by Nan Rossiter
She paused again, searching for the right words. “Mason, it broke my heart to not be there to watch you grow up, to not be your mom, but I took comfort in knowing you were in good hands . . . that you were well cared for.” As she said this, she heard a motor start, and she looked over to see Gage pulling away. Suddenly, she remembered that they were supposed to be heading to her parents’ house, and then, with a sinking feeling, she wondered how much Gage had heard.
She turned back to Mason and smiled, still finding it hard to believe that this tall young man was her son. “I’m so glad you came,” she said softly. “How is your sweet mom? Does she know you’re here?”
Fresh tears filled Mason’s eyes and he shook his head, unable to utter the words. Maeve frowned. “Oh, no,” she said softly. “What happened?”
He shook his head again and the tears, like water breaching a dam, spilled down his cheeks. Maeve stepped forward and, for the first time since his birth, held her son, his slender frame wracked with sobs.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Mason nodded, wiping his eyes with his palms until he was finally able to speak and tell her about his mom’s diagnosis, her indomitable spirit, her warrior faith, and her undaunted determination . . . right up until the day he graduated from high school. “She made me promise to find you.”
“I’m glad she did,” Maeve said with a gentle smile.
“Yeah, because I probably wouldn’t have,” he said, half smiling back.
“How are you managing?” she asked.
“I’m heading to college soon—next week if I try out for the cross-country team. Their practice starts on Tuesday.”
Maeve’s face brightened. “You are?! Where are you going?”
“Georgia Tech on an Air Force ROTC scholarship.”
“Wow! That’s very impressive! Do you want to be a pilot?”
He nodded shyly, but then added, “We’ll see if I have what it takes.”
“I’m sure you do,” Maeve assured him. “My dad—your grandfather—was an aeronautical engineer for Gulfstream, so airplanes run in the family.” As she said this, they both realized there was a whole family who didn’t know about him, but who, Maeve now believed, would welcome him with open arms—something she hadn’t been certain of eighteen years earlier. “I’m supposed to go to my parents’ for dinner tonight.” She eyed him hopefully. “Would you like to come?”
Mason frowned, considering her invitation, but then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll take a rain check. Maybe after you have a chance to tell them about me.”
“You have given me the courage, Mason,” she said, and then she searched his eyes. “Is there any way you could stay a little longer? I mean . . . you drove all this way and I just got to meet you . . . again.” She smiled as she said this, remembering the tiny baby she’d held in her arms the first time.
“I can stay,” he said. “I’m waiting for Mr. Hawkins to have dinner . . . but aren’t you supposed to be going to your parents’ for dinner?”
“I am, but they’ll understand. Are you hungry? I’m sure Sal made more than enough food. He was making salmon tonight . . .”
Mason smiled. “No thanks, but I do want to hear about your life. I want to get to know you.”
Maeve shook her head. “Oh, my life is pretty boring. I’m sure yours is much more exciting.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing.
As they walked toward the pond, Maeve turned to him. “So, how’d you meet Mr. Hawkins?”
“I was riding my bike home from work last summer and his car was parked in front of his house, for sale, and when I stopped to look at it, he came out. He sold it to me for a song—I didn’t even have my license yet, but part of the deal was he wanted me to restore it someday.”
Maeve nodded. “He’s such a great guy—he didn’t want to be here at first, but I think he’s finally adjusting.” They stood near the pond, watching the swans glide gracefully across the water. “You said you were riding your bike home from work—what do you do for work?”
“I work for a landscaper.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s okay, but I wouldn’t want to make it my livelihood.”
Maeve nodded and then looked over. “Sooo . . . do you have a girlfriend?” she ventured, raising her eyebrows, and then she bit her lip. “You don’t have to answer that! Tell me if I’m being too nosy or crossing the line—I can do that sometimes, just ask my sister,” she added, laughing. “I can’t wait for her to meet you.”
Mason smiled, feeling his heart already reaching out to this woman—his biological mom. What was it about her? She was sweet and funny and she seemed to have such a warm heart. “I have a friend who is a girl,” he offered with a grin.
“Yeah?” Maeve said. “Does she have potential to be more?”
“Yeah . . . maybe,” he answered, smiling. “At least, I hope so . . .”
Maeve smiled. “I hope so, too, then.” She searched his eyes. “I’m so glad you came, Mason.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’m glad I came, too.” And then he looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time—this beautiful woman with the same color eyes and hair as him—this woman who many would call his real mom. But what made someone real? Was it having the same DNA . . . or was it being the one who’d always been there . . . who’d loved you all your life without condition . . . who’d picked you up when you fell, and who’d comforted you when you were sick or sad . . . who’d been there to celebrate your triumphs and console you when you failed? Which woman was his real mom?
“Are you married?” he asked, suddenly realizing they were still talking about him.
Maeve shook her head. “No. I’m living with someone though . . . the guy with the dog who was just here . . . but left, and who, I hope, went to my parents’.” She eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? My mom—your grandma,” she added with a smile, “is a wonderful cook, and she always makes too much food.”
Mason shook his head again. “I would, but I think I’ve caused enough surprise for one day, and besides, I have to take Mr. Hawkins for a ride, and then I’m heading home.”
“Okay,” Maeve said, “but I’m going to hold you to that rain check. I know I haven’t been part of your life up to now, but I would really like to be . . . if you’ll let me.”
“I’d like that,” Mason said. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“I do,” Maeve said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. They exchanged numbers and Maeve gave him her new address. “I’m glad you didn’t give up when you didn’t find me at my old apartment.”
Mason smiled. “Me, too.”
As he said this, Mr. Hawkins came out on the porch. “You’re still here,” he said cheerfully. “I thought you’d be long gone.”
“Nope,” Mason replied, grinning. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Okay! Let me grab my hat.”
He headed back inside, and Maeve turned back to Mason. “Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Mason nodded. “I will.”
Maeve eyed him. “Promise?”
Mason laughed. “Now I have someone new to make me promise stuff.”
“Absolutely,” Maeve said, laughing, too.
“Okay, I promise.”
“Good,” she said, and he leaned down and gave her a warm hug.
“Ready,” Bud said, coming out wearing his faded navy veteran hat.
“Do you want to drive?” Mason asked, grinning.
Bud furrowed his brow. “Oh, I don’t know. . . . Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Mason said, handing him the keys as they walked to the old Chevelle.
Maeve stood in the driveway and watched in amazement as Bud—with a youthful spring in his step—walked beside her beautiful son. It was almost too much to take in, and as they pulled away in the old car, she turned to see the house awash with a warm golden light—as if an artist had brushed
pink and orange watercolor paint across the Savannah sky.
Maeve looked up. “I know it’s you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
36
AS SOON AS THE RUMBLING MOTOR OF THE CHEVELLE FADED INTO THE distance, Maeve hurried inside to retrieve her pie. Flying through the kitchen and shrugging off queries about the boy she’d been having “an intense conversation with,” she said, “It’s a long story, and I have to go.” She bid them good night and was out the door again. Reaching her car, she set the pie on the passenger floor, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and called Macey.
“Where the heck are you?” her sister asked. “Mom is fretting about everything getting cold.”
“On my way,” Maeve assured. “Something came up.”
“Okay . . . is Gage with you?”
There was silence on the other end, and then Maeve spoke. “He’s not there?”
“Uh, no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Maeve. Don’t you think I’d know if he was here?”
Maeve bit her lip. “Where can he be?” she murmured.
“What?” Macey asked.
“Nothing,” Maeve replied. “I just thought he’d be there. He left before me.”
“Nope.”
“Okay, tell Mom I’m sorry and I’ll be there soon.”
She hung up and tried Gage’s cell phone, but it went straight to his voice mail.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of her parents’ New England–style home, scooped up the pie, and hurried inside.
“Here you are!” Ruth Lindstrom exclaimed, giving her a hug and admiring her pie. “Looks like a picture, my dear!”
“Well, looks aren’t everything. We’ll have to see how it tastes.”
Ruth glanced behind her. “Where’s Gage?”
“I don’t know,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. “I thought he’d be here.”
“Maybe he didn’t feel well,” Hal Lindstrom offered, coming into the kitchen.
“Maybe, but it’s kind of odd that he didn’t mention it,” she replied, giving him a hug.
“He didn’t seem sick at work,” Ben said, who was leaning against the counter with a beer in his hand. “In fact, he seemed unusually cheerful.”
Maeve nodded. “He wasn’t sick when he came by Willow Pond, either. In fact, he even challenged one of the residents to a fiddling contest.”
“Wait! Uncle Gage plays the fiddle?!” Harper asked. “Sheesh, I only thought he could draw.”
“Gage is a man of many talents,” Macey said, laughing and taking a sip of her wine.
“I know, right?” Maeve said. “I didn’t know it, either.” Just then, Keeper, hearing her voice, wagged his way in, and when Maeve knelt to say hello, he bowed his head and pressed it into her chest. “Hullo, ole pie,” she said softly, kissing the top of his head.
“Well, let’s eat—everything’s ready,” Ruth said, “and I don’t want it to get cold. If he doesn’t show up, you can bring a plate home.”
Maeve nodded, although she couldn’t shake the feeling that Gage’s absence—and his lack of an explanation for it—was more serious than not feeling well. She didn’t know how much he’d overheard, and she wished she’d just told him everything a long time ago. She’d texted him twice and called him again, but he still hadn’t replied . . . or answered.
“Something to drink?” Hal asked, gesturing to the array of options on the counter.
“I’d love a glass of whatever wine is open,” Maeve said.
“White or red?” Hal pressed.
“White,” Maeve said, scooping some of her sister’s spicy buffalo chicken dip onto a hunk of French bread and taking a bite. “Mmm, this is yummy!”
“I told you.”
“You did.”
Hal handed her a glass of wine, and she took a long sip. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Do you mind buffet style?” Ruth asked, donning her oven mitts and pulling a crock of baked beans from the oven and setting it on one of the trivets on the counter.
“We usually serve dinner that way when the gang’s all here,” Hal said, “so why would they mind?” Ruth ignored her husband’s teasing quip and reached back into the oven for her famous mac and cheese.
Maeve frowned. “Mom, do you need help?”
“No . . . just a couple more things,” she said, pulling a spiral-sliced baked ham out and setting it next to the other dishes. Then she slipped off her oven mitts, opened the fridge, and pulled out a tray of deviled eggs and a bowl of potato salad.
“Gee, Mom,” Macey teased, “I don’t think you made enough.”
Ruth smiled and slid a tray of rolls into the oven. “Hon, can you slice the ham?”
“It’s already sliced,” Hal said.
“Well, put some on a platter, please.”
Hal chuckled, but did as he was asked, and then Ruth gestured to the plates. “Help yourself,” she said cheerily. “The rolls just have to heat up for a minute.”
Ben handed plates to his daughter, wife, and sister-in-law, and hung back, waiting for Ruth to serve her plate. “Dad, you want another beer?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“Sure,” Hal said, setting the platter of ham next to the brown-sugar-and-pineapple-glaze Ruth had just set out.
Ben handed him a beer and smiled. “I think you’re going to be eating leftovers for a while, Dad.”
“Oh, no,” Hal said, laughing. “You kids will be taking some of this home. I like ham, but after a couple nights, it’s time for a change.”
Ben laughed. He knew his father-in-law wasn’t a big fan of leftovers. The two men filled their plates and waited for the women to sit before seating themselves. And then, finally, they bowed their heads and Hal said grace.
When he finished, Maeve took a sip of her wine, gathered her courage, and cleared her throat. “So, I have some news. . . .”
Harper’s face lit up. “Are you and Uncle Gage engaged?!”
Maeve shook her head. “No, but it’s something just as good. . . .”
37
THE CABIN WAS DARK WHEN MAEVE PULLED IN, AND SHE FROWNED, WONDERING where Gage could be, but then she heard an excited bark, and a moment later, Gus emerged from the shadows, wagging his tail. “Hey there, Gussie,” she said, opening her door. The big Lab put his front paws on her lap and sniffed the air. “Yes, I have food,” she said, laughing. She reached over for the plate her mom had piled high with food and covered with foil, all the while—like everyone else in her family—asking questions about, and expressing dismay over, Maeve’s long-kept secret.
She climbed out of her car, balancing the plate and the last piece of pie—which had turned out to be amazing—and made her way up the dark path. When she reached the porch steps, though, she was startled to see Gage sitting in one of the old Adirondack chairs with a whiskey tumbler in his hand and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table.
“Hey,” she said.
He reached up and pulled an earbud out of his ear, but didn’t say anything.
“What happened? Why didn’t you come to my parents’ house?”
He swirled his glass and took a sip.
“Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been worried.”
“Yeah?” he said, his voice edged with sarcasm.
Maeve felt her heart pound. “Gage, what’s wrong?”
He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “You should know what’s wrong.”
“Well, I don’t,” she replied, hoping his odd behavior wasn’t because of Mason. “So just say it.”
“How come you didn’t tell me, Maeve?” he asked. “We’ve been together for two years and you never thought that you should mention that you have a son?”
“I wanted to mention it, Gage, but I worried about how you might take it.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like this,” she said, setting the plate on the table and sitting in the chair opposite him, eyeing the level of whiskey i
n the bottle.
Gage shook his head, drained his glass, and refilled it.
“It happened a long time ago,” she said. “It has nothing to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with us.”
Maeve shook her head. “I don’t know why,” she said defensively. “Giving up my son was a decision I made when I was eighteen—I was young and scared. I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was my whole future lay ahead of me and I wasn’t ready to have a child, but on one foolish night, I drank too much . . . and I . . . I didn’t even know the guy’s last name. . . .”
Gage raised his eyebrows. “Oh, wow, that makes me feel so much better.”
“I suppose you were a virgin when we met.”
“That’s not it, Maeve,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It has nothing to do with who came before. Don’t you get it?”
“No, I guess I don’t,” she replied.
Gage swirled his glass and didn’t say anything, but when the haunting call of a loon broke the silence, he shook his head. “How ironic.”
Maeve pressed her lips together. “Gage, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you. It happened such a long time ago—long before I knew you. I would never do anything to hurt you . . . and I don’t understand why you can’t forgive me.”
Gage pressed his lips together, carefully considering his words. “The summer before I went away to college, I fell head over heels in love with a girl who I would’ve done anything for, and even though we were young, I honestly thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. I had it all planned—I even started saving for an engagement ring . . . and then, one summer night, I happened to be looking for her . . . and I found her . . . behind a barn, half-undressed with another boy.” He paused and took another sip. “I was devastated, and I vowed I’d never let myself get hurt again. And that’s how I moved forward—I never let anyone get too close. I never let anyone in. . . .” He searched her eyes. “Until I met you. You were different, Maeve. You were down-to-earth, funny, sweet and—most of all—I came to trust you completely. I felt blessed to have you in my life.” He looked up. “Maeve, I honestly felt like I could spend the rest of my life with you, but now, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around why you didn’t tell me about this. You have to admit, it’s kind of a big deal—what you went through . . . you know, having a child and giving it up for adoption. In my book, that’s a pretty major life experience, and yet—for whatever reason—you failed to mention it, and now, I sort of feel like I don’t really know who you are . . . or what other secrets you might be keeping.”