Praise for the novels of Rosalind Noonan
AND THEN SHE WAS GONE
“A story of optimism and encouragement, despite the heart-wrenching subject matter.”—Chatelaine
ALL SHE EVER WANTED
“Noonan has a knack for page-turners and doesn’t disappoint . . . a readable tale.” —Publishers Weekly
THE DAUGHTER SHE USED TO BE
“An engrossing family saga and a suspenseful legal thriller. Noonan covers a lot of narrative ground, with a large cast of characters whose situations involve morally complex issues, as well as knotty family dynamics. This novel would fuel some great book-club discussions.” —Shelf Awareness
IN A HEARTBEAT
“Complex, intriguing characters and an intensely emotional plot make In a Heartbeat compelling.” —RT Book Reviews
ONE SEPTEMBER MORNING
“Written with great insight into military families and the constant struggle between supporting the troops but not the war, Noonan delivers a fast-paced, character-driven tale with a touch of mystery.” —Publishers Weekly
“Noonan creates a unique thriller that is anti-Iraq war and pro-soldier, a novel that focuses on the toll war takes on returning soldiers and civilians whose loved ones won’t be coming home.”
—Booklist
“Reminiscent of Jodi Picoult’s kind of tale . . . it’s a keeper!”
—Lisa Jackson, New York Times bestselling author
Books by Rosalind Noonan
ONE SEPTEMBER MORNING
IN A HEARTBEAT
THE DAUGHTER SHE USED TO BE
ALL SHE EVER WANTED
AND THEN SHE WAS GONE
TAKE ANOTHER LOOK
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
TAKE ANOTHER LOOK
ROSALIND NOONAN
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise for the novels of Rosalind Noonan
Books by Rosalind Noonan
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
PART 1
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
PART 2
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
PART 3
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
A READING GROUP GUIDE - TAKE ANOTHER LOOK
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Copyright Page
In memory of Ruby
My little shadow
Heart of gold
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to the marvelous ladies of the Ya Ya Book-lovers. I cherish your insightful conversation, rowdy jokes, and beautiful shared experiences. And the delicious snacks are a bonus. You are a testament to the power of books to bring people together.
PART 1
People are mostly layers of violence and tenderness wrapped like bulbs, and it is difficult to say what makes them onions or hyacinths.
—Eudora Welty
Prologue
December 2000
Two rivers of thought converged as Jane Ryan stared through the glass at her twin baby girls. One stream sluiced clear and cold with resolution to stick to the logical plan and take her firstborn; the other was a muddy pulse of doubt. Despite the decision that she had embraced months ago, her mind now jumped from one plan to another the way a monkey leaped from tree to tree. The monkey mind. She had to quiet the monkey brain.
Just choose.
Stick to the plan.
Or not.
She tried to envision her life beyond this hospital, but antiseptic smells and bursts of noise tugged at her consciousness. For a moment she listened to the conversation of the other people at the window, a new mother in a fluffy pink robe talking to a young couple.
“That’s him. My Chad-man.”
“So cute. Isn’t he adorable?”
“Chad? Why’d you pick that name?” The young man voiced everything as a question. “You want him to be, like, a movie star?”
The woman with spiked hair smacked his shoulder while the mother defended her choice.
Their teasing made Jane ache for a simpler life with normal problems. Names could be changed. Some choices could be easily fixed, tempered, and shaved down. But not this.
Sweeping the dark hair from her forehead, she tried to shake off the haze of drugs and hormones, pain and exhaustion. Everything was distorted by the surreal bubble around her. She pressed one palm to the nursery window, as if the vibration of the glass would transmit the answer. Which baby? Which tiny girl would she bundle into the infant seat tomorrow ? Which one would remain her daughter, her new family, light of her life? The other mothers who had stood at this window did not share her dilemma.
Twins. The power of one word, a single syllable that could ambush a carefully plotted route.
The pregnancy test had set the first alarm, casting the future into the wind and leaving her scrambling to catch the pieces and fit them into a semblance of order. She had said good-bye to her hometown, her family, her familiar life. She had escaped the man she had thought would be the love of her life. She had just begun to imagine a life for herself and her baby here in Seattle when her first sonogram had revealed the multiple heartbeats. That had cracked the foundation of her newly laid plans. Two babies. One would be a challenge, but two?
Marnie had come up with the idea, Googling the contact info of Seattle adoption agencies. That was Marnie, always prepared for mishaps. In grade school, she had carried an emergency dollar in her pocket. She had carried a fat cell phone in her backpack in junior high back in the eighties when most adults didn’t have them yet. Marnie had been the only student in AP US History to turn her research paper in two weeks ahead of schedule. The skills of an event planner had shown Jane a way out, a light in the tunnel, a life with the one child she could handle.
But which one was that?
Her monkey mind wanted to renege on the agreement she had made with the adoptive couple and keep both babies for herself—an instant family. Her little girls could grow up together, sisters chasing each other through the backyard, sharing clothes and advice. But Jane had no backyard, no place to live as of yet. Marnie’s guest room had been a safe haven, but you couldn’t raise your children in someone else’s household. There was no going home—that was too dangerous. She had refused to give her mother and sister her new location, for fear that they would tell him.
She hardened herself to the image of the double stroller. It would never work.
Just choose.
But she had already chosen Louisa, right? The baby named after Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women. Jane would call her Lou.
Weeks ago, when she’d been in a quandary over which child to keep, Jane had decided to let fate choose. She had told the delivery room nurse that she wanted to hold only her firstborn. She had imagined the staff whisking the second baby out of her room and into Chrissy Zaretsky’s arms,
with Nick cooing at Chrissy’s side. Jane had planned a simple, clean break.
Then came the C-section. Quivering on the table, splayed open like a rainbow trout. Her thoughts had run from panic to survival.
She shifted closer to the window, trying to ignore the tenderness in her abdomen, the angry incision that smiled across her belly.
She focused on her babies, one angel, and one little monster.
It had taken her a minute to locate them in the second row, toward the left of the room. The magnetic homing device of motherhood that she had anticipated had not taken hold, and the tiny loaves in rows of plastic bassinets all seemed strange and alien to her. She’d had to scan the cartoonish nametags to find two pink cards with RYAN marked in some nurse’s quick block print.
Of course, her Harper was the only baby in the nursery on a crying jag at the moment. The pathetic bleating evoked both compassion and embarrassment. Perhaps it was a romantic notion to think that the baby would have strength and grace simply because she was named after Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird.
Louisa and Harper . . . Jane had deliberately chosen rare names, having read an article claiming that an unusual name could raise a child’s IQ.
Firstborn Louisa smiled in her sleep, a rosy-cheeked dream baby. The wails of her sister in the bin beside her didn’t penetrate her peace. Such a sweet thing. So easy to love, if you could block out Harper’s rant.
What was wrong with Harper? Shrieking and writhing as if in pain. A hot mess. With her infant acne and scaly scalp, she resembled a molting creature trying to escape the cocoon of her striped hospital blanket.
Tears stung Jane’s eyes. So much anger and agitation. This little bean was going to be hard to love.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jane had been asking everyone. She had begged an answer of the nurses, the pediatrician, and the aides who diapered the babies. “It’s like there’s a knife in her belly.”
The pediatrician had given a sage smile, his eyes glassy and mystical, as if he were answering from a distant mountain in Tibet. “Babies cry.”
The other answers were equally unhelpful. Hungry baby, in need of a diaper change. Too hot, too cold. Blanket wrapped too tight or too loose.
“She just needs her mama to hold her,” one aide had said as she placed the newborn in Jane’s arms, where Harper had continued to squirm and cry herself hoarse. That was the myth—that a mother possessed the magic touch to calm her own flesh and blood. Jane had rubbed Harper’s squishy little back and offered a bottle. She had rocked her and talked in a soothing voice. She had stroked her downy head and held her to her breast, but Jane was not capable of soothing Harper’s distress.
Even now as Jane peered into the nursery, an attendant picked Harper up and began to sway. Silence came swiftly. Knowing that she would not be one of those mothers with the power to soothe, Jane simply stared.
A few minutes later, when the woman was called away, she carried Harper back to her bassinet and paused. Double-checking the baby’s bracelet and the label, the attendant stepped over to Louisa’s bassinet and, to Jane’s surprise, tucked Harper in beside her sister.
“You can’t do that.” Jane knocked on the glass. “No!” They couldn’t be together. Yes, they were sisters, but they couldn’t get used to each other, accustomed to the warm contours of each other’s bodies.
When Jane got the woman’s attention, she was waved off with an omniscient smile. “It’s okay,” the nurse barked through the glass. “These baby girls are twins.”
Jane stood watch as the nurse left the viewing area and quiet resounded. Nestled face-to-face with her sister, Harper was content.
A few minutes later, Louisa’s open mouth was pressed to Harper’s head, leaving a trail of saliva over her patchy skull. There was something primal about the sight, as if Louisa were trying to devour her twin. But Louisa’s wet mouth soothed her sister. Both babies remained content.
Maybe they were supposed to stay together.
Suddenly, Jane wanted to keep both babies.
Or give them up—send them off together—so that they could remain as sisters.
She wanted both . . . or neither. Hormones swung her up and down, back and forth, like the creaking old playground swings that promised flight, but always pulled back down to earth at the last second. Both or neither. Louisa or Harper. Harper or Louisa.
Damned monkey mind.
Neither choice felt right.
Defeated, she returned to her room. Alone in her bed, she stared up at the bland vanilla tiles on the ceiling as guilt overtook her. It felt wrong to be apart from her children, and yet, when they were wheeled into her room for a feeding, Jane resented the loss of her freedom, the personal space she had spent a lifetime cultivating. She wondered if she would ever feel right again; she didn’t think so.
Harper’s howls scorched the room, prompting a disapproving sigh from Jane’s roommate on the other side of the curtain. Jane got out of bed, picked up the crying baby, and began to pace with her, swaying in the silent dance the nursery attendant had shown her. After a few minutes passed, Harper’s shrieks slowed to a whimper. Her mouth remained crumpled in a sour expression.
“You can’t help the way you feel,” she murmured in her baby’s ear.
Louisa’s little mouth was twitching into half a smile. Looking down at that perfect baby, Jane knew what she had to do. Louisa would be so easy to care for, so easy to love. And Harper . . . well, there was no way to be sure that the Zaretskys, or any adoptive couple, would have the patience for such a demanding child.
Turning away from the bassinet, Jane carefully eased herself back on the bed, careful not to awaken Harper, and pressed the call button. When the nurse answered, she asked her to take Louisa back to the nursery.
“Both of them?”
“No. Just Louisa.” Jane faced the window, careful not to look at the baby being wheeled away—the Zaretskys’ new baby girl. She stared at the dull bars of the window shade until she was sure Louisa and the nurse were gone. Until she knew it was over and done. A final decision.
She curled around her baby, her lashes grazing the vein that shone through the transparent skin at the bridge of Harper’s nose. This tiny thing had her issues. The acne that begged to be scrubbed. The cradle cap. As Jane breathed in the delicate baby smell, her heart filled. Flawed and difficult to love, they would make quite the pair.
Chapter 1
The shadowed corridor of Mirror Lake High School was thick with new carpet smell—summer improvements—as Jane Ryan trudged along, trying to balance equipment that was awkward but not too heavy. Last week these halls had swelled with hundreds of students scrambling to reconfigure a schedule, pay fees, and score a better locker and a school photo that captured their best self. But registration was done, thankfully, and for the next two weeks the building was open for teachers and administrators to pull themselves together for the new school year. Hence the empty building.
This was one of Jane’s favorite Oregon seasons, a time of lingering light and cool restful nights. Each year she contemplated taking on a different grade, and each year reaffirmed her love of freshman English when she met that startling batch of rambunctious new students, ready to blossom like autumn mums. This fall the excitement was amplified by her daughter’s placement on the varsity softball team. The chance to dig her cleats in as varsity catcher had wiped out Harper’s back-to-school blues, and the past three weeks of practice had brought her exhaustion, healthy color, and inner contentment. Harper didn’t care that the position had opened up because last year’s infighting had prompted most of the varsity players to drop the sport. Harper lived for the game—any physical game, really—and she took her satisfaction where she could get it.
Someone popped out of the science office, startling Jane. Mina Rennert looked more like a flower child than a buttoned-down biology teacher. Her hair hung loose over a tie-dyed tank top and peasant skirt, and Jane smiled when she spotted an ankle tattoo and a fat coll
ection of toe rings. When the kids were away, the teachers did play. Jane had enjoyed her own play session while Harper had been away at camp, though she tried to keep her personal life tamped down and covered, probably more than most teachers. As an unmarried, single parent, she had always felt the need to guard her privacy and reputation. Originally, she had sought to protect her daughter from the stigma of being different, but now half of the people she met assumed that she had once been married to Harper’s father and the other half didn’t care.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Mina revealed a pack of cigarettes in her hand. “I was just headed out for a smoke. And you look like you’re going camping.”
Jane adjusted the rectangular canvas bags that hung from her shoulders. “I’m in charge of the canopy for the girls’ softball team. They’ve got a game today.”
“Your daughter’s on the team?”
“She’s the catcher.”
“Awesome.” Mina shook a cigarette from the pack as she fell into step beside Jane. “Catcher is a key position. Most people don’t realize that. They put all the attention on the pitching.”
“You know your softball.”
“I used to play the outfield. That’s how I met my partner.”
Jane paused at the turnoff, wincing as the canopy banged into her hip. She would have walked outside with Mina, but her real intention was to stop off and see Luke. “Then you probably remember how games can drag on for hours.”
“I mostly remember the excitement and the pizza parties. And the dirt. Dust and mud. We were mud people. That was such a pisser. Tell the girls I said good luck.” Mina tucked the cigarette between her lips and strode away. Jane heard the rasp of the lighter even before the double doors popped open.
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