"That doesn't make sense," Julia murmured. "Twenty-five years ago I was three years old. And my mother said that her parents disowned her when she had me, so why would they have thought she was all alone? Wouldn't they have wondered what happened to the baby? To me? It must be a mistake. This Susan Davidson is not my grandmother."
"I think she is," Alex said, refusing to go along with her.
She met his gaze and saw nothing but confidence. "Why? We don't have any evidence."
"Sure we do. Don't start running scared again, Julia."
She bristled at his brisk tone. "I'm not doing that. I'm examining the facts."
"No, you're trying to twist the facts, undo the connections, but you can't. Your father gave you the names of your grandparents, Henry and Susan. They had a daughter named Sarah, and she went to Northwestern. It all matches."
Maybe it did. Maybe she was just scared to connect the dots. Thinking about vague, nebulous grandparents was different than actually speaking to them.
"But you're right," Alex continued. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions without further investigation. That's why I bought two plane tickets for Buffalo, New York. We're on the 10:45 flight, and if we're going to make that flight, we need to leave now."
Her jaw dropped in amazement. "Are you out of your mind? I can't go to Buffalo."
"Of course you can. Even with the time difference and a short layover in Chicago, we can be there by eight o'clock tonight."
"What about my family? I can't leave them to fend for themselves, especially with this article in the newspaper." She dreaded having to return calls to Liz and Michael, who would probably not be happy about this latest development.
"Without you the story will die down faster," Alex argued. "Tell them to say, 'No comment,' until you get back. This is the best lead we have, Julia. We have to take it."
"What about Daniel Brady?"
"Haven't heard from him. I left Stan another message. They both have my cell phone number. We'll be back tomorrow."
Julia hesitated for a long moment. It was one thing to move along in her daily life and do a little research, but flying across the country was a big step. Still, the sooner she got some answers, the better. And she was curious about whether or not this woman was her grandmother. "Did you tell her about me?" she asked. "Did you tell her we were coming?"
"I didn't get a chance. She hung up too fast. I can go on my own if you'd rather stay here. I thought you might—"
"Want to meet her," Julia finished. "I do. If she is my grandmother, she's probably the only person who can tell me about my mother. I need to stop by my apartment and pick up some clothes. And I'll bring the necklace and the matryoshka doll. Maybe she'll know where they came from."
"And some photographs of your mother," Alex said. "I want to make sure we have the right woman."
It was just after eight o'clock in the evening when they landed in Buffalo. Julia was glad she'd grabbed a coat before leaving San Francisco. The northeastern air was much colder, and the clouds were threatening rain, maybe even snow, and it was only September. She couldn't imagine her mother, who had shivered in sixty-degree weather, living on the East Coast with its long and brutal winters. Maybe that was one of the reasons why she'd never gone back. But deep down Julia suspected her mother's reasons had nothing to do with the weather.
Alex rented a car and put Julia in charge of the map as they made their way out of the airport. They'd decided against calling Mrs. Davidson in advance. Since Alex had spoken to her that morning, at least they knew she was in town, and hopefully she would be at home. Julia still couldn't quite believe that she'd jumped on a plane and flown across the country with barely an hour's notice. But she was already glad that she'd come. No matter what they learned, at least she could see the city where her mother had spent the early part of her life.
It turned out that her grandmother didn't live in Buffalo proper but in the nearby suburb of Amherst, an upscale neighborhood with gracious old homes set back from the street, lots of trees, and beautiful yards. Alex parked in front of a white two-story house with light blue shutters and colorful floral window boxes. Julia wondered if this idyllic place was where her mother had grown up. It was hard to believe she would have turned her back on such a home, or on her parents, for that matter.
Before they could get out of the car, a woman came through the front door. The light went on as she crossed the porch to pick up the newspaper. She was a small woman, barely five feet, with short, dark brown hair. She wore a burgundy velour warm-up suit, her feet in tennis shoes. Was this her grandmother?
Julia bit down on her bottom lip, feeling suddenly terrified to talk to the woman.
"Showtime," Alex said.
"Don't say it like that," she snapped at him. "This isn't funny. This is my life."
She could tell by his expression that he thought she was overreacting, but he was wise enough not to say so. "Are you ready?' he asked instead.
"No, but I don't think that will change in the next few minutes." Julia glanced out the window and saw the woman giving them a curious look. She probably wondered why they were parked in front of her house. Julia stepped out of the car and moved up the walkway. "Mrs. Davidson?" she said in what she hoped was a friendly voice.
"Yes. Who are you?" the woman asked warily. "I won't be buying anything."
"And we won't be selling anything," Alex said, flashing her a reassuring smile.
Julia saw Mrs. Davidson relax under that smile. The man could certainly put on the charm when he wanted to. "We'd just like to speak to you for a few moments," Julia told her.
"About what?"
Julia hesitated, not sure how to begin. "About your daughter," she said finally. "Sarah."
Mrs. Davidson gasped and put a shaky hand to her heart. "Sarah?" she echoed. "Why would you want to talk about Sarah?" She turned to Alex. "You're the man who called this morning, aren't you? I told you my daughter is dead, and I really don't care to talk about her with strangers. If you'll excuse me—"
"Wait." Julia drew in a deep breath, knowing there was no easy way to deliver the news. "I'm not a stranger. Sarah was my mother."
"No." The woman began to shake her head, her eyes wide in disbelief. "No, that's not possible. Sarah was killed in a fire. She didn't have any children. You're thinking of another Sarah."
"Show her the photo," Alex advised.
Julia reached into her purse and pulled out the photo of her mother and herself taken at her college graduation. She handed it to the older woman. Mrs. Davidson moved so she could look at it under the light. Alex and Julia followed, waiting for her reaction. It wasn't long in coming.
As she studied the photo, her breathing came short and fast. "That's her. That's Sarah, my baby girl." She lifted her head to stare at Julia in bewilderment. "She's older in this picture. I don't understand. She died twenty-five years ago."
Julia swallowed hard. "No, she didn't. That picture was taken seven years ago. I have others, some from last year and the year before."
"She's alive? Where is she? I want to see her."
Damn. She hadn't phrased that right. "I'm sorry, but I should have started by saying that my mother died six months ago."
A flood of emotions ran through the older woman's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Then she began to sway. "I—can't—breathe."
Alex grabbed the elderly woman just before she hit the ground. He swung her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
"Oh, my God!" Julia felt incredibly guilty. Had she caused her grandmother to have a heart attack or a stroke? She wasn't a young woman. She was thin and frail, and she'd lost her husband only a short time ago. Julia immediately regretted blurting out the news about her mother without any warning. "I shouldn't have said it like that," Julia murmured. "I should have softened the blow."
"There was no way to do that." Alex set Mrs. Davidson down on a floral-print sofa in the living room, pulling a pillow under her head. He put his
finger against her pulse and bent his head to check her breathing. "I think she just fainted."
"Maybe I should get some water or a cold towel."
"Good idea."
"I hate to walk around her house, though. It's not like she invited us in."
"Well, we're in now," Alex said. "And since she identified Sarah as her daughter and your mother, then you're family."
"I can't believe it." Julia stared down at her grandmother. Her skin was pale, her face lined and wrinkled, especially around her eyes and mouth. Judging by her reaction, she'd obviously loved Sarah very much. But why on earth did she think Sarah had died in a fire? And why had Sarah said her parents disowned her because of her pregnancy? Julia had so many questions. She wanted her grandmother to wake up, to give them some answers. But they would have to go slow. The woman was probably in her early eighties. Who knew how strong she was? "Do you think we should call 911? What if something is really wrong with her?"
"She's coming around," Alex said.
Sure enough, her grandmother was moving her arms and legs. She blinked a few times, then opened her eyes, her expression more dazed than before. "What—what happened?"
"You fainted," Alex said gently, as he knelt beside the couch. "Right after we told you about Sarah."
Susan stared at them both, then struggled to sit up. "I don't understand any of this. Who are you people? Why are you here? Is this some kind of a cruel joke?" Anger entered her voice.
"It's not a joke." Julia sat down on the other end of the couch while Alex stood up and backed away, giving her grandmother some space. "My name is Julia DeMarco. My mother, Sarah, told me years ago that her parents disowned her when she got pregnant with me. I always believed that to be the truth until Alex called you this morning and you said that Sarah died twenty-five years ago."
"She died in a fire," Susan began, then stopped. "But that picture you showed me… Can I see it again?"
Julia handed her the photo and watched the myriad emotions cross Susan's face as she studied the picture. She traced Sarah's figure with a shaky finger.
"This is her, my baby, but she's so much older than when I last saw her."
"She was fifty-one then, fifty-eight when she died this year."
Susan started shaking her head again. "She was thirty-three when she died. I know, because it was right after her birthday. We got a call from Chicago," she said haltingly. "A woman we didn't know. She said she was Sarah's next-door neighbor and that she had horrible news. There had been a fire in their apartment building. Sarah didn't get out. There was nothing but ash when it was over." Her voice caught and she struggled for control. "I couldn't believe Sarah was dead. I thought it was a nightmare, and I would wake up, but I didn't." She turned to Julia, her brown eyes big, pleading, filled with pain. "Why? Why would anyone tell me that she was dead if she wasn't?"
Julia swallowed hard, her heart breaking at the agony on her grandmother's face as she relived the moment when she'd heard her daughter was dead. Only now she had to grapple with the fact that Sarah hadn't died then. She'd lived for another twenty-five years, but she'd never gotten in touch. Why not?
"My mother said that you turned her away when she got pregnant," Julia said again. "Do you know why she would have told me that?"
Susan's face was a portrait of confusion. "I don't know. Sarah was pregnant once, when she was twenty-seven years old. She had an ectopic pregnancy, in the tubes, you know. She had a lot of complications. The doctor said she'd never have children after that. She was devastated by the news. Her boyfriend left her. He couldn't bear the thought of marrying her and not having kids. It was a very sad time."
Julia couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But she had me, and she had another child, too, my little sister, Elizabeth. She had two pregnancies after that one."
"How old are you?" Susan asked.
"I'm twenty-eight. My mother was thirty when she had me. How could you have not known about me? That would have been three years before she supposedly died in that fire."
Susan started to speak, then began to cough, choking on the emotion, Julia thought, as her grandmother's cough turned to sobs. Susan struggled to get up. "I have to…" She didn't finish her sentence, but they could hear her crying all the way to the bathroom.
"This is awful. We're killing her," Julia whispered. "I don't know what to do."
"You can't stop now," Alex said. "You're in the middle of it, and she deserves to know the truth, too, don't you think?"
"Maybe she would have been happier not knowing. I'm ruining her life. Her daughter lied to her and never visited her or spoke to her in twenty-five years." Julia shook her head, not understanding how her mother could have done such a thing. The woman who had raised her had been kind, gentle, compassionate. How could she have turned her back on her family? Unless there was some misunderstanding… That had to be the reason. Sarah had obviously believed the Davidsons didn't want her. Why?
"I wish my grandfather was still alive," she said to Alex. "Maybe he knew more than he shared with his wife."
"Somebody knew something," Alex said. "If we ask enough questions, maybe we'll get to the truth."
"This is hard."
"Just stay focused on what we're trying to accomplish."
She eyed Alex thoughtfully. "Is that what you do when you're in a difficult situation—you simply put your heart on hold?"
"It's how I survive."
"I don't know if I'm made that way. I hate hurting people."
"In the long run you might be helping her. She may have lost her daughter again, but she's gained two granddaughters. That should be worth something."
She smiled at his attempt to make her feel better.
"That didn't work, but I appreciate the effort." She rose as Susan walked back into the room with a box of Kleenex. Her eyes were red and swollen now, and she appeared to have aged ten years since they'd arrived, but she wasn't crying anymore. That was something. "Are you all right?" Julia asked.
"I don't think so. But I want to hear the rest of your story."
"I'm glad," Julia said, offering her a thankful smile. "It means a lot to me."
"You're really my granddaughter?" There was a note of wonder in her voice, but no sign of anger or disappointment.
"I think so. Why don't we sit down. We can start at the beginning, wherever that is."
"Why don't we start with Sarah and her years at Northwestern," Alex suggested as Susan and Julia took seats on the couch.
Susan twisted a Kleenex between her fingers as she considered Alex's question. "Sarah was in Chicago a long time. After she got her bachelor's degree, she went to graduate school to get a master's degree. She wanted to work at the United Nations, something important like that. She always had big dreams of changing the world. She used to sit with my mother for hours, listening to her stories of life in the old country. I think that's where her passion for the language began. She would often call my mother on the phone just to practice her accent."
Julia's heart skipped a beat. She had the terrible feeling she knew what accent Sarah had been practicing. She looked to Alex and saw the same gleam in his eyes.
"What language did Sarah speak?" Alex asked.
"Didn't I say? I'm sorry. My mother was Russian. Sarah spoke fluent Russian."
Chapter 9
Julia couldn't stop the gasp that slipped through her lips. "Your mother was Russian?"
"Yes, my mother came over to this country right before the revolution. She never lost her accent or her desire to speak her native language. I'm afraid I didn't share that desire. It embarrassed me that my mother spoke a foreign language, but Sarah was different. My mother came to live with us when Sarah was a teenager. They loved each other very much. They had a special bond." Another tear drifted down her cheek. "My mother died when Sarah was twenty-four. It was a very difficult time for her. They were so close." She wiped her face with her tissue.
It was too much to take in, Julia thought. She had so many ques
tions, she didn't know which one to ask first. She got up and paced around the living room, too restless to sit. She walked over to the mantel and picked up a photograph of Susan and a man who was obviously her husband.
"That's Henry," Susan said. "He died last year."
Julia picked up another photograph, one of Sarah as a little girl, sitting at a piano—the same piano that was in the corner of the living room. "She told me she didn't know how to play the piano," Julia murmured.
"Really? Sarah was very good at it," Susan said.
"It's strange. I've seen the picture, but I don't feel as if we're talking about the same person."
"I don't, either," Julia replied.
"Tell us what happened after Sarah got her master's degree," Alex interrupted. "What kind of work did she get?"
"She got a job teaching Russian at a university," Susan replied. "She fell in love with a professor there. He was the father of the baby she lost. After he broke up with her, she quit her job, and I'm not sure what she did next. She told me she was traveling, taking time for herself. We didn't see her much, a handful of visits in three years. Then she was—gone."
"You never had a fight or disagreement that harmed your relationship?" Julia asked.
Susan shook her head. "Nothing. The last time we spoke she said she loved me very much."
"When was that conversation?" Alex asked.
"About two weeks before they told me she died."
Alex frowned at her answer. "Didn't you ask questions? Didn't you inquire into the circumstances of her death?"
"Alex, give her a chance to explain," Julia said quickly. Alex wasn't nearly as emotionally involved with Susan as Julia was, and she wanted him to take it easy on her grandmother.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to push you. I just wonder how you came to believe Sarah was dead."
"Henry asked all the questions. He went to Chicago, and spoke to the police. They said the fire was due to a spark near a gas can. There was an explosion. By the time the fire department got there, the town house was engulfed in flames. Sarah was the only one at home. Her roommate was actually out of the country at the time. So she escaped…" Her voice broke, and tears began to stream down her face once again.
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