Ask Mariah (19 page)

"Okay, say good night," she said with a laugh. She loved the romantic tale of the wizard's ability to bring families back together. She wanted to believe it could happen. That's why she had made her own wish. And maybe that's why Joanna had come into their lives.

Rose rubbed her hand across the top of the ball. "Good night, Mariah."

Lily did the same, but she drew her hand back with a disappointed expression. "Mariah didn't say good night back. She did last night."

"Maybe it's because Grandma is here," Rose said.

"Or maybe she's sleeping."

"Just like you should be," she told them. "Back into bed now."

"I don't think Daddy believes in magic," Rose said as she slid under the covers.

She sat down on the edge of Lily's bed. "Do you want to hear a secret?"

Lily's eyes lit up. "Yes."

"When your daddy was a boy, about thirteen or fourteen, he went to the county fair and spent all his money feeding quarters into the fortune teller machine."

"What's a fortune teller machine?" Rose asked.

"It's kind of like Mariah. It's supposed to tell your fortune. You put in a quarter and it gives you back a card. Unfortunately your father didn't like the cards he was getting, so he kept playing until he got the fortune he wanted."

"Then he does believe in magic," Rose said hopefully.

"Either that or he believes in persistence." Sophia tucked the covers around Lily's body. "Maybe it's good to believe in both. Hard work and a little bit of magic. Yes, I think I like that combination. Good night, girls. Sleep tight. I love you."

She turned off the light and paused at the doorway to take one last look at the twins.

"Grandma," Rose said.

"What, honey?"

"Even if Joanna isn't Mama -- she could still marry Daddy, couldn't she?"

The innocent question hit Sophia like an electric shock, drawing goose bumps down her arms and the back of her spine.
Michael and Joanna --
s
he had never considered such a possibility. "Go to sleep," she said firmly and then the shut the door behind her. 

Michael burst through the front door just as she reached the bottom stair, an apologetic expression on his face. "Sophia, I'm sorry. The time got away from me."

She patted him on the arm. "It's fine. We had dinner at the restaurant, and I put the girls to bed. I like being with them."

"They love being with you." He paused. "Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you went to see Joanna today."

"I didn't see her.  She wasn't there."

"But you want to meet her, don't you?"

She licked her lips, "Yes, I would.  But Vincent does not want to be reminded of Angela, so it can't be at the house."

"I'm sure we can work something out."

"You sound like you're getting to be friends with this woman."

He hesitated, then tipped his head.  "I guess I am."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Not at all," he said with a rueful look, "but it is what it is."

"The girls also seem to be getting attached.  That worries me."

"Me, too."  Pausing, he said, "Do you think there's any possibility that Joanna could be related to the family?"

"Why -- why do you ask that?" She could barely get the question out.

"Because she looks just like Angela."

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence.  I almost forgot to tell you. Tony said he had a lunchtime basketball game set up at the YMCA, and he wants you to play. Twelve o'clock tomorrow." She picked up her purse from the hall table. "I better go. Vincent will be waiting." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well, Michael."

* * *

Joanna found her mother working out on the bike in her bedroom.  She was sweating profusely, her face red, and she was pedaling as if the fires of hell were behind her. 

"You're late," her mom said tersely.

"I'm sorry."

"I was getting worried. You said you'd be home around five." Caroline slowed her pace and took a few deep breaths before getting off the bike. 

"The time got away from me," she said, refusing to be derailed by guilt.  Her mother was fine, and she was an adult who didn't need to check in every five minutes.  "We need to talk."

"Not about that woman again."

"Unfortunately, yet."

"I think you should quit that job.  Those children are obviously disturbing you."

Not just the children, but Michael, too, but she didn't intend to share that with her mother.

"There's nothing to be gained by getting involved with this man and his daughters," her mother continued.  "You can't replace the woman they lost."

"I'm not trying to do that. But seeing Angela, I now have questions that need to be answered."

"I told you yesterday there is no mystery to unravel. Why won't you believe me?"

"Because I look like the De Lucas and I don't look like the Wingates."

"Sometimes things just happen. What do you hope to find out, Joanna? Would you rather have a different set of parents? Would you rather belong to this other family?"

"No, of course not," she said, seeing the pain in her mother's eyes.

"It's a good thing your father isn't here. He'd be hurt."

"It's not a good thing that he's gone, Mother. And I'm not trying to hurt you. Why are you so defensive? Why are you acting so secretive?"

"Maybe because  you're trying to rewrite our family history." 

"What did you burn yesterday? And don't try to deny it, because I saw the ashes in the wastebasket."

Caroline took another sip of her water and then said carefully, "I burned some papers, that's all. Old bills from twenty years ago. I thought it would cut down on the amount of trash."

"Oh, Mother, please, don't lie to me.  No one burns old bills."

"Look, I can put all this questioning to rest. Come with me." She led Joanna into the den and walked to the filing cabinet. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it to Joanna.

She reluctantly took the paper from her mother's hand. As she glanced down at the notary seal, the official emblem for the state of California, she realized her mother was giving her her birth certificate. The paper stated that a baby girl had been born on July 28, I968, to Caroline and Edward Wingate. She'd seen her birth certificate when she got her driver's license, but it had never seemed so important until now.

She was the child of Caroline and Edward Wingate. The state of California said so in black and white. There was no mistake. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded through her. Thank God. Her mother was right. It was all just a coincidence.

"Are you satisfied now?" Caroline asked.

She handed back the certificate. "Yes." But even as she said the word, she couldn't shake the idea that she was still missing something. 

"Good." Caroline slid the paper into the filing cabinet, then shut the drawer. She tucked Joanna's hair behind her head in a gesture of motherly love. "You are my baby girl," she said, her eyes softening with emotion. "I wanted you more than any woman could want her child. I used to watch you when you slept. Sometimes in the middle of the night I'd creep into your room and put my ear down to your chest just to make sure you were breathing. I couldn't have stood it if anything happened to you. I know I stuck close to you, but I was afraid of losing you."

She felt a rush of emotion at Caroline's words. She knew her mother loved her. She'd always known that. "You are a great mom, even if you are too skinny, too pretty, and way too blond to be my mother."

Caroline put a hand to her heart. "I absolutely swear that I did not have an affair with the postman."

She smiled. "Knowing Mr. O'Hurlihy, I believe that."

"Let's sit down for a minute." Caroline took Joanna's hand and led her over to the sofa. "You know, Edward picked your name for you. He liked Jo because it was tough and Anna because it was soft. And he wanted you to be both." She smiled, her pale face beaming with maternal pride. "When I saw you for the first time, your eyes were wide open. I thought you looked like a wise old lady who probably knew more than I did about everything. I got so scared. My hands shook when I tried to change your diaper that first time. I was afraid I would hurt you or do something wrong."

"But you didn't."

"I made it through the diaper okay, but that feeling of fear never went away. I know I worry too much and nag too much and drive you crazy, but it's only because I love you so much I can't stand it. I want your life to be perfect."

"I know you do." As she hugged her mother, she wondered how she could have doubted her even for a second? This woman was not a monster. She was the woman who had bathed her, fed her, thrown her the best birthday parties in town. So they didn't look like each other, so what? It didn't mean a thing.

But after the hug, after the rationalizations, a part of her still questioned why there were no photos of her mother pregnant, why no one in San Rafael remembered seeing her mother pregnant, and why her mother had felt the need to burn something. But to voice those questions aloud would betray the love she had just seen and heard.

* * *

On Thursday morning Tony felt a bit foolish and a lot desperate as he stood in front of Helen's apartment building with a bag of bagels in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other. He remembered his mother telling him how Vincent used to come courting. Courting. An old-fashioned word, and he was supposed to be a sophisticated guy. What the hell was he doing here?

Trying to salvage the only good relationship he'd ever had, he decided. He couldn't let Helen marry Joey, not without putting up a fight, although his conscience questioned whether he wanted Helen more now because she was taken. He'd always wanted what other people had. He'd always liked to win.

He just had to convince Helen that he was better than Joey Scopazzi. Not that he intended to offer marriage. No, after seeing Frank and Linda the night before, he had a pretty good idea of what marriage looked like fourteen years down the road. Of course, Sophia and Vincent were still madly in love after forty years. Maybe if it was the right woman --  maybe forty years wouldn't seem like a life sentence. With a decisive jab Tony pushed the button over the mailbox.

Helen's voice came over the intercom, sleepy and breathless. "Yes."

"It's Tony."

"Go away."

"Helen, I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you."

It suddenly occurred to him that Helen might not be alone. Maybe Joey was still in her bed. His stomach turned over at the thought.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

There was a long, pregnant pause. "Yes."

"Let me in. You're not afraid to talk to me, are you?"

"Of course not." She hit the buzzer, and he managed to juggle the coffee and the bagels long enough to get the front door open.

Her apartment door was closed when he reached her floor, and he had to knock again. Helen answered the door wearing a terry cloth robe, her blond hair tousled from sleep, her feet bare. He handed her the bagels. She took them reluctantly. He wanted to kiss her, but decided not to risk it just yet.

"Let's make this quick," she said. "I still have to get dressed. And Joey takes me to work every morning."

"I thought he worked on the other side of town."

"He doesn't want me to take the bus. He worries about me."

Direct hit number one, Tony thought. "I brought you some bagels and coffee. I know how you like your shot of caffeine in the morning." He set the bag down on her dining room table in a small alcove off the kitchen.

"I don't drink caffeine anymore. Joey and I want to have a baby right away, and caffeine isn't good for me."

Strike two. "How about a bagel? You still eat, don't you?"

"Yes. But I'm not hungry. Why don't you just say what you have to say and go?"

Tony sat down at the table. Helen stood a few feet away, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her face resolute, as if she would absolutely not give him an inch. He had to find a way to disarm her. He knew only one way.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong," he said.

Her jaw dropped open. "You were wrong? I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth."

"I should have come back sooner. I should have written or called. I worked a lot the past few months, Helen. Every second I could. I sweated blood so I could raise enough money to buy something of my own. I finally made it. I bought a boat, a fifty-footer. It sleeps eight. Perfect for running small charters. I'm going to have my own home and my own business. I want you to share it with me. I always did."

She shook her head in confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me what you were doing? You never said a word."

"I wasn't sure I could do it," he said, knowing he'd feared all along that he couldn't. Raising that money had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and he felt proud of his accomplishment.