And Then I Found You (17 page)

Kate smiled. “Yes, of course.”

“I’m so sorry. Again, I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“Stop it, Lida. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I made my own mess and you got
caught up in it.”

Lida leaned forward and shifted the handbags on the coffee table into an organized
pattern. “It’s crazy with a capital
F.
”

“You are so bad.” Kate gently swatted Lida’s leg.

“I want you to be happy, Kate. It’s like you run into it and then away from it as
fast as you can.”

“Well, it’s all good now. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell him.”

Norah called from the other side of the boutique. “Kate, Lida, how does this look?”
They stood and walked to the scarf display.

“Perfect,” Kate said. “I think that we’ve set up a more social scene now, one that’ll
make women want to stay and not only shop, but talk and hang out.”

Her phone buzzed in her jeans and she lifted it out, glancing at the screen. And there,
in the middle of finally
not-thinking
about Jack, he called.

The preacher who had once told Kate that she had free will didn’t understand love
at all, or at least the thought-life of love. It had been a full month since she’d
left Alabama, a full month in which Jack entered her thoughts—unbidden and unwelcome—again
and again. Jack preoccupied her in ways that made her miss meetings, run red lights,
and wake at three
AM
with no hope of returning to sleep.

Kate looked down at her cell phone and smiled. “I’ll be right back,” she said, walking
to the rear room where boxes cluttered the space.

“Hey, you,” she answered.

“Hi, you. I’m sorry it took me so long to call you back.”

Kate had called Jack several times. She couldn’t bear to leave their last words as
the
last words.

She took in a deep breath. “You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” he said, quietly.

“I called you because I really want to talk. I didn’t want to leave things like I
did—running off. I’m sorry Rowan busted in like that. It’s not his usual way. He was
worried.”

“I understand. And you were right—we have to finish some things before we start new
things. I understand now, that’s what you were doing.”

“I don’t think that’s all I was doing.”

“Listen, let’s let this go. Isn’t that why you were here? To let it all go? Begin
again?”

“It’s all mixed up now.”

“Kate, there’s not much more to talk about.”

“Then why do I feel like there’s so much left to talk about?”

“Probably because you need to talk about them with Rowan. Not me.”

“Oh.” Kate closed her eyes and dropped her forehead onto the doorframe of the storage
room. “Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, Katie.”

Then he was gone.

Lida ambled into the storage room, dodging packages of folded clothes and boxes of
hangers. “You okay?” she asked.

Kate looked up. “I don’t know.”

“Who was that?”

“Jack.”

“And?”

“He was cold and short.”

“What else do you want him to be?”

“Mine,” Kate said as she sat in an office chair shoved in the corner. “I want him
to be mine.”

“What?”

“It’s insane, but so true. And sad. And terrible. And impossible.”

“Damn,” Lida said, leaning against the wall. “What are you going to do?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” Kate glanced at her cell phone as if it held answers.
“‘Patience is wider than one once imagined…’”

“Huh?”

“A poem … never mind.” Kate stood. “Right now let’s get this store just right. Let’s
finish.”

“You’re a mess,” Lida said, and hugged Kate before they walked out into the boutique.

They emerged, and Kate’s mom stood in the middle of the store talking to Norah. “Mom,”
Kate said. “What a nice surprise.”

“Oh, the store looks so great. I was talking to Norah about having a cocktail party
here with some of my friend, maybe a fundraiser for my friend, the mayor, Lisa Sulka.”

“You love saying, my friend, the mayor, don’t you?” Kate teased her mom.

“Shush. But don’t you think that’s a good idea? I mean, if you’re trying to make it
more social, why not have events?”

Together, the four women talked about parties and displays, about clothing lines and
artwork, until Norah yawned and ended the evening.

Left alone with her mom, Kate asked. “Okay, Mom, really why did you stop by?”

“To see you.”

Kate smiled and placed her hands under her chin as if framing her face. “Here I am.”

Her mom sat on the couch and motioned for Kate to do the same. “Darling, I really
want to hear about how it went when you saw Jack. You won’t talk about it and you
know how Dad and I care about all of it. We do.”

“I know you care. Jack is doing well. And I’m glad I finally told Rowan. But that’s
all over now. Really, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“He hasn’t heard anything from Luna, has he?”

Kate exhaled through her mouth, blowing her hair off her forehead. “Don’t you think
that’s something I would have told you?”

Her mom nodded. “Yes, I guess it is. I just…”

“I want to know about her also, Mom. But guess what? I can’t. And neither can you.
So, let’s get on with our lives until we can, okay?”

“Okay, I get it.”

“I’m glad you do,” Kate said and smiled. “Because I sure don’t.”

Mom and daughter sat in silence, quiet and sure of their place in each other’s world.
The sad knowing that her own daughter was out there in the world settled right next
to Kate’s need for Jack, knotted and aching.

seventeen

BLUFFTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

2010

That last day in April started as ordinary. It was five
A.M.
and Kate once again stared at the ceiling as dawn unfolded through the cracks of
her curtains. Ever since Alabama, sleep had been slippery and stubborn, never arriving
when she needed it most. She rose in frustration, read e-mails, browsed through Tara’s
blog, Mothering Heights, and checked on the dark and quiet boutique. On the storeroom’s
computer, Kate decided to check her Facebook. It had been over a month since she’d
browsed the site. She wasn’t anything like a Facebook regular. She was bored reading
about what her “friends” cooked for dinner that night, or seeing photos of yet another
party she’d declined to attend.

The Facebook page opened slowly. Kate imagined the Internet signal trying to find
its way through the oak branches crowded around the building. On the top left corner
of the page, there was a single notice:
Emily Jackson wants to be friends
.

Kate clicked on the friend request. Emily Jackson’s photo was not of her face, but
a kitten curled in a lap. Kate couldn’t get to any of the young girl’s information
as it was blocked with the words
You aren’t friends with Emily Jackson
. Emily and Kate had only one friend in common:
Tara.

Mothering Heights had a following on Facebook and often those “friends” would see
that Kate was Tara’s sister and assume it was okay to friend her. But Kate was more
protective of her site: only friends and family. Not cyber friends.

With a quick e-mail to Tara—
Who is Emily Jackson?
—Kate turned on the coffee pot. The rest of the morning was the definition of typical,
a regular world spinning on its usual axis of work. An entire shipment of clothes
to be unpacked, steamed, tagged, and hung. A briefing with Lida. Phone calls to be
returned.
Women’s Wear Daily
to go through, not to mention her favorite fashion blogs. Were her clients ready
for the bright orange that was dominating the runway?

By the time Kate looked at her cell phone, she saw that Tara had called five times.

“Hey, Tara,” Kate returned her sister’s call, pouring more coffee into a mug.

“Kate, I can’t believe this.” Tara’s words were garbled. She was drowning in tears.
Kate felt the panic rise to the surface. Tara rarely cried, and if she was sobbing
like this then something was terribly wrong.

“Oh, God, what is it?” Kate set her mug on the counter, readying herself for the worst
news. Their parents. One of Tara’s children.

“She found us,” Tara said slowly, pronouncing each word as if English were her fourth
language, as if she’d never spoken those three words in a row.

“Who?”

“Luna. She found us.”

“What?” Kate’s soul unmoored, rising with hope. Dare she believe? She closed her eyes
and waited because only one thing was worse than not hoping and that was believing
and then allowing despair to wash inland.

For all these years, Katie had been telling herself,
Maybe one day. Not today, but maybe one day in the future.

Was it too much to hope that today was
that
day?

“The girl, Emily Jackson. The one you e-mailed me about this morning. I went to her
Facebook page. It’s her. Same birthday. If you get to her information page, her full
name is Emily Luna Jackson.” Tara waited while her breath caught up with her words.
“Kate, she looks like you!”

Relief began to tear open the closed and scarred places inside Kate. “Are you sure?
I mean that’s impossible, right?”

“Go look. Now.”

“Oh, if this is true … the poor girl friended me over a month ago and I just hadn’t
checked my Facebook.”

“Go,” Tara again demanded.

“I’ll call you back,” Kate said.

There hadn’t been a day in thirteen years when Katie had read or heard the word “Luna”
and hope hadn’t leapt toward her daughter. And this time was no different, although
she knew, as she did every other time, that it was nearly impossible that Luna was
her
Luna. No, totally impossible.

This wasn’t how the lost became found—in an early morning e-mail on a typical day.
Kate took the back staircase to her loft. Tara’s tears, which Kate had thought meant
the most terrible news, were sobs of joy, a preamble to the only news Kate had prayed
for every single day for the last thirteen years. Every day.
Please let her be okay.

“She found me,” Kate said out loud in her kitchen as her soul fell to its knees.

The extraordinary happens in the exact middle of ordinary,
she thought clearly and permanently.

No trumpet blast to announce the moment, no parting of clouds or Hallelujah chorus.
Just the simple miracle (as if any miracle is simple) between an in-breath and an
out-breath, the wide-open space where the unknown was known, the lost found, and the
unseen seen.

Moving as if in slow motion, she opened her Facebook screen and clicked “accept” on
Emily Jackson’s request. In incremental understanding, she flipped through this girl’s
photos, saying her name out loud.

“Emily. Her name is Emily.”

Kate’s chest expanded with the beautiful and overwhelming knowledge that she was staring
at her daughter’s photos. To maintain her breath and her sanity, Kate read Emily’s
profile out loud.

The facts became surreal, blurred, and too coincidental, as if someone were playing
a prank on her, as if someone were taking all the ways to connect Kate and Emily and
drawing lines between those dots as an example of universal synchronicity.

Her last name is almost Jack’s first name.

She is the oldest of three siblings.

She looks like Tara’s middle school photo.

Kate finished looking at the photos for the fifth time and then paced the kitchen.
The phone hadn’t stopped ringing, but she’d ignored it, needing only the silence and
these photos. Her cell phone screen flashed six missed calls combining only two names:
Tara and Molly.

Yes, Tara would’ve called Molly by now.

The news would soon explode, changing the world. Kate wanted to be alone with the
knowledge that Luna had found her. She wanted to taste the truth, to bask in the in-between
of what was and what would be. Before the world knew, before her family descended
with vigor and tears and gratitude, she wanted to hold Luna to herself.

Her daughter.

An hour later Tara called again, and Kate answered without greeting, but with a question.
“Now what?”

“Send her a message. I mean, for God’s sake, Kate. If she had enough nerve to ‘friend’
you, answer her.” Her words were skipping and rough like an old record with scratches.

“Did you tell Molly?” Kate asked.

“I did. She is freaking out. Freaking. This is a miracle.”

“Isn’t there a word that is past a miracle?”

Tara laughed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the writer. You’re the girl with words. What is better and bigger than a miracle?”
Kate asked.

“I have no idea, but whatever it is, this is it. Now e-mail her.”

“What do I say? Tell me what to say.”

“Exactly what you feel.”

Dear Emily, for thirteen years I have loved you and been waiting to see your beautiful
face.

Of course there was so much more to say, but who could prepare for that moment?

What next?

Kate picked up the phone and dialed Jack’s number. His heart, of all the hearts involved
in these tangled lives, would be the most relieved. Kate didn’t think he’d answer
after their phone conversation the night before, but he did. He had barely finished
the word “hello” before she spoke.

“She found us,” Kate said.

“What?”

“Luna. She found us.”

“Luna…”

“Yes.” Kate wanted to see Jack’s face, to see his green eyes fill with knowing.

“Oh, God. Tell me. Where?”

Even in the retelling of this conversation a hundred times, Kate wouldn’t be able
to remember the order or way in which she told Jack that their daughter had found
them. The truth tumbled out like champagne poured, bubbly and unruly.

“Tell me what you know,” he said.

Kate laughed. “I don’t think she meant to talk to me, or even anyone at all. I think
she was messing around on her Facebook. She hasn’t even answered me yet. I feel terrible,
because she’s been waiting a month. God, I hope she doesn’t wait a month. She’s only
thirteen. I’m sure her mother has some say in this.”