Kaleidoscope Summer (Samantha's Story) (31 page)

“
I’ll have an update for you
at the office
.”

“See you there.
” I clap
ped
hi
m on the shoulder and went
inside.

I had enough time
to visit Maggie
on the way to the station
, if I hustled
.
W
e were not strangers in de
aling with the dark places
death thrusts you into
.

I
zoomed
d
own from the bluff, a
nd
scooted in behind her
car. T
here they wer
e, my two ladies—sitting on the front porch.
Except one was
n’t mine
.

I halte
d on the third step
. T
wo
hole
s
with fresh wood shavings
inside
ca
ught my attention.
My
fist tightened on the rail.
S
eeing where the two bullets had hit,
I bit
back
choice words
, and
joined Maggie and Sam
.
“M
orning.
”

“Figured you’d show up
.
I h
ave your m
ug waiting.
” The aroma drifted
in
to
the air as Maggie poured the full-bodied brew.

“Now
how did you know
…
? Never
mind—forget I asked
.” My gaze
shift
ed
to
Sam
.
I cringe
d
at my rudeness
the previous evening.
I’d handled it wrong.
“Hello
, again.” I winked at
her
.

Maggie leaned back. “
Sit.
We were talking ab
out
Lilyan
.
”
She
ran her finger around the brim of her mug. “Thoughts of her s
ta
yed with me through the night. The same puzzling
questions circling my thoughts,
also reminded me of how sacred our days are.”

I tensed at the direction Maggie was headed
.
“A senseless tragedy
.”

Maggie scooted he
r chair back and crossed one knee
ove
r the other. “Like
when
mom
di
ed—i
t’s impossibl
e to find meaning in
the
aftermath of death
.” Mag
gie paused and
blink
ed
back a tear.
“
Sam
and
I
went and saw
John
.
”

She
brusquely
change
d
subjects. Had she
regretted mentioning our mother
, even after all these years?
I glanced
at Sam. “How’d it go?
”

“
He refused to even look at me.
”
The
shadow of
sadness in her eyes echoed in her expression and wrenched my heart
.
“John will
come around.”
I wanted
t
o fix it—make everything better for her
.
Fight it or not,
I
’d fallen
f
or the lady with
the
azure eyes
.

Chapter Twenty-three

Night turns to day. Day turns to night. Wishes die, leaving a residue of what might have been. My grandparents’ rejection seems like a definite sign that I don’t belong here. A part of me says it’s time to go home. But my heart longs to stay. Longs to persuade John and Elizabeth to change their minds. ~ Journal entry

Goldie trotted toward the door as Audra entered. Earlier I had raised the blinds, unlocked the shop, and dusted away a few cobwebs. “Hi. Come in.” I closed the door behind her and smiled at the way she swept into the room. I admired her style.

Without the grace of a hello, she removed her sunglasses, her eyes roving around the room. “There’s no need to list your property. I’ll take it—a lease with an option to purchase. Can’t you picture it? A waiting area here and conference room there—with partitions to separate each space.” She pointed here and there. “It’ll make the perfect real estate office.”

She’d blown in like a sudden gust of wind, and now she wanted the shop. “You don’t understand. I want it to remain a bookshop.”

“You don’t want to start with restrictions. How many people want a bookshop?” She wrinkled her forehead as if correcting a child. I expected her to shake her finger at me next.

“Let me think about it.” I moved toward the front, looking straight ahead and opened the door as an invitation. Audra took a step out, paused and glanced over her shoulder. I thought she might intend on debating the issue more.

“I’ll be in touch.”

I closed the door and twisted the lock. Moving away from the barred entrance, I released a gush of breath.

Goldie moved toward the door. “No. She can’t be back.” My little girl perked up her ears as if she understood. “You’re too smart, baby.” I chuckled as I peeked out the blinds, and relief shot through me. I opened the door pulling Maggie inside. “I’m glad it’s you.”

“Problems with Audra?” Maggie greeted me with a hug. “I saw her outside. For a split second it looked like you leaving, except with dark hair.”

“I wanted to sell to someone who wants a bookshop. In her opinion, I’m being unreasonable. And I probably am.”

“Perhaps you’re not ready to let go of the store. This isn’t the season you’re likely to find a buyer. It’s mid-summer already and the summer visitors will be leaving in a few weeks. By the end of September, the town goes into rest mode, until the shops reopen between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Makes sense. Except I want to sell the shop and move on with my life.”

A veil of seriousness covered her face. “The service for Lilyan is scheduled for Saturday. We can go together.”

“Would it be proper? She hated me.” The lack of desire to go made me feel heartless and horrible.

“It’d be nice for a few of us to go. Call me.” She left the door slightly ajar.

When does life stop all the drama?
In the midst of dealing with one issue, another raises its grisly paw.

Goldie bounded up the stairs in front of me. I cringed at the files spread out on the kitchen table. There must be something here I could glean answers from. The problem? I had been through the stacks of papers over and over. Nothing.

Anne must’ve left some clues to the past. My eyes moved to the one container I had avoided. With determination, I grabbed the basket of letters my mother had written to Anne. Adoptive mom to birth mom—I hated all those phrases
.
I went into the front room and sat on the sofa. I sorted through the envelopes and started with the earliest postmark.

October 4, 1978. I counted—it made me only three weeks old
.
My mother’s neat script stared at me from the page.

Dear Anne,

How does one say thank you for a precious gift? Probably the nanny’s imagination—but she swears Samantha smiles. Enclosed is a small sum. Accept it and use it to realize a dream. Please, from one woman to another—independence is important.

Almost thirty years later, the tears of that child now smeared the ink. I didn’t want to read any more, but my watery eyes remained glued to the words. A part of me appreciated the kindness of my mother. Staying in touch with Anne and sending her money meant she’d cared what happened to her—at least on some level. Still, the letter strengthened the betrayal I felt. Why had I been forced to find out about the adoption from letters? The harsh words my aunt that spewed out before I left Stone Valley echoed in my head. I shoved them aside wishing I could permanently zap them from my brain. I hated every word, phrase, and negative attitude represented in the world of adoption.

My fingers touched the next letter, dated January 15, 1979.

Dear Anne,

Enclosed are pictures of Samantha’s first Christmas. As you can see in the snapshots, she is a precocious baby. I’ve tucked in a token Christmas gift. If the pictures trouble you in light of the circumstances, tell me and I will refrain from sending additional photos.

There wasn’t another note until my first birthday.

Dear Anne, Can you believe a year has gone by? I’ve included a few pictures. We held a grand party for her at the club. I’ve enclosed a tiny thank you.

I paced from room to room, the words replaying like a swarm of bees inside my head. Exasperated, I grabbed a tablet, jotted down a few notes and sent a text to Dr. Ellie. She answered me right away, saying she could meet me at the Seahorse Shack at three. That gave me just enough time to change, and Google directions.

Within the hour, I headed to the north shore. From the parking area, I spotted Dr. Ellie, sitting at a redwood picnic table. Glad I had decided on shorts and sandals, I traipsed through the sand toward her.

She waved. “Come meet Precious.” The adorable buff-colored, miniature cocker spaniel cuddled beside her won my heart.

“You gave her the right name. She’s too cute.”

Dr. Ellie laughed. “She and Goldie already act like BFFs.” We watched, amused as our furry friends romped and played.

“Have a seat.” She motioned to the two glasses on the table.

“Perfect.” I took a sip of the cold drink she had ordered and had waiting for me.

“Let’s pray and get started?” She paused as I nodded in agreement. “Father, we invite you to join us. We’re thankful that in You we have a future and a hope. Amen.”

Her prayer unleashed tears. I pulled a tissue from my bag. Her choice of words had waylaid me as though I had turned a corner and run into an old friend—one I had been ambivalent about seeing.

She rose and gestured toward the shore. “Let’s walk down to the water.”

We slipped off our sandals and barefooted it to the ocean’s foamy edge, where we stood and talked. Goldie and Precious took to the waves as though they had a secret wish to bodysurf. “How’s the journal working for you?”

“Great. Your articles were a big help. Especially the one on how easy it is for adoptees to fall into a victim role. I also found the article on feeling shame interesting. My octogenarian aunt says Anne disgraced her family. As much as times have changed, I wonder how many people share her views. My grandfather certainly seems to.” I squished my toes into the wet sand.

She moved a step and the water splashed around her legs. “It would be good to believe that as a society we’ve risen above name-calling and attaching labels. But you can learn to embrace your own truth and reject the ill-formed opinions of others.” She watched the dogs for a moment. “Let’s move on with your questions.”

“Lilyan. Her death saddens me. It’s bizarre, but I feel partly responsible.” A large wave sprayed the edge of my shorts, much as sorrow had troubled my spirit.

“Where Lilyan is concerned, many of us share the feeling of guilt. I should’ve tried harder to talk with her. Pastor Jim has voiced some of the same regrets.”

“Maggie wants me to attend the services with her.” I watched the fishing boats headed back to the harbor. “I’d be the last person she’d want there.”

“The true Lilyan would have welcomed you to the community.” Her eyes moistened and she blinked back the tears. “Her illness distorted her reality.”

“You think I should go?”

“That’s not my call. I’m saying don’t make your decision based on her mental disorder.”

The dogs scampered up next to us and shook. “Great.” I giggled at the soaked, sand-covered creatures at our feet. “I see a bath in their future.”

She pointed toward the table. “You ready for one of Seahorse’s famous burgers?” We headed for the snack shack, constructed of rustic lumber. Handmade wind chimes created out of seashells hung from the top of the open take-out windows, and swayed in the soft breeze. We settled on the Seahorse’s special with the works, including grilled pineapple, and an order of plain patties with cheese for our beach bums.

We settled at the wooden table with our lunch. “What’s next on your agenda?” Dr. Ellie was not one to be sidetracked for long.

“I spoke with Audra Wheeler about selling the bookshop. So I can settle Anne’s estate and get back to my life in Stone Valley.”

“I keep forgetting this isn’t home for you.”