Cape Light Page 15

  At first I thought Mom was lying, but she looked so sad, I knew it was true. I started crying then. Didn’t my first mother care about me at all? Didn’t she love me? Why did she just give me away? She must have not loved me at all if she was able to do that. I asked my mom all those questions. She said it meant my birth mother loved me even more, because she wanted me to have a happy life, even if she was going to miss me. But I guess I just never really believed that. Not deep down inside. Where the hole is.

  That’s when the hole started. The cold, black hole inside me. There is sadness there. And anger. And so much confusion. I don’t want to dislike my birth mother, whoever she is. But sometimes it feels good to be angry at her. Then I feel angry at myself. In some strange way I also love her. Blindly and hopelessly.

  It’s funny how months, even years would go by, and I wouldn’t think about it so much. Then I’d see a show on TV about children finding their birth mothers, or read a letter in “Dear Abby,” and itwould start me thinking again. I’d pass women on the street, or in a grocery store, and I would think that could be her. That tall, tired-looking one, or that short, well-dressed one. She could be anyone, anywhere, I always say to myself. But now it’s time to really find out.

  WELL, HERE I AM, SARA THOUGHT. I’VE BEEN HERE almost two weeks now. I’ve found Emily—my mother. I’ve seen her face-to-face and even spoken to her a few times. But I still don’t feel very much closer to telling her who I am.

  Sara thought back to the phone conversation she had with her parents a few days ago. She told them that she had a job and was going to stay in Cape Light awhile. She could tell that they didn’t like the idea and didn’t really want her to stay. Their questions almost made her doubt the plan herself. But she dug in and didn’t waiver. At least they hadn’t argued with her very much.

  “How long do you think you’ll be up there, honey?” her mother asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” Sara replied. “Not too much longer, I hope.” Still, she wasn’t sure if that had been the truth. Maybe she’d only said it to make her mother feel better.

  Sara turned to a clean page in her journal and began to write:

  Why didn’t Emily ever look for me? That’s what I wonder now. Why did I have to look for her? If she loved me so much, like my mother always says, and felt forced to do it, why didn’t she ever try to find me?

  I can see now that she’s smart. She has enough money. She doesn’t even have a husband or kids to worry about. Though being a politician, she does have bad publicity to consider. But she wasn’t always mayor. What about before that?

  What if I just go and confront her? Tomorrow, first thing, I could go to her house and knock on her door. “Remember that baby you gave up for adoption about twenty-two years ago? Well, guess what? Here I am.”

  Maybe she’d totally freak out. She might hate me for messing up her life. She might even deny it.

  That would hurt so much. I don’t know if I could take it. I don’t know if I could even go to her and tell her the truth.

  Still, even if Emily took the news well, having an abandoned daughter pop back into her life would cause her some major trouble. Charlie Bates would find a way to use it to make her life miserable. I’ve only been here a few days, and I can already see that.

  But that’s not my problem, right? Maybe a little bad publicity is the price she has to pay.

  This is going to be hard, but I guess I have to stay and confront her. I owe it to myself. I need to answer these questions about Emily.

  I need to get to know her. What kind of person she is. Then, maybe, I can tell her who I am.

  YES, THAT WAS IT, SARA THOUGHT, CLOSING THE book. She leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes, resting the book on her chest, the touch of the worn leather cover comforting to her somehow.

  She’d come this far and had to stay. She needed to answer these questions about her birth mother. To fill this gaping hole inside. Emily Warwick was the only one who could make it go away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ELSIE HAD NO TROUBLE MAKING HERSELF AT HOME. In a matter of days the large, multicolored feline had staked out her favorite napping spots, curling in a fluffy ball in the exact middle of the bed, or on the antique ballroom chair in the living room. The satin upholstery seemed to hold her fur like Velcro, Jessica realized woefully. And when the cat craved diversion, the wide windowsill near Jessica’s desk afforded an unobstructed view of the birdbath.

  Elsie sat there on Wednesday morning as Jessica worked, her tail twitching and a low, guttural meow occasionally distracting Jessica from her calculations.

  Jessica would have been in the office, but her boss had given her permission to work at home in order to complete a report on the first-quarter loan activity for the branch. It had to be done by Friday and sent to the main branch in Boston. And it had to be good.

  Or they might try to take back my window, Jessica joked to herself as she leafed through a large binder of computer printouts.

  She heard a scratchy sound near the door and at first assumed it was the cat. But then the sound grew a bit louder, and she suddenly realized it was the sound of a key in her front-door lock. She jumped up from her seat, knocking the binder and papers to the floor as the door slowly opened.

  Someone was standing there, just out of view, and she jumped behind her chair. “Who is it? Who’s there?” she shouted out.

  Frightened by her quick movements, the cat jumped back and arched its back, releasing a long, low hiss.

  Sam Morgan stepped through the doorway and stared at both of them. “Call off your cat. I’m not here to rob the place.”

  “Very funny, Sam.” She stepped out from behind the chair and straightened out her blouse.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized as he came in. “I had a chance to do some work here this morning, so I picked up the key from Warren. You said it was okay, remember?”

  “Sure, I remember,” she said, still recovering from her surprise at seeing him. “I just didn’t expect you, that’s all.”

  “I would have called. But I thought you were at the bank by now. What are you doing here anyway?” he added curiously. “Feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just needed to work at home today.” She pushed her hair back with her hand. She hadn’t bothered to tie it back today. Or put on any makeup, she realized unhappily. “I have to finish this report, and there are too many interruptions in the office.”

  He glanced at her computer and the binders of printouts. He leaned over and picked up the one that had fallen off her lap.

  “Maybe it’s not a good day for me to start in here.” He handed her the binder. “I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

  He’d be distracting her whether he was knocking a hole in her ceiling or turned around and went halfway across town.

  “That’s okay.” She glanced at him, then down at her desk. “I’ll just work in the kitchen.” She closed her notebook computer and piled up some of the papers. Moving to another room wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, now that he was here, she didn’t want him to leave so quickly.

  He picked up her stack of folders to help. “I keep chasing you out of office space. I really don’t mean to keep doing that.”

  She briefly met his dark gaze. “I’m starting to get used it, actually.”

  Sam laughed and followed her into the kitchen, where she set up her computer and papers on the kitchen table. He wore a denim shirt with a dark blue T-shirt underneath, painter’s overalls and worn work boots. He looked very tan today, she noticed. Or maybe he’d just been outdoors lately. At the beach with the blonde? Jessica brushed the thought aside. What difference did it make? she asked herself.

  She set up her work on the kitchen table, and Sam left to bring in his supplies and tools. Although she returned her attention to her numbers, she couldn’t help noticing him passing back and forth through the doorway. The crazy thing was, though the sight was distracting, she didn’t close the
door.

  A short time later, when the phone rang Jessica let the machine pick it up. Her mother came on the line, sounding weak and quavering. “Jessica? Are you there? I called you at the office . . . but they said you were home. . . .”

  Alarmed by the odd sound of Lillian’s voice, Jessica quickly picked up the phone. “Hello? Mother? Are you all right?”

  “I’m not at all sure. I’m feeling . . . odd this morning. Dizzy or something. I may have mixed up my pills,” she said slowly, her words slurred. “I’m not sure. . . .”

  Jessica’s pulse raced with alarm. “Have you called the doctor?”

  “I called Dr. Breitfeller, my cardiologist. He’s out of the office. Some associate is supposed to call me back. But he hasn’t . . . Let me see, what was his name? I wrote it down on a piece of paper here somewhere. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. It sounded as if she’d put down the receiver without realizing it. “Mother? Can you hear me?” Jessica called to her.

  There was a long silence. Then Lillian said, “Yes, yes. I’m here. No need to raise your voice, Jessica.”

  “Do you need to go to a hospital? Should I call for an ambulance?” Jessica asked anxiously.

  “An ambulance? Don’t you dare,” her mother warned. “I won’t be carted away like a sack of potatoes, thank you very much. I’ve just confused my pills or something,” she repeated in her quavering tone.

  “I’ll be right over. Just stay right where you are, okay?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Where would I go?” Lillian argued.

  “I mean, don’t start walking around the house. Just stay in one place until I get there.”

  “Yes, I understand. But you can’t get here through the phone line, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jessica replied evenly. “I’m on my way.”

  Her mother sounded as if she still had her wits about her, dizzy or not, Jessica thought as she hung up the phone. She hoped her mother wouldn’t start wandering around the house in her weakened state, looking for phone numbers or scraps of paper. She might have a fall. Or worse, Jessica thought with alarm.

  She got ready to leave the house but first dialed Dr. Elliot’s number. She breathed a sigh of relief when he answered right away. Quickly she described her mother’s situation.

  “I wanted to call 911, but she insists that she won’t go to the hospital.”

  “Could be her medication,” Dr. Elliot said. “I’ll take a look at her if you like. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Jessica thanked him and hung up. On the way out she stopped in the living room, where Sam was up on a ladder, looking into a large hole in the ceiling.

  “I have to get over to my mother’s place right away,” she explained. “You can just lock up here when you’re done.”

  Sam looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with concern. “Is she sick?”

  “She says she feels dizzy. She doesn’t sound like herself, either. She may have mixed up her pills. Dr. Elliot is going to take a look at her.”

  Sam climbed down from the ladder and wiped off his hands. “I could take you there, if you like. You might need some help.”

  Jessica met his warm gaze. It was kind of him to offer. Especially since her mother had been so rude to him. Most people wouldn’t want to get involved.

  “Thanks . . . but I think I can manage. Dr. Elliot will be there. And I can call my sister,” she added.

  He seemed about to persist with the offer, then stopped. “All right.” He nodded. “If you need me, just call. I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks.” Jessica glanced up at him again, then headed out the door. Outside, rain had begun to fall. She slipped behind the steering wheel of her car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered but wouldn’t turn over.

  Just what she feared. Lately, she’d been having trouble with her car in damp weather, but she’d been too busy to get it to a mechanic.

  “Come on, just start, will you,” she coaxed, trying again. And then a third time.

  The sputtering sounded once more. Then a dull click. “Oh, blast—” She slammed her hand on the steering wheel.

  Then Jessica realized that Sam was standing next to the car. He leaned over and looked at her through the window.

  “My car won’t start,” she said breathlessly.

  “I was watching from the window. You probably flooded it. Come on, I’ll drive you there.” He opened the door for her, and she got out.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said.

  “It’s no trouble. I’d feel better taking you.”

  She felt his hand lightly on her shoulder as they walked over to his truck. His touch was gentle and comforting. She didn’t mind it at all. He helped her into the truck, and they were quickly on their way.

  It was a short drive to her mother’s house on Providence Lane. Although the wide avenue, lined with tall trees and gracious, well-kept homes, was one of the nicest streets in town, her mother’s modest colonial was still a far cry from the family’s former surroundings at Lilac Hall. Jessica knew that in some ways her mother had never recovered from their exile.

  Sam had barely parked the truck when Jessica flew out and ran up to the front door, noticing Dr. Elliot’s car in the driveway. Thank goodness! she thought as she used her own key to get in.

  As Jessica and Sam entered the foyer, she heard voices in the living room—her mother and Dr. Elliot. She started toward the living room, then glanced back at Sam, who stood near the long oak bench and coat tree, not following her any farther.

  When she gave him a questioning look, he said, “You go ahead. I’ll wait here. It’s okay.”

  She hesitated, thinking she should encourage him to come with her. But they both knew her mother disliked him, and he probably thought it best not to cause more waves in this domestic drama. Feeling pulled by the sound of her mother’s voice as she argued with the doctor, Jessica finally turned away and continued on.

  The rooms were shrouded in darkness, as usual; it was particularly obvious on such a rainy day. Her mother seemed to prefer it that way.

  In the living room her mother sat in an armchair by the window. Jessica rushed to her side. “Mother? How are you?”

  “I’m not sure. Ask him,” Lillian replied, glancing at Dr. Elliot.

  The doctor stood with his stethoscope around his neck. It looked as if he had just taken Lillian’s blood pressure.

  Jessica kissed her mother’s dry cheek and took hold of her hand. Her icy touch was alarming. “What do you think, Doctor?”

  “Her pulse and blood pressure are normal. There are no other signs of a stroke or heart attack, far as I can see,” he added. “You could bring her into the emergency room. We may need to tie her up and gag her, of course, in order to get her there. And knowing how impatient she can be, waiting around for tests and what have you might bring on a real problem.”

  “I detest being talked about as if I were not in the room,” Lillian protested. “Or unconscious perhaps . . . or a complete idiot.”

  “Now, now, Lillian. You don’t want to get your pressure up,” Dr. Elliot warned her.

  “Don’t ‘now, now’ me. I’m feeling quite ill. Can’t you be any nicer?” Lillian complained. “It’s the pills. Those new yellow ones. I felt odd the moment I swallowed them.”

  “Did you start on a new medication today? You didn’t tell me that,” Ezra said.

  “I didn’t . . . ? But of course I did, when you came in,” Lillian countered, sounding confused. “Or maybe I told Jessica,” she added, glancing at her daughter.

  Jessica didn’t recall her mother mentioning a new medicine, only that she had perhaps confused her regular dosage. She didn’t make an issue of it, however.

  “Where are the pills, Mother? We’ll call your doctor and ask about it.”

  “In the kitchen, on the counter near the phone. The yellow ones. I can’t remember the name right now. So many names to remember, you know,” Lillian added with a sigh.

 
“I’ll go take a look at them,” Dr. Elliot said. “Jessica, you stay with your mother.”

  Jessica glanced at her mother, wondering what to do. Just then Sam entered the room. He stood near the doorway, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Lillian’s eyes widened as she noticed him.

  “What in the world is he doing here?” she asked Jessica.

  Jessica flushed, embarrassed by her mother’s shocked tone. “My car wouldn’t start, and Sam was kind enough to drive me over,” she explained.

  Lillian glanced at him, then back at Jessica. “Well, the favor is done. I hardly see the need for him to remain. I’m not dead yet. It’s still my house, you know.”

  Jessica felt her breath catch at her mother’s response. She only hoped that Sam hadn’t heard all of it.

  “Sam has gone out of his way to bring me here, Mother, and there’s no need to be rude,” Jessica replied in a hushed tone. “He will stay as long as he likes.”

  She knew her mother didn’t feel well. But if she felt well enough to insult Sam, then she could be spoken to in a firm manner, Jessica reasoned.

  Lillian shifted restlessly, avoiding Jessica’s gaze. Jessica glanced at Sam. Their eyes met and she saw the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile. Maybe her sticking up for him had taken the sting out of her mother’s comment.

  Sam came a few steps closer. “Hello, Mrs. Warwick. Feeling any better?”

  “Somewhat,” she replied quietly, without looking directly at him. “Bring me a glass of water, will you?” Lillian said to Jessica. “I’m very thirsty.”

  “I’ll get it.” Sam lightly touched Jessica’s shoulder, then went off to the kitchen.

  Although she didn’t say anything, Lillian gave Jessica a disapproving look, making it clear that Sam’s familiarity had not escaped her sharp eyes.

  “I think I’ll call Emily,” Jessica said to her mother. “She ought to know you’re feeling sick.”

  While Jessica felt perfectly capable of handling the situation herself, she knew that her mother deferred to Emily’s opinion, especially in an emergency.