by Becky Wade
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Could you use some?”
“Always.”
“Then I’m buying.”
Nora snapped a picture of Homer’s obituary with her cell phone before returning the film to storage.
At the small coffee bar off the courthouse foyer, they ordered a coffee and a tea. At this late morning hour, only one other customer, a middle-aged lady, occupied the single table’s far end. John made sure to put plenty of space between himself and Nora when they took their seats. He didn’t want their knees or feet to accidentally touch.
Nora made small talk. She asked questions and seemed fine with it when he said little in response.
Surely it was normal to feel conflicted about digging up the past and pushing his way into Sherry’s life. He didn’t know what information he’d find or how she’d react. He hadn’t even found Sherry yet, and he already regretted any pain or inconvenience he’d cause her. His goal wasn’t to interrupt her life. His goal was to find answers, and in order to find answers, he’d have to contact her. There was no getting around that.
A big part of him was ready. A small part of him wasn’t. But no matter what, he’d move forward. He’d come this far because he wanted his medical records. He needed to know who’d passed his condition down to him.
Their drinks sat before them, empty now. Nora’s words drifted away.
“Okay,” he said. “You can go ahead and run the search for Sherry in Grants Pass.”
She lifted one brow, asking him without words if he was sure. Nora had a sharp, observant mind. Obviously, she’d either sensed or seen his reluctance. She could read him better than anyone had been able to in a long time. “We can run the search later,” she said reasonably. “Even days from now. Whenever you’d like.”
We won’t be in contact days from now. “You’re dying to run it now,” he said.
“Yes. But the pace of this search is yours to set. Not mine.”
“You’re good at this, you know. At research.”
She sat back a fraction, pleasure in her expression. “You think so?”
“Yes.” He wanted her to know that.
“Thank you.”
“Go ahead.” He gestured to her bag, where her computer waited.
Nora began by combing through online telephone and address listings for Sherry O’Sullivan in Grants Pass.
She received nothing but messages saying that no records matched her criteria.
“Foiled again.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Don’t worry, John. I’m not dissuaded.”
“Never thought you were.”
“Let’s check marriage records.” She opened a new tab on her Internet browser. “We’ve inferred that Sherry might be Lucas’s daughter, because she named you Mark Lucas. In Homer’s obituary, do you remember where it said Lucas lived?”
He didn’t need to check the picture of the obit on Nora’s phone. He remembered. “Bend.”
“And what county is Bend in? Is it here in Deschutes County?”
He Googled it on his phone. “Yes.”
“A lot of brides get married in their hometowns. So if Lucas is Sherry’s dad and she was raised in Bend, then we should check for marriage records filed in Deschutes County after your birth and before Homer’s death.” She began filling in the website’s various fields. “We’re looking for a wedding between Sherry Thompson and someone—we don’t know your first name, sir—O’Sullivan.” She hit enter.
Several hits turned up. The very first one listed Sherry Thompson and Edward O’Sullivan. Nora sank her upper teeth into her full bottom lip.
John groaned inwardly and forced his attention to the computer screen.
The marriage record named the bride as Sherry Anne Thompson, the groom as Edward Dean O’Sullivan. They married three years after his birth.
Thanks to his birth certificate, he’d always known Sherry’s age. The birth year given for her here was exactly right. The groom was two years older than she. It listed Sherry’s birthplace as Bend, Oregon. Edward’s birthplace as Aberdeen, Washington. Her parents: Lucas and Judith Thompson. The record also provided Edward’s parents’ names, the minister’s name, and the names of witnesses.
“We were right,” John said. “She’s Lucas’s daughter.”
“She’s Lucas’s daughter,” Nora confirmed. “Now we also know her husband’s first name.”
This search was coming along the way a crossword puzzle did. The first few answers had been slow and difficult to come by. But now that they’d figured out a good portion of the clues, the empty squares were filling in fast.
“Let’s look for Sherry and Edward in Bend.” Nora returned to her first tab and ran a search.
No hits.
“We have to keep in mind that many things could have happened since Homer’s death,” she said. “Sherry could have divorced and married someone different and have a new last name. She and Edward could have moved overseas. She or Edward could have died—oops. Sorry. That’s not a very optimistic thought. I didn’t mean to speak that one out loud. Let’s run a search for Sherry and Edward in his hometown of . . .”
“Aberdeen, Washington.”
The moment she input the data, the site brought up an address and phone number for Sherry and Edward O’Sullivan in Aberdeen.
Beside him, Nora froze.
Tightness banded around John’s chest. His birth mother was living in Aberdeen, Washington, with her husband. Here was her address. Here was her phone number. She hadn’t divorced and remarried. She hadn’t moved overseas or died. She was living in a city just over an hour’s drive from where he lived in Shore Pine.
They’d found her.
Nora’s job was done.
Text message from Willow to Nora and Britt:
Willow
Valentina is making an enormous pot of borscht for dinner. It smells delicious but she’s filling a pot large enough for a dozen people. There’s just me! I need reinforcements. Join me for dinner. Have borscht. Will host.
Britt
I’m in, but I haven’t heard from Nora today. I’m hoping she and the Navy SEAL decided to elope.
Nora
The Navy SEAL has a girlfriend! He and I are on our way back from Oregon and just pulled into a 7–Eleven for a pit stop. We completed our research today and now it occurs to me that I did my job so well that I managed to promote myself out of my one connection to him.
Britt
Invite him and his girlfriend to Grandma’s birthday party. That will give you a new connection to him.
Nora
That will give me a new connection to him, yes. But that will come at the agonizing cost of having to watch him and his girlfriend together during the party.
Britt
Then kick him to the curb. No man is worth agony.
Britt
p.s. If you do decide to invite him and his girlfriend to the party, be sure to ask him to bring along one of his guy friends for Willow.
Willow
Excuse me? After seeing the selection of available bachelors in this area on Nora’s dating app, I’m 100% sure that I will not be finding the love of my life in Merryweather.
Britt
Nora has a dating app?!
Nora
I had one, at Willow’s urging, for about two minutes. I’ll see you at Bradfordwood for dinner. I’ll be the one crying over John into my borscht.
CHAPTER
Eleven
The instant Nora spotted the sporty little silver Audi parked on John’s driveway, she comprehended her grave mistake.
An hour ago she’d informed John that she’d drop him off at his house at the end of their journey home from Blakeville. He’d assured her that one of his friends or employees could pick him up at the Library on the Green, but she’d held firm.
She’d wanted to take him all the way to his house for two reasons. One, she’d been dying for a glimpse of his house. Two, on their drive to Blakeville, the sp
aces of quiet between them had rippled with comforting familiarity. The spaces of quiet on today’s drive had crackled with strain, despite the fact that he’d been perfectly polite. She’d been hoping to end their trip on a high note of kindness.
Nearly a mile ago they’d exited the road onto his private drive. When she’d caught sight of a roof line through the dense cover of trees, her anticipation had heightened. Then she’d driven a little farther and spotted the Audi, and her anticipation had nose-dived like a mortally wounded fighter plane.
That car was entirely too cute to belong to a man.
“Allie’s here,” John stated.
She pulled to a stop behind the Audi. “Oh, good!” Her enthusiastic response sounded as patently false to her ears as it felt to her heart. She’d overcompensated.
“I told her around what time we’d be back, but she hadn’t mentioned she was coming over.”
“Mmm! A nice surprise, then.”
He let himself out. While he was retrieving his duffel bag from her trunk, the front door of his house—his new and modern and huge house—sailed open. Allie emerged wearing cut-off jean shorts and a white eyelet off-the-shoulder top. She had an acre of hair and two acres of slim, tan legs. Her feet were bare. She could have walked straight out of the J. Crew summer catalog.
Allie waved and smiled, making her way toward Nora’s car. She was chewing something and cupping something in her hand. Clearly, she’d been relaxing barefoot here at John’s house, snacking casually. She looked supremely comfortable, as if she belonged in these surroundings. Which, of course, she did.
Nora called herself an idiot ten different ways for insisting on bringing John here and, in so doing, forcing this wretched pain on herself. She rolled down her window and gave an answering wave.
Allie intercepted John near the back of Nora’s car. In her rearview mirror, Nora saw Allie come into view, arms open for a hug, face lifted for a kiss. With a jagged inhale, Nora averted her gaze to her lap. She just . . . oh my goodness, she just could not bear to watch them hugging and kissing.
Despite that you feel like you’re dying, you’re not actually going to, Nora. Heartbreak isn’t fatal.
“Hi, Nora,” Allie said warmly. “Nice to see you again.”
Nora lifted her face as Allie approached. “Nice to see you, too.”
“It sounds like you had a successful trip.”
“Yes! Yes, we did.”
“John told me that the two of you were able to find a name and address for his birth mother.”
Red grapes. That was what Allie had in her hand. That was what she was snacking on. Nora shouldn’t be surprised that John had kept his girlfriend, who ate grapes at his house when he wasn’t here, up to date on the specifics of their search for Sherry. Until this moment, however, the search for John’s birth mother had felt like something that belonged mostly to her and John. “That’s right.”
“What great news,” Allie said.
“It really is. Well, I better be on my way.”
John came to a stop a few yards behind Allie on the path leading to his house. His duffel bag rested over one wide shoulder. His expression was guarded. His posture rigid.
“Let me get you a drink or something before you go,” Allie said. “You’ve been driving for hours.”
Nora stared at the genuinely likeable person in front of her, feeling and thinking so many things simultaneously that her mind had gone blank. “No, no” was all she managed.
Allie popped the final grape into her mouth and wiped her palms against her shorts. “Come inside,” she insisted. “Stretch your legs, and I’ll get you a drink. It’ll only take a minute.”
There was probably a graceful and laughing way to decline, but Nora couldn’t dredge it up. She wanted Allie and John to think her fine with this scenario because a true friend of John’s would be fine with proximity to his girlfriend. “Okay,” Nora murmured, turning off her ignition. “Just for a minute.”
“Isn’t this house wonderful?” Allie asked as they entered the foyer.
“Incredibly so,” Nora answered honestly.
“I’ll give you a quick tour.”
Allie led the way, keeping up a stream of relaxed conversation. Nora could feel John’s glowering presence behind them. Hear his gait.
Her pulse had begun to boom like a church bell signaling a funeral. Bong. Bong. Bong. A feverish clamminess crept over her skin. Heartbreak isn’t fatal!
A hallway ran along the back section of John’s house. On one side, windows faced a wooded mountainside. The other side contained bedrooms, bathrooms, a media room. Everything looked gleamingly new. He’d furnished the house in a simple, faintly mid-century modern way. Extremely unfussy. Smooth gray concrete floors stretched beneath Nora’s feet. Pale cream paint covered the walls. Everywhere she looked, windows invited the outdoors in.
John set his bag on a king-sized bed in one of the rooms.
His bedroom.
Despite her avid interest in his house, Nora remained discreetly in the hallway throughout the tour. Not only did she loathe her role as the third wheel in John and Allie’s happy reunion, but this Allie-instigated peek into John’s life made her feel as if she was invading his privacy.
Once she’d followed Allie down a few steps into the portion of the house that faced the lake, she had to slow for a moment to catch her breath at the grandeur surrounding her. At this early-evening hour, auburn light flooded in through walls of glass that towered toward a ceiling two stories above.
The kitchen and dining table were tucked back on her left. To her right, a TV was recessed into bookshelves that reminded her very much of the bookshelves at her own house. Sofas and leather chairs dotted the rug between the TV and a stone fireplace.
She was no expert in the field of architecture, but this house seemed to her to be a masterpiece. Not a cold masterpiece. A masterpiece that managed to give off the impression of welcome and nature and calm.
Allie rattled off five different drink choices, then asked Nora which one she’d like.
“A bottled water, please.”
Allie headed toward the kitchen.
John went ahead, freeing a latch on the rear glass doors. At his bidding, the tall panels slid open along a track, folding in until no separation remained between the interior and exterior living spaces.
If this was Northamptonshire, John would be the earl, and this house would be the grand castle on the hill. In the TV world, she preferred Adolphus. But in the real world, she’d fallen quite unoriginally for the earl.
John and Nora walked onto the expansive deck. The lake spread below them like a royal blue sequined scarf.
He came to a stop, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. His hair was in disarray, Nora noted, probably from Allie’s fingers riffling through it. His profile appeared to have been sketched with firm, unapologetic lines. “This is my favorite part of the house,” he said.
“This outdoor space?”
“Yeah.”
“I can see why. Your house is amazing, John.”
“Thank you.” He met her eyes. He’d hardly looked at her all day. He was a powerfully handsome man, but the ache of yearning that tugged at Nora wasn’t borne of his outward beauty. It was borne of every single inward part of him she’d come to know.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” he told her. “I never would have found Sherry without your help.”
A lump formed in her throat. “You’re welcome.” She forged ahead with a voice that she hoped rang with optimism. “Look for an email from me soon. I’ll include attachments of those resources I mentioned earlier. They’ll provide ideas and suggestions about how best to craft a letter to a birth mother. Not that you have to rely on the suggestions, of course. I’ll just send them to you in case they’re helpful.”
“Okay.” He looked as if he wanted to say more.
Nora waited expectantly—
Allie arrived. She handed Nora the bottled water, then wrapped a hand aro
und John’s elbow.
Bubbling hot jealousy turned Nora’s entire midsection to lava.
She had to get away from Allie and John, the couple. But that meant leaving John, and she’d never wanted to leave a person less.
Would she ever see John again? She hated for their friendship to end like this . . . on this big downbeat and with Allie as a witness. She didn’t have a choice, however. This was exactly how it was going to end. “I’d better get going,” she said. “I’m meeting my sisters for dinner. Valentina made borscht, a Russian stew of beef, carrots, and potatoes. And cabbage, of course.”
“Sounds delicious,” Allie said.
“Thanks for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” Allie regarded her fondly.
John stood stock-still, eyes glowing hazel fire, features withdrawn and grave.
“I’ll let myself out.” Nora turned on her heel, desperate to retain her dignity at all costs. “See you guys later.”
“Enjoy the stew!” Allie called.
“You bet. Gotta love cabbage!” She strode at a fast clip, hot tears sheening her eyes. Mortified, she willed them away. She climbed quickly into her car and steered along John’s driveway, her thoughts a whirlpool. Gotta love cabbage? Was that what she’d just said?
It hurt to care about a man who cared for someone else above you. Who’d chosen someone else over you. It hurt, hurt, hurt.
Once again, like with Harrison and Rory long ago, she found herself on the outside, looking in. The first time she hadn’t had a choice. But this time, she’d willingly opened her heart to John. So futile!
Could it be that she was subconsciously bent on injuring herself? Or maybe subconsciously bent on protecting herself, which was why she’d let herself fall for a man who already had a girlfriend? After all, one didn’t have to risk the vulnerability that came with a real relationship when the subject of your crush was already in a real relationship with someone else.
Nora weighed the two possibilities in her mind, testing them the way a person might press a bruise to measure its level of pain.
In this case, no. No. She didn’t think either an underlying desire to injure or protect herself had motivated her friendship with John. Or, at least, neither desire had motivated it much.