Finding Colin Firth: A Novel (35 page)

Veronica sat. “I’d like to start as soon as I can.”

As Veronica sat on a chair in the extras holding tent late Monday afternoon, her thoughts once again went to Nick, who still hadn’t called. All day she’d tried to put it out of her mind. He was probably dealing with Leigh’s grandparents. Perhaps they’d spent the weekend together, as a family, and were ironing things out.

One kiss doesn’t obligate him to you, she reminded herself as she headed home and prepared her island counter for her students, once again having no idea if two of those students wouldn’t be coming.

At a few minutes before six, June and Isabel arrived with June’s son, and then Penelope arrived, looking like her old self—a good thing. The jewelry was back. The makeup. The real Penelope. And like her look, her smile was very real. “Things are looking good,” Penelope said. “I’m hopeful again.”

Veronica barely had time to talk to Penelope because the doorbell rang, and a shot of pure happiness burst inside her.
She opened the door—but Nick and Leigh weren’t alone. Leigh’s grandmother was there too. Nick introduced them, officially.

As Nick and Leigh stepped in and chatted with the other students, Leigh’s grandmother said, “I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other night. That wasn’t fair of me.”

That was a turnaround. “Stay for class?” Veronica asked.

The woman seemed pleased by the invitation. “None of those strange pies? I’m not a fan of that mumbo-jumbo.”

“Just good old strawberry rhubarb tonight,” Veronica said.

“Then I’d love to stay.”

As Leigh led her grandmother into the kitchen, Nick whispered in Veronica’s ear, “Took me the last two days, but I got through.”

Veronica smiled. She felt like something was getting through to her too.

On Tuesday morning, Veronica heard from Patrick Ool’s assistant that the extras for the diner scene wouldn’t be needed until two o’clock, so she called the director of Hope Home and asked if she could come earlier. A group session was set for ten. Veronica drove out to Hope Home, turning onto the long dirt road with its canopy of trees. When the white farmhouse with its hanging sign and porch swing came into view, Veronica saw herself sitting on that swing, scared, worried, fearful for how she’d feel after she had the baby and gave her up, and she remembered the counselor sitting down beside her and just holding her, letting her cry. That was exactly what Veronica wanted to do for the girls here. Listen. Be a shoulder.

She parked in the lot, near the very spot where she had given birth in an ambulance. She sat there and watched the few girls who were walking around the yard. They looked so young and vulnerable, though one or two had a tough edge to their expressions, to their makeup. Just before ten o’clock, she headed up the three steps and pulled open the screen door. A woman she didn’t recognize sat at the desk.

“You must be Veronica,” she said, standing up. “I’m Larissa Dennis, head counselor here at Hope Home. You’re just in time to join Group.”

The director appeared, welcomed Veronica, and sat down at the desk, and Veronica followed Larissa into the large room that faced the backyard. There were ten huge purple beanbags in a circle, and some rocking chairs. The room was just as it had been twenty-two years ago. Painted a very pale blue, with inspirational posters on the walls.

As the clock struck ten, girls began coming in and sitting down on the beanbags and chairs. One very pregnant girl chose the recliner. Many of them had anxiety balls in their hands.

“Morning, girls,” Larissa said. “We have a new volunteer joining us for group every week. Veronica Russo lived here at Hope Home twenty-two years ago as a sixteen-year-old. She’ll be helping guide discussions and just generally being of support and service. Turns out Veronica is a master pie baker, so she’ll be in the kitchen when she’s not needed. Anyone who wants to learn to make a few different kinds of pie, meet in the kitchen at eleven.”

There were a bunch of “Me!”s, which made Veronica smile.

“I’m craving pumpkin pie so bad,” a red-haired girl on a beanbag said.

“Key lime.”

“Chocolate cream.”

“Anything but apple pie. Too boring.”

Veronica smiled. “How about one of each?”

The girls cheered. Pie had a way of making people happy. Even—especially, maybe—pregnant teenagers.

“Any consensus of topic today?” Larissa asked the group.

“Since someone’s here who used to live here, can we just ask her questions?”

Larissa looked at Veronica. “Okay with an impromptu Q&A?”

“Ask away,” Veronica told the girls. “Just say your name first so I can get to know who’s who.” She glanced around, glad she didn’t know the name of the girl Penelope had her hopes pinned on. That gave the girl some anonymity.

“I’m Allison. Did you regret giving up your baby?” a girl with poker-straight blond hair asked.

No easy pitches here, Veronica realized. “To be very honest, no, Allison. I had a total lack of support. From my family, from the baby’s father. I was alone. And very scared. Giving up the baby felt like the right thing to do.”

“Did the kid ever try to find you?” another girl asked. “Oh, I’m Kim.”

“Yes,” Veronica said. “Very recently too. I’d left my contact information with the adoption agency and the Maine State Adoption Reunion Registry.”

“It must be weird when the kid you think you’ll never see again suddenly comes back into your life,” another girl said.

“It brings up a lot of old memories, that’s for sure.”

“Remember that blond chick who came by a couple of weeks
ago, the one who said she was born here in the parking lot?” Kim said to another girl who had serious attitude in her blue eyes. She looked angry and conflicted, and Veronica made a mental note to be available to talk to her during the pie tasting. Some girls needed to ease into asking the questions they most wanted answers to. “She was trying to decide if she wanted to contact her birth mother.”

Veronica froze. They were talking about Bea. No doubt about it. Bea had said she’d come here.

“I felt bad for her,” Allison said.

“Omigod, Jen, remember how you threw your turkey sandwich at her for making Kim cry?”

“Not my proudest moment, but I was so pissed at her for not knowing how she felt. How could you not know how you feel? She shouldn’t have come here.”

It killed Veronica to think of Bea, who seemed not to have a mean bone in her body, getting yelled at, getting a sandwich thrown at her. Bea must have felt awful.

“Everything is a learning opportunity,” Larissa said.

“I’m going to be very, very honest,” Veronica said. “I think that girl you’re talking about is my birth daughter. Long, blond hair? Brown eyes? Tall?”

“Omigod, yes,” Jen said.

Veronica nodded. “We did finally meet and I’m so glad.”

“I like knowing that someday my baby will try to find me,” Kim said. “I know you don’t, Jen, but twenty years from now, you might feel totally differently.”

“Doubt it,” Jen said. She turned to Veronica. “So what now? You’re suddenly all mother-daughter?”

“We’re working on just getting to know each other.”

Jen glanced around at the other girls, then back at Veronica. “Can I ask you questions about your family? My mother hates my guts for embarrassing her. Apparently, everyone knows and she had to quit her country club.”

“My family wasn’t supportive. Some families are. I had friends here whose mothers and fathers would visit a few times a week. It made me feel awful, but it made me want to find my own happiness, you know?”

“So what did you do?”

“I decided what I wanted for myself. To travel, see the country.”

“I want to move to California. The second I’m eighteen, I’m out of Maine,” Jen said.

“What about the father,” Allison asked. “Is he still in the picture?”

“No,” Veronica said. “He told me it couldn’t possibly be his baby. And I never saw him again. I think he was scared to death and used his fear to turn on me.”

“God,” Kim said, glancing at a girl with long, brown hair who looked to be around five or six months pregnant. “That’s like Jordan, Lizzie.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Lizzie said. “I’m trying to totally forget he ever existed.”

“Did you?” Jen asked Veronica. “Forget he existed?”

“No. But I tried also.” She glanced at Lizzie. “It got better, though. I pushed a lot of it out of my mind, willed myself to forget. But I’ll tell you something. It’s important to deal with your feelings, let them out, cry if you feel like crying, ask questions if
you have them. If I could go back and change something, you know what it would be?”

They all stared at her.

“I would have opened up more to people. Told them what I’d been through. Talked about it. I wouldn’t have hidden it. I wouldn’t have thought it was something to be ashamed of. I would have talked about how scary it all was.”

“Well, Jen never shuts up,” Kim said, “so she won’t have that problem.”

Jen threw her squeezy ball at Kim, and everyone laughed.

The girls continued to ask questions and Veronica was as honest as she could be without instilling any real fear or worry. She liked being here, liked listening, liked talking to them.

“You were wonderful,” Larissa said as she walked Veronica to the kitchen, where Veronica would bake three pies and give a lesson to whoever wanted to learn the fine art of pie baking.

“Thank you. I used to be one of them. So it was easy.” As she was about to go into the kitchen, she turned back. “Oh, Larissa. I heard there was a reporter writing an article on Hope Home. If you have her contact info, I’d like to talk to her.”

I would have opened up more to people. Told them what I’d been through. Talked about it. I wouldn’t have hidden it
.

Now she’d take her own advice.

The moment Veronica arrived home, she called, Gemma, who wanted to talk to her right away. They’d be meeting here in a few hours. As Veronica headed into her living room to tidy up for the interview, she suddenly thought of cherries.

Cherries, with their beautiful deep red color, their burst of
sweet and tart flavor, the way they’d always reminded her of tiny hearts, especially when there were two on a stem.

And even though she’d made quite a few pies at Hope Home this morning, she had one more pie in her.

A cherry pie. Henceforth known as Colin Firth Pie.

Veronica went into her kitchen, her head clear, her heart warm.