by Becky Wade
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Sam reached into his pocket. Excited murmurs raced between the guests as Sam lowered to one knee beside Genevieve. He pulled out a small jewelry box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring.
Genevieve appeared to have been struck by lockjaw.
Sam hesitated. “You okay?”
“No. Sam! Yes . . . I’m okay.” She gestured for him to go on. “Please continue with whatever you were about to say.” Tears slipped down her face toward her grin.
“Sure?” he asked.
“Please continue!”
“Because if another time would be better—”
“Another time would not be better!”
“All right, then.” Sam looked into her face. “Genevieve Mae Woodward?”
“Present.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Sam slipped the ring onto her finger. They stood. Kissed. Then Sam wrapped her in his arms.
The rest of them pushed to their feet in a mass, everyone clapping, some whistling or whooping. The guys exchanged high fives. The women hugged. Genevieve’s mother wept with joy, and Genevieve’s dad tried to find a pack of tissues for his wife. Natasha snapped pictures.
Sam whispered something to Genevieve. She whispered something back, admiring her ring. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head and pulled her against him.
The guests crowded around the newly engaged couple to congratulate them.
From the first time that Sebastian had met Sam, Sebastian had seen how perfect he was for Genevieve. She was outgoing and passionate. He was honorable and even-keeled. In fact, as far as Sebastian knew, Sam was so even-keeled that he’d only ever lost his head over one thing.
Genevieve.
Eight days later, Leah traveled to Atlanta.
This time, she did not make the trip in order to see a whip-smart doctor. This time, she made the trip to see a house. Jonathan and Trina Brookside’s house, to be precise.
She drove past their address slowly. Then she parked her Honda—far enough away to be safe, close enough to observe.
Jonathan and Trina now lived in the Tuxedo Park neighborhood of Atlanta, surrounded by some of the region’s wealthiest families. Their sprawling Tudor sat on its lot like a queen on her throne. The oak trees, dogwoods, and lush landscaping surrounding her pledged fealty.
In an alternate version of her life, Leah would not be parking on the street, a stranger. She’d be intimately familiar with this house and its occupants. She’d come here often for holidays, meals, family gatherings. When Jonathan and Trina traveled, she’d stop by to feed the cats or water the flowers or collect the mail.
Then again . . . maybe not. Had these people raised her, she’d likely have attended Princeton. In which case, she might have opted to teach at one of the East Coast universities. In which case, she wouldn’t be living in Georgia.
Her actual life and her possible life had diverged from each other the day of her birth. The more years that passed, the farther apart the two paths grew.
She tapped her fingertips on the lower curve of the steering wheel. The past few weekends, work responsibilities or Dylan-related responsibilities had prevented her from making this pilgrimage. However, she’d spent plenty of time planning her sleuthing tactics and staring at this house on Google maps—which had in no way prepared her for the appeal of the real thing.
Ultimately, she’d decided to make the trip to Atlanta early on this Sunday morning because, under the section of her mother’s obstetrical records marked Religious Affiliation, Trina had checked the box next to Christian. Not all Christians attended church regularly on Sunday mornings. But a large number did. Should Jonathan and Trina drive to church this morning, she’d be poised to follow. Churches were public, unthreatening places that welcomed visitors. No one would give her presence a second thought, and she’d be able to get close enough to the Brooksides to get a good look at them.
She’d arrived here at 7:45, right on schedule.
As her watch ticked off one hour, then another, the plan that had seemed solid to her back in Misty River began to tarnish. Both she and her car appeared harmless. However, a woman sitting alone on a residential street for hours at a time could not expect to go unnoticed. Eventually her presence would raise suspicion.
She had a multitude of papers to grade back home. She and Dylan needed groceries, and it would be excellent if she could find time to go walking today, because she hadn’t found time Friday or Saturday. Most important, she didn’t want to leave Dylan to his own devices for the entire day. He’d promised to go to Tess and Rudy’s for lunch, and Tess could be counted upon to call Leah if he didn’t show. Still. Dylan might be vaping marijuana at this very moment, while she was chasing her phantom history.
Checking his location on her phone, she saw that he was at his friend Isaac’s house, just like he’d said he’d be. Isaac’s mom was trustworthy.
Everything was fine. Dylan wasn’t vaping marijuana . . . probably.
The Brooksides’ home remained motionless, concealing its secrets.
She killed time browsing wistfully through her Princeton album. Nassau Hall, once George Washington’s capitol of the fledgling United States, with its bell tower and stoic façade. Blair Hall, with its castlelike turrets. Alexander Hall, with its Tiffany stained-glass windows.
When she’d looked through all her photos and scoured the Internet for a few more to add to her collection, she checked Beckett Memorial’s website to see if she could find a picture of Sebastian there.
She couldn’t.
Since she’d seen him at his hospital almost a month ago, she’d often mulled over his appearance—giving her memories of him color and three-dimensional depth. Again and again, she’d envisioned him in his T-shirt, scrubs, Adidas.
She’d thought of Levi and Isabella, too. For those babies and their families, the specter of death wasn’t some abstract, distant thing. She’d felt just how close it was when she’d visited them. Levi and Isabella were small and helpless. Death, big and dangerous.
Sighing, she returned her focus to the house just as a shiny black BMW sedan finished backing out of the driveway. The car turned in her direction, and she dropped low in her seat with a gasp.
What! A car? Who was inside it?
Despite the glaze of sun and shadow against their windshield, she glimpsed two passengers in the front seat before the vehicle slipped past.
She executed a three-point turn as quickly as possible.
The BMW turned left at the end of the street.
Adrenaline jerked through her system. She was tailing a car like in the movies!
They wound through the neighborhood onto increasingly larger streets, until ten minutes later, the BMW pulled into a church parking lot.
She’d hypothesized that they’d leave their house for church this morning, and they had. Little pleased her more than forming a hypothesis based on logic, then watching that hypothesis proven true.
She parked two rows away from them in the lot, which gave her a clear view of the woman and man who exited the car. Based on the Facebook cover photo Leah had so carefully studied, the woman was definitely Trina Brookside. The man, very likely Jonathan Brookside, was of medium height and distinguished. Trina wore a pink cardigan over a classy blouse and skirt. Jonathan wore a black suit.
Leah watched them walk inside.
Rapidly, she finger-combed her hair and applied lipstick, then merged into the stream of people heading toward the service. Anticipating that this morning might include a church service, she’d chosen a tailored white shirt, bright blue blazer, cigarette pants.
A greeter handed her a bulletin, and she eased into a formal sanctuary. An orchestra lined the front. White-painted square columns rose to the soaring ceiling on either side of the stage.
She searched the congregants for a pink sweater in combination with a black suit. Where ha
d they gone? She panned back and forth across the milling people, searching—
There. She made her way toward them and slid into the pew directly behind theirs. She sat slightly to the side of their position, so that when she looked toward the pulpit, a direction that would seem natural to those around her, the two of them fell within her line of sight.
The building buzzed with the sound of musicians tuning their instruments, talking, background worship music.
Leah was thrillingly close to Trina and Jonathan.
Trina had styled her blond hair the way she had in her Facebook photo, into a long, flattering bob.
For a man of fifty-seven, Jonathan had a full head of blond-gray hair, expertly trimmed. His suit oozed quality. She caught a hint of his luxurious aftershave.
Jonathan and Trina alternated between periods of quiet and periods of chatting in undertones. They’d been married a long time, and while she didn’t see evidence of fawning adoration, she did see evidence of rapport, companionship, respect. Her parents’ relationship had been tempestuous and transitory. The couple before her seemed to represent the opposite.
The service opened with worship music, and the congregation stood to sing. Near the end of the first song, Trina looked to the side, smiled, and lifted her hand in a gesture of greeting.
Leah followed the direction of her gaze—
A pang vibrated through her, because she recognized Sophie approaching. Closely behind Sophie, Sophie’s groom. And then a third person. . . . A young woman with long blond hair who resembled Trina strongly.
Father God, does Sophie have a sister?
Do I have a full-blooded sister?
Her lungs reminded her that she’d forgotten to breathe, and she pulled air into a tight chest.
Clearly, Trina and Jonathan had saved seats because the three newcomers easily made themselves at home in the pew.
Leah moved her lips as if singing, but for the remainder of the worship time, no sound emerged. The family before her commanded her full attention.
The blonde had to be a sister. By the looks of her, she was a few years younger than Sophie.
Leah thought of her lonely childhood . . . of all the times she’d wished for a sibling and imagined a blond-haired sister. It was almost as if she’d been implanted with knowledge of the sister biology had intended for her.
Did Jonathan and Trina have more children? For all she knew, they might have five kids. Seven kids. And every one of those children, other than Sophie, would be a full-blooded biological sibling of hers. They might look like her and think like her. Talk like her. Love math like her. Fail at sports like her. She couldn’t imagine the security of growing up in that type of homogenous family, because her own experience had been so different.
A minister prayed and made announcements. “Before we continue with worship, please stand and take a few moments to greet one another.”
The minister’s invitation provided her with a golden opportunity that felt like the culmination of five months of research, waiting, and soul-searching.
Sophie turned in her direction first, and Leah was taken aback by how much she looked like Dylan, with her fair skin and big brunette curls. She could see both her mother, Erica, and her father, Todd, in this woman who’d been born at Magnolia Avenue Hospital just minutes before Leah.
“Hi, I’m Sophie Robbins.” She offered a manicured hand.
Leah shook it. “Leah Montgomery. This is my first time to visit this church.”
“Oh? I’m so glad. Welcome! Here, let me introduce my family. This is my husband, Logan.” He was handsome in a money-buffed sort of way. “Abigail,” Sophie said, to gain the blonde’s attention.
The blonde smiled at Leah. Her eyes were hazel, not misty blue like Leah’s own eyes. But her face shape, height, and body type were all very similar to Leah’s.
“This is my sister,” Sophie told Leah.
“Nice to meet you,” Abigail said.
“You too.”
“And these,” Sophie continued, “are our parents, Jonathan and Trina.”
Her pulse darted into a sprint. Was there an alarm buried within parents that enabled them to recognize their child even if they didn’t know the child existed?
Jonathan and Trina shared parting words with the couple they’d been greeting, then faced Leah.
“This is Leah, a first-time visitor,” Sophie said to them.
“Thanks for joining us,” Trina said warmly.
“I just met your daughters.” Leah motioned toward Sophie and Abigail. “Do you have other children?”
“No, these two keep us on our toes.” Trina made a wry sound of amusement. “Do you live nearby, Leah?”
“A few hours away, actually. I’m just in town for the day.”
The opening notes of another worship song began. Jonathan gave Leah a polite nod before facing the stage.
No! She’d had so little time.
“Whenever you’re back in town, please stop by again,” Trina said.
“I’d like that.”
Trina swiveled to the front.
Trina exuded an elegant yet friendly vibe. Jonathan’s demeanor struck Leah as reserved, proper.
They had not recognized her.
Was she relieved or sorry?
More relieved than sorry. Her highest hope for today had simply been to see Jonathan and Trina. Meeting them had been a boon. The disappointment sifting through her was due only to the fact that their exchange had been so brief.
Be grateful, she told herself, resuming her fake singing. Jonathan and Trina had led her to Sophie, Logan, and Abigail. She’d learned things she hadn’t been able to learn in weeks of investigation. She’d learned that the Brooksides had two children, both daughters. She’d learned what her father and sister looked like. What their voices sounded like. Their manner.
Sitting side by side on the pew before her, they formed a clear family unit. She could sense the long history, ease, and affection between them. They probably had no idea that Sophie was not their biological child.
Should Leah tell them at some point that she and Sophie had been switched at birth?
A case could be made that she had that right. If she divulged the truth, she might gain a family, and they might gain a daughter.
But wouldn’t inserting herself into their lives be like thrusting herself, uninvited, between them on that pew? If she did so, she’d probably fracture their close-knit, familiar status quo.
She might also fracture the close-knit, familiar status quo she shared with Dylan, because if she came clean to the Brooksides about her identity, then Sophie would no doubt want a place in Dylan’s life.
Yet Dylan was so very much Leah’s. She didn’t know if she could share him with Sophie or stand for him to know she wasn’t who he’d always believed her to be.
Was it selfish of her to deprive Dylan of his blood sister? Or would that be somewhat acceptable in this case, because Dylan already had a sister? He couldn’t mourn the lack of Sophie, because he had no inkling that anyone was missing from his life.
It made her head hurt to wrestle with the ramifications of the choices before her. Which course was moral, right, compassionate?
She didn’t know.
As the service progressed, Leah noted every whisper, glance, and shift of position the Brooksides made.
Why had she and Sophie gone home in the arms of the wrong mothers all those years ago?
Nothing she’d uncovered so far had shed light on that issue.
Essentially, mathematics was the art of solving problems. While she pondered whether to reveal herself to Trina and Jonathan, she’d begin solving the problem at the heart of her switched-at-birth story.
What had gone wrong on the day of her birth?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Ben found out that Sebastian planned to spend the second weekend in October in Misty River, he’d asked Sebastian to help him chaperone his club’s fundraising table at the football game. Sebastian had s
aid he would.
But his motives had not been pure.
The fundraising tables were positioned past the ticket booth. Spectators walked toward those tables before forking in two directions to take their seats. Dylan played football. Leah would probably come to the game to cheer for her brother. Based on the location of the tables, his chances of seeing her were excellent.
He was not a saint. Nor was he as good a friend as he wanted to be.
If Leah showed, he’d pay the price for his sins because talking with her tortured him as much as it pleased him. A smarter man, a man with more self-control, would have stayed away.
Ben had left the table to get the kids drinks, so Sebastian finished unloading T-shirts from a cardboard box. Straightening, his attention pulled toward the ticket booth—
Leah.
She’d hadn’t seen him yet.
A Misty River High pennant poked out of her purse, and she carried a padded bleacher seat over one arm. She’d dressed in a blue-and-gold football jersey, jeans, and slip-on sneakers. Once again, her hair looked like she’d ridden in a convertible. It curved close to the corner of her eye on one side and was tucked behind her ear on the other side. Her face was soft in the most appealing way. Quiet contours. No harsh angles. The pale pink of her lips complemented the pale pink of her cheeks.
Her vision dashed past him, then back.
He gave her a slow smile as emotion ignited within him for the first time in what felt like weeks. Everything about the setting dimmed, except for her. Guilt remained.
Approaching, she glanced at the club’s sign. “Are you volunteering for the Equity for All student club this evening, Dr. Grant?”
“I am. I’m a big fan of the Equity for All movement and their catchy slogan.”
“Which is?”
“A woman’s place is in the House and in the Senate.”
“Very catchy. And do I miss my guess, or is that a Susan B. Anthony quote on your T-shirt?”
“I don’t think you often miss your guesses, Professor.”
“Let me see.” She nodded toward the T-shirt one of the girls had given him to wear when he’d shown up for duty. The T-shirts they were selling came in four terrible colors—pink, lavender, peach, and aqua. He’d told himself he’d been lucky to score an aqua shirt. But he didn’t feel lucky. They’d only ordered women’s sizes, and even the XXL was too tight. He pulled the shirt down in front so that she had a better view.