“No beach resorts,” Aria joked, and it wasn’t until Mathew came back to the blanket looking sick that they stopped laughing.
“What is it?” Jessica asked, knowing the man well enough to see how serious it was. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” he replied simply as he looked at his phone as if it could take back the bad news it had just given. “Aria, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“What?” Aria, gulped, instantly feeling hot and dizzy.
“That was Emmitt. He had been looking high and low for your father, but he said he’s not used to finding average people. You know?”
“I guess,” Aria replied, her heart thudding loudly.
“He looks for criminals, dignitaries, political figures, military people. That’s what he does. Your dad, he operated a forklift. Just a middle class, nice guy. So it took longer to find him.”
“But he did?” Monroe asked impatiently. “He found him?”
“He did,” Mathew said, looking over at James and exchanging a knowing look. A pleading help me friend kind of look.
“He’s dead,” James said, filling in the blank even without hearing it first-hand. From the expression on his best friend’s face, he could tell. “Emmitt found him, but he’s dead.”
“Yes,” Mathew apologized. “Pancreatic cancer two years ago. Emmitt was able to track down his last known address and where he was buried. He’s sending a newspaper clipping of the obituary. He apologized for taking so long. He wanted to be one hundred percent sure before he broke the news.”
“No,” Aria said, shaking her head and waving Monroe off as he came to her. “He’s not dead. Your brother is wrong. He wouldn’t even be fifty years old. Scott Laurence is a very common name, I’m sure.” She paced around the blanket and backed away from anyone who tried to come close to her.
“He’s positive,” Mathew said, somberly. “He validated it through multiple sources. I’m sorry, Aria. Your father is dead.”
“Dead,” she gasped, clutching at her throat as though she were choking. The world around her had transformed into an enormous vacuum; she felt everything being pulled from her. Gone were the images she’d conjured up of her emotional reunion. Gone were the stories they’d tell each other. There would be no laughter about the mannerisms they had in common. It would never be. None of it.
“Aria . . .” Monroe said gently, though he didn’t reach for her. “We can go Philadelphia. We can find more about who he was.”
His words felt like droplets of water on a raging fire. There was nothing that could extinguish it. She lost her breath suddenly and felt the earth beneath her feet give way. Monroe caught her elbow and pulled her in to his body, holding her fiercely as she wept. She cried with her whole body, with her whole heart. When she hit her knees, Monroe did too, whispering something she was sure was meant to bring comfort. But his voice was too far off.
Aria rested her head on Monroe’s chest and clung to him as though she would be sucked into oblivion if she let go. “He’s dead,” she said in a raspy whisper. “And I have to live with that.”
Chapter 36
The flight was bumpy, but Aria wasn’t sure if that was what made her queasy. The list of possible culprits was long. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t slept. Dehydration was a possibility, considering she’d cried her eyes dry.
“Emmitt said we should go to this address. He didn’t say much else, but apparently you’ll get some answers if we do. Maybe your dad has some living relatives there.”
“Maybe,” Aria replied as she stared out the window, foolish enough to think maybe something in Philadelphia would be familiar. Her last time here, she was a three-year-old. She’d spent many nights trying to conjure up a true memory of her father. Surely she’d gone to a park with him. Had he pushed her on the swing? Had she sat on his shoulders and never worried about falling?
“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” Monroe offered gently. “I can tell you a hundred times not to blame yourself, and it won’t matter. I don’t have any advice. I don’t have anything, but I’m here.”
It was not lost on her how much willpower it took for a man, especially this man, to admit he was out of solutions. To just be present and without a direct purpose was a difficult proposition and that he was willing to attempt it, meant a lot to her. “I wouldn’t be able to do this alone,” she admitted, giving up on staring out the window. Nothing in Philadelphia would be easy. The one connection she had to this place was now dead.
“Here we are,” Monroe said, forcing a cheery tone as he pulled in front of a three-story apartment building. It was a slate color with bright white trim. Certainly not newly built but well kept.
“Are we supposed to knock on the door?” Aria asked, feeling nervousness roll up her spine. “Emmitt couldn’t give us anything else to go on?”
“I didn’t talk to him directly,” Monroe said as he looked at the apartment. He was watching as if the answer would climb out of a window. “James said he’s a pain in the ass. Effective, but he doesn’t make anything easy.”
“I can’t imagine anyone in that house wants to see a couple strangers on their porch, talking about ancient history and a dead man.” Aria didn’t unbuckle her seat belt.
Monroe cut the engine and took her hand in his. “It’s not ancient history. It’s your history, and the worst that can happen is they have no idea what we’re talking about. We’ll leave and try something else.”
“I guess,” Aria agreed, refusing to admit what being turned away would actually do. If the people in that house were her blood relatives, and they didn’t want her, she’d get back in the car and tell Monroe to drive until they hit the ocean, until this place was a distant memory.
He clicked her seatbelt free, and she stepped out of the car with the uneasy legs of a newborn deer. A few seconds later Monroe was at her side, propping her up with his sturdy arm.
“Look,” he said optimistically as he read the names next to each apartment’s buzzer. “Laurence. That’s on the second floor. That must be what we’re looking for.”
“You think he lived here?” she asked, looking around for something he might have touched. Something he might have loved about this porch.
“We’re about to find out,” Monroe said as he pressed the buzzer and waited.
“Yes?” a sweet voice called back. “Who is it?”
Aria didn’t answer. What would she possible be able to say through this little electronic thing that could bring someone to the door? Likely they’d think she’s crazy.
“Uh, yes ma’am . . . my name is Monroe, and I was hoping to talk to you about Scott Laurence. Is he a relative of yours?”
“He is,” the voice said, sounding far more guarded now. “What is this about?”
“His daughter,” Monroe said, nervously clearing his throat and unconsciously tightening his grip on her.
“There is a toll-free number you can call if you want to set up an interview. But there is no new information. Everything is up to date on our website. This is our private residence.”
“I know that,” Monroe said. “I’m very sorry to intrude. If you could spare just a minute. I have new information for you.”
There was a long pause before the voice came back. “I’ll give you Detective Logan’s phone number. He’s in charge of the case. Any new leads can go to him. But, what exactly do you . . .” she trailed off. “What kind of information is it?”
Monroe looked at Aria and held his breath. His eyes roamed over her face expectantly.
“Hello?” Aria finally edged out. “I am . . . uh, I’m his daughter. Scott Laurence was my father.”
The pause on the other end of the speaker dragged on, and Aria held her breath as well.
“Go out to the front porch,” she ordered. “Stand by the flagpole.”
Monroe opened his mouth to ask why, but Aria was already down the stairs and halfway to the flagpole before he could say anything. She couldn’t
blame this person for not wanting to open the door for such a crazy proclamation.
Aria looked at the apartment as the porch door opened and out stepped a young woman in sweatpants and a tattered tank top. Her blond hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, and even from a distance she could tell the girl was rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“When’s your birthday?” the girl called down.
“October thirteenth,” Aria called back, her hands shaking with fear.
“No,” the girl corrected. “Her birthday was November thirteenth.”
“I only know what my mother told me. What the papers she gave me said,” Aria explained. “I can’t remember him. Anything you ask me, I won’t be able to answer.”
“There have been others,” the girl said with a sigh. “They think they’ll get some kind of money or something. There’s no money.”
“I don’t want money,” Aria said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“What do you want?”
“I have no idea,” Aria admitted. “I know I’m too late. He’s already gone. I don’t know what I want.”
“The birthmark?” the girl asked, as though the idea had just popped in her head. “She has a birthmark.”
“On my shoulder,” Aria said, her eyes welling with tears as she spun around and slipped her shirt down. “Can you see it from there?”
“Yeah,” the girl said, through a little sob. “It does look like Hawaii. That’s what he always said.”
The girl disappeared from the porch and in a few seconds the front door swung open. “It’s you?” she was asking over and over again, half declaration half question. “Is it really you?”
“Yes,” Aria answered, accepting the full-body hug as the girl nearly lifted her off the ground. “It’s really me.”
“Johana? Do you go by Johana?”
“No,” she said awkwardly. “My name is Aria. Or that’s what I’ve gone by all these years. This is Monroe.”
“I’m Natalie,” she gulped out as she wiped tears away. “I’m your sister. Well your half-sister. Oh my gosh. I have to call Lennon. Our brother. He’s in school in California. But he’ll come on the first flight.” She patted her sweatpants, looking for her phone. “I don’t have my cell. I need to get it. Don’t move. Don’t leave. I have to call Aunt Gail. You look just like her. It’s actually spooky. That’s Dad’s sister. Did you know he had a sister?”
“No,” Aria said. “I don’t know anything. He had more kids? Two?”
“Yes,” Natalie smiled.
“How old are you? And your brother.”
“We’re twins,” she smiled. “Twenty. We’re twenty.”
“I’m so glad he had more kids,” Aria said, clutching her heart. “I’m so glad he wasn’t alone. He married again?”
“For a while,” Natalie said, for the first time looking somber. “They separated when we were ten.”
“You’ve always known about me?” Aria asked, astonished that she was so welcomed.
“One of my first memories was licking envelopes stuffed with your missing person flyer. My brother was in charge of the stamps. You can’t imagine how much a part of our lives you were. Every Thanksgiving he saved you the wishbone. There was always a seat for you at our table. Every single night. My mother”—she bit at her lip—“was very supportive. She understood the lengths Dad needed to go to keep your memory alive. To keep hope alive. But at some point it just became too much. If she’d have let him, he’d have spent every dime they had trying new ways to find you. He went in debt so many times and it was mostly people taking advantage of him.”
“She left him because of me?” Aria asked, a dagger aimed at her heart until Natalie removed it.
“No,” she said firmly. “They had a complicated marriage outside of the baggage he brought with him. It sounds cold, but I promise you, my mother wanted you found. She prayed for it every night. She’ll be so happy.” Natalie clamped her hands together and gasped as though she still couldn’t believe this was happening. “He went to his deathbed without seeing you again, and it kills me. I’m so sorry you didn’t meet him in time.”
“It’s my fault,” Aria said just above a whisper. “I have to tell you the truth. I knew about my dad years ago. I could have come here sooner, but I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Natalie asked, her eyes wide with shock. “He would have welcomed you with open arms. We all would have.”
“My mother,” Aria said, looking at her shoes. “I was afraid of what would happen to her if I came forward.”
“He knew that,” Natalie comforted, touching her shoulder gently. “Well, he didn’t know for sure, but he understood every single possibility that you might have faced. Maybe she poisoned you against him. Maybe she lost custody of you along the way. Or she remarried and started a new happy life. My father explored every path he thought you might have been on, and he didn’t hold any of it against you. He wouldn’t want you to feel any guilt about it.”
“But now he’s dead,” Aria cried. “I’ll never know him.”
“You’ll never meet him,” Natalie corrected. “But you will know him.”
Chapter 37
“I have to apologize now,” Natalie said, with a tiny smile. “It’s about to get real loud in here.” She was peering out the window of her apartment and pressing the buzzer that unlocked the door downstairs.
Sounding like a thundering herd of elephants, a group of people climbed the stairs and burst their way into Natalie’s apartment.
Their voices seemed to hit Aria from every side as she was pulled into hugs and showered with prayers.
“Give the girl some air,” Natalie said, waving them off and gesturing for them to sit down. “She’s here. She’s really here, but let’s not accidently smother her when we’ve just gotten her back.”
“I’m Gail,” a woman with springing white hair that rose up in coils said. She was wiping tears from her cheeks, but she could hardly keep up. “I’m your father’s sister. I gave you your first haircut. When your mother and father went to Florida, I babysat you for a long weekend. You were the sweetest little thing, but you never slept. I was begging you to sleep, but you weren’t having it.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Aria said, clearly seeing what Natalie had been talking about. The resemblance between her and her aunt was uncanny.
“Do you remember any of that?” Gail asked, full of hope. Aria hated to burst her bubble.
“I don’t,” Aria said remorsefully. “I don’t remember anything.”
“You were so young,” Gail said, switching quickly from disappointment to encouragement. “Just know that you were very loved. My parents, God rest their souls, spoiled you rotten. You were the first grandchild, and they thought you hung the stars.”
“I wish I’d have been able to see them again,” Aria said, swallowing hard. “I feel like it’s so much time wasted. So many things missed. Every birthday. Every Christmas.”
“Christmas,” Natalie said, snapping her fingers together as she remembered something. “Will you do me a favor?” she asked Monroe, who looked more than eager to have an actual task to do.
“Anything,” he replied, standing up quickly. All the women in the room, either some relation or longtime friend of the family, made a little cooing noise at the sight of Monroe, standing at his full height.
“Isn’t he something?” asked an older woman, who Natalie said was a great aunt.
“You might not want to do this. It’s going to be messy,” Natalie said apologetically.
“I don’t mind at all,” Monroe assured her as they headed toward the door. When they returned Monroe had two large boxes in his arms and a thoroughly ruined pair of pants.
“He had to climb straight to the back of the attic. It’s a mess up there. I’m so sorry about your clothes.” Natalie gestured for him to put the boxes in front of Aria and everyone began clamoring with excitement. “Every Christmas my father bought you a present. They’re dated.
The older you were, the less he knew what you might like, and he had me start picking things out. But as you can tell by the look of them, he wrapped them all himself.”
“Do you still like pickles?” a girl a little older than her asked. “You lived in this apartment, and my family lived upstairs. I remember you used to eat a jar of pickles a week. You loved them so much.”
“I still do,” Aria said, smiling at the kind woman. “Wait, so I lived in this apartment? You guys never moved?”
“He wouldn’t,” Gail explained. He paid rent on this apartment for all these years. He could have bought it two times over by now. But he always thought, if you remembered something someday, he’d want you to be able to find your way home.”
At that everyone in the room fell silent, and if there was a dry eye, she couldn’t find it.
“Open your presents,” Natalie said, handing her the first one. “We’re going to make some of my dad’s favorite recipes.”
“I brought the videos,” Gail exclaimed. “He recorded everything. He knew you’d be here to see it someday. Scott had the best laugh. You’ll hear it on the tapes, and you’ll know. He was a happy man. Missing you was a part of his life, it broke his heart, but it didn’t break his spirit.”
“Get the photo albums,” someone else shouted as they all began to scurry around and gather things up. “Her baby pictures. I bet she’s never seen her baby pictures.”
“I haven’t,” Aria said, trying to fight the urge to admit she was overwhelmed. She was afraid to ask them to stop or even slow down.
“How about some wine?” the oldest of the women asked as she gave her a wink. “You didn’t know you were coming back to a bunch of crazies.”
“We might be crazy, Gilly,” Natalie countered. “You like to think you’re not as mad as the rest of us because you only married in to the family. But you’re plenty nuts.”
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