Winter's Destiny (7 page)

Dan backed away from her. “We’ll talk when you calm down.”

“I don’t intend to calm down, Dan. You’ve screwed your patients, compromised your practice, and now you’re destroying our family.”

He stared at her, the red welts standing out on his face.

“Is it that woman you got pregnant? Are you leaving me for her?”

Dan’s mouth fell open. “How did you hear about that?”

“You couldn’t stand me after Jamie was born. What makes you think you’ll feel any different about
her
?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Her problem’s been taken care of, so forget it.”

Amy was appalled. “Just like that? Forget it?” Her voice sounded strange. “Are you kidding? You screwed that woman while you were married to me. And she had to get in line! How do you think I feel being dumped for a laundry list of women—”

“Stop!” Dan yelled back. “Those women meant nothing.”

Amy dropped her voice. It was an angry hush. “Just an opportunity to practice lots of safe sex, huh?”

Dan was momentarily speechless. “What’s up with you? Where’s all this coming from?”

Amy ran her hands through her hair angrily. “The unfaithful husband runs off. Is that what this is?” she asked flatly.

He started for the stairs. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”

“I’m supposed to
understand?”

“It’s complicated.” He put one foot on the bottom step and stopped to look at her. “This has nothing to do with any of–of
that
. It’s something else altogether.”

Amy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Really? You mean there’s more that I don’t know about?”

Dan continued up the stairs. “Lots more.”

“Dammit!” Amy threw up her hands in frustration.

While he packed, Amy stood at the far end of the living room; her eyes fixed on their wedding photo, her thoughts once again on re-run. Finally, she switched off the living room lights so she could see across the bay and walked out onto the veranda. The moon glistened on the dark ocean surface. The night was silent except for waves washing softly over the sand. Everything beyond her porch looked normal. How could that be?

In the past thirty hours her entire life had turned upside down. Nothing made sense anymore. She tried to sort her thoughts from her feelings, but couldn’t separate them. Her brain had mutated into a mass of swirling confusion and chaos. Amy closed her eyes. She was scared, not only because of everything that had happened, but because she was completely alone with no one to turn to. She felt her life tumbling away. Tears ran down her cheeks. With Dan gone, she would be left to run the house alone, raise Jamie alone, make decisions alone, and worst of all, live as an adult—alone. She was terrified of what lie ahead.

She had arrived at a turning point in her life.

Stepping back inside, Amy locked the sliding door behind her. She saw Dan drag four heavy bags outside. He left without another word, slamming the door closed behind him. She double locked it and stood dumbfounded in the entry. Her emotions churned, but she could no longer make sense out of what she was feeling or thinking. Even the house felt different—still and uncertain.

Amy forced her emotions on hold, a survival trick she’d learned after her parents died. She couldn’t deal with Dan’s departure right now, nor could she bear to be alone. She was worried about Jamie and needed to think. For now, Jamie was safe with Nita and Brandon. Whoever had threatened her wouldn’t know where Jamie was. The danger would come when she picked him up from Nita’s, twelve hours from now. Quickly, she showered and dressed, leaving the house before dawn.

By the time the sun rose above the treetops, Amy had reached the small community of Beaverdale, where she was born. It was her hope that she would find some answers in her birthplace. Her plan was twofold. First, talk to her grandparents’ neighbors to see if anyone remembered her mother and father. They had lived with her grandparents when Amy was born. It was a long shot, but she might learn something that would help. Second, Amy wanted to visit the records department at St. Mary’s hospital, where she was born.

Exiting the I-5, she passed through Beaverdale and continued on to the countryside. The day promised blue sky and a cool fall sun. Fall leaves swirled around the jeep as it bounced over the rutted bridge deck near her grandparent’s old house. Amy drove down the hill, and came to a stop in front of the white, impeccably landscaped sixties house that they owned decades earlier. An aging Paperbark Maple stood like a sentry next to the drive. Childhood memories rushed back.

The blue-green river that ambled behind the house triggered a different memory. It was the day Amy had gone fishing with the small fishing pole her dad had made for her. She’d waded out to a boulder, midstream, climbed up on it, and cast the line like her father had taught her. Suddenly, the line pulled taut and the pole flew out of her small hand. She jumped to catch the rod, but her foot slipped off the rock and she found herself in deep water on the far side of the boulder. Amy could still see herself dropping through the slow moving water, onto the rocky riverbed. The current dragged her helplessly along it. She looked up and wondered how to get back up to the surface. Her small body screamed for air, but she knew there was none. She scrambled up a submerged rock, but the surface was still too far away. Terrified and needing to breathe, she jumped upward, kicking hard, clawing at the water until she finally broke the surface. Two strong hands pulled her out. Her dad had reached her just in time. Amy recalled the huge lecture he had given her, not for falling into the river, but for fishing without a worm.

The childhood memory made her think of Jamie. Nita should be up by now. Picking up her iPhone, Amy punched in the number. The call was answered right away. “Nita, it’s me.”

“Amy, is everything okay?”

“I’m okay. How’s Jamie?”

“Brandon took him over to the ballpark to play with the kids. Jamie’s having a great time, as always.”

Amy sighed with relief. “So listen, I’ll pick him up around six, if that works for you.”

There was a pause, then, “Sure.”

“See you later.” Amy slipped the phone into her pocket and climbed out of the truck. Glancing around the cul-de-sac, she saw that it was likely a tight knit neighborhood when her grandparents lived there. She hoped some of the residents from that era were still around and would remember her parents.

Amy headed for the house right next door. When no one answered her knock, Amy tried the next house up the road. An elderly woman poked her head out the door. Amy introduced herself and told the woman why she was there. “My grandparents, the Haddens, lived in that house over thirty years ago,” Amy turned and pointed to the old basement home by the river. “Did you know them?”

A wrinkled hand flew out to greet her. “How nice to see you. I’m Dorothy. I sure do remember your grandparents. I think I remember your mom too. Not that my memory is the best these days. But if I recall, she was expecting.” The woman smiled, “I guess that was you!”

The smile was infectious. “I guess it was,” Amy agreed.

Dorothy continued, “After your mom and dad moved away, I remember seeing you as a little girl, when you and your parents came back to visit. Imagine that.” The old woman patted Amy’s arm. “Your grandmother, Cynthia Hadden and I, were good friends you know. Even kept in touch after they moved to the coast. But I must say, I haven’t heard from her in quite a while.”

Amy nodded. “Dorothy, is there anyone else still living in the neighborhood who was here back then?”

The old woman patted her pin curls and looked up and down the street, her eyes settling on the house Amy had just tried, next to her grandparents’. “Emily Boxer’s been here even longer than we have. Try her.”

“She’s not home right now, but I would like to call her, later. Do you by chance have her number?”

The older woman disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with the phone number written on a small piece of paper. Amy thanked her and started down the steps.

“Give Cynthia my best,” Dorothy called after her.

Amy turned around. “My grandmother’s not doing very well. They think she has Alzheimer’s.”

Dorothy’s face fell. “Oh. Such a shame. She was so bright. Must be terrible for your grandfather. Or does he have it too?”

“Not yet. But he’s afraid it might be contagious.”

Waving, Amy continued up the street. At the next house along, a woman in her thirties with short, spiked hair stepped onto the porch. “Hi! Back again, huh? How’d you make out?”

Amy was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You know, tracking down the Haddens?”

Amy gaped.

“Did you find them?” The woman coaxed a package of cigarettes from her robe pocket and knocked one into her hand.

“Uh, no.” Amy was stunned. Then it hit her. Her
lookalike
was here!

The spiked-haired woman lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, eyeing Amy skeptically. “Did you try the directories like I said?”

Amy shifted. “You must have been talking to my—” What could Amy say? Could she suggest that it was a
sister?
“My sister,” Amy mumbled.

The woman choked. “Sister? You’re kidding me, right?”

Amy was beginning to wonder. Not knowing what to say next, she just stared at the woman.

“Well, your sister’s a dead ringer for you, that’s for sure.” The woman glanced at Amy’s jeans and jacket. “Even dresses kind of like you.”

“When was she here?” Amy asked, recovering.

“Friday morning.”

“Friday morning,” Amy repeated thoughtfully. “Did she drive a white Taurus by any chance?”

“Yup. Something like that anyway.”

“So, she came here and asked you about the Haddens?” Amy’s curiosity grew.

“Yup. She was pretty jumpy, I mean, you know—nervous. Kept looking up and down the street.”

“Were you able to help her?”

The woman put the cigarette to her lips, sucked in the smoke, then plucked a piece of tobacco from her tongue and flipped it Amy’s way. “Yeah. We got to talking. She said it was lunchtime where she came from. Now where was that? Can’t recall. Hey, you oughta know, being her sister and all.”

Amy shrugged. “Can you remember anything else?”

The woman puckered her lips and blew a couple of smoke rings. “Yeah. She said she had an urgent message for the Haddens. That’s why I kind of got into the whole thing with her. She didn’t say what the message was, but she was uptight enough to give me the idea it was pretty serious-like.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Nah, that’s about it. I gave her a few suggestions on how to find the Haddens and she took off.”

Amy held out her business card. “Look, I appreciate your help. My home phone and cell are on the bottom of the card. If you remember anything else, please call me.”

The sum total of Amy’s inquires revealed that her
lookalike
had been inquiring here Friday morning. Amy found that information astounding. Her
lookalike
must have learned that the Haddens and Amy now live in Sanville, but how had the woman found Amy’s home address?

She returned to the Jeep, her head spinning. It was a strange feeling to be told that you’re following the same path as a woman who looks
exactly like you.
Amy started the truck. She needed food. She’d barely eaten anything since Friday night and she was famished.

The town center mall had fast burgers so she ordered a high cholesterol lunch. She wasn’t in the mood for her usual healthy fare. When she had swallowed the last fry, she turned the Jeep north toward St. Mary’s hospital, and parked in the crowded lot.

Inside, she asked for the Records Department, and after much pleading, was lead down a corridor to the Records Supervisor’s office. A stick thin, all business—no nonsense woman peered up at her over thick bifocals. Protruding eyes inspected Amy up and down before a frown settled across her ruddy forehead. “Well?”

Amy read the nameplate and offered her hand in introduction. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Goodrich. My name’s Amy Johnson. I’m trying to locate my birth records.”

The records supervisor ignored her hand. “We don’t give medical records out to the public, Ms. Johnson.”

Amy wasn’t put off. “I was born in this hospital thirty-two years ago, Mrs. Goodrich. I’m interested in knowing the name of my physician.”

The record’s supervisor told her, “There are no records prior to 1981.” She picked up her pen and went back to her work.

“Where would I find them?”

The supervisor didn’t look up. “You won’t.”

Amy’s foot tapped impatiently. “And why is that?”

The woman’s head jerked up and she slid her glasses down her nose. Her voice was cold. “We had a fire here in 1980, Ms. Johnson. The lower two floors of the hospital were gutted. All the records were destroyed.”

Amy swung the Jeep onto Nita’s empty driveway, jumped out, and ran to the door. She pushed the doorbell and waited impatiently. She could barely wait to pick up Jamie. She missed him terribly. The dog barked from inside the house, but no one answered. It was six o’clock; where were they?

Disappointed, Amy decided to wait in the truck. She tried Brandon’s cell, then Nita’s, but they were both directed to voicemail, so she left a message on each. While she waited, Amy thought about Mrs. Boxer, the neighbor who lived beside her grandparents and who wasn’t home that morning. Amy pulled out the slip of paper with the number Dorothy had written down for her and decided to try it. A quivery voice answered.

Amy responded, “Hello, Mrs. Boxer, this is Amy Johnson. I’m Cynthia and Art Hadden’s granddaughter. They used to live next door to you.”

There was a long pause. “Oh yes, I remember Cynthia and Art. And you’re their granddaughter?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You were just a little tyke back when you’d come visit them. How are you, My Dear?”