“Jeremy is my lawyer,” Sandy said to John. “When I use the scanner in your office, I’m sending papers to him.”
“I’d do anything I could to help Sandy,” John said. “She’s one of the best teachers in the school.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jeremy said.
After another minute of small talk, John moved on. Leanne leaned in to Sandy.
“I like him,” Leanne said.
“If anyone wants to date my mother, they’ll need my permission to do it,” Jeremy cut in jokingly.
“He’s a good man,” Sandy said. “But I haven’t had a date in years.”
“Come on,” Leanne said, touching Sandy’s arm. “You’ve got a date with a couple of kids.”
“I thought we were going to wait until Jeremy talked to his mom in Charleston.”
“We are waiting as far as telling them who you are,” Jeremy replied. “I’ll introduce you as a teacher who I know.”
“Are you sure?” Sandy asked. “Won’t they feel lied to when they find out the truth later?”
“If you don’t want to—” Jeremy began.
“No,” Sandy said. “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to see them.”
“Zach won’t care about finding out in stages,” Leanne answered. “Chloe will think it’s great once I suggest it’s like something from a book.”
“She likes the imaginary world?”
Leanne rolled her eyes. “Big time.”
“When I was her age, I had an elaborate fantasy life,” Sandy said. “I even invited my best friend Jessica to join me there.”
Leanne looked at Jeremy. “It’s a relief to know where Chloe gets it.”
“You still have an active imaginary life,” Jeremy said. “Your imagination was in high gear at lunch in Atlanta the other day.”
“No.” Sandy shook her head. “That thought came from who I saw sitting in front of me.”
“What are you talking about?” Leanne asked Jeremy.
“I’ll let Sandy tell you later if she wants to.”
They walked over to the children’s church area that was in a one-story building. The hallway was filled with parents and children. They went to a large open room. Sandy saw Chloe sitting on the carpeted floor talking to three other girls. Zach, his arm still in a sling, was chasing another little boy.
“Zach!” Leanne called out. “Slow down!”
The little boy scampered over to them. To Sandy his approach was like a cup of water in a desert place. She drank him in.
“Zach, this is Ms. Lincoln,” Jeremy said. “She’s a schoolteacher.”
The little boy’s face had the combination of exuberance and innocence that only a child can display. Sandy leaned over.
“Hi, Zach,” she said.
Zach moved a step closer to his mother and touched her leg.
“Hey,” he replied.
Chloe approached with athletic grace that wasn’t typical for a girl her age. When Jeremy introduced them, Sandy extended her hand, and Chloe shook it decisively.
“I understand you like to read,” Sandy said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What are some of your favorite books?”
As they walked away from the room, Chloe mentioned two titles, both familiar to Sandy, who then commented on each one.
“Are you a librarian?” Chloe asked.
“No,” Sandy said and smiled. “I teach English at the high school in Rutland, but I’ve always loved to read.”
Sandy and Chloe continued to talk about books as they walked.
“Have you read that series?” Sandy asked the girl.
“No.”
“I think you’d like them. I’ll bring the first one next Sunday for you to try.”
Chloe rewarded Sandy with a smile that melted her heart. The girl looked so much like Sandy at the same age. The group reached the parking lot.
“Oh,” Jeremy said to Sandy. “I almost forgot. We’re meeting with Maria tomorrow afternoon at four. She needs to get together with me forty-five minutes early so I can prepare her.”
“Where?”
“The conference room at the courthouse we used the other day. Can you let Maria know to be there?”
“Yes. Do you want me to come?”
“No, you’d better not. Dusty is going to use the translator who helped me the other day. She did a good job, and if we end up taking a deposition, the translator will need to be licensed and certified.”
“What about Maria’s father?”
“That’s up to him, but if he tries to keep Maria from talking to Dusty, it means we have to drag her to Atlanta for the hearing in front of Judge Tompkins on Wednesday. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to speak for herself and make it stick. The simplest way to take care of that will be for Dusty to see she’s clearly competent and capable of making up her own mind about the pregnancy.”
“I’m hungry,” Zach said.
“Please let me know that Maria will be there,” Jeremy said as he unlocked the van and the children hopped inside.
“Okay.”
Jeremy opened the driver’s-side door, then turned around, leaned over, and kissed Sandy on the cheek.
“Thanks,” he said. “I enjoyed seeing you with the kids.”
From the middle seat of the van, Sandy heard Chloe ask her mother a question.
“Why did Daddy kiss the teacher?”
The door closed before Sandy could hear Leanne’s response. As Jeremy backed out of the parking space, Chloe was inspecting Sandy closely from the window beside her seat. Sandy waved, and the girl slowly lifted her hand in response.
During the return trip to Rutland, Sandy called Maria and told her about the meeting on Monday.
“Will you be able to get there?” Sandy asked.
“Yes. One of the girls has to go to the dentist, so Rosalita is getting off work early.”
Upon arriving at home, Sandy received a phone call from Jessica.
“Get on your computer again,” her friend said brusquely.
“I just took a bite of my sandwich,” Sandy said, her mouth half full.
“You can chew while I tell you what to do.”
Sandy went into the craft room and turned on her computer.
“What is this about?” she asked after she swallowed.
Jessica rattled off the address of a website.
“Slow down,” Sandy said.
Jessica repeated the information. In a few seconds, a picture of a young woman with dark hair began to appear on Sandy’s screen.
“Is the picture up?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s Lydia Abernathy Duncan,” Jessica said. “Do you think she looks like Dusty?”
“No.”
“The next photo is of Lydia and Dusty with their father. Press the arrow at the bottom corner of the screen.”
Sandy brought up the image. The elder Abernathy had white hair; however, there was no question Lydia was his natural daughter.
“She looks like her daddy,” Sandy said. “What is this site?”
“Lydia is an amateur photographer who posts photos on the web. I took you directly to a picture she took of herself. Do you see the box that says ‘My Family’?”
“Yes.”
“Click it.”
Sandy moved her curser to the spot. A narrative blog post opened. She started reading it.
“Are you there?” Jessica asked.
“Yes. Skip all the stuff about the trip to San Francisco and go to the paragraph at the bottom that talks about Dusty’s birthday party.”
Sandy scrolled down the page to a sentence that read, We got together at a gorgeous spot on the Chesapeake Bay to celebrate Dusty’s birthday on April 5. Click here for pics of the festivities. Warning! No amount of Photoshop editing could remove some of the blurry eyes caused by a killer punch bowl.
“April 5,” Sandy said numbly.
“You were right,” Jessica said. “The
personal info about Dusty on the law firm website is incorrect.”
Sandy was speechless.
“What am I going to do?” she managed after a few seconds passed.
“Did you keep the phone number and address I gave you for Lydia?”
“Yes.”
“Either call her or have a much more specific talk with Jeremy.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I will,” Jessica responded.
“You’ll do what?”
“Contact Lydia. She won’t know who I am, and I won’t mention your name. I’ll ask her if her brother was adopted. If she hangs up on me, then we’re at a dead end. If she says yes and listens, then I’ll tell her I know the woman who is probably his mother.”
“That sounds crazy.”
“But it’s the truth.”
Sandy hesitated. “No matter what she says, you won’t mention my name.”
“Right.”
“Are you going to tell her your name? If you do, Dusty will connect you with me.”
“I’ll try not to unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It’s courageous of you to offer.” Sandy sighed. “But I don’t want to upset the Abernathy family if they want to maintain the status quo. I had the same fear about Jeremy.”
“And how did that turn out?”
“Wonderful so far, but his mother doesn’t know about me yet.”
“From what you’ve told me about her, she’ll handle it with class. I know you will. If you don’t try to find out the truth about Dusty, you’ll always—”
“Okay, do it,” Sandy interrupted with surprising firmness. “Make the call to Lydia.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You’re right. Everyone deserves the chance to know who they are.”
“I didn’t say it that way, but I agree with you. I’ll phone her as soon as we hang up and before I lose my nerve.”
“Then you’ll call me back.”
“Yes, Sandy,” Jessica replied patiently. “I’m doing this for you.”
“I know, I know. Thanks.”
Jessica hung up. Sandy nervously wrung her hands. She returned to the kitchen. Nelson was taking a nap on his bed in the corner. No longer hungry, Sandy threw the rest of her sandwich into the garbage and began pacing back and forth across the room.
THIRTY-SIX
Five minutes passed. Ten minutes went by. Sandy looked at the clock on the microwave as the elapsed time approached fifteen minutes. Jessica would have called back if she hadn’t made contact with Lydia. Sandy became more agitated. Different scenarios for the conversation between the two women raced through her head. After twenty minutes, Sandy opened the kitchen door to get some fresh air. By this point, she doubted the wisdom of pawning the job of making the call to Lydia onto Jessica. It was something Sandy should have done herself. Clutching her cell phone in her hand, Sandy hit the speed-dial button for Jessica’s phone. No one answered, and when the call went into Jessica’s voice mail, Sandy hung up without leaving a message. After more than thirty minutes, her phone beeped, and Sandy jumped. It was Jessica.
“I talked to her,” Jessica said. “And get this. She and her husband are in Atlanta this weekend visiting Dusty. They were sitting in the living room at Dusty’s townhome when I phoned. As soon as I told her why I was calling, she left the room so we could talk privately.”
“Privately?”
“Yes. She’s known Dusty was adopted for almost ten years. Her father told her when she was in college. He’d had a heart attack and wanted Lydia to know the truth in case he didn’t survive. It turns out his wife was the one who wanted Dusty to think he was their natural son.”
“Why?”
“She got pregnant with Lydia when Dusty was about eight months old. It was a total shock because they’d been told they couldn’t have children. The mother was a very insecure person who was afraid Dusty would feel second-class and decided not to tell him the truth. She died when the children were teenagers, and her husband kept quiet about it for years afterward.”
“How did Lydia react to your news?”
“Surprised, but then she started thinking about Dusty. She believes he has a right to know he’s adopted but is concerned that he’ll be upset with their father.”
“Is she going to tell him you called?”
“Better than a fifty-fifty chance. I could sense relief in her voice that she finally has a reason to say something to him. She’s not been comfortable carrying around a secret this big for so long. She thanked me for calling. I believe she meant it.”
“What did you say to her about me?”
“Nothing except that you’re not seeking to barge into Dusty’s life and create problems; that you’re healthy and have your own income.”
“Unless all the trouble his client has stirred up causes me to have a nervous breakdown and lose my job. What else?”
“She asked about siblings, and I told her Dusty had a twin brother who had met you. I didn’t say how recently.”
“Did she ask why I sent them to separate families?”
“It didn’t come up. Oh, she knows my first name and that I live in Georgia. My area code came up on her phone, and I would have had to lie to deny it.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do that, but Dusty is a smart guy. Once she tells him about the call, he’s going to remember my questions from lunch.”
“Maybe. Men aren’t as quick to connect the dots as women. Lydia is going to let me know if Dusty is interested in finding out more about you and his brother.”
“Did she ask how you found her?”
“Yes. I mentioned the Internet and the genealogy site, which seemed to satisfy her. At some point she’s going to realize I had to know something to do the searches in the first place. If she wants that kind of information, I’m going to pass her along to you.”
“Okay. You’ve done more than enough.” Sandy paused. “But this creates a whole different set of problems.”
“About keeping the men apart?”
“Yes, I don’t want to act like a superstitious teenager, but . . .” Sandy didn’t finish the sentence.
Sunday afternoons were usually a time for Sandy to relax. But not today. After the call with Jessica ended, she sat at the kitchen table and debated whether to call Jeremy. However, she knew what his response would be. Once convinced of Dusty’s identity, Jeremy would want to bring everything out into the open and get to know his brother. That thought gave Sandy cold chills. Concern for Chloe and Zach made her fear increase.
Sandy started walking through the house. By 4:00 p.m., she’d paced so much she felt more tired than she did after a long walk with Nelson. She went into the living room and stretched out on the sofa. Closing her eyes, she prayed for divine guidance, but she heard nothing, and no written message appeared on the ceiling. All she saw was a long, thin crack that needed to be patched the next time she painted the room.
Sandy fixed a salad for supper and forced herself to eat a few bites. Her cell phone was on the kitchen counter. It beeped, and Sandy shot out of her seat, almost tripping over the leg of a chair. It was Jessica.
“Lydia called back. She told him.”
“How did he take it?”
“Skeptical until they called his father in California, who confirmed everything, including the fact that Dusty was born in Atlanta. Lydia said that blew Dusty’s mind, since he had no interest in the city before his law firm sent him there.”
“Was he mad at his father?”
“Not according to her. The secrecy bit made sense to him based on their mother’s personality. She was a very private person who kept her feelings to herself. I think she was hard to live with.”
Sandy felt a twinge of guilt that she’d sent Dusty to a less-than-ideal family.
“Does he want to meet me?”
“He’s still in shock. This time Lydia had a lot of questions about Jeremy. I told her as little as possible.”
“Did you talk
to Dusty?”
“No.”
Sandy leaned against the kitchen counter. “It surprises me that he let his sister do all the talking. He seems superconfident.”
“Maybe he felt more like a little boy today.”
“Poor guy,” Sandy said. “I feel sorry for him.”
“Once a mother, always a mother,” Jessica replied. “Thirty-three years doesn’t erase the slate. He’s still the baby you didn’t get to hold.”
“Jessica!”
“I’m sorry. All I meant is that your feelings are real. You wouldn’t be the person you are if you didn’t have a maternal response to what Dusty is going through.”
“What else did Lydia say?”
“Not much. She gave my first name and phone number to Dusty in case he wants to contact me.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to find out where you live?” Sandy asked quickly. “That will lead him directly to me.”
“You knew there was a chance that would happen when we talked earlier today, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Sandy sighed. “I just wonder if he’ll do any digging before he comes to Rutland tomorrow. He and Jeremy are scheduled to meet with the pregnant student.”
“Are you going to let Jeremy know what’s happened?”
“I’ll have to at some point,” Sandy said, “or maybe I won’t.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure.”
After the call ended, Sandy took out a sheet of paper and started writing down the things that were important to her. At the top of the list was taking care of Jeremy and his family. She wasn’t sure what that meant except that she needed to do what she could to prevent anything bad from happening to him or them. Her feelings for Dusty, while real, were much weaker. Sandy didn’t have the same intense desire to get to know Dusty that she felt for her younger son. If she had to make a choice, she would give up any possibility of future contact with Dusty to protect Jeremy.
A heaviness of heart she couldn’t shake greeted her when she awoke the following morning. Her normal cheeriness toward Nelson was absent, and she stared blankly across the kitchen while she sat at the table drinking her morning coffee.
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