“Who is this?” Chrissy rasped.
“My name is Jane. Don’t you remember me, Chrissy?” How could Chrissy forget the woman who had given her a child, the light of her life?
Chrissy ran her palm along the wall as if to steady the room. “Refresh my memory.”
Was she suffering from early-onset dementia, too?
“Mama, this is Jane, my birth mother. Remember? You and Dad met her and won her over, and then you adopted me.”
“Yes, yes. I remember now.” Chrissy’s dark eyes pinned Jane with surprising fervor. “I suppose we need to talk.”
“We do,” Jane said, hoping this woman wouldn’t put her off because of her illness. Jane had come this far; she wasn’t about to back off now with only half of the answers.
“Let’s sit.” Chrissy pushed off the wall and began to shuffle toward the living room, hunched over her belly as she moved. Isabel hurried to her side, easing her onto the sofa.
“Can you get us some tea, Isabel?” the woman asked.
“Of course. I need to finish the dishes anyway.” Isabel turned to Jane. “Would you like some cookies? I baked them with lavender from the garden.”
“No, thank you,” Jane said, “but tea would be great.”
There was a glimmer of her former self as Chrissy stared after Isabel with gratitude and fondness. “Such a good girl. She deserves better than I can give her.”
“Don’t say that, Chrissy. You love and support her, and I can see that Isabel has turned out to be a wonderful young woman. Respectful and kind.” Jane hadn’t planned a pep talk, but none of this was turning out as planned. “You are Isabel’s mother, and she needs you. That’s why it’s important for you to take care of yourself. Isabel said you’ve been seeing some doctors?”
Chrissy waved as if slapping away a gnat. “All the experts money can buy, and so far they can’t help me. Gastrointestinal something, they’re not sure.” She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry about before. I get confused sometimes. Weak and anemic. This disease or whatever it is, it sucks the life out of you.”
“It sounds awful, Chrissy. It really does.”
For a while they talked about the health issues that had driven Chrissy to leave Seattle. Jane listened sympathetically as the woman described weeks of hospitalization that finally helped Chrissy regain her strength, only to have the same symptoms return again here in Mirror Lake. “And it all came on the heels of Nick’s passing.” Chrissy pressed a fist to her mouth. “Isabel told you that we lost Nick?”
Jane nodded. “He looks so happy in your photos. What happened?”
“His heart gave out. It was quite sudden. He was seeing a cardiologist, but none of us knew how serious his condition was. After that, the house on Bainbridge Island felt too big, too quiet without him. And so full of memories.” Chrissy told Jane about the decision to leave Seattle. Isabel had come up with the idea of moving closer to Jane and to Isabel’s twin sister. “She always knew she was adopted, and she knows how important it is to be surrounded by family.”
“But we’re not really family,” Jane pointed out. “Yes, the girls share much of the same DNA, but they have been raised so differently. They’re not really sisters. I wish you hadn’t brought Isabel here. Now everything is so . . . complicated.”
“What else could I do? A child needs a family.”
“She has you, and it was a closed adoption. I counted on you to respect my privacy. How did you find me, anyway?”
“A private investigator.”
So easy when you had the money. Jane felt compassion for Chrissy, and although sympathy kept her from railing about the unfairness of the situation, she could not let this woman ruin her life. “I’m really happy to see Isabel thriving, but I can’t hurt my daughter by breaking the truth about the adoption to her. I just can’t open that can of worms.”
“I apologize,” Chrissy said. “I know we weren’t supposed to contact you. But losing Nick was such a blow, and then with this sickness and being in the hospital, I got to thinking. I wondered, where would Isabel go if something happened to me? My little Isabel, she would have no one.”
“But you have family,” Jane said. “Nick’s mother. Your mom and your sisters.” And all the money in the world.
“Nick’s mother passed away. My mother and my older sister . . . they returned to Europe. Now I have but one sister in the Seattle area, and Anya cannot take care of a child. She has suffered some tragedies, a terrible breakdown that caused her to be institutionalized. She now lives and works with the Carmelite nuns, a peaceful way of life, but very insular. We haven’t spoken for years, but even if we mended things, Anya could not manage Isabel. So. I looked at the big picture and saw that Isabel was right. I knew that if things went wrong, we would have to turn to you. And so, here we are.”
“I’m not sure what you expect me to do, exactly, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve got my hands full raising my own daughter.” And I have the rebellious daughter, the one who struggles in school and would not be caught dead serving her mother tea. “And to be honest, I’m shocked at the way you pushed into our lives, moving to our town and enrolling your daughter at our school. Our girls are becoming friends. Do you have any idea how awkward that is for me? Really, Chrissy. You could have sent a note of warning. You could have called to ask for help. But to just arrive here and insinuate yourself—”
Chrissy cut her off with a firm gesture of warning as Isabel came in with two mugs of tea. “Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome, Mama-dear.”
How eerily similar that sounded to Harper’s resounding “Mama-dish.”
“Do you need milk or sugar, Ms. Ryan? I wasn’t sure.”
“This is fine, thanks.” Jane gripped the hot mug, glad for the reality check of the heat on her palm.
“Are you feeling better, Mom?” Isabel gave her mother a coy smile that reminded Jane of a smug parrot. This expression was not in Harper’s repertoire.
“Not so dizzy anymore, and the numbness has gone away. That delicious dinner helped.”
“They say that chicken soup is penicillin for the soul,” Isabel said brightly.
“And your soup is always soothing.” Chrissy lifted the steaming mug to her face. “Isabel is an excellent cook. She has perfected all the family recipes.”
“Cooking is fun for me,” Isabel said. “I just wish I had more time for it. Now that I’m editor of the newspaper, I’m spending a lot more time at school.”
“Editor-in-chief. And she’s a good student, too,” Chrissy added. “A 4.0 for the past two years.”
Jane’s heart sank at the realization that Isabel was settling in at the high school, establishing roots. Of course, that was exactly what Isabel needed—just not here in Mirror Lake.
“I’d better get back to my homework.” Isabel untied the apron and folded it into a neat square. “But I’m glad that you came by, Ms. Ryan. This has been a very special night for me. I’ll never forget it.”
Jane could only nod. It had been an emotional crossroads for her, too, albeit an unwanted one. As Isabel turned to leave, Jane thought of the need to protect Harper.
“Just one more thing, Isabel,” Jane said. “Please don’t talk about this at school. The adoption was private, and I’d like to keep it that way.” For Harper’s sake, she thought. Poor Harper. So much drama swirling around her, threatening her secure world.
“Of course, Ms. Ryan. I’ll do whatever you think is right.”
“I told you, she’s a good girl,” Chrissy said proudly.
Isabel’s eyes glimmered as she touched her mother’s shoulder tenderly. The bond between these two was obviously strong and affectionate. What the hell was Chrissy thinking, wanting to ensnare Jane in their lives?
The older women waited to continue their discussion until Isabel disappeared down the hall with her backpack.
“You can’t stay here,” Jane said. “If you return to Seattle, I
sabel can pick up with old friends at a familiar high school. Seattle’s medical facilities are among the best in the country. Portland’s are always seen as a second cousin to them. Seattle is the answer for you. I’m sure things will work out for you there.”
Chrissy shook her head. “That is not going to happen.” She seemed stronger now, suddenly focused. “There is no going back to the life we used to have. Nick is gone forever, and every corner of Seattle reminds me of him. This is our new home.” She closed her eyes as she sipped the tea, then sighed. “I understand your reluctance to be involved with Isabel, and I respect that. I cannot force you to be kind to her.”
“I would never be unkind to any kid her age,” Jane said, “but you’re asking too much of me.”
“I am fending for my daughter’s emotional happiness, as I know you would do for your daughter if the circumstances were reversed.”
It was a study in semantics. Jane cocked her head to one side, struggling to tamp down her annoyance. Why did Chrissy refuse to acknowledge that Jane had her own daughter to protect ?
“I need to get going.” Harper needed help with her homework, and Jane had promised to help her get started on an awesome Halloween costume. Jane put her mug down and thanked Chrissy for the tea. “You know I wish you the best, but this plan that you and Isabel have for a family reunion is only going to hurt people.”
“On that you’re wrong, my dear.” Chrissy seemed deflated against the cushions, fading into gray once again. “Family is everything.”
“But we are not family,” Jane said bluntly. “You can’t have a family reunion when there was no union to begin with.”
Her own words resounded in her mind as she let herself out and drove home to the other daughter, the chosen one.
Chapter 19
That night Jane tried to escape the sickening shadow looming over her as she threw herself into the activity of making a Halloween costume with Harper.
“I was thinking of being a giant Oreo cookie,” Harper said.
“Great idea! That’s so cute.”
“I didn’t make it up. I saw it in a flyer for Costume Country. But you can’t enter the contest with a store-bought costume, and since this is my last year, I want to score big.”
By tradition, sophomore year was the last time students attended the Halloween party at school. Jane didn’t know what upperclassmen did on Halloween—she doubted that they sat home handing out candy to trick-or-treaters—but that would be a challenge for next year.
In the mood to splurge, Jane grabbed the stash of cash from the cookie jar and drove Harper to the craft store. An hour later, armed with brown and white felt and pieces of cardboard, they started the project, but lost steam quickly. Jane burned her hand on the hot glue gun, and Harper declared that the big brown circle looked like a “pile of poop.” Phoenix’s soft woof of agreement made them laugh, but the costume seemed doomed.
“That’s it for tonight,” Jane said, looking at the clock, though Harper did not need convincing. She was already stretched out on the couch. “We’ll work on it some more tomorrow.”
“It’s awful,” Harper moaned as her fingers tapped out a message on her phone.
“Who are you texting this late?” Jane asked.
“Jesse. He wanted to come over to help, but we got started too late. He says he’s got letters for me. I don’t know what he means.”
“Well, it’s about time to turn off electronics and head off to bed.”
“Can we throw the costume out and start over on something else?” Harper put her cell on the counter and dug into the cookie jar, where Jane kept emergency funds. “Please, Mom? We’ve got more than twenty bucks left for something new.”
“We already spent money on supplies, and it’s an ambitious idea.”
“But a flat felt circle is never going to look like an Oreo. It sucks.”
“Try to think positive. How can we fix it?”
“It needs texture.”
“Let me think about that,” Jane said, stifling a yawn. “Hey, maybe we can mold the cookie part from salt dough.”
“That will weigh a ton, and I’m not going to wear salt sculptures around my neck.”
“Let’s sleep on it,” Jane said, though she doubted that sleep would come to her now that the past was breathing down her neck.
After Harper went to bed, Jane soaked in the tub. She held her breath and slid down under the surface to escape the world. It didn’t work; when she came up for air, her thorny problems were still poking her in the chest. Dressed in her soft flannel pajamas, she burrowed under the comforter on her bed and called Luke. This was a conversation that could not wait until they could be alone together.
“Hey, how’s it going?” His voice was bright and cheerful as ever.
“Not so good.” Unsure where to begin, she started in the middle of the story. “You know that new girl at school—the one who looks like Harper? Well, the resemblance is there because they are twins. They’re sisters, Luke. Isabel was my baby, too. I gave her up for adoption a few days after she was born.”
Luke was silent as she told the story, but she didn’t feel the sting of criticism or judgment. In the end, he had just one bit of advice: Tell Harper.
“Right now there’s another kid walking around the school with some crucial information about Harper’s origins and family,” he said. “That has the potential to hurt Harper if it gets out and she has no clue. She needs to be armed with the information. Knowledge is power.”
“I can’t tell her.” Jane pulled the comforter over her head and soaked up the soft darkness with the phone pressed to her ear. “I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t want to tell her.”
“You have to. And you figured out a way to tell me. Give her a similar version, minus the part about Frank’s chasing you. No kid should have to hear that her father is a psychopath.”
“That’s for sure. But I don’t know about telling her. This is so far out of my comfort zone. Even after all these years, I have feelings of guilt and embarrassment. And inadequacy.”
“That’s understandable. But trust me on this. You’ll feel better once the truth is out. Tell her that she has a sister. She may not choose to act on it, or maybe she will. Put the choice in her hands.”
Jane inhaled deeply, grateful that she could breathe again. This was not the end of the world. If she told Harper the truth, she would be giving her daughter a sibling, a sister. Although Jane had not been close to her sister, there had been a time when she and Shelly were a team, a cozy subset in the family, sitting together and sharing a bed when the family went on vacations. She wanted that for Harper.
Decision made, she found sleep.
The next day, Jane reconsidered the situation as she helped her students devise thesis statements for their essays on To Kill a Mockingbird. Recalling the way Scout and Jem had maintained lives that were a world apart from their father’s social dealings, she wondered if it would be so wrong to keep this secret from Harper. After all, Hoppy and Isabel might not strike up a long-term friendship in the next two or three years. For all Jane knew, their relationship might already be winding down. Maybe it was best to wait.
After school, when Harper came to Jane’s classroom to pick up the pieces of her costume, Jesse was with her.
“See what Jesse made for me?”
One by one, Jesse removed four brown ceramic letters from his backpack, spelling OREO on Jane’s desk.
“He did them in ceramics class last week,” Harper explained. “Aren’t they the coolest?”
“These are awesome. Good enough to eat.” Jane lifted the R and found it to be surprisingly light. “You hollowed them out?”
“You sort of have to because big blocks of solid clay explode in the kiln.” Jesse dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I modeled it after the cookie, but that was hard because everyone wanted to eat it. The cookie, I mean.”
“Isn’t it great? It’s going to give the cookie texture,” Harper said.
<
br /> “Sure is. How are you going to attach the letters to the felt?” Jane asked.
“Still not sure,” Harper answered. “We’re going to see if we can get some help in the design studio. They’ve got all kinds of tools and machines.”
“Good idea.” As Jane watched her daughter saunter down the corridor with Jesse Shapiro, she realized that she really liked the kid. She also realized that her craft skills, appropriate for assisting her daughter on grade school activities, were now obsolete. How quickly things had changed.
Two hours later, as Jane packed up her laptop, she wondered why Harper had not texted an update. She hoped that Harper and Jesse hadn’t wandered off school property without telling her. From the corridor of the art wing, she heard their voices: upbeat and cheerful girls’ voices punctuated by Jesse’s droll, low comments. From the doorway of the design studio she saw Emma and Sydney leaning intently over a display of papier-mâché fruit that they seemed to be gluing in place.
Harper and Jesse sat together at a high counter, gluing something down to the big circle of felt. Beside them, Isabel worked a sewing machine, feeding white fabric through in a steady stream.
A mixed bag, this crew. Jane was torn, giddy over their goodness and weak-kneed at the horrible potential. The bohemian boyfriend, the secret sister. Was life always a flight from danger, a torrent pushing you to the next precipice?
“Mom! You’ll never believe how talented Isabel is. Look at this.” While Isabel continued sewing, Harper showed off the brown braiding and felt tiles piled high to make the diamonds, squares, and circles on the face of the Oreo.
The rapid-fire patter of the sewing machine stopped as Isabel smiled up at them.
“And she knows how to sew. She’s already fitted the white fabric for me. Pretty amazing, huh?”
“I’m impressed,” Jane admitted. No use wishing that all this creative genius had come from Emma or Sydney—anyone other than Isabel. “It’s bigger than life. More Oreo than the actual cookie.”
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