Restoration (17 page)

Chapter 18

Take leave. Sick, vacation, unpaid. These were Grace’s only options until the investigation was over and the project was either reinstated to the firm or given to a different architect. Bidwell told her that because of the fatality, there would be a longer delay while the investigation ran. In order to show that the firm was cooperative, she had to be placed on leave. Her heart almost stopped when she heard the time frame: two to three months.

She only had a few weeks of vacation saved up and about the same for sick leave. That meant at best one month unpaid, but probably two. At least she was rent-free at her parents’ house for as long as she needed.

Over the next two weeks, her mood went from bad to worse. Tendrils of depression began taking hold almost without her awareness. It started with excessive sleeping, then graduated to long days of TV and junk food in her pajamas. Her company-issued international phone was disconnected and without contact to the outside world, she rapidly became a hermit.

Back to a regular stateside phone plan, she and Drew kept in contact using Skype and social media, but it just wasn’t the same as being able to touch him, feel the scratch of his stubble on her skin, or run her fingers through his hair.

“Mark, I’m telling you, something isn’t right.” She overheard her parents whispering in the kitchen.

“Of course something’s wrong, Abby. She just lost the biggest project of her career.”

“No, this is different. It’s worse than when John died. She’s practically comatose.”

“Leave her alone. She’ll come out of it.”

“I don’t know. I think there’s more going on here.”

Lifting herself from the couch, she walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. As her parents caught sight of her, they immediately clammed up and focused on arbitrary chores.

“I’m going to shower and go to the store. What do you want for dinner?” she asked pointedly.

“Um . . . Well, honey, I guess whatever you want,” her mom said.

“I’ll figure something out. Lasagna, maybe.”

Her shower was quick and she was back downstairs, grabbing the keys to the old truck in fifteen minutes flat. As she picked up her purse, her mom rushed into the room, purse and keys already in hand.

“Come on, I’m driving.”

Grace rolled her eyes.

“I’m not taking
no
for an answer, Grace.”

Feeling like a petulant child, she trudged along behind her mother. They didn’t head to the store as she’d planned; her mom drove them to a small bistro called The Lighthouse for lunch.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Grace said as she looked around the familiar sea-inspired decor.

Fishing nets were artfully displayed, along with bulbs from old lighthouses. The bistro was warm with the fireplace blazing and the windows closed. Her mother led them to the same cozy and worn leather chairs they always sat in and immediately ordered a glass of wine, an antipasto plate, and a chicken salad for each of them.

“Mother, it’s only a little after noon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, darling, and we’re going to be here for a while. I’ve got to pull you out of whatever this is.” She motioned in Grace’s direction.

“I’m fine.”

Her mother leveled her eyes on her. “Bull-shit.”

“Mom!” Grace coughed on her water.

“Well, it is. Something big is bothering you and it’s not work.”

The waitress arrived with their wine and antipasto. She gingerly set the items on the coffee table in front of them. They ate and drank in silence, Grace picking at her food and her mom casting concerned glances in her direction.

“All right. Who is he?”

Grace took a deep breath. She wondered how to tell her mom about Drew without sounding like a complete crazy person.

“His name is Drew.”

Her mom nodded and settled in for the story.

“Mom, there’s something about him that makes this all very . . . different.”

“Was he formerly a woman?”

“No! No, nothing like that. It’s just, well . . .” She fished her phone out of her purse and pulled up a picture. “Here.”

“Grace? This is John. Oh, honey.” She had a look of pity and worry on her face.

“No, Mom.
That
is Drew. They’re identical. I . . . I think they might be twins.”

“Really?” She took a drink of her wine and frowned. “But I never heard John was adopted and I can’t imagine Marianne ever giving up a child.”

“Drew was adopted at two months old. They’ve also got the same birthday.”

Her mom chewed on a torn cuticle. “Have you talked to Marianne?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I think I will soon, though.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I am.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Oh, Mom, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I move on?”

“Why do you love him?”

“What?”

“Tell me why? Is it because he looks like John?”

“No. I mean, it started that way. That’s why I noticed him.” She took a shuddering breath. “Drew’s so different, though. He cares about
me
, what happens to
me
, the things
I
like. He wants me to be part of his whole life. He’s open and honest. He doesn’t need to be everyone’s hero.”

Before long, she’d told her mom all about Drew, his family, his mother’s death, the grocery deliveries, and the trip to Edinburgh.

“All right, then. I’m pretty sure you
have
moved on, Gracie.”

Grace started crying, her face contorting into an ugly mask.

“Honey?”

“I’m . . . I didn’t tell him.”

“What?”

“About John. That they’re the same.”

“I see.” Her mom looked down at the floor. “Honey, that’s a big secret to keep from someone.”

“I know. I kept telling myself I needed to wait until I was sure . . . sure they were related. But I think I was really just afraid he’d reject me.”

“Well, that’s sort of the point. Honesty is scary, but if you really love someone, you have to take the risk. What were you going to do? Avoid all of us forever?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” She put her head in her hands. “Maybe.”

“Honey, you’ve got to tell him. If you love him, you can’t build a life with something as big as this looming.”

Grace raised watery eyes to her mother’s face. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Finish up and let’s go.” She smiled and patted her gently. “It’ll be all right.”

After lunch with her mom, she felt better—physically and mentally. As the weeks passed, she set a routine for herself; running, reading, and planning her next move at the firm. She decided to continue her preliminary plans for the church in Braley. She wanted to be prepared with good work to present when Bidwell put her back on the project. The idea that she might not return to Braley wasn’t acceptable and every time she thought about it a sense of anxiety took hold.

She and Valerie were making a habit of having casual lunch meetings. Valerie was still working, having been assigned to another architect at the firm, so her availability was slim. Most days consisted of research and chit-chat over lunch, occasionally Valerie mentioned Drew.

“Thank you.”

Valerie raised her eyes from her lunch. “For what?”

“Everything. This . . .” Grace motioned to the work they were doing. “Drew and John . . . you’re always there to pick me up when I need it.”

“I don’t know why you still haven’t told him.”

“I’m working on that. I just need a little more time.”

Grace’s fingers itched as she picked up the phone and dial
ed the familiar number for the Oliver household. It rang once before Marianne’s voice came over the line, still authoritative and demanding.

“Oliver residence, can I help you?”

“Mari? It’s Grace.”

“Gracie? Oh, my. I can’t believe it’s you! How are you? How’s London?”

“Actually, I’m home for a while. There was an accident at the site and we had to shut down for a few months.”

“Well, why are you calling me? You should have just stopped by.”

“Can I? I’ve got some questions for you.”

“Of course. I’m just staying around here for the day. Come when you’re ready.” Grace could hear the excitement in the woman’s voice and immediately felt guilty, knowing she would be treading on sensitive ground.

Dressed in a pair of comfy old jeans and a light purple sweater, she headed out to the Oliver’s house. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, but without Drew there to tangle his fingers in it or tell her how much he loved it, the fierce wind only made her wish for a haircut. John’s parents lived three short blocks away from her own family home, but the cold weather made her think she should have driven. She was shivering in her heavy coat by the time she rang their bell.

The door opened to reveal Marianne looking healthier and happier than she had in the last year and a half.

“Gracie!” She enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug and pulled her into the living room. “Sit, sit. I’ve made tea, although I’m sure it’s not up to par with what you’re used to.”

Grace eyed the tea tray placed
just so
on the coffee table and smiled.

“That was sweet of you, Mari,” she said as she lowered herself onto one of the overstuffed chairs.

“So, tell me, what’s been going on? I didn’t know you were back.”

Grace reached to pour some tea and noticed the distinctive pattern of roses and thistle. “Where did you get this teapot?”

“Oh, I think I must have had this for over thirty years now. We lived in Scotland when the boys were little.”

“Really? Was John born there?”

Marianne took a sip of her tea and nodded. “Mm-hm. He lived there for just a few months before we came back to the States. We were there for two years before he was born.”

“Mari, was John adopted?”

Marianne coughed and spluttered on her tea. “Wh . . . Who . . . Why would you ask that?”

“Something I came across while I was gone.”

“We never told him or the boys.” Her face was ashen. “I couldn’t have any more babies after Michael. I think Alex remembers when John came home but he . . . he was only four at the time and Michael was practically a baby himself.”

Grace’s heart flipped in both excitement and terror. “He never said anything to me about it. I don’t think he suspected.”

“Oh, we went through those times. Every kid thinks they might be adopted at one point or another in their lives. We decided to lie rather than deal with his questions. Worst mistake of my life.”

Grace reached out her hand. “He loved you. You did what you thought was right.”

Marianne nodded and stood, gathering the tea tray. “I hope he thought so. Please don’t tell the boys.”

Grace shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Marianne looked at her watch uncomfortably and Grace took that as a cue to leave.

“Well, I suppose I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she said, reaching to help her with the tea tray. “I want to do some digging about John’s ancestry. Would I be able to see his birth certificate or at least know his surname at birth?”

“I . . . I only have the birth certificate that lists his adopted name. The original is sealed and can’t be accessed without a court order. I do remember his name at birth was Baby Boy McDonald, in Edinburgh.”

“Thanks, Mari,” she said as she hugged her tight, then turned to head home, ready to begin her research.

The process of unearthing birth records in Scotland was easier than she expected. She had to sign up and pay to view the records, but once she typed in the year and surname, there it was. Proof. Baby Boy McDonald and Baby Boy McDonald stacked on top of each other on her computer screen. The records didn’t show the exact date, but this was enough information for her to make an educated guess. She knew they shared a birthday, they were both adopted, both born in Scotland.

She picked up the phone and dialed Valerie.

“Grace? It’s two o’clock in the morning.” Valerie’s sleepy voice was thin over the phone.

“They’re twins. I’ve just confirmed it.”

“What? How?”

“Marianne told me everything. She gave me the name he was born with, so I searched, and there he was. Both of them.”

“Wow.” Valerie was silent for a moment. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ve got to tell Drew. I can’t do it over the phone, though.”

“Back to Braley, then?”

“Back to Braley.”

“Grace? Can I go back to sleep now?” Valerie yawned over the phone.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She was awake bright and early the next morning, planning for the conversation with Drew that loomed. She pulled on her running clothes and grabbed her earbuds before heading downstairs to greet her parents. Her mom was still in her robe, reaching for a mug from the cabinet.

“Morning, honey. Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m heading out for a run.”

“You seem like you’re in a good mood.”

“I know now, Mom. I found it all last night. They’re twins. I’m going to fly back and tell Drew. I just have to get a ticket.”

Before her mom could say anything, she waved and dashed out, keys in hand, to the beach. Her heart was filled with a different kind of anxiety as she ran. The weather was turning from a grim February to a beautiful March, the slightly warmer temperatures bringing early blooms of star-shaped blue and pink clusters.

Grace set her phone on silent while she ran, wanting no interruptions. Her pace was easy and the muscles in her legs stretched smoothly. She let her fantasies run away with her. Her thoughts were of Drew greeting her at the airport. Reuniting was always the best part of any absence. But most of all, she thought of finally telling him the truth about John and how she felt. Before long, she found herself on the tail end of a five-mile run, sweaty, breathing heavily, and happy.