensed she would know exactly which child she would adopt when the time came.
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MR. AND MISS ANONYMOUS,
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Prologue
University of California
Berkeley Campus, 1986
Peter Aaron Kelly stared out of his grungy apartment window not caring that he was running late. His roommates had gone home for the Christmas holiday, so he had the sparsely furnished apartment to himself. Maybe he should just blow off his appointment at the clinic and go straight to his job at the café, where he worked as a waiter for the three-hour lunch period. But, he needed the last payment from the clinic. Needed it desperately to pay the final installment on his tuition for his last semester. In the end, what the hell difference did it make one way or the other? He shrugged his shoulders, reached for his Windbreaker and baseball cap.
Thirty-five minutes later, Pak, as he was known to his friends, entered the Berkeley Sperm Bank thirteen minutes late. The unlucky number didn’t go unnoticed by him. For one crazy moment he wanted to bolt, but the last reminder from the billing office told him he had no other choice. He signed in using his donor number of 8446. He turned his baseball cap around so the bill could tickle his neck as he sat down and picked up a magazine. Like he was really going to read Field & Stream.
His eyes glued to the glossy magazine cover, he didn’t look up when a steady stream of guys paraded past him, some leaving, some entering. He’d done this gig eleven times. Everyone entered and exited this place with eyes downcast just the way he did. No one spoke, no one made eye contact. All they wanted was to get the hell out of there so they could try to exorcise their personal shame and spend the guilt money. He should know because he was one of them. He took a moment to wonder how many of the donors walking through the clinic’s doors went to the counseling sessions that were so strongly recommended each time a donor signed a contract. He took another moment to wonder who owned the place. Probably some very rich person. More guilt piled up on his shoulders as he waited patiently for his number to be called.
Pete shifted his mind to a neutral zone and closed his eyes. He thought about his family back at the farm in Idaho where they grew potatoes. They’d all be getting ready for Christmas. One of his brothers had probably cut down the tree by now, and it was sitting in the living room just waiting to be decorated. His nieces and nephews were probably driving everyone crazy to decorate the tree, but his mother would make them wait for the branches to settle themselves so, as she put it, her heirloom decorations wouldn’t fall off. He wondered what his mother would serve for Christmas Eve dinner. A turkey or a ham. Maybe even both. Five different pies. Well, probably just the turkey or just the ham, but not both. And maybe only two pies this year, he thought, remembering his father had told him it’d been a bad year with a blight that had hit the plants midseason. His mouth started to water at the thought of what he was missing. Oh well, five more months and he could go home for a week or so before he started job hunting.
Pete’s thoughts shifted to his three-and-a-half-year struggle to get through college. He thought of the lean meals, the long days of work followed by all-night study sessions, and getting by on only a few hours’ sleep. So many times he wanted to call it quits, but something deep inside him wouldn’t allow it because he was determined to be a self-made millionaire by the age of forty.
The day he made his first million he was going to do two things. The first thing he was going to do was send his family to Hawaii and set them up in a nice house right on the ocean. The second thing he was going to do was buy this goddamn place, and the minute the ink was dry on the contract, he was going to burn it to the ground.
A chunky woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared in the doorway. “Number 8446. You’re up next. You’re late this morning, 8446.” Not bothering to wait to see if he would offer up an explanation, the woman said, “Room five. You know what to do.”
Yeah, I know what to do, Pete thought as he brushed past the woman. He knew she didn’t approve of what went on there behind the numbered doors, but she worked there anyway, collected a paycheck. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t make it compute in his head. At one point he decided she was a hypocrite and let it go at that. He didn’t give a good rat’s ass if she approved of what he and hundreds of other guys were doing or not. He always stared her down when she handed him the envelope at the end of the session.
Pete entered room 5. The setup was always the same. Small TV. Porno movie in the VCR. Dozens of what his father would call “girlie magazines.” Equipment. He argued with himself for a full five minutes. I don’t want to do this again. I can’t do this anymore. You have to do it. If you don’t, the next semester is gone. Just close your eyes and do it. No. Yes. In the end, he lost the argument. He unzipped and turned on the VCR.
In the building next to the sperm bank, Lily Madison entered the egg donor clinic for her last session. She looked at her watch, knowing she had only an hour. She hoped that today’s session would go as quickly as her others had. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she was going to feel when she picked up her last check for $6,000. Relief? Guilt? Satisfaction that her last semester was going to be paid for? Maybe all three. When she left after graduation, she would never, ever come back to this place. Never, ever.
Lily adjusted her homemade denim hat with the big sunflower on it as she walked through the swinging doors. For some reason, wearing a hat gave her confidence and courage. She’d tried to explain it to her roommates, but they just laughed at her. They said she wore hats because she hated her kinky, curly hair. Maybe it was both. Her head up, she marched up to the desk and signed in as Donor 1114. Within minutes she was whisked into an examining room.
When it was all over, Lily dressed and sighed with relief. She could leave the place and never come back. Her eyes filled with tears. How weird was that? She swiped them away as she walked toward the payment window. She handed the clerk the slip the doctor had given her and waited. She almost swooned when the check was in her hand. She thought about buying a bottle of wine and drinking it all, by way of celebrating the end of this . . . this . . . experience in her life. It was such a stupid thought, she chased it out of her mind. From here on, what had transpired over the past months was a memory. A memory she could think about or forget about. It’s no big deal, she told herself as she walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine.
Her thoughts all over the map, she didn’t see him until she landed on the ground, and a hand was outstretched to help her up. “You knocked me down,” Lily said inanely.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I mean it, I’m really sorry. Are you all r
ight? Can I do anything for you?”
He smiled, and Lily was charmed.
“I like your hat!”
“I made it.”
“Wow! Are you sure you’re okay?”
He sounds like he cares if I’m all right or not. She nodded and held out her hand. “Lily.”
“Pak,” Pete said, electing to go with his initials instead of his real name. “Are you . . . what I mean is . . . did you?”
Lily nodded again. “I guess you did the . . . uh . . .”
“Yeah, it was my last session.”
“Mine, too.”
“This is embarrassing,” Pete said, offering up his megawatt smile.
“Yes, it is. Are you a student? Do you suppose that when we meet up at one of our reunions, we’ll remember this moment?” Lily asked as she jammed her hat more firmly on her head. Like she was ever going to go to a reunion.
“Yeah. I’m studying to be a teacher. I bet we do. Well, I’m really sorry. If you’re sure you’re okay, I have to get going or I’ll be late for work.”
“I’m okay. I have to get going myself. Good luck.”
Pete turned to walk away, then walked back. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
Lily shrugged. “Try me.”
“Did you . . . uh . . . did you go to any of the counseling sessions?”
The expression on Pak’s face told her he was serious. “No. I wanted to go, but my schedule . . . No, I didn’t. Did you?”
“No. I hope neither one of us regrets it.”
“You sound like you regret it already. It’s not too late if you feel like that.” Lily wondered if what she was saying was true or not. “Hey, wait a minute. Let me ask you a question. That concrete building that runs across the back of the sperm bank and the donor clinic . . . what is it, do you know? Did you ever hear who owns this place?”
Christmas At Timberwoods Page 26
