Throughout dinner Lara kept her head ducked and said little. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Rachel smiling at her twice, but neither time did she look up to find out for sure.
Still excited by the thought of wishing her sister into being, Hope was not daunted by Lara’s lack of conversation and happily rambled on about how they could write letters back and forth while she was away at college and spend winter breaks on the beach in Daytona. While she and Henry were equally pleased with having Lara as an addition to the family, Hope’s enthusiasm was impossible to ignore.
When she finally wound down and took a breather, George looked over at Lara and smiled. “What are you planning to study?” he asked.
Surprisingly, Lara smiled back. “Journalism,” she said.
“Well, I’ll be darned.” He laughed and shook his head. “I guess it runs in the family.”
Lara eyed him with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”
Before George had time to answer, Hope did. “Mom was the editor of her high school newspaper, and I won the Mississippi River essay contest last year.”
“Really?”
Hope nodded. “Yeah, I got a blue ribbon and—”
“No, I meant really your mom was an editor?”
“She wasn’t just an editor, she was a darn good one!” George said. “She worked for the Primrose Post a year before we were married.”
Again Lara smiled; this time it was more spontaneous and not quite so stiff. “I was the editor of our Panther Paws newsletter. Two years running.”
Moments later Rachel came from the kitchen carrying a fresh pitcher of sweet tea. “Who’s ready for a refill?” she asked.
Lara lifted her chin and peeked from beneath her brows. “I could use one.”
When Rachel leaned forward to pour the tea, Lara looked up and caught another glimpse of her face. Although she was curious to know more, she wasn’t ready to reach out.
Later that night as Lara lay in her bed thinking through the events of the day, she wondered why it was that she hadn’t noticed the blue of Rachel Dixon’s eyes before.
She was drifting on the edge of sleep when she remembered that copy of the Panther Paws she’d tossed into the back seat of the car. If they ever got the car back she could show it to the Dixons, maybe even ask Rachel’s opinion. Lara fell asleep wondering if perhaps Rachel Dixon could give her a few professional tips to carry off to college.
In the days that followed, a strange curiosity picked at Lara. She’d wait until she saw Rachel occupied with something else, then look over and study her face, looking for a flicker of familiarity, something that would stir the memory of when she’d been this other mother’s daughter.
From time to time she caught a glimpse of herself in Rachel—little things. The slant of her nose, the way laughter began low in her throat and then rose as an almost musical sound, the shape of her hands.
On Friday afternoon, she noticed her mom and Rachel sitting together on the back porch. Their conversation seemed friendly, almost intimate, and intriguing enough for her to want to be a part of it.
She strolled over and asked, “What’s up?”
Angela laughed. “Actually, we were talking about you.”
“Me?” Lara dropped down into a chair. “What about me?”
“I was asking about the future,” Rachel said. “Wondering if perhaps you’d like to spend some time with us . . .”
Lara scrunched her nose, and a ridge of lines rose up on her forehead. “How much time?” she asked apprehensively.
“Only as much as you want, maybe come for a visit next summer when you’re on break?”
“Do I have to decide right now?”
Rachel shook her head and smiled. “Take as much time as you need. We’d love for you to become a part of our family, but that decision will be yours to make.”
For the first time Lara looked across and allowed her eyes to meet Rachel’s. When she did, she found the spark of familiarity she’d been looking for. She could almost see herself twenty years from now looking exactly like this newly discovered mother.
Later that night, after Angela was in bed but not yet asleep, there was a soft rapping on the door. Lara eased it open and whispered, “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Angela sat up and snapped the light on.
Lara plopped down on the side of the bed, drew her legs up, and hugged them to her chest. “I’ve been thinking about it, Mom, and you’re right. Mrs. Dixon and I are a lot alike. She puts ketchup and mustard on her hot dogs like I do, she has that same funny laugh, and her eyes are the exact same color—”
Angela laughed. “That’s not the kind of thing I meant when I said you’d see a lot of yourself in Rachel.”
“It’s not?”
Angela shook her head and smiled. “You and Rachel have the same generosity and goodness of heart. Right now you’re only seeing the surface similarities, but give it time, and I think you’ll understand exactly what I mean.”
It was a bittersweet moment but one Angela knew was inevitable. Lara’s world was becoming bigger; she had siblings and parents she needed to get to know. Everything was as it should be. Although the sorrow of change was finding its way into her heart, she would forever be thankful for having had those precious years of Lara’s childhood.
THE MISSING YEARS
Kenny arrived on Saturday afternoon. He’d spent a good part of the week thinking through the situation, and while he’d promised to be congenial with the Dixons, he had been Lara’s father for the past eighteen years and wasn’t going to let himself be pushed aside.
The minute he stepped out of the car Lara darted from the house and threw her arms around his neck.
“I’ve missed you, Daddy.”
Her greeting was as enthusiastic as ever. Kenny wasn’t certain what he’d expected. He kissed her cheek, then lifted her off the ground in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you too, pumpkin. From what I understand, you and Mom have gotten yourselves in quite a fix, haven’t you?”
She smiled. “I don’t think I’d call it a fix, but it was for sure a big surprise.”
“Yes, it was,” he replied sadly.
Moments later Lara wriggled free, and Angela slid into his arms. As he held her to his chest, he whispered, “How’s it going?”
“Fine. I think you’re going to enjoy getting to know Rachel and George. They’re really good people, and, like us, they want what’s best for Lara.”
“We’ll see,” Kenny grumbled.
Rachel was in the kitchen readying things for a cold sandwich buffet, so George was the first to greet Kenny. He crossed the room with a broad smile and stuck out his hand.
“So you’re Lara’s dad,” George said. “Glad you could make it. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Kenny introduced himself, shook hands, then took his hankie and wiped his brow. “You should’ve come to Daytona; we’ve got a nice ocean breeze over there.”
“Yeah, this weather’s miserable, but it’s supposed to cool down later tonight.”
When Rachel came into the room, there was another round of introductions and hand shaking. Then George suggested he and Kenny have a cold beer and watch a few innings of the Braves game.
“You a baseball fan?” he asked.
“On occasion, but I prefer college basketball. The Kentucky Wildcats, that’s my team. They’ve had a rough go of it the last few years, but they’re coming back.”
“Yeah, I hear you picked up the Knicks coach Rick Pitino. What’s your take on him?”
“He looks good . . .”
Kenny wasn’t prepared to like George Dixon, but oddly enough, he did. The man had an unassuming way and right off the bat acknowledged Kenny’s role as Lara’s dad, which broke down whatever barriers Kenny had anticipated.
As the two men headed toward the family room to settle in front of the television, Angela looked over at Rachel and gave a crooked smile. It seemed there would be none of the ho
stility she’d worried about.
That evening Rachel added a leaf to the dining room table and set seven places. George sat on one end, Kenny on the other, Lara between the twins on one side of the table, and opposite them were Angela and Rachel, sitting side by side like sisters.
The table was laden with dishes of roasted corn, creamy mashed potatoes, and salads so colorful they appeared to have been plucked fresh from the garden. By some odd coincidence it seemed as though every dish on the table was someone’s favorite. When Rachel carried in the platter piled high with golden-brown pork chops and set it square in front of Kenny, he beamed.
“Oh boy, pork chops are my absolute favorite,” he said, then speared two and lifted them onto his plate.
Rachel gave Angela a sly wink. “Really?” she replied.
As the dishes were passed from hand to hand, conversations crisscrossed the table, and bits of laughter slid in. There was talk of sports, family vacations, and the excitement surrounding Lara’s first year at the University of Florida. When Daytona was mentioned, Kenny suggested everyone come for a visit.
“I’m in a studio apartment right now,” he said, “but as soon as Angela gets there we’re going to start house hunting.”
“And it’s going to be a house with a pool,” Lara added; then she glanced down at Kenny and grinned. “Right, Dad?”
He nodded obligingly. “Yep, it will be a house with a pool.”
Halfway through dinner, Rachel reached for the bowl of string beans and caught Lara staring at her.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
With the tiniest hint of a smile edging her lips, Lara replied, “I kinda think we look alike.”
It was the moment Rachel had been hoping for, praying for actually. She smiled, and this time Lara didn’t turn away. “I looked exactly like you when I was your age,” she said. “Would you like to see some pictures?”
Lara gave a shy nod.
“Okay then, after dinner I’ll pull out the old family album and bore everyone to death—how’s that?”
Kenny laughed. “If you do, we’ll be obliged to return the favor.”
“I wish you would; I’d love to see pictures of Lara—”
Angela let go of a shriek that caused even the kids to turn. “Oh my gosh! How could I have forgotten this?” She looked over at Kenny with a wide grin. “The projector and films are in the trunk of my car!”
While Rachel and Angela cleared the table, George and Kenny drove over to Ernie’s garage to pick up the projector and box of films. By the time they returned, the smell of popcorn was coming from the kitchen.
Although no one could point to the exact moment when it happened, that dinner marked the start of the two families coming together. It seemed as if they were distant cousins, somehow related but just now discovering one another.
That evening they all gathered in the living room and watched the home movies until almost midnight. With the reels now labeled, they started with Lara’s first birthday and moved forward through the years. Kenny threaded the film through the machine, and moments after the light flickered on a tiny Lara waddled toward the camera with her arms outstretched.
Although Rachel knew it was coming, her heart seized at the sight of the happy smile. She grabbed George’s knee and leaned forward as if she were trying to get closer, to step into the picture and be part of the moment.
“She was just learning to walk then,” Angela said. As the reel continued she told how Lara pushed that musical lawn mower around the room, bumping into everything. After the lawn mower came scenes where Lara was hugging a rag doll, and then there she was, standing in her crib bouncing up and down.
“She’s exactly as I’d imagined.” Rachel’s words had the sound of melancholy threaded through them. She thought back on all the years and how she’d pictured Emily at each stage of life. After the twins came along she’d prayed Emily would be as happy and loved as they were. Now she could see her wish had come true, even though she’d had no part in it. It was a bittersweet moment, tinged with both gratitude and heartache. She gave a wistful sigh and leaned back into the cushions.
Near the end of the reel there were a few shots of Vicki: first playing patty-cake with Lara on the floor, then with the baby at her shoulder as they turned and disappeared down the hallway. When the close-up of Vicki with her blonde curls and bright smile flashed on-screen no one said anything, but George’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw stiffened.
Reel by reel they went through the years. Baths and bedtimes, little-girl tea parties, days at the park, swinging, running, the first day of school, a Halloween princess costume, and close-up after close-up of the childish face Rachel could for so long only imagine.
As she watched the years unfold Rachel thought back on all the things she’d missed. She’d not been there to teach her child how to brush her teeth, to say her prayers, or to tie her shoes. She’d never tucked her in, read a good-night story, or run beside her as she learned to ride a bike. All those moments were gone. Forever. They could never be recaptured. She would in time come to know her daughter, but she would never know her baby.
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears, and she bit down on her lip in a useless effort to stem the flow.
Lara sat on the floor with the twins, adding her own dialogue to various scenes and laughing at others. When the image of her and Kenny at the father-daughter dance appeared, she turned to him intending to say something, but from the corner of her eye she saw the stream of tears rolling down Rachel’s cheeks.
She hesitated a few seconds, then got up and came to sit beside Rachel on the sofa. When Rachel turned with a tearful smile, Lara scooted closer, hooked her arm through Rachel’s, and leaned in to her shoulder. In that single moment Rachel felt a tiny piece of the heartache she’d carried for all those years break off and fall away.
As Kenny rewound the final reel, Lara put her mouth to Rachel’s ear and whispered, “I’m kind of hoping it’ll take that garage another week or two to get the car fixed.”
Rachel brushed back a tear and kissed Lara’s cheek. “I think that’s something that can easily be arranged,” she whispered.
A secretive grin passed from one to the other, and in the silence of her own heart, Rachel whispered, Thank you, God. No one else heard her, only The One who’d obviously been listening to her prayers all those years.
In the wee hours of morning, when the others were asleep and the only sound was the soft rise and fall of George’s breath, Rachel heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. It echoed through the night again and again, each time drawing closer, until at long last the sky broke open, and the rain began. For a few moments, the sound was soft like the swish of a silk skirt, but it quickly changed to the slam of a book and then the crash of an oak being felled.
She climbed from the bed and stood at the window watching the rain and listening for the remembered sound of music. It was in her ears for a split second, then gone.
It’s a memory, she told herself, only a memory.
She turned, slipped out of the bedroom, and started along the hall. With her bare feet stepping lightly on the wooden floor, she made no sound as she opened the first door and tiptoed across the floor.
Henry had his back to her, but she could hear the steady cadence of his breath. She took the summer blanket, covered his shoulder, then left, closing the door behind her.
Hope’s room was next. She eased the door open but had no need to go any farther. Lying at the girl’s feet was Bruno. He lifted his head, ears perked and eyes reflecting the glow of a night-light.
“Good boy,” Rachel whispered. Then she closed the door and moved to the door at the end of the hall.
That’s when she heard it again: the sound of music, not imagined but real. She tapped ever so lightly on the door and listened. Suddenly the music became softer, and in a whispery voice, Lara called, “Come on in.”
When she eased the door open, she saw Lara with the Sony Walkman on the nightstand and
the faint sound of “Downtown Train” coming from beneath her earphones.
Lara looked over, wide-eyed. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone could hear this.” She reached over and snapped off the Walkman. “Did I wake you?”
Rachel smiled. “No, I wasn’t able to sleep, and then with this storm—”
“I couldn’t sleep either,” Lara said. “Wanna come in and talk?”
A year from now, even ten thousand years from now, Rachel would still remember that moment. She would remember the way her heart swelled and the ocean of tears began to ebb. She would never have the yesterdays of Lara’s life, but she now knew she would have a lifetime of tomorrows.
While the wind howled and the rain slammed against the house, she sat on the side of Lara’s bed and told of how the weather had been much the same that last night of the music festival.
“Scary!” Lara said. “No wonder you’re checking on everyone.”
Rachel said only that it had been a terrible storm. She remembered every agonizing moment of that weekend and the dreadful days that followed. But those memories were ones she would keep to herself.
In time, the storm blew through, and the rain became little more than droplets falling from the eaves, but still they sat and talked.
Ribbons of pink were feathering the sky when Lara grinned and said, “I’ve sort of been wondering what I should call you.”
“I guess that’s kind of up to you. What feels comfortable?”
Lara hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, you are my mom, but since calling two people Mom might be confusing, how about I call you Mama Dixon?”
Rachel pictured Helen sitting across from her, a ball of yarn in her lap and a stack of crocheted squares lying on the floor. She heard the joyous sound of the laughter they’d shared and remembered how Mama Dixon had stood beside her on the darkest days. She’d taught Rachel how to hold on to the good memories, to push the painful ones aside, and to make room in her heart for forgiveness. They’d been closer even than mother and daughter.
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