The View from Prince Street (19 page)

“You need to tell the girls how you feel, Diane.”

“I will.”

“You keep your distance from them, they'll be grown and out the door before you know it.”

I leaned forward, straightening a wrinkle on the lap blanket warming her. I wanted to understand my mother and how she could have turned away from her two children. Why had she stiffened when I hugged her? Why did she never smile?

“It's not Jennifer's and Rae's fault your son died.”

I froze. “My son?”

“I know it was a terrible blow losing your firstborn. But don't let that shadow what you have with the girls.”

My mother had another child? A brother born before me? Suddenly too many pieces tumbled into place. Tremendous love that opened a heart and then grief that tore it to shreds—this I understood. “I don't know how to love.” I was my mother. She was me. “I've been this way for so long—I don't think I can change.”

Amelia patted my hand with her wrinkled bent fingers. “You just need to try.”

“What if I do try to love and still don't feel anything?” If the time came, could I hug the boy and tell him I loved him?

Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepened as she smiled. “Don't worry about the emotion. It will catch up to the action.”

“I think all the good feelings inside me are dead. Atrophied away.”

“They'll bloom as soon as you shine a little light on them. They'll open up like flower petals. They've always been there.”

Again, the ice cracked and shifted, and shoring it up took more work than I expected.

Amelia looked at me for a long moment, blinked, and smiled. She was back, at least for the moment. “Rae.”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Did I ever tell you about my birth mother, Fiona?”

Shifts in conversation were the norm for Amelia now. Her memories were becoming precious few, so when one flitted across her mind, she grabbed on to it for as long as she could. “No.”

Nodding, she looked relieved and grateful her memory was validated. “She was a pretty woman. Did you know she was an actress and a singer before she came back to Alexandria to teach in the late 1940s?”

“I didn't know that.”

“She sang in a club in Washington, D.C. She wore a slinky red dress, long white gloves, and sparkly earrings. I found publicity stills of her. She was a showstopper.”

“How did you know that?” I asked.

“I hired a detective once. I wanted to know about her.”

“Why?”

She squeezed my hand and sat back in her seat. “I don't think you'd understand.”

I leaned toward her and whispered, “I might understand better than you think.”

“Girls don't think of their mothers as real women with full lives.”

“That's understandable. Many women put the needs of their family before their own,” I said.

“I wanted to tell your mother so many times about Fiona, but I never had the courage.”

I squeezed her hand gently. “I know Fiona had two daughters, not one. She gave up the first daughter because she lost her husband.”

Amelia tugged the threads of her blanket. “Your mother and I were half sisters.”

“That's wonderful. I can't think of a better aunt to have. And I know Fiona must have loved both her daughters with all her heart. I know she loved you.”

Amelia shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and when they spilled down her cheeks she didn't bother to wipe them away. “I'm not so sure about that. You see, Fiona could have tried to get me back, but she never did.”

Time had not healed this little girl's wound. “Fiona did what she thought was best for you, Amelia. She put you before herself and accepted her fate of carrying that burden the rest of her life.”

“She never came back for me.” Her voice softened. “Never.”

“Maybe she was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of you hating her.”

Her watery eyes filled with shattering hope. “I never would have hated her.”

I leaned close, staring at her until she looked up at me. “Fiona did what she did for love. It might not have felt like it, Amelia, but she put you ahead of herself. We have to believe that.”

Amelia's gaze grew hazy and she looked away, pulling her hand from mine. “I'm tired. I need to go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Gently, I helped Amelia from her chair and guided her back to her bed. She slid under her covers and I tucked them close to her chin. She closed her eyes and turned her face from mine, embarrassed and hurt. She looked so small.

After kissing her gently on the cheek, I left the room, determined now to find out why Fiona never returned for her child.

Dearest Mother,

My daughter, Hanna, is healthy and carries a lusty cry in her lungs. The witch was my only source of comfort during the long labor, and throughout it, she continued to feed me potions and teas that eased my pain. She was there to catch the babe and when she saw that it was a girl, her face grew pensive. When she told my husband the child was a girl, he left the house, slamming the door behind him. My milk did not return as it had for the other babes, and when the child grew hungry it was the witch that took her to her breast. Whatever potion or magic flows through her milk silenced the babe. I cried until I drifted off to sleep.

—P

Rae McDonald

S
ATURDAY
, A
UGUST
20, 9:00
A.M.

Dr. McDonald,

Can we meet in person? My mom says it's okay but she wants to be there.

Michael Holloway

A
s I stared at the e-mail, my heart thundered in my chest, pounding and banging into the ice. I reached out and touched the computer screen, tracing the boy's name. I reached for my cell phone and dialed the only number that made sense.

She answered on the third ring. “Rae?”

“Lisa.” I stared at the computer screen. Thoughts raced. Collided. “Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“I'd rather not do this over the phone.”

“Yeah, sure. I rescheduled the real estate agent and she's coming by the house in about two hours. I'm cleaning like a mad woman, so I'm here.”

“I can come by your place, then?” I asked.

“Sure. Are you okay?”

“I just need to talk.”

“Come on by,” Lisa said.

“I'll see you in a half hour.”

“Sure.”

I barely remembered the drive as I pulled onto the cobblestoned section of Prince Street and found a spot several townhomes down the block from Lisa's house. I hurried up the street, my head ducked. When I knocked using the brass door knocker, I flashed back to the last time I'd stood on this porch. I was with Jennifer, who was irritated that Mom had insisted I spend the day with her. Jennifer wanted to see her friend, Lisa, to talk boys and parties, but not be saddled with her kid sister. I'd been excited to hang out with my big sister and her friend.

As I knocked, desperation bubbled to the surface. Inside, footsteps echoed in the hallway and a dog barked. The door swung open.

Lisa had pulled up her hair and twisted it into a loose topknot. The hem of an oversized gray shirt was knotted at her narrow waist and she wore cutoff jeans. Her feet were bare, but a gold ring winked from the second toe of her right foot. Standing beside her was Charlie, barking in a halfhearted attempt to be tough.

She blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “It's okay, Charlie. It's Rae.”

I relaxed my grip on my purse strap, trying to appear calm. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, it's not. Charlie and I were just hanging out.” She grabbed the dog's collar and tugged him aside so that I could enter. “Come on in.”

I slid past Charlie, who was still sizing me up. “It smells like pine cleaner.”

“Yeah, like I said on the phone, I was cleaning up for the real estate agent. Amelia's attorney is bringing her by at eleven.”

“This really isn't a good time, is it?”

“The time is perfect. Coffee?”

“No thanks.”

She studied me, searching for reasons for the visit. “Okay. Well, come and sit in the parlor.”

The house was narrow and divided in half by a center hallway. On the left was a front parlor decorated with pale colors on the walls, sleek window treatments and lovely modern furniture. Most homes in this area drew on the colonial era for their color choices. Dark blues, greens, dark woods. I'd never loved that color scheme, which I had also inherited with my house. It was the reason I'd repainted many of the rooms, although I'd left some—time capsules for the sake of history.

“When did Amelia redecorate? The house was darker when your parents owned it.”

“A few years ago. We'd talked about wiring and plumbing that needed upgrades but I had no idea how expensive an overhaul can be.”

We moved into the side parlor. Lisa settled on an overstuffed couch and immediately curled her legs up under her, whereas I sat on a more angled chair and kept my back straight. Charlie jumped up on the couch beside Lisa and laid his head in her lap.

“It appears she put the redecorating money to good use,” I said.

“All her changes were tasteful and should increase the home's value.”

I studied her face. “You look well. Healthy. I noticed it yesterday. There's color in your skin.”

“I was drinking heavily right before I left Alexandria,” Lisa said.

“Ah. AA has been good for you?”

“It was a lifesaver.”

“The last time we really talked all those years ago was a tough time,” I said.

“I remember,” Lisa said.

In this room, alone with her, I could say what so few people knew about me. “I was about to give birth.”

“Yeah. I have to admit, that surprised me.”

“Not what everyone expected of Dr. Rae McDonald.”

Lisa's gaze softened. “Who I am I to judge?”

I shifted in my seat, taking a moment to straighten the crease of my pants. “I had a boy.”

Lisa nodded. “I wondered, but didn't want to ask. I didn't know who knew what.”

“Thank you. Very few people know. You, my mother, and a few others.”

She leaned a little closer, her expression so accepting. “You said a boy?”

Tears tightened my throat. “His name is Michael.”

“You always liked that name.” Charlie nudged her hand with his nose, and she began to rub him between the ears.

“I wanted to be the one to give the boy his name,” I said.

“That's very understandable.”

“As you can imagine, my mother was not thrilled with the pregnancy. And I certainly can't blame her after losing Jennifer.”

Lisa raised her chin a notch, as if she'd been struck. “Yeah.”

“A great couple adopted the boy. A part of me wanted to keep him, but Mother wouldn't hear of it. She insisted I would be ruining both his life and mine.”

“You were only a teenager at the time, Rae. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I plucked at the seam of my skirt. “I always wondered . . .”

“What?”

Clearing my throat, I searched for the right words. “I think I could have done a good job raising him, if given a little help from my mother.”

Nodding, her expression softened. “I've no doubt. You were always the kind sister.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Don't get me wrong, I loved Jennifer, but she and I were very selfish kids,” Lisa said. “We did only what made us feel good, and neither one of us gave much thought to anyone else.”

“You were seventeen. That's fairly natural.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we were just selfish and spoiled and would have continued to be well into adulthood if life hadn't bitch-slapped us.”

“An odd way of putting it,” I offered.

“I've never figured out a nice way to say it.”

“No, I suppose not.” Normally, I was the one sitting on the other side of a conversation like this. I listened to my clients as they unpacked their burdens. I helped them find a way to feel better, to cope and perhaps mend. And yet I couldn't help myself.

“What brought you here today, Rae?” Lisa asked.

“I went to see Amelia last night. She thought I was my mother.”

Lisa rolled her head from side to side. “She often mentions that Diane comes to visit. The resemblance is uncanny and she gets confused.”

“I know. I understood, even expected that.”

“But . . .”

“She talked about Fiona. She wanted to know why her birth mother never came back for her.”

Lisa studied me closely. “And you thought about your son.”

“The boy, Michael, sent me an e-mail. He saw the article in the paper about me.”

“You have never had contact with him before?”

“Not him. His mother has been sending me pictures and short notes about him each year on his birthday. But I only just had the courage to open her letters.”

“But you did open them.”

“I did.”

“Does he look like you?” Lisa asked.

Pride flickered. “He does. His hair is auburn.”

“I bet he's handsome.”

“He is.”

“Rae, if you don't mind me asking, who is his birth father?”

The direct question caught me a little off guard, but it really shouldn't have. Lisa had always had a painful bluntness that could make you cringe and laugh all in the same instant.

“His name is Dan Chesterfield.”

“I remember the Chesterfield family. Did he have an older brother, Tim?”

“He did. Dan and I hooked up, if that's what you want to call it, shortly after Jennifer died.”

“He would have been a senior?” Lisa asked.

“He was,” I said.

“Did you tell him about the baby?” Lisa asked.

“I didn't tell anyone about the baby until I was into my third trimester. Classic case of denial.”

“The Chesterfields had big plans for their sons.”

“Both have gone on to do some very impressive work,” I said. “Dan is now an engineer in Fairfax County, with his eye on making a run for the state senate one day. His brother is a surgeon, I think.”

“Well, isn't he the man.”

“Perhaps.”

“And a baby didn't fit into his big plan,” Lisa surmised.

“No. My mother spoke with his parents and arrangements were made.”

“Did he ever see the baby or contact you?”

“No. I haven't seen him since high school. After we had sex, I was too embarrassed to speak to him and he wasn't interested in talking to me. He wasn't looking for love.”

“But you were.”

Looking back at that teenaged girl, it was easy to distance myself. “I was so lonely then. Jennifer and Dad were gone and Mom was emotionally shut down. We both found our ways to deal with our grief.”

Lisa was silent for a moment as she fiddled with a ring on her index finger. She allowed a heavy breath to escape between her teeth. “You said the boy wants to see you. That's a good thing, right?”

Nerves twisted and turned in my belly. “It's natural for him to want to understand his biological family.”

“It's got to be more than that, Rae. You carried him for nine months. You gave him life. Without you, he would not be here.”

“Yes.”

“So what's the issue?”

“He wants to meet, but I'm afraid.”

Her head cocked with disbelief. “What are you afraid of?”

“I'm afraid . . .” Words that echoed Amelia's fears stuck in my throat until I finally wrestled them free. “I worry he won't like me. That he'll be angry.”

“Why would he be angry?”

Again the words hitched. “Because I gave him away.”

“You gave him to parents who would love him.”

I shook my head. “Adoption is filled with emotion. Feelings aren't always black-and-white.”

“You weren't always so logical, Rae. Serious, yes. But you used to laugh and cry. At your dad's funeral, your mother and sister didn't shed a tear, but you cried.”

“And I remember feeling very foolish,” I said. “Out of control.”

“Human, alive.”

“Maybe. But I'm not that person anymore. I've become my mother.”

“You aren't Diane,” Lisa said.

“How can you say that?”

“Because Diane wouldn't be sitting here talking like this. She'd be in denial cleaning a closet or scrubbing a floor.”

“I considered doing the same when I first read his e-mail.”

“But you didn't.” She leaned forward. “Addie said our ancestors' wishes have become our curses.”

“Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm destined to be like all the women in my family.”

“Can't be that much fun, keeping all your thoughts buried.”

“I never thought about it before.”

Lisa settled her feet on the floor. “How can I help?”

“Michael.” I paused. “I'm still not used to saying his name out loud.”

“That's a shame, Rae. It's a great name, and it's okay to love him.”

None of this felt okay. “He's not my child. I gave that right up a long time ago.”

“You haven't given up anything.”

Clearing my throat, I willed my heart to beat slower. “He wants to meet me face-to-face. His mother will also be there.”

“And you need a wingman.”

“I'd rather not do this alone.”

She fingered a dangling earring. “Why do you say that?”

“I don't know how he'll react.”

“He's a kid. He's curious. Maybe a little goofy and awkward. We all were at that age.”

Skimming my index finger along my pearls, I nodded.

A sad, thoughtful grin tugged at her lips. “Look, I'd be glad to go with you. “Give me the time and place and I'll be there.”

“We haven't set a time and place.”

“I'd say pick a pizza place. Teenagers love pizza, and a restaurant will be public enough so that it makes the meeting a little less stressful.”

“I think that's what we're all hoping. Are you sure you can do this?”

“Rae, I'll be there. And I promise if it all gets a little awkward, I'll find a way to cover your back or find a graceful reason why we need to leave.”