by Becky Wade
He looked away. Drank water.
When she’d grabbed his arm back at Sue’s house, the contact had felt like lightning. Ridiculously powerful. He’d drawn in a breath without meaning to and braced against it.
On the spur of the moment, Nora had squeezed his wrist. That’s all. It had been harmless.
Her action, anyway, had been harmless.
It was his reaction that had him concerned. Even now, he had no idea why he’d overreacted to such a small, innocent thing.
Nora was the sort of woman who’d feel right at home as a Jeopardy! contestant. He was the sort of man who’d feel right at home rappelling from a helicopter onto the deck of a ship in the dead of night. They were nothing alike. He’d have a hard time explaining the reason for their friendship to anyone who asked. He’d have an even harder time explaining why her hand on his arm had messed with his head the way it had.
“Why do you think Sherry would have been living with Deborah if they’re not mother and daughter?” Nora asked.
“I don’t know. It seems strange that a twenty-two-year-old woman would have been living with a relative in her mid-forties.”
Nora sipped her tea. “If Sherry was a teacher at the age of twenty-two, then she must have been a first-year teacher. Or maybe even a student teacher. I guess it’s plausible to think that she lived with a relative right out of college, while she was still getting her feet under her as an adult.”
No one could have paid him to live with a relative after he’d graduated college, but that was him.
“There’s another possibility that occurs to me,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“Back in the day, unmarried women were occasionally sent away when it was discovered that they were pregnant. Some families were so ashamed that they wanted to cover the whole thing up.”
His gut tightened. He didn’t want to think his conception had been so unwanted that Sherry’s family would have taken that step. “If a woman had a family like that, wouldn’t they have pressured her to abort the baby?”
“A lot of these families were religious. So it was a catch-22. The families were strongly against abortion. But their daughter’s pregnancy out of wedlock wasn’t acceptable, either. So the pregnant woman would leave her hometown and stay, sometimes several states away, at an outreach for expectant mothers or with a relative. Have her baby. Give the child up for adoption. Then return home.”
“And pretend that nothing had changed?”
“Oftentimes, yes.”
“That’s crazy.”
“The case studies have shown that many of the birth mothers had a hard time. They were expected to forget about the baby they’d put up for adoption, but of course, they couldn’t forget. Even if everyone around them never mentioned it again, something major had happened to them. Stuffing it down and ignoring it didn’t make it go away.”
She wasn’t talking about him, but her words hit him in the chest anyway. Stuffing it down and ignoring it didn’t make it go away. Stuffing it down and ignoring it pretty well summed up how he’d been getting through the days since his diagnosis. If he really thought about his condition long enough, it grew so big and black that he’d begin to feel like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“Sherry might have grown up far from here,” Nora said, “and stayed in Shelton for the months leading up to your birth. Then returned home.”
“And who was Deborah to her? An aunt?”
Nora shrugged.
He was getting tired of waiting for the data. He was ready to start speculating. “Since they have the same last name, Deborah might have been Sherry’s father’s . . . sister?”
“It’s possible,” Nora allowed. “With the age spread between them it seems like too much of a leap to think they could have been sisters.”
“A big leap,” he agreed. “What’s our next play?”
“Blakeville. It’s our most likely source of new information. If Sue was right and Deborah really is from there, that is.” She took another thoughtful sip of tea. “I’ll call whatever kind of city office I can find in Blakeville tomorrow. I’d like to know whether they have a collection of city directories and, if they do, if they’ve been digitized.”
“What kind of information would we be able to get from a city directory?”
“The names, addresses, and occupations of every resident of the town. If we can find Deborah’s family in a city directory, then we might be able to begin to assemble a family tree. And a family tree would be enormously helpful.”
“How likely is it that Blakeville has city directories?”
“Seventy thirty? Many towns had them. Up until about fifty years ago, anyway.” She set her cup back on the table, carefully adjusting the handle so that it lined up directly to her right.
“The woman I spoke with in Blakeville told me that they do have city directories, but they aren’t digitized. Their town library closed, so now they store the books inside their courthouse,” Nora informed John the next day over the phone.
She was making a work-related phone call to relay information! However, even before she’d started dialing John’s number, her breath had gone a little shallow with anticipation. Hearing his deep, resonant voice on the other end of the line was causing her blood to rush with the swoony, heady joy of her crush on him . . . which hadn’t abated in the least. No, it had only grown more stubbornly insistent.
“None of Blakeville’s records are available online?” he asked.
“Not only are they not available online, they’re located in what I’m very much afraid might be the bowels of Blakeville’s courthouse.”
He laughed. “The bowels?”
“Indeed.”
“So let’s call back and ask someone to go into the bowels of the courthouse and find the city directories for us.”
“I already did ask that, and the lady who answered my call said that the same budget cut that cost them their library also cost them their librarians. Blakeville’s small. The courthouse staff is miniscule. The employees were spending so much of their time digging around in the basement trying to answer people’s requests for information that her boss finally put a stop to it. All the documents in storage are available to the public, and anyone who wants to search for information is welcome. But if we want to go that route, we’ll have to help ourselves.”
A long pause. “There’s no one there I can strong-arm into doing some research for us?”
“You can try,” she said doubtfully.
“Will you text me the number of the lady you spoke with?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you right back.”
They hung up and Nora watched the clock on her office computer screen tick off the passing of two minutes.
Her phone rang. “We need to drive to Blakeville,” John said.
“No success at strong-arming?”
“That woman was about as flexible as a rock. She kept insisting in that sweet way of hers that rules are rules.”
“We could try another line of inquiry instead.” Nora was working hard to remain impartial toward the possibility of a trip to Oregon in order to compensate for the impartial part of her that wanted, very much, to hang out with John all the way to Blakeville and back. That much time in his presence would be the decadent equivalent of a visit to the world’s best spa. “What do you think?” she asked. “Do you have any ideas?”
“Elma?”
“I called Elma to make sure their records are all online. They are. I can’t find any evidence of Deborah or Sherry in Elma.”
“Then we go to Blakeville.”
Quiet settled between them. She bit the side of her lip.
“It’ll take us about five hours to drive there,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can you leave tomorrow?”
She hadn’t expected him to be in a hurry. Maybe the search for his birth mother had sunk its hooks more deeply into him than she’d understood.
“Are you free? Can . . . you leave tomorrow?”
“I’ll have to move some things around at work, but yes. My staff can cover for me. Can you go tomorrow?”
It occurred to her that admitting that she could go, that she could easily reschedule her work, tomorrow night’s planned date with Northamptonshire, and quality time in front of the mirror trying to master the art of eyeliner, might make her seem pitiful. “Yes. My staff can cover for me, too.”
“If we leave at nine in the morning and make one stop for lunch, we’ll get to Blakeville in the afternoon. That’ll give us a few hours before the courthouse closes.”
“Right.”
“In case that’s not enough time, I’ll find us a hotel and book two rooms. So pack for two days. Okay?”
Two whole days with him. Two. Whole. Days. “Mm-hmm,” she murmured weakly.
John was Allie’s boyfriend. Allie was John’s girlfriend.
Nora had once suffered a huge amount of agony when The Dreaded Harrison had broken up with her because of Rory. There was absolutely no way that she’d allow herself to become a Rory. Please! As if John would ever give you a chance to be a Rory.
Nora would go to her grave respecting John’s relationship with Allie. Respecting herself. Upholding her half of a very platonic interaction with John.
There was no reason to feel badly because she’d gotten exactly what she’d secretly hoped for.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning. . . . Oh, wait,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
A few seconds of humming silence. “My Suburban’s a company car, and the guys will need it over the next few days. I also have a 1968 Plymouth Road Runner Hemi—”
“Hmm?”
“—but we don’t want to take that on such a long trip.”
“I can drive,” she automatically offered.
“You don’t mind?”
Had she really just volunteered to chauffeur John Lawson, the man of Uncommon Courage fame, into the heart of Oregon? Her? Even amongst her family members, she was almost never nominated to drive. “No,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
John’s conscience pricked him painfully as he set his phone onto his desk at work. Meeting Nora for an hour here or there was one thing. But driving with her all the way to Oregon?
So? So what if they drove to Oregon?
Male/female coworkers traveled for business together all the time. This was no different. He talked to Nora about Allie. He knew for a fact that she supported his relationship with Allie.
Nora was his friend!
His friend who’d frozen him yesterday with a single touch.
It’s okay. He’d had a day to think about yesterday. He’d concluded that moments of attraction to people you weren’t dating or married to happened. It was how you responded that mattered. If you were an ethical person, you guarded yourself. You made the right choices. You refused to act on the attraction.
He didn’t expect to have to deal with attraction to Nora on the trip to Blakeville. But if he did, he had faith in his ability to handle it.
These second guesses of his were wasting his time and energy. Blakeville was the best lead they had, so they’d travel there together. It was as simple as that.
She was just his coworker. She was just his friend.
Text message from Willow to Nora and Britt:
Willow
Grandma’s on board with a birthday dinner party the evening of July 3rd. Here’s your mission, should you choose to accept it. (And you better.) Britt and Valentina will oversee the caterer. Nora will handle invitations and RSVPs. I will handle the renting of party tables, chairs, dishes, linens. Together, we’ll visit the florist to pick out flower arrangements and together we’ll decide on a gift.
Britt
Aye aye, captain!
Willow
Nora?
Britt
Nikki came by the chocolate shop this afternoon and told me that Nora’s preparing for a road trip to Oregon tomorrow with the Navy SEAL. I’m guessing Nora’s away from her phone, planning.
Willow
What Navy SEAL?!
Britt
One named John Lawson who once was awarded a little thing called the Medal of Honor.
Willow
WHAT!!!
Britt
She’s helping him investigate his ancestry.
Willow
If two sisters exclude the third sister from juicy information, that’s a serious infraction of the sisterly code. I might have to petition the court to grant me two new sisters.
Britt
The information wasn’t juicy enough to be mentioned to you for one simple reason. John has a girlfriend.
Facebook message from Duncan to Nora:
I see no green circle by your name, Miss Lawrence. You’re not online and I have to confess, it’s very depressing to come to Facebook in search of you and find you absent. Insomnia is bad enough. But insomnia without you?
Unacceptable.
I’m bereft, Librarian Extraordinaire.
CHAPTER
Eight
Nora had her car professionally cleaned inside and out. She took it in for an oil change and tire pressure check. She filled its tank. Then she surreptitiously sprayed Summer Flowers room freshener onto the floor mats. No need for John to think her a car maintenance slacker.
They’d decided to meet at the Library on the Green Museum for their road trip. Knowing John’s penchant for arriving early, Nora pulled into the museum’s small parking lot at 8:40 a.m. When she spotted Nikki sitting behind the wheel of her decade-old Camry, waiting, her heart sank.
Nora had been forced to trust her employee with her travel plans because she needed Nikki to cover for her while she was gone. Telling Nikki anything, however, carried with it a considerable level of risk. Nikki was nosy under ordinary circumstances. If she suspected that a handsome man might be in the offing, she became unbearable.
Nora rolled down her window.
Nikki rolled down her window. “I want to see the Navy SEAL,” she declared. “I didn’t get a good look at him the day he stopped by the museum.”
“As I recall, you stared at him the whole time.”
“But he was only inside for a minute or so. I really, really need a shot of estrogen, and the Navy SEAL is better than hormone replacement therapy.”
Warmth climbed from Nora’s neck toward her cheeks. She knew good and well that she wouldn’t be able to convince Nikki to leave before John arrived. Her best hope of mitigating this impending disaster was to lay ground rules. “Nikki, my voluptuous and very smart office guru slash historical interpreter?”
“Mmm?” Nikki’s peach lips curled with wicked delight.
“I command you to act politely toward John. We’re going on a business trip. Do not mention any part of his anatomy.”
“Who, me?”
“Do not ask about his relationship status.”
“Nora! I’m surprised at you.”
“Do not make any bawdy suggestions—” For the love! John’s shiny Suburban turned into their parking lot.
She and Nikki climbed from their cars into the sunny morning. Nikki had doused herself in enough Yves Saint Laurent Opium to choke a skunk.
John hauled a duffel bag from the Suburban. A man Nora remembered from the Lawson Training hostage exercise sat behind the wheel of the Suburban. He raised a hand in greeting to her and Nikki, then drove off.
“Good morning.” John approached, wearing battered jeans and a simple navy T-shirt.
Oh, heaven. His handsomeness always flustered her most when she first saw him. In a minute or two, she’d begin to adjust to it. Somewhat. Never fully. “Morning!” Nora chirped, popping her trunk.
He’d barely set his bag inside when Nikki extended her hand. “We haven’t met officially. I’m Nikki, Nora’s office manager.”
John shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ready to hit the road?” Nora asked John, a
trifle desperately.
“My, you’ve got a strong grip,” Nikki purred. She reached out and squeezed his upper arm with her free hand, her brightly painted fingernails like drops of blood against his skin. “It must be these big biceps.”
Nikki had ignored the first ground rule and mentioned his anatomy.
John studied Nikki with bemused confusion.
“You’re a gorgeous, gorgeous man,” Nikki told him, point blank. “Do you have any friends who are slightly older and single, but who look just like you and have a military past?”
He threw back his head and laughed.
Nora cleared her throat and edged toward the driver’s-side door.
“Well?” Nikki asked. “Do you have any friends like that?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Because I’m looking for someone like you,” Nikki said. “Actively looking.”
“Okay.”
“You’re dating someone, right?” Nikki asked.
Nikki had ignored the second rule and asked about his relationship status. Nora was going to kill Nikki!
“Yes,” John answered. “I’m dating someone.”
Nora’s stomach twisted at his words, which was maddening because she was extremely aware, every second of every day, that he was dating someone. His spoken confirmation of it shouldn’t make a fig of difference.
“That’s too bad,” Nikki rumbled, looking like a woman who’d just spotted a mouthwatering slice of chocolate cake, then been told the customer in front of her had purchased it out from under her.
“Well, I think it’s too bad that you’re looking for someone slightly older,” John said to Nikki. “Otherwise, if and when Allie and I break up, you and I might have—”
“For you,” Nikki interrupted, “I’ll make an exception on age. Anytime. Anywhere.”
“John!” Nora interjected before Nikki could break rule number three and make bawdy suggestions. “We should probably get going.” She slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Anytime!” Nikki declared, tracking John as he took his seat. “Anywhere!”