The Color of Destiny (The Color of Heaven Series Book 2) (24 page)

“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” I said, “but it’s about the senator’s children. Yesterday I met Adam, the boy they adopted from Somalia. He’s twenty-seven now. And I met his two sisters, Becky and Diana. They’re both amazing. Diana is the older one. She’s in law school at UCLA, and Becky is the youngest. She’s brilliant, and she was just accepted to Oxford. She says she wants to be a classics professor. She’s starting her masters in September and plans to do a PhD after that.”

“That’s great,” Kate said, still leaning forward over the table.

A lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t seem to find the right words to suggest what I thought might be true. “Kate...” I said, “Becky is really beautiful. She’s exactly my age. She has red hair, just like yours, and she’s adopted.”

Kate stared at me intently for a long moment, then she leaned back in her chair and frowned. “What are you saying?”

I covered her hand with my own. “This morning, I got up early and had breakfast with Mrs. Moore. She’s a wonderful person. I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I asked her about her daughters. I told her I knew they were adopted—it was on the Internet—and I was curious about where they came from. She was very honest with me, and said that Becky’s real mother was only sixteen when she had her, and that she intended to give her baby up for adoption. She was involved in a car accident, however, and went into a long-term coma. Becky was taken to a private adoption agency in Boston.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kate’s as all the color drained from her face. “The Moore’s were on a waiting list to adopt a third child,” I continued, “so they were called in.”

Kate wet her lips and spoke in a shaky voice. “Do they know the name... of the mother?”

I shook my head. “The files were sealed. She didn’t even know if the mother ever woke up from the coma. But she did tell me the name of the agency.”

Kate laid a hand on her chest and stood up. Then she bent forward, as if she were going to be sick.

In a flash of movement, Ryan was at her side. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just need to sit down.”

He went with her to the sofa, and I took a seat in the upholstered chair across from them.

“What can I do?” I said. “Was I right to tell you? I wasn’t sure.”

“Yes, you did the right thing,” she replied, resting her forehead on the heels of her hands, “but I don’t know what to do. I’ve been through this before. I fought hard to put it behind me and be happy in the present.”

“That will never change,” I said, “but I think you need to get to the bottom of this, Kate. Is there any way you can unseal the files?”

She looked up at me with animosity in her eyes. “I’m not sure,” she said, “because I wasn’t the one who sealed them.”

Chapter Seventy-two

Kate

I took a few minutes to collect myself after Marissa told me about Becky Moore, then I went into the bedroom to call my father.

Unfortunately, there was no answer. Or maybe he got call display so he could ignore me. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I called many times over the next few hours, but no one answered. Worn out from jet lag and travel fatigue, eventually I could do nothing but collapse into bed with a goal to call the adoption agency first thing in the morning.

I was up at five and it was torture to wait until normal business hours in Connecticut. When at last I dialed the number, I was relieved when a real person, Ms. Bowers, answered.

I told her who I was, and explained everything.

I scanned my birth certificate and emailed it to her, along with a written document with my signature, requesting access to the files.

When she compared my signature to the original documents, she told me it didn’t match.

I found a letter my father had written to me years ago with his signature on it, scanned it, and sent it by email.

I waited a long time for her to reply. When she finally called, she informed me that they suspected my signature had been forged. They would be contacting the authorities to investigate my father’s actions, and Ms. Bowers suggested I speak to a lawyer.

o0o

It was not easy to comprehend that what I had suspected all my life was true: My child was alive. She had survived the accident, and I was never crazy for believing it. My instincts as a mother were real, and it shocked me to realize that she may have been living in my hometown the entire time—if in fact she was Rebecca Moore. I still did not have confirmation.

Had we ever passed each other on the street? Did we ever sit in the same theater and watch the same movie? How many times had I stumbled across her picture in the paper and read about the prestigious Moore family from Bar Harbor? If she was my daughter, how could I not have recognized her?

These were questions I could not answer. All I knew was that the young woman who could be my daughter was here in Nova Scotia, not far from me,
now
, and my darling, beloved stepdaughter, Marissa, had been the one to find her.

o0o

Once I recovered from the shock of learning the truth—and stopped crying tears of joy over the fact that my baby was alive—I had to wrap my head around the fact that my father had betrayed me in the worst possible way and had been lying to me for over twenty years.

Had my mother known? I wondered furiously as I stood on the back deck, squeezing the railing, squinting into the morning sun rising over the horizon.

No, surely that wasn’t possible. For the most part, my mother had been a submissive wife, but when push came to shove, she stood up for what was right. She never forced me to have the abortion. Somehow she convinced Dad to let me have my baby.

No, this was something he must have done on his own. He had lied to her, too.

My vision clouded, and a twitchy feeling reached my extremities. I had always considered myself to be a calm, level-headed woman, and I took great pride in my self-control in emergency situations. In that moment, however, I wanted to scream and hit something—my father, specifically. I wanted to see blood. It was a good thing he was many miles away, or my mug shot might have ended up on the 6:00 news.

Thank God for cell phones, because I really needed to blow a gasket, and he, of all people, deserved to be hit by some flying emotional debris.

I went back inside, pulled my phone out of my purse, and keyed in his number. Naturally, there was no answer, so I decided, with a rather perverse sense of pleasure, to leave a nasty voicemail.

“
Dad
! You really should pick up the phone once in a while, because you have a lot of explaining to do.” I clenched my jaw. “Sometimes, you know, karma comes back to bite you in the ass, and I’m calling to give you fair warning. I know what you did. I know because she’s
here
. She’s here in Chester, where I live. I called the adoption agency in Boston and they –”

Beep
! ‘If you are satisfied with your message...’

“
Shit! Are you kidding me?”
I lowered the phone from my ear and pounded my index finger over the screen to redial my father’s number.

Ring, ring
...

Still, no answer. I was pacing like a rabid animal by now. I wanted to strangle someone.

Again, I was directed to voicemail.

“Dad!” I shouted. “I know you’ve been lying to me, and I swear to God, I will never forgive you for this. I know who she is, and I know about how you forged my signature on the papers. How could you do that? How could you tell me she was dead? Especially after losing Mia! How could you give away your only grandchild? Did your reputation mean more to you than your own flesh and blood? My God, if Mom was alive today to learn about this, I can’t imagine what she would think. I can’t even speak right now, I am so angry with you. I have to go. Bye.”

I ended the call and slammed my phone down on the granite countertop in the kitchen.

For a long while I stared at it, breathing hard while adrenaline sparked and fired through my bloodstream.

That felt good, but I knew at some point, I would need to face Dad in person.

Chapter Seventy-three

What would I have done without Marissa? I can’t begin to imagine.

That afternoon, when I was beside myself with indecision about how I should handle the situation, Marissa suggested that I allow her to contact Mrs. Moore on my behalf and ask to meet her for a drink. Marissa was willing to be my liaison with the senator’s family, and said she would gently probe into what they might, or might not want.

Mrs. Moore graciously accepted Marissa’s invitation, and Ryan and I waited at home for more than two hours. We turned on the television but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. It was the longest two hours of my life.

Then my cell phone vibrated, and I received a text from Marissa.

Hey Kate. I hope you’re decent. Mrs. Moore and I are on our way over right now. Becky is with us.

I think I might have swallowed my gum. I sat forward on the sofa and handed the phone to Ryan. He read the text, and looked up at me with a smile.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, laying a hand over my heart. “What if it’s all a big mistake? What if she’s not really my daughter? Mrs. Bowers wouldn’t tell me anything. And Lord knows, this has happened before.” I shut my eyes and tried to catch my breath. “I wish I could be as calm as you are.”

He shook his head. “I’m not that calm. But I think this could be a really good thing, no matter how it turns out. One way or another, you’re going to have an answer tonight. We hope.”

Seeing the wisdom in his optimism, I stood up and went to change out of my leggings and oversized sweatshirt. It wasn’t easy to choose an outfit.
Should I wear a skirt? Heels?
Mrs. Moore was the wife of a senator. What would she be wearing?

For at least five minutes, I rifled through my closet. In the end, I settled on a casual olive-colored skirt with a black T-shirt, and flat brown leather sandals. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on some clear lip gloss.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I did not see the woman I was today. I saw the sixteen-year-old girl I was twenty years ago, when I took a pregnancy test in my bathroom and collapsed on the floor from the shock of the result.

I was still that same girl, and I was about to meet my daughter for the first time.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway sent my heart into a frenzy. Voices reached me through the open window in the bathroom, as car doors opened and closed.

Chapter Seventy-four

As I waited in the kitchen for Ryan to greet Marissa and our guests at the door, I feared my cheeks, and all the rest of me, might burst into flames.

I listened with hyper-sensitive ears to the sound of the front door opening. Ryan greeted everyone in his usual friendly manner.

“Hi, you must be Sandra. And you’re Becky?”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you.”

Becky’s voice shot right through me, and I wondered why I was waiting here in the kitchen to be introduced. It was making the anticipation that much more unbearable.

Oh, but how grateful I was for Ryan’s calm and charismatic presence at the door. Without seeing the faces of our guests, I knew he was putting everyone at ease.

“Come on in,” he said, and they entered the front hall. “I hear you’re competing this week. Marissa said you have a champion of a boat.”

I assumed it was Mrs. Moore who replied. “That’s quite a compliment. We certainly enjoyed having Marissa on board yesterday. She’s a top-notch sailor. You must be very proud of her.”

Ryan paused. “Yeah, well...” He paused. “She’s all right, I guess.”

Becky laughed boisterously—at least I think it was Becky—and I heard the sound of Marissa punching Ryan in the arm.

“Ouch!” he said, chuckling.

They began moving toward the kitchen, and every second felt earth-shatteringly slow to me... until at last, I saw their faces.

o0o

It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The moment I laid eyes on Becky Moore, I knew she was my daughter. It was like seeing another version of myself as a young woman. The physical similarities were uncanny. She had many of the same features as me—the upturned nose, the freckled complexion, and suddenly I understood what people meant when they said I had compelling eyes. Her hair was thick, wavy, and red like mine, and her smile was almost disconcerting to behold.

I was surprised that I felt no anger, no regret, no compulsion to fall apart and weep over all the lost years. I felt nothing but euphoria to see my adult daughter so full of spirit and happiness. I knew at once that she’d had a wonderful life. For the first time I actually believed that the deep fracture in my heart might begin to heal.

She was alive. My baby. And she was beautiful.

When my heart floated back down to the ground, I realized Ryan was standing beside me with his hand on the small of my back. “Sandra, Becky... this is my wife, Kate. Kate, this is Sandra and Becky Moore.”

I moved to shake their hands. I’m not sure what I expected, but I was thankful this wasn’t escalating into a histrionic, emotional scene where we would hug each other and weep uncontrollably. That would have been difficult to bear.