The Man She Left Behind (17 page)

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Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
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But it demanded occupation. Anything to get her mind off last night.
I’ll save that for tonight when I’m lying alone in bed, thinking of Spence—thinking of me. Yeah, sure. Or maybe he’s busy thinking of Jen. No, no, get real, Randall. That’s over. Has been for a long, long time.
Leigh wandered into the hallway, stopping at the table and mirror to see if she looked any different from yesterday. Because she certainly
felt
different. She stared at herself. Same black hair, tied in a messy knot at the moment; same nose, eyebrows thick and arched. Long lashes framing dark eyes—pieces of coal, Pete used to call them. Nothing much to rave about or turn heads—unlike Jen. Leigh smiled.
Who cares about len. anyway? Not you,
she reminded her reflection.
After last night, the things he said? The things he did?
Leigh shivered. She touched her lip with the tip of her index finger, tracing its contours the way Spencer’s tongue had. Closed her eyes. Felt the current play up and down her spine. Her eyes flashed open.
Okay. Find something to do.
A make-work project to take her mind off last night’s make-love event She gave herself one last glance, deciding that the pallor of an all-night session required a workout and turned to head upstairs. But something at the corner of her eye stopped her. Craning her neck sharply to the left, she caught the blurred image of a person standing on the other side of the front screen door.
Watching her.
Leigh jumped. She walked slowly to the door, putting together the outline of a woman the closer she got
“Have you come about the house?” Leigh asked through the screen.
“The house?” The woman looked behind her, seeming to notice the For Sale sign for the first time. “Oh. Yes.”
Leigh pushed open the door. The woman was about her own height. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in some kind of knot, and her hazel eyes were fixed on Leigh’s. In her early fifties, she might have been an attractive woman if she wasn’t dressed so soberly and wore a little makeup. She didn’t return Leigh’s smile, but stared as though trying to memorize details of her face.
“Evan said he’d call to let me know you were coming. Is he with you?”
“Who’s Evan?”
Leigh was beginning to wish she hadn’t opened the door. Perhaps the woman wasn’t there about the house, but rather soliciting something. “The real-estate agent. You
have
come about the house, haven’t you?”
The woman nodded slowly. “The house caught my eye, yes. It’s a beautiful place. Shame you’re selling it.”
Leigh waited. When the woman didn’t continue, she said, “I assume you’re here alone.”
Another nod. The eyes still hadn’t moved from Leigh’s face. She was starting to feel uncomfortable. “I guess it’ll be all right to let you in and show you around. Evan told me you had some questions about the house.”
Not to mention its owner.
“Please. I’d like to come in. I’ve come a long way and it’s very hot today.”
Leigh held open the door while the woman stepped into the foyer. “Perhaps you’d like a cold glass of water before I show you around?” Leigh suggested.
“Yes. That would be wonderful.”
Leigh hesitated, then stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Leigh Randall, by the way. This is my parents’ home, but, well...” she stammered under the woman’s gaze, “I’m the owner now.”
“I know.” The woman nodded again, then seemed to remember her manners. She extended her own hand and added, “Janet Bradley’s the name.”
Her handshake was firm and confident, though her palm was damp. Leigh withdrew hers and surreptitiously wiped it across the back of her shorts. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me? We can start the tour from there.”
She led the way along the short hall, past the entrance to the dining and living rooms. “The staircase splits the house, as you can see. The kitchen is behind the dining room and leads out to a deck.”
“It’s lovely and cool,” the woman murmured.
“The house rarely heats up. There’s a lot of crossventilation upstairs, as well as high ceilings. We seldom needed a fan, even in the hottest part of the summer. The breezes from the ocean and the Sound across the back keep it cool.”
“You’ve lived here all your life, then?”
“I grew up here, but I went to college on the mainland. After graduation, I got a job in New York City. I’ve lived there for the past seven years.”
“So you live there now?”
“Yes. Well, this is the kitchen,” Leigh announced, stepping aside for her. “You can see it’s fairly modern. I must admit the work was done about twenty years ago, but everything’s in good shape. My father was a real handyman.”
“He.
was?”
The emphasis in the question made it sound as though Ms. Bradley knew otherwise. Leigh studied her as she scanned the room. She didn’t appear to be as interested in the room as Leigh had expected. When her eyes landed back on Leigh’s face, Leigh swooped over to the sink.
“I’ll get you that glass of water. The island has a water-desalination plant now, but when I was small we still used the cistern out back. Here. You’ll find it surprisingly cold.”
The woman took a tiny sip. Then she smiled. It seemed a genuine, if hesitant smile.
“It is good,” she agreed, and placed the glass on the table without drinking any more.
“Well, then,” Leigh slapped her hands against her thighs. A little too heartily, she thought. “Would you like to see the rest of the house now?”
Janet Bradley shook her head. “Not yet. Would you mind if I just sat here for a moment?” She pulled out a chair and sat down before Leigh could reply.
Maybe she walked from the ferry and is suffering from heatstroke.
That would explain her odd manner. “Do you have a car? Or did you walk?”
A single eyebrow lifted. “Heavens no! I have a car. Well, it’s a rental, really. Won’t you sit down, too?”
In my own house? Don’t mind if I do.
The woman’s behavior was beginning to get to her, and Leigh could hardly wait to call Evan on the phone. Why hadn’t he come with her?
She sat across from the woman and was about to comment on Evan’s absence when Janet leaned across the table and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Actually I haven’t come about the house.”
Leigh straightened in her chair. Gooseflesh sprung up along her forearms.
The woman plunked her beige leather purse onto the table and unclipped it. She poked through the purse until she retrieved a folded segment of newspaper. Then she carefully spread it out on the table. It was the article Mary Ann had written about Leigh’s return to Ocracoke for the
Island Breeze.
Leigh stared down at it, seeing it for the first time, and then looked back up at Janet Bradley.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“This is how I found you,” the woman explained. “I couldn’t believe my luck. I mean, I’ve been looking for so long and then suddenly, there you are. Staring up at me from the newspaper I read every month.”
The hairs on the nape of Leigh’s neck stood up. She glanced around the room. Where had she left the darn cell phone?
“I can see I’m going a bit fast for you,” Janet said. “That’s always been a problem of mine, I’m afraid. Assuming people can read my mind,” she added, and smiled.
It was a brighter warmer smile. More of a take-charge smile that set Leigh at ease. The woman was strange, but not crazy, she decided. “I admit to being a tad confused.”
“I did call about the house, but to be honest, I’m not really interested in buying it.”
“Oh?”
“I should have written or telephoned, but sometimes these things are better said in person, don’t you think?”
“What things?”
Janet’s brows raised in surprise. “Why, reunions.”
“I still don’t get it. Who’s being reunited?”
The smile became a little less assertive. Janet leaned back in her chair. After a moment she said, “I’ve been looking for you for a long long time, Leigh. It’s been...very difficult, to say the least. So when I got my copy of the June
Island Breeze
and went over it until I was certain it was you, I knew I’d have to move very cautiously. That’s how these things have to be done, you see. Carefully, so’s not to upset the parties.”
Leigh pushed back her chair and crossed to the sink. She poured herself a glass of water, tempted to dump it over her head to clear her mind. She took a long drink, then counted to ten. More composed, she returned to the kitchen table but didn’t sit down. If she stood, perhaps the woman would get the hint and cut her bizarre story short.
“Okay,” Leigh announced. “You saw the article Mary Ann wrote. She’s an old friend,” she explained at Janet’s puzzled expression. “The reporter who did the story. And when you read it, you recognized me.”
“Yes!”
“Where have we met? That’s the part I haven’t got yet.”
Janet shook her head vehemently. “We haven’t met. Today’s the first time!”
The excitement in her voice slowed Leigh down.
Don’t blow up,
she warned herself.
This woman really seems thrilled to have met me. Heaven knows why.
Leigh put the empty glass on the table and folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve lost me again,” she said, not bothering to hide her impatience.
“I made inquiries at the real-estate office about the house to get directions. And to make sure it was really you. You see—” her voice fell to a stage whisper “—I knew you were somewhere in the Outer Banks and always knew the Randalls had adopted you, but I just never had the chance to follow through on my investigation.”
“Investigation?”
“My search. For my daughter. For
you.”
The kitchen tilted. Leigh pulled out the chair and sat down. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to erase the pounding. She reached for the glass, but it was empty.
Water isn’t what you want now, anyway.
Janet Bradley’s smile was sympathetic. “I’m sorry. It is a bit of a shock. There doesn’t seem to be any normal way of doing this sort of thing.”
Leigh looked across the table. She took a calming breath and said, “You think I’m your daughter. Is that it?”
“You
are
my daughter. I gave birth to you almost thirty-three years ago. At the time I was only a girl myself. Too young to bear the responsibility.” A frown darkened her face. “Your father left before you were even born, and my own parents wanted nothing to do with me. That’s how things were in those days.”
The words flew at Leigh, but made no sense. “What makes you think I’m your daughter?”
“You were adopted by Peter and Ellen Randall.”
She could have gotten their names from anyone in Ocracoke. Slow down, Randall.
“What...what papers do you have?”
“Papers?”
Leigh shrugged. “Papers to prove you’re my mother.”
Janet gave a sad smile. “They don’t give you papers, my dear. You only sign them. The adoptive parents take the papers. Surely you have them?”
Leigh’s mind made a quick replay of the past week. She’d tossed the adoption certificate onto the pile of stuff to go to the dump, hadn’t she? She groaned.
“Are you all right?” Janet was asking. “I know this has been a bit of a shock.”
Leigh felt her eyes narrow.
I’m not ready yet to say you’re my mother.
“What did you think when you didn’t get a reply to your letter?”
“The letter?”
“The letter you sent to the adoption agency. Years ago, to say you wanted to make contact with me.”
Janet ducked her head. She reached for her purse and put it on her lap. Leigh waited while she flicked through it, then brought out a tissue. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. When she raised her face to Leigh again, the tip of her nose and her eyes were red.
For the first time a feeling of pity pulled at Leigh.
Whoever she is, she obviously wants to believe I’m her daughter.
“What did you think when you received the letter?” the woman countered.
Leigh swallowed hard. The unexpected question threw her. “I...I never received it. My parents did, but I just found out about it the other day.”
Janet reached out a hand to pat Leigh’s forearm.
“At the time it came—the spring before I turned fifteen,” Leigh went on, “my father was in the first stages of Alzheimer’s. We didn’t know it then, but my mother obviously knew something was seriously wrong with him. I...I’m certain she couldn’t bear to have the complication of...” She hesitated.
“A birth mother appearing on her doorstep.”
Leigh uncovered her face and raised her eyes to the woman across from her. For a moment compassion linked them. “Yes,” she murmured.
“Could I see the letter?”
What harm could it do? Leigh asked herself. Even if the woman wasn’t her mother, she was certainly sincere and caring. They’d have tea and chat and then she’d be on her way.

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