by Pamela Toth
“Lantanya is a lovely country,” Ivy murmured, picking up her fork. “I’ve just had enough traveling for a while.”
Something wasn’t right here. In college the two girls had spent a lot of time talking about all the places they wanted to visit when they had an opportunity to travel. Before she left, Ivy had been eager to go on this trip.
Concerned, Emma leaned across the small table. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen while you were gone?”
To her dismay, tears swam in Ivy’s eyes before she blinked them away. “I guess you could say that,” she whispered. “I met someone.”
Emma was probably the only person who knew just how inexperienced Ivy was when it came to men. “And?” she prompted.
“And we hit it off, and now it’s over.” Ivy’s eyes were downcast as she speared a bite of her salad.
“I’m sorry.” Emma was dying for more information, but it was obvious that Ivy wasn’t ready to talk about whatever had taken place in Lantanya. For a few moments the two of them ate in silence.
Finally Ivy lifted her head, her smile firmly back in place. “Okay, no more stalling. When you first arrived, you looked fit to be tied, as my nanny used to say.”
Ivy already knew about Emma’s medical condition, her divorce from Don and her layoff. Emma hadn’t yet mentioned her estrangement from the people who had raised her or the reason behind it.
As briefly as possible, Emma explained how finding out about her endometriosis had led to the news that she was adopted.
“I don’t know what to say,” Ivy murmured. “Are you sure it’s true?”
Emma speared a fat pink shrimp, even though she wasn’t at all hungry. The one good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was that she had lost a few pounds. “Mom admitted everything.”
Ivy sprinkled pepper on her hard-boiled egg. Her own childhood had been less than ideal. She had been raised by a series of housekeepers and nannies after her parents’ divorce, but at least Ivy knew who she was.
“I’m so sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “What they did was wrong, but they’re good people at heart and they love you. I know you’ll work it out.”
“We’re not speaking,” Emma said bluntly as she poked at her salad. “I can’t forgive them for lying to me all these years.”
At the next table, a cell phone rang and the man sitting there launched into a loud, annoying conversation about a deal he was putting together.
Ivy rolled her eyes in reaction. “What exactly did your parents tell you?”
Emma arched her brows. “Do you mean the Wrights?” she asked, unable to resist.
After her divorce, she had taken back her maiden name. If she had known when she signed the papers what she knew now, she wouldn’t have bothered.
“They’re still your parents,” Ivy chided gently before taking a dainty bite of arugula.
Emma didn’t bother to argue. She couldn’t expect her friend to understand her sense of betrayal. Ivy was under constant pressure working at the family firm, but at least they were her family.
Someone dropped a tray inside the café with a loud crash that made Emma’s hand jerk. Iced tea sloshed over the rim of the glass.
“Did they tell you anything else about your background?” Ivy asked.
“Only that I was a newborn when they adopted me,” Emma explained as she wiped up the spill with her napkin. “It was handled by an agency here in Portland called Children’s Connection.”
Blotting her lips with her napkin, Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “I’ve seen their ads. The Logans are big patrons of their fertility clinic.”
Emma was aware that Ivy’s family and the wealthy Logans had a long, mutually antagonistic history, but she wasn’t sure why. Ivy had told her their companies were rivals, but the rift seemed far too bitter for that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know they were involved.”
“No reason you should.” Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “It’s good to know the adoption was legitimate and not part of some backroom black-market baby ring.”
“I guess,” Emma acknowledged.
A sudden breeze stirred Ivy’s hair. Two men at a nearby table stopped talking to stare at her. Despite being so pretty, she had been raised in the shadow of her older siblings, which made her rather shy. She was oblivious to the men’s attention.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I found out something like that,” she told Emma. “Is that where you went this morning?”
Emma leaned closer and lowered her voice. Thankfully the hotshot at the next table had concluded his call and was eating his lunch. “I had an appointment with the director, because I wanted to learn everything I could about my biological parents.”
Ivy set aside her plate. “I guess I’d want to know the same thing. What did you find out?”
“Nothing!” Emma’s frustration bubbled out. Several patrons glanced over at her, so she quickly lowered her voice. “He refused to tell me anything. He claimed that my file is confidential.”
“Well, maybe it’s for the best,” Ivy said in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, are you sure you really want to know the reasons someone gave you up? What if they’re painful?”
“Like what?” Emma fired back at her. “You mean, if my mother was too young to take care of me, or if I was the result of some kind of assault or incest, or left in a Dumpster?” She had already spent a lot of time thinking about all the different possibilities.
Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people don’t want anyone to find out they had a child and gave it up. They’re ashamed, or they have a new family they never told. Or they just can’t face what they did.”
“I still have a right to know,” Emma disagreed. “It’s my personal history.” She could feel the frustration rising up again, but the last thing she wanted was to argue with Ivy.
“But you said they couldn’t tell you anything, so what else can you do?”
“I said they wouldn’t tell me,” Emma corrected. “The director, Morgan Davis, had my file with the names of my parents right on his desk. He admitted the information was all there, but it’s agency policy to keep it all a big, dark secret.”
She took a gulp of her iced tea, but the ice had melted and it tasted watery. “You’d think this was the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first,” she sputtered. “Adoption files have been open for decades!”
Ivy took out her wallet and put her credit card with the check. “Do you want to take a walk?” she offered. “I could use the exercise.”
A knot rose up in Emma’s throat at her friend’s suggestion. “Thanks for letting me vent, sweetie. I know you need to get back to work.” She glanced at her watch. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”
“Any job leads?” Ivy asked after the waitress went off with her card.
Emma had to be careful not to say too much about that situation, because she knew Ivy would repeat her offer to find Emma something at Crosby Systems. Even though Ivy’s family owned the business and her older brother was the CEO, she wanted to be seen there as more than a pretty face. She had struggled hard for the recognition she had achieved and Emma was determined not to impose on their friendship.
“I’m looking into a couple of things for fall,” she said with a smile. “Meanwhile I’ve got my part-time job at the video store and my unemployment benefits, so I’m not concerned.”
She might have been able to squeak along for a while if Don hadn’t left her with more than her share of their bills. Contrary to what she had just told Ivy, she was starting to worry about how she was going to manage.
“Promise you’ll let me know if I can help,” Ivy said, touching Emma’s hand. “I’m serious. Give me your word.”
Crossing the fingers of her other hand beneath the table, Emma nodded. “I know one of my leads will pan out anyday.”
“And I’m so sorry about this other business,” Ivy said after she’d tucked her credit card back into her purse and they wound their way out of t
he café. “I’m sure not knowing is hard, but it sounds as if you have no choice but to let it go.”
The two of them stopped on the sidewalk to exchange a quick hug. “Call me whenever you feel like talking, okay?”
Once again Emma nodded. “Same goes, you know.”
Ivy’s cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t reply.
“Well, thanks for listening,” Emma told her, “and for lunch.” As soon as she landed a full-time job and got caught up on her bills, she was going to take Ivy to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Portland as thanks for her support.
“Anytime.” With a final wave, Ivy turned and walked quickly away.
Emma hesitated, not sure what to do next. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of her like an empty road. After the way her morning had gone, she deserved a treat. Something more lasting than lunch.
One of her favorite places to go in downtown Portland was a bookstore named Powell’s. Housed in a big old building, it was known as the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world. Maybe a couple of hours spent perusing the shelves would take her mind off that jerk, Morgan Davis.
After a solitary lunch at his desk, a staff meeting and an appointment with an eager couple looking to adopt a baby, Morgan took time to double-check his vacation plans. Every summer, aided by grants and donations, he and a group of volunteers conducted a two-week summer camp in the mountains a couple of hours away from the city.
The camp session was for older children who were still waiting to be adopted. It was Morgan’s way of reminding them that people cared, of giving back to a system that had changed his life. The setting, on a lakeshore in the Deschutes National Forest, never failed to renew his spirit.
As usual, most of the office staff was already gone by the time he’d returned a list of phone calls and cleared off his desk. Even Cora had finally stuck her head in the doorway to see if there was anything he needed before she left to pick up her children from day care.
He walked to his reserved parking spot a few minutes later, carrying the briefcase that had been a birthday gift from his parents. In deference to the lingering heat, he had tossed the jacket of his suit over his shoulder and loosened his Italian silk tie.
He was aware that some of his staff members thought he overdressed for the job, but the responsibility of his position as the director weighed heavily on his shoulders. His goal was to present an image of reassurance and responsibility in order to gain people’s trust. He had helped to build Children’s Connection into a nationally known and respected agency. Every year they helped hundreds of people to attain their dream of having a family.
He was proud of the work they did. That was why cases like Emma Wright’s weighed heavily on his mind.
Meanwhile Morgan’s parents were visiting from California for a few days. As usual, they’d refused his offer of the guest room at his condo, preferring to stay at a nearby hotel instead.
“Packing it in, Mr. D?” asked the parking guard as Morgan unlocked the door to his sensible SUV.
“Figured it was time, Andy,” he replied. “How’s your wife’s foot? Is she feeling better?”
Andy had mentioned that she’d tripped over a grandchild’s toy truck a couple of days before.
“Getting better,” he said now. “Thanks for asking, though.” He ran his hand through his tightly curled gray hair. “Enjoy your evening.”
Morgan’s mother claimed they didn’t want to “upset his routine” by staying with him, but he suspected an ulterior motive. She made no secret of her desire for a passel of grandbabies to spoil. To that end, she wasn’t about to invade his privacy, just in case he had a girlfriend tucked away.
He would like nothing better than to enjoy a serious relationship with a woman he could picture spending his life with, but so far it hadn’t happened. Perhaps he was foolish to believe that he would somehow know when he met the one meant for him—that special woman—but he wasn’t willing to settle for less. Meanwhile, he was busy with the agency, the summer camp and the occasional date with a potential soul mate.
His town house was part of a fairly new complex located a few miles from the office. It had a great view of the Willamette River. Despite the heavy rush-hour traffic that streamed from downtown Portland to the suburbs, his commute took less than a half hour, giving him plenty of time to shower and change clothes before meeting his folks for dinner.
“You seem preoccupied,” Morgan’s mother said after the waiter left with their orders. “Did something happen at work today?”
He glanced at his father, a pediatrician he respected more than any man he’d ever known.
“Might as well tell her,” Dr. Davis suggested with a grin. “She’s like one of those California condors. She won’t rest until she’s picked you clean.”
Morgan’s mother, a teacher, swatted at him with her napkin. The love between the two of them never failed to strengthen his own determination to find that one special woman with whom he could form a similar bond.
“I met someone today.” He knew his mother would pounce on his comment like a duck on a bug.
Hazel eyes widening below her silver bangs, she leaned forward eagerly. “Really?”
“Don’t tease her, son,” his father said dryly.
A wave of remorse washed over Morgan. He was well aware that what she and his father wanted—all they had ever wanted—was his happiness.
And a few grandbabies to spoil, of course.
“It’s not what you think, Mom,” he cautioned as the waiter brought their drinks. “This woman recently found out she was adopted through Children’s Connection and she was looking for answers.”
His father frowned thoughtfully. “Were you able to help her?” he asked in the calm voice that had reassured thousands of young patients through the course of his medical career.
Morgan fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet as he pictured Emma’s face, her sooty eyes swimming with tears. He should have tried harder to soften her disappointment.
“Well, Emma did slam the door to my office pretty hard when she left,” he admitted wryly, sitting back in his chair when the waiter brought their salads. “I’d take that as a no.”
The waiter’s expression didn’t alter as he offered each of them fresh-ground pepper. He must overhear some interesting bits of conversation during a shift, Morgan thought.
“Was Emma pretty?” His mother’s gaze gleamed with interest.
“What did she want to know?” his father asked at the same time.
“She’s extremely pretty.” Morgan pictured her in his mind. “Her hair is brown and wavy. She’s got big gray eyes that a man could get lost in.”
Too late he realized he’d said too much, so he focused on his salad.
“Is that all?” his father asked.
“Is she single?” His mother’s expression was eager enough to make Morgan nervous.
“Legs that won’t quit and curves in all the right places,” he added for his father’s benefit. “Divorced,” he admitted to his mother.
As long as he didn’t divulge Emma’s full name, he wasn’t technically breaching confidentiality. Unless, of course, they started dating and she met his folks. Then he would have to tell her what he’d done, but what were the odds he would ever see her again?
“And?” his mother gestured with her fork.
“She’s just lost her job as a school counselor,” he blurted out.
“That sounds like a lot for a young woman to deal with.” His father’s voice was sympathetic.
“You find a woman with a problem more attractive than one wearing a thong bikini,” his mother commented.
Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
She peered at him through her glasses. “You’re a sucker for a woman who needs help.”
“Stella, let the boy eat,” his father said with a wink at Morgan. “We’re not going to marry him off tonight.”
“I was raised by a doctor and a teacher,” Morgan d
rawled. “I’d say that helping people runs in the family.”
For a few moments, conversation lagged as the three of them ate their salads. Silently Morgan reviewed in his mind everything Emma had told him. With a sigh of regret, he arrived at the same conclusion as before—that there was nothing else he could have done without compromising the agency’s rules and his own principles, as well as adding to the burden of heartbreak she already appeared to carry.
“What do you think of the Trailblazers’ prospects?” Dr. Davis asked. Portland boasted an NBA basketball team, but the closest thing to major league baseball was a Triple-A team named the Beavers.
“Too soon to tell,” Morgan replied. Even though he wasn’t really a Blazers fan, he was grateful for the change of subject.
His mother didn’t mention Emma again. After dinner he kissed his mother’s cheek and shook his father’s hand.
“Keep us posted on your progress,” she said with a wink.
“Don’t start knitting booties yet,” he replied before heading back to his condo.
In the solitude of his home office, he kicked off his shoes and thought again about getting a dog. It would be alone while he worked, of course, but the idea of some living being getting excited over his arrival had a certain appeal.
With the stereo playing softly, he reviewed a research report from a fertility clinic on the East Coast, read the files of two candidates for his summer camp program and frowned over a rate increase submitted by the agency’s Web site designer.
After he had loaded the paperwork back into his briefcase, he poured himself a glass of wine. He wasn’t an expert, but it was a pleasing vintage by an Oregon grower. He popped Placido Domingo’s latest CD into the player. Neither was he a real opera buff, but he’d been a fan of the Italian singer since accompanying a friend to a 3 Tenors concert in San Francisco.
As the notes from a haunting ballad filled the room, Morgan propped his stocking feet on the coffee table and tipped back his head, attempting to empty his mind. Placido might not have been pleased to know that it was Emma Wright’s voice that echoed through Morgan’s head as the twilight glowing through the windows dimmed, leaving the room in shadows. He contemplated switching on the brass lamp at his elbow, but the deepening gloom suited his mood.