“I had taken Mom to the Hotel Roanoke’s brunch. She loves their french toast and the mimosas. Anyway, I saw Elaine and your dad at a table. Mom being Mom went over and said hello, and I went along for the ride.”
“And?”
“They both looked a little tense.”
“Tense how?”
“Like a big conversation. Neither one looked well, and they didn’t look happy to see anyone from Bluestone,” Sierra said.
“You never told me.”
“I guess I forgot about it. Didn’t seem that important. I mean, it was a public place. And they said they were looking to do a fundraiser for the pediatric cancer unit at UVA. It never happened, but then your dad passed away.”
The fundraiser excuse did not smell right. They had to have been talking about Libby. “Okay. Well, unlike the fundraiser, your bank meeting will take place, and you’ll get the loan,” Libby said.
“You going to stay up all night?” Sierra asked.
“Most likely.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Sierra, sometimes grief rears its ugly head and won’t let me sleep. You know what I mean?”
“I do. Have you been on Jeremy’s Instagram page again?”
“Guilty,” she lied.
“Just unfollow him, Libby.”
“I know. And I will.”
“You need to stop looking back.”
A spontaneous, tense laugh burst out. “Don’t I know it. But tell that to the past. It keeps biting me in the ass.”
“I could bake you cookies,” Sierra offered.
“Then I would be sad, sleep deprived, and fat.”
“How can you be sad if you’re eating a cookie?” Sierra asked.
Libby laughed. “I appreciate you; I really do. I’m just having one of those nights. You know how it goes; you think you’re finished with an emotion, and then it doubles back on you.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“You can sleep on the couch here. Mom said this morning she already missed you.”
“Thanks. But it’s time I graduate to my big-girl bed.”
“You can get a new, real bed. The feng shui of abundance.”
“Saying goodbye now, Sierra.”
“Have breakfast with Mom and me,” she added quickly. “I bet she has something on Elaine.”
And there was the carrot Libby could not resist. “What time?”
“Seeing as you’re pulling an all-nighter, how about seven?”
“I’ll be there.”
The all-nighter ended at three o’clock, when Libby—finally too tired to clean, polish, or worry—retreated to the couch in her living room. She lay back on the sofa, hoping she would not stare at the popcorn ceiling until dawn as caffeine, memories, and what-the-hells raged in her system. Fortunately, the next thing she knew, the sun had risen, and her phone was ringing.
She cleared her throat and raised the phone to her ear. “Sierra. What time is it?”
“Seven fifteen.”
She sat up and swung her legs over the side. Her head pounded, and her mouth was dry. “On my way.”
“Sounds like you slept.”
“No questions before coffee.”
“Understood.”
Libby rose, pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, and combed her fingers through her hair before refastening. She made a quick stop in the bathroom, then dashed out the back door and slipped through the small gap in the fence into Sierra’s yard just as she had done a million times as a kid.
She climbed the back steps and entered the kitchen as if it were still 2000, sans the dental braces and a plaid jumper. The smell of bacon and coffee reminded her that life was full of good things, and somehow the latest mess would sort itself out.
Mrs. Mancuso stood at the small stove, pushing a wooden spoon through her cast-iron skillet filled with scrambled eggs. She was several inches shorter than Sierra, and her once-dark hair was now peppered with gray, but she and her daughter both had the same high cheekbones, full lips, and expressive eyes. Mrs. Mancuso was wearing jeans, a blousy light-blue peasant top, and Birkenstocks.
“Morning, Mrs. M.” She kissed her on the cheek and reached for a coffee mug. “Thank you again for saving me.”
“Always, honey. Get a cup and sit. I want you two girls well fed. You two never sit.”
Libby poured, sipped several times, and began to feel a little more human as she sat at the kitchen table. “Where is Sierra?”
“If she can get out of the shower and stop fussing over what she’s going to wear, she’ll be right here,” Mrs. Mancuso said, frowning.
In an odd way, Libby was glad Sierra’s fashion obsession had remained intact. Any more change, and she would go nuts.
“Sierra said you were asking about Elaine Grant,” Mrs. Mancuso said.
“Yeah.” The hypercommunication between Sierra and her mother always amazed her, although it was not surprising.
“Elaine and I went to elementary school together, and then her grandmother Olivia sent her to boarding school. The same one you attended, as a matter of fact.”
“Small world. She was raised by her grandparents?” Libby asked.
“Yes. Her mom and dad died when she was in the third grade. It was a horrific car accident. Dr. and Mrs. Carter took her in without a second thought. She seemed to get on with things, but you know how that goes. Nothing’s the same afterward.”
“No truer words.” She swirled the coffee in her cup. “Did you see much of her after she enrolled in boarding school?”
“Sure. Summers—when she wasn’t working in her grandfather’s medical practice. She answered phones and filed. He was hoping she would end up becoming a doctor.”
“She became a lawyer.”
“A very successful one. And I would like to think that Dr. Carter would have been proud of that accomplishment. He and his wife built their entire world around Elaine.”
“Elaine said Olivia suffered miscarriages.”
“That would have been before my time. Elaine did say once her grandmother thought the family might be cursed. Mrs. Carter was always dressed to the nines, and she always had a big smile on her face. But when Elaine moved away after college, I think she lost her sense of purpose.”
“Where did Elaine go to college?”
“Princeton.”
“In New Jersey.”
“Yes.”
“After Mrs. Carter died, no one really lived at Woodmont?”
“There was the caretaker and his wife but no real life to speak of on the property.”
“And now Elaine is back,” Libby said.
“You know she’s sick, right?” Mrs. Mancuso said.
“I did.” She let the words dangle, hoping Mrs. Mancuso would fill in the pieces.
“Breast cancer. The surgeons think they got it all but advised on the chemo just to be sure.”
“And Elaine’s daughter. What’s her deal?”
“I barely know Lofton. She didn’t grow up around here.”
“I met her yesterday. She clearly loves her mother.” Lofton’s underlying irritation with Libby had to stem from fear. Libby was an unknown entity, and it made sense Lofton would be overprotective of a mother who was sick and perhaps vulnerable.
“Did Elaine have a boyfriend in college?” Libby asked.
“She dated Scott Waters during her freshman year, but he transferred to a school out west, and that ended that.”
“What year was that?”
“Umm, 1987-ish.”
Unless Scott had doubled back and reconnected with Elaine around the time of her conception, he was not the daddy. And she’d said she had not met Ted until she was twenty-three, which would have been after she was born.
“Why all the questions about Elaine?”
“Just curious. They had me to dinner last night, and I can’t really figure out why.”
“Have you thought a
bout asking her?” Mrs. Mancuso said. “I have always thought the direct approach was the best.”
Libby called Elaine, knowing if she hesitated it would be like pulling a bandage off slowly. Better to just do it.
She dialed the number several times but each time put the phone aside and found a reason to watch the news, do a load of laundry, or edit the pictures from Saturday’s wedding.
Sierra then called at ten to say they had a loan officer appointment in two days, and that gave her something else to think about for around thirty minutes.
Finally, at noon, despite her best efforts, Libby had run out of delay tactics.
She dialed Elaine’s number and hit call. As she counted each ring, her heart thumped louder in her chest. After four rings, the call went to voice mail. “This is Elaine Grant. I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave me your number, I will return your call promptly.”
Libby pulled back her shoulders, feeling the ache of tension that refused to leave. She had practiced her response to this scenario countless times over her life. Birth mother ignores me. Birth mother denies our past. Birth mother rejects me. How many times had she played out those scenarios in her head? Now faced with leaving a message for her birth mother, she wondered what tone would best fit her well-rehearsed words. Should she summon outrage, a cheerful ring, or a “no big deal; I am fine” tone?
“This is Libby McKenzie.” Her voice sounded rough, and she was not sure where she fell on the tone spectrum. “Elaine, if you could call me at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it.”
She hung up and spent the next five minutes staring at the display, half expecting, hoping, and dreading it would ring. But it remained silent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELAINE
Monday, June 15, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
Elaine stared into the bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were trembling slightly. For thirty-one years she had dreamed about the day she could spend with her daughter. She had gone over and over in her head what she would say to her but still did not have the words that felt right.
And when Libby’s name had appeared on her phone, she had panicked and had not picked up. Last night had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped. Lofton had been difficult, and as much as she had wanted to rail against her before she left this morning, she did not have it in her. Lofton was a smart young woman and very good at seeing what others did not. Elaine had known from the moment Lofton had taken a hard look at Libby she had recognized a family connection.
For most of her life, Elaine had pictured Libby as a little girl. The McKenzies had sent Elaine pictures on each of Libby’s birthdays. The one taken on her first birthday was always the one she looked at when she needed a lift. Libby’s little face was covered in cake as she grinned up at the camera, displaying her three teeth. At age two, she was standing on a field of green with a black Lab puppy. At six, her grin was gap toothed.
Elaine had always waited with excitement for the pictures to arrive and would spend hours staring at Libby’s face, searching for traces of her own features. Whose nose did she have? Did they share the exact same shade of green eyes? The comparisons were endless.
The pictures of the smiling girl confirmed Elaine had made the right decision. But it also drove home the ache that never healed, even when Lofton was born. She had two children, and not having her firstborn with her was a forever kind of wound that would never fully heal.
“Libby is here now,” she whispered. “That’s what matters.”
She wanted this to work, to build a bridge to her daughter. But she had been warned by the experts to go slow. It could not be rushed.
And then there was the matter of Lofton. Her youngest daughter had been unusually antagonistic last night, as if she understood exactly who she had met, even though Elaine had been careful to guard her secret.
Her phone rang, and when she saw the name, she smiled. “Ted, are you safely back in Washington?”
“Made it ahead of the traffic and sitting at my office desk. Sorry again I had to leave.”
“It was nice having you here.”
“How are you feeling? Yesterday was a big day.”
Her husband had known about Libby since their third date. She had known then she was in love with him but needed him to accept her child. He had never faltered, smiling when she had shown him the three birthday pictures the McKenzies had sent her.
“I’m doing fine,” she said. “It was so lovely to have Libby here again.”
“She has your nose.” It had been his first response when she had shown him her precious collection of Libby pictures. The sincerity behind his words had deepened her love for him, and she had known then she would marry him.
“What was going on with Lofton last night?” he asked. “It’s not like her to be rude.”
“It’s as if she knew the truth.”
“How?”
“She’s not only smart but also perceptive, Ted,” Elaine said. “Did she ask you about Libby?”
“No, but she does suspect something. It would be like Lofton to pretend she knows more than she does, hoping you’ll spill the beans. I stopped falling for that trick when she was in the seventh grade.”
Elaine smiled, remembering how the freckles had stretched over the bridge of Lofton’s nose at that age.
“Are you worried about telling Lofton the truth?” Ted asked.
“She has to be told at some point. And this kind of truth rarely stays hidden forever.”
In the background a car beeped. “Why do you sound worried?” he asked.
She rubbed the side of her neck. “Libby just called me this morning.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“After last night, judging by the tone of her voice in the message, I think she must know.”
“How?”
“I gave Olivia’s letter to her father last November. She may have found it.”
Silence crackled over the line, and she knew Ted was holding back his thoughts on Dr. McKenzie. He had never been happy about keeping the secret but always respected Elaine’s wish. “She seems like a fine woman, Elaine.”
Elaine knotted her brow. “She is. I can’t claim her, but I’m proud.”
“Why can’t you claim her?”
“I didn’t raise her.”
“But she has your DNA in her. That’s a big part of who she is.”
“The McKenzies did a great job with her.”
“And yet they couldn’t have done anything without you.”
She raised her chin. “I know. I just have so much regret.”
“You need to call her back.”
“What if I tell Libby the truth, and she ends up hating me?”
“Either way, you’ll have done right by her, Elaine.”
“She’s had such a terrible few years with the miscarriages and the divorce. What if I’m simply a bridge too far?”
“Libby has a right to know.”
“Ted, I gave her away. How can she forgive that?”
“You didn’t give her away.”
As many times as he said it, Elaine still did not believe it. “I feel like I’ve betrayed her.”
“Do you think twenty-two-year-old Elaine could have raised her?”
She pressed her hand to her forehead. She had asked the same question so many times she had worn down the finish of the words. “Grandmother Olivia didn’t think so.”
“You know how I feel about your grandparents’ lack of support,” Ted said.
“They were very old world. Girls who got pregnant in their day were shunned. She was fearful for me. And especially considering what my grandfather did to girls like me back in the day.”
When Elaine had told her grandmother about the pregnancy, Olivia had told her all about the hospital in Lynchburg where her grandfather had worked. Then she sent Elaine to a small New Jersey town to live with an old friend of hers whom Elaine did not know. The woman was k
ind and helped Elaine through the last months of her pregnancy. Elaine had felt so isolated.
Her grandmother made it very clear that Elaine had a bright future, but it did not include a baby. Olivia also forbade Elaine to mention the baby to her grandfather. When Libby was eight days old, Elaine had been moved into the apartment she would inhabit during law school.
Elaine looked in the mirror, wondering how Libby would accept the truth. When her own parents had died and her world had turned upside down, she had been so angry. It had taken her years to let go. Libby too had that fire in her eyes.
“You need to tell her everything,” Ted said.
“I want her to get to know us a little bit before I tell her the entire unvarnished truth. One bombshell at a time.”
There was a long pause. “Don’t wait too long, Elaine.”
“I won’t.” Her stomach twisted in knots, and she wondered how she would find the right words under these circumstances.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” she said warmly.
“It will be okay.”
“I hope so.”
She hung up and stared into her mirror for a long time. Ted was optimistic by nature, and she loved that about him. But sometimes life simply did not work out as planned.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SADIE
Saturday, October 3, 1942
Bluestone, Virginia
Sadie tried to pretend that night months ago in Malcolm’s car never happened. It was easy enough during the days when she was busy doing piecework involving sewing dresses and mending torn sleeves. Or even pulling weeds in the garden and then canning. She always kept busy to quiet her mind.
In the evenings, she and her mother listened to the radio, paying close attention to the news on the war. Johnny had left Norfolk, Virginia, on a transport ship in early September, and it had taken two weeks to cross the Atlantic. He said he had never heard about seasickness but sure was an expert now.
He was in southern England and was living in a camp full of soldiers. He said he’d been lucky to get a tent that he split with three other men. They shared a small heater, which came in handy, as England was normally wet and chilly.
Johnny had worked on the heavy bombers, repairing the damage inflicted by German Luftwaffe and flak from antiaircraft guns. He counted planes each morning as they took off with a crew of ten men and flew south. They were bombing enemy targets mostly within occupied France. He always made it a point to count them as they returned. Most days, half the planes did not return.
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