Broken Pieces: A Novel (9 page)

Her stare locked with mine, and I saw the protective glint in her eyes.

“I never broke a promise to your mother. Not even this one.”

Marguerite had often told me she’d loved my mother like a sister. I’d seen it in action during my mother’s illness, and I saw it now in the intensity of her words.

Then I realized they must not have been the only people in my life who knew.

“Did my grandmother know?”

She nodded. “It took her a long time to accept.”

“The adoption was my mother’s decision?”

Marguerite nodded. “Your father was busy trying to break into acting, and they hadn’t even talked about marriage. She knew he wouldn’t want to be saddled with a baby, so she made plans to place your sister for adoption.”

“And he agreed?”

Another nod. “He did.”

“But Grandmother?”

“Did not.”

I dropped my face into my palms and rubbed my hands over my face again and again. I tried to make sense of the entire last week.

But I couldn’t.

I’d gone from an empty house and a routine, solitary existence to a reunion with my estranged father and the discovery of a sister and niece I’d never known existed.

“This is crazy,” I said.

“Crazy,” she parroted. Then she gave me the soft smile she’d been giving me all my life. The one that usually accompanied the tough questions. “What are you going to do about it?”

I splayed my hand on my chest. “Me?”

She nodded. “Seems to me you need to take a step back and think about Sydney. Think about what she might be feeling. Understand why she’s come to Paris after all these years. I take it you’ve met her.”

“Briefly.”

Another soft smile. “Perhaps you should take your time and meet her again.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Using Mrs. Leroy as a go-between, Sydney and I agreed to meet at eight o’clock the next morning. I thought about working in the shop for an hour beforehand, but I’d be making the initial cuts on the stage paneling, and my jumbled mind wasn’t in any shape to concentrate on such a vital part of the project.

Instead I left my house at seven thirty and reached the café fifteen minutes early.

Jessica nodded as I entered, then pointed to a quiet table for two near the front window. We’d talked on the phone late into the night after she’d gotten Max and Belle to bed. As usual, she’d done more listening than anything else, but she’d convinced me to give the one-on-one conversation a chance.

Sydney, apparently as anxious as I was about our meeting, arrived only a few minutes later.

Jessica poured us each a piping mug of coffee. “Bring you anything to eat, ladies?” she asked. To which Sydney and I simultaneously said, “No, thank you.”

“At least we have good manners,” Sydney said.

I tried to smile, but honestly, how did you smile when you were looking at the spitting image of your dead mother?

Sydney Mason so strongly resembled a younger Mary Jones that there would never be any question about Albert having a secret second family. She and my mother possessed identical cheekbones, and her eyes shone the same warm brown I could still picture as if it had been only moments, and not twenty years, since I’d seen them last.

“You look just like her, you know,” I said. “It’s uncanny.”

Sydney took a sip of her coffee, then held the cup as if to warm her hands, even though the late-August morning had dawned warm and humid.

“That’s what Albert said.” She spoke without smiling. “I mean, your father.”

I held up a hand to stop her. “Trust me, Albert is fine.”

She pressed her lips together tightly before she asked her next question. “You had no idea?”

I laughed the same nervous laugh I’d used when Albert had first shown up unannounced. “None.”

“Even your mother never told you?”

I shook my head.

She took another sip of her coffee, then splayed one hand atop the table and moved it back and forth, testing the surface. “I guess she had no reason to.”

I felt sorry for Sydney, even though I was sure I shouldn’t. “Maybe she would have told me when I was older,” I offered. “If she’d lived.”

Now it was my turn to break eye contact, to study the coffee in my mug.

“I’m sorry,” Sydney said, her voice barely audible. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Where is your daughter this morning?” I asked, hoping to change subjects.

“Back with Mrs. Leroy, a bag of Goldfish, and Netflix on the iPad.”

An awkward hush stretched between us. Sydney spoke first. She narrowed her gaze and measured my features. “You’re almost the exact mental picture I have whenever I try to imagine her grown up.”

“Genes are an amazing thing, I suppose.” I shrugged, hoping I didn’t sound as uncomfortable as I felt.

“I suppose they are,” she said, her voice trailing away.

I was an idiot. The woman had been placed for adoption by my parents. She didn’t want to hear about genes. “I’m sorry.”

And then she smiled, my mother’s smile. Slightly crooked. Close-lipped. Forgiving.

Breathing momentarily failed me, as if I were seeing one last glimpse of all I’d lost.

“Did she look for you?” I asked.

Sydney shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“What about Albert?”

Another shake of her head. “I looked for him. I wanted to know more about my background.”

“So you made the first contact?” I asked, even though Albert had told me as much.

Sydney’s brows lifted. “This is important to you?”

She measured me with eyes that seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

If Sydney confirmed what my father had said, at least I’d know he hadn’t been looking for her at the same time he’d been ignoring me.

“I wrote to him first,” she said, pulling a fistful of dollar bills out of her pocket and setting them on the table. “Would you like to take a walk? It’s a beautiful morning out there.”

A walk?

The café had gone quiet. I imagined everyone there was listening to our conversation, although I knew my thoughts were more than a little irrational just then.

Getting outside in the fresh air sounded like exactly what I needed.

“Absolutely,” I said, putting a few additional dollars on the table.

I waved to Jessica as we headed out, and she stopped what she’d been doing to watch us leave, concern blatant in her expression.

Sydney and I headed toward the corner, waiting for the light at Front Street to change. One lone SUV zipped past, driving far too fast for the center of town.

“You know, this road seems deserted most of the time,” I explained. “Folks like to say that people who come to visit never leave, so there’s not much traffic headed back across the bridge. But every now and then, there’s one like that.” I pointed at the receding taillights, realizing I’d begun to chat nervously. “It’s always a good idea to look both ways,” I added. Then I forced myself to stop babbling.

“I’ll remember that.”

We headed down the path toward the bike trail, and while I thought about showing her Lookout Rock, I decided not to. There were some things I wasn’t ready to share.

“Want me to tell you my story?” she asked.

“Sure.”

And so she did. She’d known my parents’ names, but had never had the urge to seek them out. Not until her adoptive parents were killed.

“They were the best parents a girl could hope for,” she said. “They never spoiled me. They’d been full of common sense right up until they bought a motorcycle and decided to turn their life into a great adventure.”

Sydney headed for a bench. “Mind if we sit for a bit?”

“Not at all.” I settled beside her, waiting for her to finish her story.

“Their adventure ended two years ago. On a rain-slicked road just outside Modesto, California.”

The pain in her voice was still raw, even after two years, and I understood. My mother had been gone far longer, but talking about her death still brought back the heartache in a rush of memories.

“How long will you be staying in town?” I asked, and Sydney’s features tensed.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Familiar alarm bells began to chime deep inside my gut. “Tell me what?”

“We’re not going back to Ohio. Everything from the old house is in storage.” She pushed to her feet and pulled her light sweater around her. “I wanted a fresh start, so we decided to head east.”

“And Paris?”

“We plan to stay for a little bit. Get to know the town.” Her gaze locked with mine. “And the people.” She glanced at the time on her phone. “Listen, I’d better get back to Ella. Maybe we can do this again soon.”

I moved to shake her hand, but she surprised me by pulling me into a stiff hug.

Every muscle in my body tensed, my brain momentarily unable to tell the rest of me how to respond.

I returned her hug awkwardly and stood there as she walked away.

My mother’s beauty had been ethereal, fragile. Much like Sydney’s. Where I stomped through life, I’d always imagined my mother floated, like a luminous specter.

As I watched Sydney’s stride and the way her hands swung gracefully at her sides, I realized she’d gotten the gene I hadn’t. The gene that smoothed all the rough edges.

Marguerite’s affirmation played through my memory.

You are enough.

And I had been. Until now.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That night, for the first time in years, the sights and sounds of karaoke night at the Paris Inn Pub did nothing to soothe my soul.

Albert had left a plate for me in the oven, which I’d ignored. Jessica had called twice, and Marguerite had stood in my foyer, tapping one toe of her lavender, sequined shoes, until I’d pulled on a ball cap, pushed my glasses up on my nose, and agreed to stay for one hour. No longer.

Marguerite gave my shoulder a quick squeeze as we parted just inside the pub door, and I looked for Jessica, searching our usual stretch of bar.

She waited faithfully, waving, and as I approached, Jerry set not one, but two bottles of beer in front of me.

“Probably not the night to be encouraging me to drink,” I said, but took a long swallow from the first bottle just the same.

“She’s here,” Jessica said in lieu of a greeting.

“Here?” I tensed, knowing instantly who she meant.

Jessica nodded. “She’s sitting with your father at the end of the bar.”

“You need to start calling him Albert again,” I said, my tone more than a little bit harsh. “Please.”

She rubbed my back. “Got it. Over there.”

Sydney sat beside Albert at the end of the bar, on the stool Byron Kennedy had occupied at last week’s karaoke night.

She looked as unhappy as I felt. She sat stiffly, and even from this distance she appeared uneasy, obviously not a fan of the crowded space.

She caught me staring, and I waved.

She leaned to say something to my father, then excused herself, moving smoothly through groups of patrons until she reached us.

“Nice to see you,” she said, when she drew near enough to be heard.

I couldn’t help but notice she had her purse draped over her shoulder.

“Are you leaving?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t do well with noise.” She grimaced as the next act started. “Or big groups of people.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I said, setting a ten-dollar bill on the bar.

Jessica frowned, her surprise apparent, but she said nothing.

“Not in the mood tonight,” I said, by way of explanation. Then Sydney Mason and I pushed through the massive pub doors and out into the Paris night.

Silence wrapped us in its embrace, and Sydney stopped to catch her breath, pressing a hand to her side.

“You all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “Probably sat on that stool for too long. I should have gotten up and moved around.”

We made our way toward the Front Street Bridge, and I couldn’t help but think it was nice to walk with her again.

“Look both ways,” I said as we made our way across the street and up the sidewalk to the bridge, and she laughed politely.

The river rushed beneath us as we climbed to the highest point of the crossing, and the moon hung bright in the night sky, reflecting off the water’s surface in countless ripples of light.

“It’s so quiet here,” Sydney said. “No traffic at all.”

I nodded toward the opposite end of the bridge, where the pavement disappeared on the Pennsylvania side of the river. “Most everyone who lives there stays there. Most everyone who lives here walks around town.”

“Or is inside that pub.” She smiled.

I nodded. “You have no idea.”

“So tell me. Explain the allure of karaoke night.”

I shrugged. “It’s a small town. Karaoke night is one of the bright spots of our week.” I leaned against the railing, staring down at the Delaware below. “It’s something to do every Wednesday night.” I stood silently for a moment, considering what karaoke night meant to me, crazy as that sounded. “No matter what else is going on in a person’s life, they know they can walk through that door on any given Wednesday night and be surrounded by friends.”

Sydney nodded, frowning. “I can’t imagine.”

“Karaoke?”

She shook her head. “Having this many friends. Our life back in Ohio is very different. Isolated.”

“What do you do for fun?” I asked.

She wrinkled her brow. “I work a lot. Single mom.”

“Ella’s dad isn’t around?”

“Never has been. A one-night thing.”

I nodded, getting the picture. “What sort of work?”

“Nurse practitioner. You?”

“Carpenter.”

Sydney nodded. “Your father said you just landed a big job. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I tamped down my annoyance that Albert had told Sydney about my life when he’d barely told me she existed. “What do you do when you’re not working?”

Sydney crossed her arms to mirror mine, leaning back against the railing beside me. “I like to dance. Ballet. And I spend as much time as I can with Ella.”

Silence beat between us; then she asked, “Favorite music?”

“Elvis,” I answered.

“Costello?” she asked.

“Presley,” I said with a grin. “How about you?”

She drew in a deep breath. “ABBA.”

I groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Sydney shook her head and smiled. “Favorite element?” she asked.

“Element? Isn’t that one step away from asking ‘What’s your sign?’”

We laughed easily, and I felt the knot of rage I’d held all day ease.

Sydney’s laughter rolled out across the water, lighting memories inside me that had long gone dark. My mother laughing in the nighttime, long after I’d gone to bed, as she and my father sat in the garden talking softly.

I fell silent, and Sydney reached for my arm. I stared at the spot where her hand touched my skin. She withdrew her touch as if she’d felt it, too.

“Fire,” I said in answer to her question. “You?”

“Water.”

We walked a few steps past midspan, then stood, hands on the railing, looking down at the river.

We stood in silence, letting the night wash over our newly forged connection as the water rushed beneath us, along the riverbanks of countless towns, and homes, and lives—each with their own stories—some told, some untold, some still waiting to be revealed.

“Why now?” I asked.

“Why did I come here now?”

I nodded.

She hesitated before she answered. “Too many ghosts back in Ohio.”

That, I understood.

She pushed away from the railing, touched her fingertips to my forearm. “Maybe we can keep doing this. Walking. Talking.”

“I’d like that,” I said, and I meant it.

She started to walk away, but hesitated. “You know, I have somewhere to be tomorrow, and Mrs. Leroy agreed to let Ella hang out, but I’m wondering if you’d like to spend some time with her?”

Her question took me by surprise. “Like babysitting?” Was that what she wanted?

But Sydney burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. I think that came out wrong. I’d like her to get to know you, if that’s all right. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, and it doesn’t have to be just you and Ella.”

But, oddly enough, I was curious to spend time with Sydney’s daughter. To talk to her.

“Sure,” I said.

“Great. I’ll bring her by a little before nine, if that’s all right.”

I gave her the address for the shop and described the building. Sydney turned to leave.

“Does she know?” I asked.

She turned back, smiled knowingly. “About the adoption?” Sydney nodded. “The kid’s an old soul. She understands. You’ll see.”

I waited until she made the short walk down the street and around the corner to Mrs. Leroy’s, smiling as she looked both ways before crossing the street, even though there wasn’t a car in sight.

My sister’s a quick learner, I thought.

My sister,
I realized with amazement.