by Irene Hannon
Maureen agreed. If he hadn’t joined the Marines, she might have had a chance to meet him. But she kept that selfish thought to herself.
“It sounds like he was a remarkable young man.”
“Yes, he was.” The woman sniffled again. Cleared her throat. “From what Delores said, I don’t think there’s much doubt you’re Paul’s birth mother, but I do have one other piece of information that might help verify that. When we were at the agency shortly before Paul’s birth, I caught a glimpse of the name of a doctor in our case file. I don’t think I was supposed to see it, so I didn’t say a word. But I looked him up later and discovered he was an obstetrician. Was Walt Ziegler, by chance, your doctor?”
Maureen closed her eyes as the name conjured up the image of a face that had receded into the recesses of her memory. “Yes.”
“Then I think we have a match. May I ask where you live?”
“St. Louis.”
“Oh. Not close.” Disappointment scored the woman’s words. “I thought if you were nearby, you might like to visit. Even though we don’t know each other, we share a very dear connection. Meeting you would be like another link to Paul.”
Maureen pulled her calendar toward her and gave it a quick scan. If she couldn’t meet her son, at least she could meet his adoptive parents, see where he’d lived, hear stories about him. It was better than nothing—and a gracious gesture on the part of Beth Phillips.
“If you’re sincere about that invitation, Mrs. Phillips, I’d be willing to make a trip to Boston.”
“Of course I’m sincere. And it’s Beth. When would you like to come?”
“Would this weekend be too soon? I could fly up Saturday morning and visit with you in the afternoon.”
“We don’t have a thing planned for this weekend. Our life has been very quiet since . . . since we lost Paul.” Once more, her voice broke.
“Let me see if I can make some arrangements on such short notice and I’ll call you back.”
“You’re welcome to stay here that night, if you like. We have a guest room.”
Pressure built behind her eyes at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you. But this could be a very emotional meeting. We both may need some space afterward.”
“I suppose that’s true. But you’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“In the meantime, would you like me to email you a picture of Paul?”
A photo of her son.
Her lungs stalled.
“That would be wonderful.” Her reply came out shaky.
“I’ll do it the moment we hang up, if you’ll give me your email address.”
Maureen recited it, then rang off with a promise to call as soon as her travel arrangements were set.
For a full ten minutes she remained motionless behind her desk, waiting for the familiar ping from her computer that would signal the arrival of an email.
When it finally came, her heart stuttered.
In a few seconds, with just a few clicks, she’d be face-to-face with her son.
Slowly she swiveled in her chair. Opened her email.
A note from Beth was there, along with the jpeg attachment.
She read the woman’s words first.
This is a shot of Paul taken in full-dress uniform six months ago. He was a corporal with the 1st Battalion. I have many other photos I’ll share with you when we meet. Albums full. I hope taking a pictorial tour of his life, and knowing he lived it fully and well, will give you some comfort and closure. We will be forever grateful you shared your son with us. His presence in our lives for twenty-one wonderful years was a gift beyond measure. And though he is gone, his memory will live in our hearts until we meet him again in God’s presence.
Fighting back tears, Maureen moved the mouse to the attached jpeg and downloaded it.
A photo filled her screen—and she stopped breathing.
Because now no doubt remained.
The young man staring back at her had Hal’s slightly crooked mouth and her big green eyes.
This was her son.
No DNA test could prove it more conclusively.
A tremor coursed through her as she leaned close to examine the handsome young man in his black-brimmed white cap, dark blue jacket with red trim and brass buttons, and white belt with gold buckle. Ribbons and insignias were lined up in military precision above the left pocket.
But it was the face she scrutinized. Strong and confident and proud, with a firm jaw and eyes that held a hint of daring and mischief, this was a man who seemed happy and content and comfortable with his place in the world. A man who’d been raised well and loved much.
Beth and Joseph Phillips had done a good job with her son.
She lifted her finger and traced his features on the screen. This young man could have been part of her world if fear of condemnation—and worries about job security—hadn’t colored her decision.
Yet from all indications, he’d led a happy, full life with two parents who’d given him a loving and stable home. Perhaps a better one than she could have provided. And along the way, he’d enriched their lives too. Good had come from her decision in spite of the heartache.
But what might have been if she’d made a different choice?
Straightening her shoulders, she ruthlessly cut off that line of thought. It was useless to second-guess lost opportunities.
Yet a new opportunity had been dropped into her lap, thanks to Beth Phillips’s gracious offer.
And she didn’t intend to pass this one up.
So with her son’s photo on one side of her screen, she opened her browser, typed in the name of her favorite airline, and made reservations for a weekend trip to Boston.
“Done.” Claire swiped off the suds clinging to the sides of the stainless steel sink, hung the dishcloth on the rack under the counter, and faced her daughter. “Now I’m going to run over to Dr. Chandler’s and return that plate from the cookies she brought us last week.”
“Can I go? Maybe she baked some more.” Haley stowed the last pot from dinner.
“Not tonight. You have an English paper to write. If you get behind this early in the week, you’ll be buried by Friday—and I don’t think you want to spend your whole weekend doing homework, do you?”
“No.” She sighed. “But could you bring me back some cookies if she has any new ones?”
“If she offers. Remember . . . don’t open the door for anyone while I’m gone.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
After grabbing a sweater, Claire tucked her keys in her pocket and headed for the front door. Maureen hadn’t called, so it was possible she didn’t want to share the news Keith had alluded to this afternoon. But he seemed to think she might welcome some company, and he had better instincts than most men about such things. If Maureen wasn’t in the mood for a visitor . . . well, it was a short trip home.
She double-checked her neighbor’s driveway as she crossed the lawn to her front door, but there was no sign of David’s car tonight.
No need to worry about interrupting anything.
Juggling the empty plate in one hand, Claire pressed the bell.
Fifteen seconds ticked by. Twenty. Thirty.
Claire’s pulse picked up. She’d seen Maureen walk down to get her mail from the box on the street earlier. Why wasn’t she answering? Had she gone out again? Had David picked her up? Was she ill or . . . ?
All at once, the lock was turned and Maureen opened the door.
Claire stopped breathing.
Her neighbor was as pale as she’d been during her cancer treatments.
What in the world . . . ?
Maureen gave her a tired smile. “I look that bad, huh?”
“No. I mean, you seem . . . It’s just that . . . Is everything all right?”
“It’s been an eventful day. I was about to call you.” She looked past her. “Is Haley with you?”
“No. I, uh, ran over to return your plate.” She held
out her flimsy excuse for a visit.
“Tell Haley I’ll fill it again next week.” Maureen took it from her. “After I get back from Boston.”
The town where she’d given birth.
Maureen answered before Claire could formulate the question.
“Keith found the people who adopted my son.” Her neighbor stepped aside and motioned her in. “If you have a minute, I’ll fill you in.”
She entered the house, trying to make the pieces fit. There was no elation on Maureen’s face. None of the joy she’d expected to see if Keith’s search was successful.
“I’m getting the feeling that isn’t necessarily good news.” She sat on the edge of the couch while Maureen took a seat beside her. “Doesn’t he . . . doesn’t your son want to meet you?” What else could dampen her enthusiasm?
But as she listened to her neighbor explain what Keith had discovered and her conversation with Paul’s adoptive mother, her stomach kinked.
“Oh, Maureen.” She reached for the older woman’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too. Though your first guess may have been correct, if he’d been living. I understand he never expressed any interest in meeting me. That he was perfectly content with his adoptive parents. And I’m glad of that, glad he had a happy life. So we might never have become acquainted in any case. I’m just grateful for the opportunity to visit the Phillipses and learn more about him.”
Claire studied her. “You seem . . . at peace with this.”
“I am, now that I’ve recovered from the initial shock.”
“But aren’t you even a little angry or . . . or resentful about the timing? After all these years, that two months could make such a difference . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I was upset at first—and I’m still sad. But I’ve spent a lot of hours in prayer since David told me the news last night, and I’ve given this to God. I may not understand why the situation unfolded the way it did, but he does. I have to trust he has plans for my welfare, not my woe.”
“Jeremiah.”
Maureen raised an eyebrow. “For someone who claims her faith isn’t as strong as it once was, I’m impressed you know that reference.”
“I read the Bible. And I’m making an effort to bolster my relationship with God—including regular church attendance.”
“You won’t regret it. Time spent with the Lord’s Word and in worship is never wasted. It gives you a wellspring of faith and hope to draw from when bad things happen or situations arise that can’t be explained in human terms. Maybe my quest didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped . . . but it did turn out the way God intended. And I did accomplish my main goal. I found my son. It’s just that our meeting will have to wait until the next life.”
Claire blinked to clear the mist from her vision and looked down at their clasped hands. “I wish I had your strong faith—and your trust. I worry too much about things I should give to God.”
“You’re talking about Keith, aren’t you?”
So Maureen had realized things were heating up between her and David’s assistant.
“Yes—but also myself. I’m so afraid of making another mistake.”
“Fear can be a terrible cross. One that keeps us from moving forward and taking advantage of the opportunities God sends our way. But caution and prudence are virtues too. Finding the right mix is the challenge.”
“I know. I’m struggling with it.”
Maureen squeezed her hand. “Aren’t we all—especially with the men in our lives.”
“So is it official now? David is the man in your life?”
“That would be fair to say, I think.” The phone trilled in the kitchen, and Maureen gestured toward it. “We’ve talked three times already today, and I’d be willing to bet that’s him again, offering to come over and keep me company.”
Claire gently tugged her hand free. “Then by all means, answer it. I don’t want to stand in the way of romance.”
“I’ll call him back in a few minutes. This conversation is important too—and he’ll understand. That’s how you know when you have a good guy, by the way. He puts you before himself.”
Kind of like Keith had done with her. By giving her the space she needed. By doing odd jobs around her house when he preferred to leave maintenance chores to professionals. And most of all, by embarking on his own painful quest to clear the way for a future with her that was unencumbered by his past.
“I think you’re right.” She rose. “But I do have to go. I don’t like leaving Haley alone for too long, and you have things to do if you’re planning a trip to Boston.”
“I always have time for you, Claire.” Maureen stood too. “You’ve been such a blessing in my life this past year—fixing meals, running errands, picking up prescriptions, doing a hundred other things that needed doing despite your own busy schedule. I don’t see how I would have made it through the surgery and treatments if you hadn’t moved next door. I may never get to meet my son in this life, but you’re the daughter I never had.”
Tears pricked Claire’s eyes. “The blessing goes both ways.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Maureen gave her a hug, then walked her to the door. “Don’t forget to tell Haley to expect those cookies.”
“I won’t. And call if you need anything this week—or if you want to talk.”
“I’ll do that. God bless.”
As the door closed behind her, Claire stepped off the porch and wandered back across the lawn.
Strange.
She’d come over to console her neighbor, and instead she’d been consoled.
God had blessed her—in ways she was just beginning to notice.
The scent of lilacs wafted past, and she inhaled the sweet fragrance that epitomized spring . . . and new beginnings.
Maybe her long, dark winter of mourning and weeping was over at last and this was her time to laugh and dance and love. To do as Maureen had counseled and believe God had a plan for her. That he’d led her to this place for a reason.
Maybe it was time to let new life burst forth and put her hope—and trust—in him.
22
“Robin, would you mind copying these two reports for me? I need to run in and see David.” Keith checked his watch as he paused beside her desk and handed them to her. This quick side trip to the office on his way home from Springfield had been a lot less quick than he’d planned.
“No problem on the copies—but you missed David. He left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“For the day?”
“Yeah. I think he had a hot date.”
That made two of them—and he didn’t intend to be late for his.
“Would you still mind running the copies? That way I can return the two calls that came in while I was on the phone with the foreman at the St. Charles site.”
“Sure.” She stood, weighing the reports in her hand. “But what’s your hurry? It’s only quarter to five. You usually stay late on Friday.”
“Not tonight. I had a full week and a long drive.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“Just make the copies, okay?”
“You don’t have to get huffy about it.” She propped a hand on her hip and looked him up and down. “You wouldn’t by any chance have a hot date too, would you?”
No sense evading the question. She’d find out soon enough if his relationship with Claire continued to escalate.
Make that when, if he had anything to say about it.
“Maybe.”
“Hallelujah!” She grinned at him. “It’s about time. Go ahead, finish your calls. I’ll take care of this.”
“Thanks.” He strode back to his office. The sooner he was out of here, the sooner he could go home and prepare for the evening he’d been anticipating all week.
Him and Claire. Alone. At a romantic restaurant.
Now that was a Friday night.
He was still smiling when Robin deposited the reports on his desk several minutes later.
He clipped the note he’d written to the reports. “Could you put these in David’s in-box. I’m out of here.”
“You’re leaving early? Wow. This must be serious.”
Ignoring that comment too, he picked up his computer case and circled the desk. “Good night. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Oh, I will. But not as much as you, I suspect.”
Her chuckle followed him down the hall.
But he didn’t care. In an hour and a half, after a shower and change of clothes, he’d be picking up Claire.
Nothing could dim his spirits at this point.
Yet twenty minutes later, after he pulled into his garage and retrieved his mail, the letter on top of the stack did just that.
It was from the Missouri Department of Social Services.
Home of the adoption registry.
He stared at the return address as his pulse began to beat a staccato rhythm.
How could this be? It was supposed to take three months for a response, and he’d sent in his form less than two weeks ago.
Did this mean there’d been no match, so it had been easy to respond quickly?
Or was the contact information for his birth mother inside?
He weighed the slim envelope in his hand as he entered the condo. It didn’t feel as if it contained more than a single sheet of paper.
He had no idea what that meant—nor did he especially want to know tonight. Either way, it would ruin his evening.
Talk about crummy timing.
Letter in one hand, travel bag in the other, he continued toward his room. All week he’d been looking forward to a few pleasant, relaxed hours in Claire’s company. They’d laugh, they’d talk, they’d sample some great food. It was supposed to be a real date, minus all the baggage that had plagued their relationship to date.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t getting off to a great start—and opening the letter wouldn’t improve things.