Winter's Destiny

by Nancy Allan

  Amy nodded. “Dorothy, is there anyone else still living in the neighborhood who was here back then?”

  The old woman patted her pin curls and looked up and down the street, her eyes settling on the house Amy had just tried, next to her grandparents’. “Emily Boxer’s been here even longer than we have. Try her.”

  “She’s not home right now, but I would like to call her, later. Do you by chance have her number?”

  The older woman disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with the phone number written on a small piece of paper. Amy thanked her and started down the steps.

  “Give Cynthia my best,” Dorothy called after her.

  Amy turned around. “My grandmother’s not doing very well. They think she has Alzheimer’s.”

  Dorothy’s face fell. “Oh. Such a shame. She was so bright. Must be terrible for your grandfather. Or does he have it too?”

  “Not yet. But he’s afraid it might be contagious.”

  Waving, Amy continued up the street. At the next house along, a woman in her thirties with short, spiked hair stepped onto the porch. “Hi! Back again, huh? How’d you make out?”

  Amy was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “You know, tracking down the Haddens?”

  Amy gaped.

  “Did you find them?” The woman coaxed a package of cigarettes from her robe pocket and knocked one into her hand.

  “Uh, no.” Amy was stunned. Then it hit her. Her lookalike was here!

  The spiked-haired woman lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, eyeing Amy skeptically. “Did you try the directories like I said?”

  Amy shifted. “You must have been talking to my—” What could Amy say? Could she suggest that it was a sister? “My sister,” Amy mumbled.

  The woman choked. “Sister? You’re kidding me, right?”

  Amy was beginning to wonder. Not knowing what to say next, she just stared at the woman.

  “Well, your sister’s a dead ringer for you, that’s for sure.” The woman glanced at Amy’s jeans and jacket. “Even dresses kind of like you.”

  “When was she here?” Amy asked, recovering.

  “Friday morning.”

  “Friday morning,” Amy repeated thoughtfully. “Did she drive a white Taurus by any chance?”

  “Yup. Something like that anyway.”

  “So, she came here and asked you about the Haddens?” Amy’s curiosity grew.

  “Yup. She was pretty jumpy, I mean, you know—nervous. Kept looking up and down the street.”

  “Were you able to help her?”

  The woman put the cigarette to her lips, sucked in the smoke, then plucked a piece of tobacco from her tongue and flipped it Amy’s way. “Yeah. We got to talking. She said it was lunchtime where she came from. Now where was that? Can’t recall. Hey, you oughta know, being her sister and all.”

  Amy shrugged. “Can you remember anything else?”

  The woman puckered her lips and blew a couple of smoke rings. “Yeah. She said she had an urgent message for the Haddens. That’s why I kind of got into the whole thing with her. She didn’t say what the message was, but she was uptight enough to give me the idea it was pretty serious-like.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Nah, that’s about it. I gave her a few suggestions on how to find the Haddens and she took off.”

  Amy held out her business card. “Look, I appreciate your help. My home phone and cell are on the bottom of the card. If you remember anything else, please call me.”

  The sum total of Amy’s inquires revealed that her lookalike had been inquiring here Friday morning. Amy found that information astounding. Her lookalike must have learned that the Haddens and Amy now live in Sanville, but how had the woman found Amy’s home address?

  She returned to the Jeep, her head spinning. It was a strange feeling to be told that you’re following the same path as a woman who looks exactly like you. Amy started the truck. She needed food. She’d barely eaten anything since Friday night and she was famished.

  The town center mall had fast burgers so she ordered a high cholesterol lunch. She wasn’t in the mood for her usual healthy fare. When she had swallowed the last fry, she turned the Jeep north toward St. Mary’s hospital, and parked in the crowded lot.

  Inside, she asked for the Records Department, and after much pleading, was lead down a corridor to the Records Supervisor’s office. A stick thin, all business—no nonsense woman peered up at her over thick bifocals. Protruding eyes inspected Amy up and down before a frown settled across her ruddy forehead. “Well?”

  Amy read the nameplate and offered her hand in introduction. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Goodrich. My name’s Amy Johnson. I’m trying to locate my birth records.”

  The records supervisor ignored her hand. “We don’t give medical records out to the public, Ms. Johnson.”

  Amy wasn’t put off. “I was born in this hospital thirty-two years ago, Mrs. Goodrich. I’m interested in knowing the name of my physician.”

  The record’s supervisor told her, “There are no records prior to 1981.” She picked up her pen and went back to her work.

  “Where would I find them?”

  The supervisor didn’t look up. “You won’t.”

  Amy’s foot tapped impatiently. “And why is that?”

  The woman’s head jerked up and she slid her glasses down her nose. Her voice was cold. “We had a fire here in 1980, Ms. Johnson. The lower two floors of the hospital were gutted. All the records were destroyed.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Amy swung the Jeep onto Nita’s empty driveway, jumped out, and ran to the door. She pushed the doorbell and waited impatiently. She could barely wait to pick up Jamie. She missed him terribly. The dog barked from inside the house, but no one answered. It was six o’clock; where were they?

  Disappointed, Amy decided to wait in the truck. She tried Brandon’s cell, then Nita’s, but they were both directed to voicemail, so she left a message on each. While she waited, Amy thought about Mrs. Boxer, the neighbor who lived beside her grandparents and who wasn’t home that morning. Amy pulled out the slip of paper with the number Dorothy had written down for her and decided to try it. A quivery voice answered.

  Amy responded, “Hello, Mrs. Boxer, this is Amy Johnson. I’m Cynthia and Art Hadden’s granddaughter. They used to live next door to you.”

  There was a long pause. “Oh yes, I remember Cynthia and Art. And you’re their granddaughter?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “You were just a little tyke back when you’d come visit them. How are you, My Dear?”

  Relieved that she remembered, Amy replied, “I’m fine, but something has happened, and I was hoping you might be able to help. First, tell me, did you live next door to my grandparents back in the eighties?”

  “Oh yes, my husband and I have lived here over fifty years.”

  Amy grew hopeful. “Do you happen to remember my parents? They lived with my grandparents when I was born.”

  “Sure do. Now, what were their names? Oh, I remember, Sharalynn and Dave. They moved in with your grandparents when Sharalynn was pregnant. I’ll never forget that—she was as big as a dirigible. Looked like she was going to burst.”

  Amy found this surprising considering her small birth size. “Really?”

  “Yes, and I do recall that a specialist was involved.”

  “I don’t suppose you remember his name,” Amy said.

  “No, sorry,” Mrs. Boxer relied, “that was a long time ago.”

  Amy tried again. “Do you happen to remember who my mother’s doctor was?”

  “No, but I do recall that he was concerned about one of the twins.”

  Twins!

  “Hello? Amy? Are you there?”

  “Twins?” Amy asked. It made sense. It was the only thing that made sense. Why then, am I shocked to actually hear it? “I wasn’t aware that my mom had twins,” Amy finally said. “But if she had twins, what happe
ned to the other one?”

  There was a silence. “You don’t know, my Dear?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I wonder why no one told you,” Mrs. Boxer said.

  “Told me what?” Amy tried to be patient.

  This time the silence lasted too long. Finally, Mrs. Boxer whispered, “One died.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Amy sat stunned. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that somewhere deep inside her, she’d always felt as though someone was missing from her life, someone very special. Now, Amy knew who that was. From inception there had been two of them. They were twins. And sadly, her twin had died at birth.

  Or had she?

  Why had no one ever mentioned the twin to Amy? Why had no one ever spoken about this? Why the deep silence?

  Amy glanced at her watch. It was almost seven o’clock and still no sign of Nita, Brandon, or Jamie. Where were they? Amy decided to call Gramps and let him know that she and Jamie were planning to stay the night with him. She wouldn’t mention what she had just learned about her twin until she got there. Then, she would insist on Gramps giving her a full explanation about what happened. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook again.

  He answered the fourth ring. “Hadden.” The old man sounded grouchy.

  “Hi, Gramps, how’s everything?” Amy said loudly.

  “I’ve been worried about you and Jamie. I was hoping you were going to call and say you were both in France, or Australia, or someplace.”

  Amy sighed. “What I was calling for, Gramps, was to tell you that I’m at Nita’s picking up Jamie. We’re going to come and stay the night.” There was no way Amy was going to take Jamie home after the break-in and the warning she’d received.

  “Sure,” he answered. “Always love having you both, but you won’t be any safer here than at home, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Amy changed the subject. “We’ll talk more about that when I get there.” Lots more. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a question for you, Gramps.”

  “Who said I’ve got an answer?”

  Amy ignored the remark. “Who was our family doctor when I was born?”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I need some medical background.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s important,” Amy insisted.

  “He’s dead.”

  Amy almost dropped her cell phone. “Dead?”

  “Yup. Burned up in the hospital fire not long after you were born.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Yard lighting cast shadows from Nita’s two-story home onto the driveway. The house was dark, except for the porch light. Amy grew increasingly impatient as Brandon’s cell continued to go to voice mail, so she backed from the drive and headed for the park, thinking she may find them there. No luck. She tried a few more places; then returned to the house. This time the dog greeted her as she stepped out of the Jeep. Amy gave him a fast pat and ran up the walk to the door. Nita opened it with a surprised expression. “You’re not here for Jamie, I hope?”

  Alarm bells sounded. “Of course.”

  “Dan picked him up hours ago, Amy. Didn’t he tell you? You weren’t feeling well, so he—” she saw Amy’s look, “well you did sound kind of—” she cleared her throat, “—out of sorts. Anyway, he picked up Jamie, like I said.”

  The color drained from Amy’s face. Dan had moved his personal things out in the night, what reason would he have to pick up Jamie? Especially when he never picked up Jamie. Worried, Amy asked, “Where’s Dan now? Did he take Jamie home?”

  “No idea. What’s wrong? Amy, wait!”

  Amy dashed to the truck and rammed it into reverse. She had no idea what Dan was up to, but she knew it had to do with his sudden decision to leave her, and it looked like he might be planning to take Jamie with him. There’s no way I’m going to let that happen!

  She skidded onto Lighthouse Road, almost colliding head-on with a big delivery truck. She swerved hard right, skimmed the front end, and then struggled for control of the Jeep as it fishtailed, slamming its rear end along the side of the truck. The exterior mirror grazed the van box and exploded into the air. Amy threw the Jeep onto the soft shoulder and came to a sliding stop. Taking no time to recover, she angled the truck back onto the rutted pavement and glanced in the rearview mirror. The big truck was gone. She was surprised, and a little angry, that the driver didn’t bother to stop.

  Amy pressed harder on the accelerator and a few minutes later she skidded onto her own driveway, sliding to a diagonal stop. Dan’s Mercedes wasn’t there, but lights were on inside the house, and the front door stood slightly ajar.

  Amy ran inside. Glancing in her study, she saw it was exactly as she had left it. She rushed to the family room and stopped with a sharp intake of breath. Everything was gone including Jamie’s small computer center. She checked the library next. Dan had no interest in the old furniture she had brought from her grandparent’s home. The room was untouched. The living-dining area was vacant; the furniture, paintings, and rugs were gone. Only the wedding pictures had been left behind. Numb, Amy looked in the kitchen. Everything was the same as she’d left it. Nothing removed. The small kitchen table and the three chairs were still by the window.

  Amy ran upstairs. The guestroom was untouched. It was Jamie’s room that stopped her dead. In a trance, Amy stepped inside, her hands running over the bare walls. Everything—every piece of furniture, every toy, every item of clothing—was gone. His room was completely bare. “No!” she cried, “Dan, you bastard!”

  She was momentarily stunned. Why had he done this? Looking around the empty room, she wondered what her little boy would make of what was happening. Jamie had been born in this house. Moving was not one of his life experiences. He would wonder why Daddy took their belongings out of their home, and where Mommy was. And in the end, Jamie wouldn’t understand this anymore than she did.

  She glanced into the master bedroom. One bed, her dresser, and the rocker were the only furniture left behind.

  Amy knew one thing. She had to find her son and bring him home. To do that, she had to find her husband. Dan was close to his sister, and Nita was protective of him. Would he go there? Nita would take Jamie in a heartbeat and that would certainly make things easy for Dan. Amy reached in her pocket for the cell and speed dialed Dan’s cell. Voicemail. She tried Nita. Voicemail again. She tried Brandon. Same thing.

  Something was really wrong. She recalled the delivery truck she had passed on Lighthouse Road. A moving van!

  CHAPTER 14

  Amy tore down the stairs and out the open front door running headlong into Dallas. He grabbed her arms and brought her to a dead stop. “Hey, where’s the fire?”

  The concern was visible on his kindly face but a voice echoed in her mind: You made a big mistake calling the sheriff. Remembering the threat to Jamie, she pulled back, twisted free of his grip, ran for the Jeep, jumped in, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine fired.

  Before she could back out, the driver’s door flew open. A strong hand grabbed her wrist. “Now hold on just a minute.”

  “Let go! There’s no time.” Amy tried to twist from his grip.

  “Mrs. Johnson, step out of the vehicle; you’re in no condition to drive right now.” He looked at her haunted expression and swollen eyes.

  Amy pretended to relent. The second he released her wrist she rammed the transmission into reverse and with the driver’s door still wide open, she floored it. The tires screamed backward down the driveway. She slammed the door closed, hit the road, shifted into first, and disappeared down the narrow road.

  Dallas dove out of the way and ran to his Yukon. He caught up to her in no time, but pulled back when he saw her Jeep sliding from one side of the narrow, pot-holed road to the other. It was all but out of control. At the speed she was going, Amy would either end up over the edge or send someone else over, should they be so unlucky as to be coming from the other direction. Dallas
radioed ahead and gave his deputies instructions: “We’re going to need the spikes. Lay them down before the turnoff. And get a move on!” He shouted. “She’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. Let’s hope nobody’s headed her way.”

  When he reached a straight stretch on the road, he accelerated, almost catching up with her truck before it hit the spikes. The tires blew, spinning the Jeep crazily. It grazed a pole and bounced to a stop. The deputies were ready and approached cautiously, hands on the butts of their guns.

  Dallas pulled his Yukon onto the wide, grassy siding, waved them back, and jogged over to the Jeep. Blood trickled from the cut on her forehead and her eyes were closed. Dallas opened the door and the motion brought her around; her eyes fluttered open. Dazed, she fell back into the seat.

  “Mrs. Johnson. Can you hear me?”

  She turned her head, recognition flashing across her face. Then without warning, she jumped out of the seat, her fists pounding his chest and arms. “Don’t do this! I have to find my son. I have to find Jamie!” Her shoe flew out and Dallas groaned as it impacted his bad knee.

  “Want some help, Sheriff?” his deputy called.

  With one quick move, Dallas grabbed her arms and swung her around, backing her into the Jeep. “Kick me again and you’ll be visiting the inside of our facilities,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing her firmly against the truck. “Now, do I need the cuffs, or are you going to calm down?”

  They were eye to eye. He saw hers refocus and the anger diminish. Her body relaxed slightly. He grabbed her wrist. “Come on.”

  Limping, he took her to his Yukon and motioned her to the passenger seat. “Sit.” He hooked an arm over the open door and looked down at her. “I’ll call an ambulance.”