Two hours later, the rain had finally stopped and we were able to assess the damage. The floors on the first floor were able to be saved. The water hadn’t rested on them for as long. We tarped off the stairs and were able to pump out the moisture before it soaked into the oak floors.
Upstairs was another story. The smallest bedroom had sustained the most damage. The water had poured in from the roof for too long, and the wood had already started to warp. We knew we were going to have to cut out at least part of the floor. I hoped that was all, and that we could patch the wood, but we couldn’t be certain until we went in and started to cut away the rotting wood. If the damage went all the way to the subfloor, we’d have to pull everything out and start over.
“We did the best we could, boss. Not bad for how much water was in here,” Eddie said as he wiped his forehead with his arm.
I shook my head, my eyes still wide as I surveyed the floors. I couldn’t begin to estimate how much the damage would cost. We would have to redo half of what we had already done.
“We screwed up. We should have started outside first,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Eddie remained silent in agreement, shaking his head as he looked at the floors. It was a basic rule, a tenet, of house repair. Fix the outside first—the roof, the foundation, the siding—to protect what was inside before moving on. I thought we had done that with fixing the foundation, but I had never imagined that the roof was in as bad of a shape as it was.
“It’s all my fault,” I said.
“Nah. I could have tried to talk you out of it,” Eddie said. “We’ll get it all fixed up.”
Gavin crossed the room and rested the broom against the wall. “What else can I do? What about coffee? I can run out and grab some in town.”
Before I could answer, Eddie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Thanks,” he said. As Gavin left, I held my breath and waited for the inquisition. But Eddie just clapped a hand on my back and said, “Good work.”
CHAPTER 19
The first step in repairing the damage from the water leak was to patch the hole in the roof, and, thankfully, the forecast cut us a break and gave us a few clear, warm days without any rain. The shingles were just being nailed into place as the crew got started on the inside. Eddie was barking orders inside, hustling the work along so we could stay on schedule, and they were quickly repairing the damage. I was just walking outside onto the porch, feeling as though we were back on track, when Matt returned Abby.
“How’s the inside?” Matt asked as he looked up at the roofers hammering away.
“Coming along,” I said automatically. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell him that we were worried about mold growing in the walls from the moisture, the floors rotting and warping, or the electrical system sparking.
“That’s good.” He opened his mouth to say more, but then closed it, nervously glancing at the house.
“Eddie’s inside, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said. I cocked one eyebrow at him. “He’s not around to harass you.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I’m not . . . worried.” He glanced down at his phone. “I need to run. Good luck with the house.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and by the way, I saw you at Pier 290 the other night,” he said quickly. His eyes darted around like he wished he could take the words back.
“Really?” I cocked my head to the side as I thought of my date with Gavin. Suddenly, I was doubly happy that I had taken the time to flat-iron my hair. I reached up and touched the wavy, unruly mess that was gathered into a bun at the back of my head.
“I was there to grab a carryout order, and waved, but you didn’t see me,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was on a date.” I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face. A very tiny emotional victory, but one nonetheless.
He nodded. “It looked like that. You looked . . . happy.”
For a moment, I saw a strange expression flash across his face, as his eyebrows pulled down and he frowned. But he quickly relaxed and turned toward his car. “Well, see you later.”
I watched as his car pulled down the driveway and then realized just what that expression was. It was one I hadn’t seen for a long time: jealousy. It was both a gratifying and unmerited emotion. He didn’t get to be jealous of my relationships—not anymore. Not after what he had done. But the fact that he could still feel that, even in some small, insignificant, fleeting moment, felt satisfying in the most unsettling way.
I turned back toward the house, where Abby was sitting on the steps, drawing an elaborate picture of a sand crab with pink chalk. “We’ll leave in a minute, Ab,” I called to her as I turned toward next door.
Elsie opened the door before I knocked. She emerged onto her porch wearing a hot pink pantsuit, gold earrings, and bright red lipstick. “There you are. I was starting to worry.” She flashed a smile before she hurried past me and walked down her front steps with surprising ease, stopping to turn at the sidewalk and impatiently put her hands on her hips.
“Library closes in four hours. We need to hurry,” she said. After Elsie had told me that she didn’t know the name of the adoption agency that had placed her child, I’d suggested we head to the library as the next step.
Abby, Elsie, and I walked into the library, an A-frame building, reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright’s work, with the back of the structure all encased in glass, showcasing spectacular lake views. Impeccably-cared-for gardens in the front boasted huge impatiens and roses in hot pink and velvet red. In the distance, I could see a sailboat regatta, the boats resting like butterflies on the water’s surface.
It was a perfect location for a sprawling estate, or maybe a waterfront restaurant—prime real estate—but the land had been bequeathed to the town back in 1894 by socialite Mary Sturges for use as a library. After the Great Chicago Fire, she and her family had moved to Lake Geneva while their home was being rebuilt. Once their house was complete, they donated the lake house to the town, with the stipulation that the land be used for a library and a public park. I loved that Mary had done that, and I liked to think that if we were contemporaries, we might be friends. Of course, in this alternate universe, I would also have to move in the same aristocratic social circles as her, but still.
“Hi, ladies,” Georgia, a librarian with short dark hair and purple cat’s-eye glasses, said as Elsie, Abby, and I walked inside. She smiled down at Abby. “We just got a new Angelina Ballerina book.”
Abby looked up at me and I nodded. She scampered off to the children’s area to plunder the newest arrivals, shrieking in delight when she saw the display.
“Anything I can help you two find?” Georgia asked as she adjusted the glasses on her face.
I glanced at Elsie, but her face remained drawn. “Well, we are doing some research on . . .” I glanced at her again, but she didn’t meet my gaze. “On a family member of mine. Specifically, on adoption agencies back in 1947. I’m looking for a list of agencies in the area during that time.”
Georgia’s brow furrowed as she slowly looked from Elsie to me, before she nodded. “Well, I do have a business registrar from that time period. It’s in the historical section in the back, by the reference desk. It’s been a while since anyone has asked for anything of the sort, though, so I can’t promise what kind of condition it’s in. Would you like me to find it for you?”
“No, thank you.” Elsie nodded and folded her hands in front of her. I noticed they were shaking. “We can find it ourselves.”
The historical section of the library was a glass case filled with volumes of old newspaper clippings, genealogy research, and various oral histories of the lake. I stopped on one volume of the history of the Golden Age of Lake Geneva during Victorian Times. There were descriptions of lavish lakefront parties on the estates of the various wealthy families, and illustrations of the steamers and yachts that took people around the lake during the lazy summer days.
Elsie’s hand went to a volume titled Newspaper
Clippings, 1968–1969. I told her I didn’t think that was what we wanted, but she waved me off. She opened it to May 10, 1968, and smiled.
“Look.” It was an article on the opening of the Playboy Club. The accompanying photo was of a row of bunny waitress, hair perfectly coiffed, in their uniforms with their long legs in front of them, brilliant smiles on their faces.
Elsie’s finger tapped at a blonde on the end, the most stunning of all the women.
“Is that you?” I leaned forward, and recognized the familiar almond-shaped eyes and wide smile. “Wow.”
She smiled the same smile at me before she turned back to the photo. “So long ago. I know that, and yet every time I look in the mirror, it’s a surprise. I always expect to see this girl looking back at me. Instead, I see . . .” She trailed off and sighed. She held a wrinkled, age-spotted hand in front of her. “I certainly don’t feel this age.”
“Well, I don’t feel my age, either,” I said with a laugh. “I feel much, much older.”
“You, dear, are still young enough to do anything you want. Travel the world, have more children, find a handsome lover,” she said.
“Well, not exactly true, but I like your optimism.” I thought of Gavin and smiled. Maybe one out of the three, I thought.
“It’s never too late for a second chance,” she added as she patted my arm.
“Oh, you haven’t found it yet? Let me help.” Georgia reappeared and stared at the glass cabinet. Elsie frowned, but didn’t say anything. “Here we go,” she said as she plucked out and opened a large volume with crackling, yellowed pages. A well-manicured, blue-painted fingernail ran down the table of contents before she turned to F. “Aha. ‘Family services.’” She whispered to me, “That’s what they were called back then.” She again glanced at Elsie, who didn’t look up from the list of names.
I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the list of three names: Children’s Society of Southeast Wisconsin, Kenosha Children’s Services, and Walworth County Children’s Home. “I wonder how many of these places are still in business,” I said with a sigh.
Georgia pointed to a computer against the wall. “Feel free to use the computers for research.”
“Mommy, I need to go potty.” Abby appeared, clutching a messy pile of books that was rapidly slipping out of her hands.
“Would you like me to log you in to a computer?” Georgia pressed.
Elsie held up a hand, and I noticed for the first time that she had a sparkling diamond tennis bracelet on her hand. “No, thank you. You’ve been more than enough help.” She stared at her until Georgia turned and left, glancing back over her shoulder before shrugging and returning to the circulation desk.
I opened my mouth to tell Abby to wait, but Elsie shook her head slightly. “Too many eyes here. Too many questions. Too many curiosities.”
“I don’t think anyone is watching us,” I said. But Elsie had made up her mind, and so I took Abby to the bathroom, checked out two books for her, and then we walked out of the library.
* * *
Back at Elsie’s house, Abby settled on the porch with her books and Elsie put two plates on the table and then opened a box of cookies. “Bakery?”
“No, thank you.” I quickly eyed the contents of her countertops and determined she must exist solely on sugar and air, for I didn’t see anything that didn’t have a fat content high enough to terrify a cardiologist.
She ignored me and placed three tea cookies on a plate and shoved it in my direction. I accepted it with a sigh. Abby spotted the treats and grabbed the cookies before returning to her cozy spot on the porch.
Elsie waited until Abby was outside before turning and tapping a pink kitchen phone. I lifted it, marveling at the cotton candy color, before I started calling the three agencies we’d found at the library. I was able to locate their numbers after a quick search on my phone.
The first was no longer in service, having been absorbed by a larger agency. I called that one first, and got a recording to leave a message.
I shook my head at Elsie, who sat at her kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her. She nodded, but her face fell. I dialed the second number, and the woman who answered the phone told me that they had no record of a baby born on that day in this area.
“Final call,” I muttered as I slowly wound the dial around. I was quickly transferred to the records department. When someone answered, I explained what we were looking for.
“Let me check and see,” a woman on the line said. “Most of our records were moved electronically, but some of them are still in paper files, locked away in our storage unit. What did you say the DOB and county was again?”
“December 25, 1947, in Walworth County.”
“C’mon. C’mon,” she muttered. I heard a slurp, and I pictured her drinking from a coffee mug as she sat in an office overflowing with papers and file folders. “Ah. You’re in luck.”
“You found a match?” I looked at Elsie, and she gripped the mug in front of her.
“Looks like it. Similar time period, same area,” she said.
“So, what’s the information?” I signaled for a pen and paper, and Elsie began to rifle through her cabinets.
“Well, I can’t give it to you, of course. If you’re interested in the biographical details, you can make a formal request, and then we contact the adoptee. If he or she agrees and allows us to release the information, only then will we be able to release it.”
“Really?” I said, my hand still poised over a piece of paper.
“Really. I’m sorry. It’s the state law. Wisconsin has sealed adoption records, to protect all parties involved.”
“I keep hearing that, but can you tell me exactly what that means?” I said with my eyes closed.
“It means the birth parents can’t receive identifying information on the adoption. However, they can sign an affidavit that states their willingness to have contact with their birth child, and file it with the state.”
“And that’s it?” I said. I couldn’t imagine that there wasn’t any other option.
“For the most part.” She sighed wearily. “On the other end, when a child is a legal adult at eighteen, they can request non-identifying information about their birth parents like age, medical history, things like that. They can also ask for an original birth certificate if the birth parents signed that affidavit of consent I mentioned before.”
“And if they didn’t sign that affidavit, or even know it was an option, and the child had tried to search for them in the meantime?”
“Then . . . I’m sorry. I would suggest filing one immediately and waiting. In the meantime, I can do some digging on this possible match and let you know if I can exclude the child for you,” she said.
“Oh.” My shoulders slumped forward, and I shook my head slightly when Elsie offered me more paper. “Okay. Well, I guess we’ll do that, then.”
“I don’t know why you have such a long face. This is wonderful news,” Elsie said after I hung up.
“I was just hoping to get the information today. I’m sure they’ll call back soon, though.” Despite what I said, I wasn’t so sure. We had no idea what Elsie’s daughter thought of her adoption, if meeting her birth mother was something she was open to doing. A brief, horrifying thought crossed my mind that it was possible she didn’t even know she was adopted, and we would never find her.
Elsie toyed with the diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist that I had noticed in the library. “I think all the time now about what she might look like, where she lives, if she hates olives as much as I do.” She quietly laughed. “If she thinks about me. If she will ever understand why I did what I did.” She looked down at the bracelet again. “If she will understand that things and decisions are never as simple as they appear from a distance.”
I put my hand over hers and squeezed. “She will,” I said.
She gave me a grateful smile and paused, head cocked to the side for a moment. “The day I had her, there was a snowstor
m. The weatherman had predicted a dry Christmas, but when we woke up on Christmas Day, a light snow had already begun to fall. I remember I went to my window to watch the snow, and that’s when I felt the first pain.”
I sat back in my chair and tucked my legs under me as I nibbled on a cookie and listened.
“I was so naïve, so uneducated, that I thought she would be coming soon, so I frantically woke my parents and told them we had to hurry to the hospital.” She smiled, that wide smile, and I again could see the girl in the newspaper from 1968. “Of course, babies come when they’re ready, not when we are. My parents drove me to the hospital. My father never turned around from the front seat as he slowly drove the car through the snow. It got heavier and heavier, and by the time we got to the hospital, the streets were covered and we could hardly see out the windows.” She smiled. “It was a good thing she wasn’t in a rush to get here.”
She took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat. “My mother brought me inside, with more tenderness than I had imagined possible. She stayed with me as the nurse came in and gave me an injection. I remember she held my hand as I drifted off.” She set her teacup down on the table. “The next thing I remembered was waking up in a maternity ward, with five other women in the same room. It was over, done. I called a nurse over—one I had never seen—and asked if I could see the baby. She knew that I was planning to give her up for adoption, and I could see the disapproval in her eyes. But I insisted, and she promised to bring her to me.”
She stopped and smiled. “Her. That was how I knew I’d had a girl. Of course, I had a suspicion, a feeling, I suppose, all along. I waited so long for them to bring her to me, and I was so tired from the medicine, that I must have fallen asleep.”
I nodded, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a baby during that time period, when a woman would fall asleep and then wake up a mother. The moment when Abby came out and cried was such a solid part of my memory—so personal and important—that another wave of sadness washed over me for Elsie. That she didn’t even get to experience that moment with her daughter, however fleeting.
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