Authors: Barbara Freethy
* * *
"Today we're going to talk about who we are," Joanna said to the children, who were sitting at their tables, tired from recess, full from lunch, and for the moment blessedly quiet. "On the piece of paper in front of you, I want you to draw me a picture of your family."
Lance Tyler raised his hand. "Do I have to draw my sister? I hate her."
The kids laughed. Joanna sent him a scolding look. "She's part of your family, so you have to include her."
"Oh, man."
"You can also include your grandparents if you want," Joanna added. "And tonight I want you to go home and ask your parents where your ancestors came from."
Billy Dutton interrupted. "You mean like if they were from Mars? Because I think my brother is an alien."
"Your brother is not an alien, and your family is not from Mars." She tried to hide a smile. She loved these kids with their crazy ideas and their wide-open minds, so eager to learn about everything in their world, even if it meant aliens descending from a distant planet. "Tomorrow, when you come into school, we'll look at the globe and figure out where all of our ancestors came from. We might find out that some of us were related hundreds of years ago."
As she said the words Joanna couldn't help looking at Rose and Lily. They stared straight back at her, as if they still believed she was their mother. Maybe she was something to them, something distant and in the past, a fifth cousin. At least then it would make sense.
"Okay, start on your pictures," she said. "We only have a few minutes before the bell rings."
Nora Garvey stopped in the doorway, motioning to Joanna to come over.
"What's up?" Joanna asked.
"I can't make aerobics tonight. My mother-in-law is in the hospital."
"I hope it's not serious."
"She had a minor heart attack, but I think she'll be all right."
"Thank goodness."
"By the way, your mother called earlier. I took a message."
"Thank you."
"Is she okay with this job?"
"Not really. But she's distracted with something else at the moment." Joanna glanced over at the children, who were involved in their pictures. She stepped into the hall, just outside the door, so they couldn't be overheard. "My mother started going through my dad's things, and she practically jumped out of her skin when I tried to help."
"Why?"
"I have no idea, but she did not want me to look in one of the envelopes on the desk. And get this -- last night I found no envelope, only ashes in the wastebasket."
Nora's eyes widened. "How strange. What do you think was in the envelope?"
"Beats me, I never considered the fact that there might be a side to my parents' marriage that I didn't know about."
"You think your father was having an affair?"
"What else would be so personal that she would hide it from me? We've always been close."
Nora shrugged. "Heck if I know. By the way, how are the Ashton twins doing? Still calling you Mama?"
"Yes, and that's another thing. Not only do I find out that my father had some big secret, I also discover that all these years I had a double living on the other side of town." She took a breath, saying aloud what had been going through her mind since she'd met the twins. "What if the two things are connected? What if your mother had an affair with an Italian guy. And your father didn't know."
Could her father have been someone other than Edward Wingate? The thought hurt deeply. Surely he wouldn't have lied to her all these years. They had spent so much time talking in the last few weeks of his life. He would have said something if there was anything to be said. Unless he hadn't known. "I'd hate to think my dad wasn't my dad."
"I'm probably wrong. Sorry, I have a big imagination."
"I should get back to class."
"What are your kids working on?"
"Family pictures."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "Am I spotting a theme here?"
"I think children should understand where they come from, their roots." Joanna smiled at Nora's skeptical expression. "Okay, I'm a little obsessed at the moment with family ties."
"Joanna, even if your mother or father turned out to be someone different, you'd still be you."
As Nora walked away Joanna thought about her words.
You'd still be you
. But would she?
* * *
Michael glanced at his watch. Damn. He better move if he wanted to pick up the girls on time.
Helen buzzed him on the intercom. He reached for the receiver. "Yes?"
"Your mother-in-law is on line one."
"Thanks." He punched the button on the phone. "Hi, Sophia."
"Michael, hello." She sounded a bit nervous.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. No." She added a laugh, but it didn't sound quite sincere. "I was just thinking about how hard you're working and how difficult it must be taking off at three o'clock to get the girls, when I'm really not that busy. I thought maybe I could pick them up for you."
"Sure. That would be great." Then he remembered, "Uh, Sophia. Maybe that's not a good idea."
There was silence on her end of the phone. Then Sophia spoke. "I'll be fine."
"You haven't seen her."
"I want to."
So that was the reason behind her unexpected offer. Michael hesitated. "I do have some work to finish."
"Then I'll pick up the girls and we'll spend the afternoon together. We'll have dinner at the restaurant. They can help Vincent and Louis in the kitchen. Just come whenever; it doesn't matter how late. I can even take the girls home and put them to bed if you have something else to do."
"Thanks, Sophia. You're incredibly generous, as always."
"Don't work too hard, Michael. I worry about you, you know."
He did know. She worried about him more than his own mother. "I appreciate the concern, Sophia, but I'm fine."
"You're trying to do too much. I want to help you more."
"Well, picking up the girls is a big help."
He hung up the phone with mixed feelings. He couldn't prevent Sophia from meeting Joanna, but he didn't think the meeting would go well.
"Michael?" Helen opened the door to his office, holding a bouquet of red and white roses mixed with baby's breath. "I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They're lovely."
He sent her a blank look. "I'm glad you like them, but I didn't send them."
Her smile faded. "I called Joey, and he didn't send them. I just assumed it was you, thanking me for the overtime I've been putting in."
"I do appreciate that, but it looks like you have a secret admirer."
Helen stared down at the flowers. Then she walked over to the wastebasket by Michael's desk and dumped them in the can.
"You don't like roses?" Michael asked.
"I don't like Tony."
"Tony? Why would you think they're from him?"
"Because he doesn't take no for an answer. He's a spoiled, immature guy who thinks he should get whatever he wants. But he can't get me anymore. Not with roses or chocolates or anything." Although her words were bursting with confidence, they ended on a sobbing note, and suddenly Helen sank into the chair in front of Michael's desk and began to cry.
Michael stared at her in bewilderment. He seemed to be surrounded by crazy females these days. "Uh, Helen." He pulled a tissue out of his desk drawer and tossed it across the desk. "Here."
She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry." She sniffed. "I just don't need this right now."
"Need what?"
"Tony. I wish he hadn't come back."
"I'm sure he won't stay long." Michael wanted to comfort her, but his words had the opposite effect.
"I'm sure he won't," she replied with bitterness and anger. "God forbid he should stay in one city with one woman."
"That's just Tony, Helen. You can't change him into somebody else, no matter how hard you try."
"I know that. But I've loved him for so long, since the seventh grade."
"Really?" Michael was a bit surprised. Although Helen and Tony had dated off and on for years, they'd never seemed passionately in love, more friends than anything. But he knew they'd been lovers, and in the months before Tony left, they'd spent lots of time together. Still, he'd never been able to see them together forever. Of course, he'd never been able to see Tony with anyone on a long-term basis. Commitment was not something Tony did well.
"When Tony left I thought I would die, it hurt so bad," Helen continued. "We'd gotten so close. I thought he was on the verge of proposing, not leaving."
"I know it hurt, but you found someone else, Helen. Someone who can give you what you need,"
"Yes, and Joey is a great guy. He's solid and loving and he wants a family just like I do, and a house and a dog and the whole thing. But -- "
"But?"
"He's not Tony," she said in anguish. "What if I'm making a mistake? What if I'm marrying the wrong guy just so I can be married?"
Michael didn't know what to say. Hadn't he done the same thing by marrying Angela when she was barely out of high school, when he was still in his twenties and didn't know a damn thing about life? But he had wanted a family. He had wanted what Sophia and Vincent De Luca had, a loving relationship, a commitment, children. He had wanted forever. He'd gotten eight years and a hell of a lot of pain along the way.
As Michael studied Helen's face -- the torment in her eyes, the streaks of tears across her cheeks -- he wondered if she was making a mistake. If Tony could affect her like this, how much did she love Joey?
"You think I'm terrible, don't you?" she said.
"I think you're confused."
"I want to do the right thing."
"You will."
"I wish I had your confidence. And I wish to hell I wasn't attracted to the absolutely wrong person in the world for me."
Michael nodded. He felt exactly the same way.
Sophia paused in front of the sign that read Happy Hollow School. In a few moments she would go inside. She wished her sister Elena had come with her, but Elena had told her that nothing good could come from seeing this woman, that there was no point.
But there was a point. And Sophia knew exactly what it was. She just didn't know if she had the right to make that point.
The longer she hesitated, the more doubts flooded her mind, but she was consumed with curiosity. She wanted to know what the woman looked like, hear her voice, watch her mannerisms. She wanted to know if there was any possibility De Luca blood ran through her veins.
There was so much at stake. Marriage. Family. Reputation. Honor. The foundation of their lives. They weren't young anymore, none of them, not Vincent or Elena or herself. They couldn't start over. Just being here was a risk.
Part of her wanted to run away, but another part of her knew she had to go forward. How could she not see this woman who looked so much like Angela?
The answer was simple. She couldn't.
* * *
"Joanna, you have a phone call in the lounge," Nora said. "My class is gone, so I can watch your last few stragglers."
"All right. It's just the twins."
"Aren't you going to stay and say hello to Daddy?" Rose asked.
"I have a phone call, honey," Joanna said, secretly relieved that she might actually miss seeing Michael. She'd thought about him all night and all day. In fact, she couldn't get him out of her mind, and it wasn't healthy. She needed some answers, something to put an end to the mystery. That's why she had made a few calls during her lunch break. She hoped one of them was calling back.
"Are you mad at Daddy again, Mama? Are you going to go see that other man with the black mustache?" Rose pressed on, her brown eyes filled with worry. "I don't like him. He has scary eyes. Please don't go there again."
Joanna glanced at Nora, who sent her a compassionate look. Then she turned back to the girls. "Rose, honey, I'm not your mother. I'm Joanna, and I'm just going into the teachers' lounge to take a phone call."
"Why don't you two show me what you did today?" Nora said, drawing their attention away from Joanna.
Joanna hurriedly left the room before any more protests could form. In the lounge she sat down on the couch, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Joanna Wingate?"
"Yes."
"This is Pamela Cogswell. I believe you called me earlier."
"Yes, I did," Joanna said. "You might not remember me, but I'm hoping you remember my mother."
"Of course I do. Goodness, Caroline and Edward lived next door to us for eight years. That was before you were born, of course, and before they moved to San Francisco. How are your parents?"
"My mother is fine. My father passed away a few months ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess we all lost touch, didn't we? How can I help you, Joanna?"
She hesitated, knowing she was about to take a step that she might never be able to retrace. Her mother wouldn't forgive her for calling Pamela, regardless of the answer. Family matters were always private with Caroline. She never allowed herself to be exposed in any way. But Joanna knew she couldn't simply pretend that Angela De Luca had never existed, not with the twins sitting in her classroom each morning, not with Michael's image taking up permanent residence in her mind.
"Joanna?" Pamela repeated.
"Yes, I was wondering if you remember when my mother first became pregnant with me."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "What an odd question," Pamela said. "Why on earth would you ask me that?"
She couldn't possibly give her the real reason. "I'm redoing our family albums, putting all the photos in order, and for some reason I can't find any photos of when my mother was pregnant. Since she said the two of you were very close, I was hoping that perhaps you might have one from a party or something." She held her breath, knowing it was a lame excuse at best.
"No, I don't have any photos. Frankly I didn't see your mother all that much in the few months before she and Edward moved to San Francisco. I didn't even know they were thinking of moving. It came as quite a surprise. And they took off so suddenly. The
For Sale
sign went up one day, and the next day they were gone."
"Really?"
"Yes. Your mother was unhappy for a long time, I think. We all had children and she didn't. We tended to talk about our kids, their schools, their sports programs. We didn't mean to leave your mother out, but sometimes I think she felt that way. Those were different times, you know. Women didn't have as many options as they do now."
"No, I don't suppose they did," Joanna murmured, Pamela's words only reinforced the uneasy feeling in her stomach.
Her mother had felt left out. She'd been trying to have a baby. She'd been feeling desperate.
"Anyway, a few months after your parents moved," Pamela continued, "I got a baby announcement, so I guess everything worked out in the end. We exchanged Christmas cards for a while, but neither your mother nor I were ever particularly good correspondents."
"So you never actually saw my mother pregnant?"
"No, but she was always so thin. She was probably months along before she showed."
"Probably."
"She must have been pregnant before she left. I think you were born just three or four months after they moved. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Joanna. Say hello to your mother for me, won't you?"
"Of course." As she hung up the phone, she knew she had absolutely no intention of telling Caroline anything about this phone call.
It didn't make sense. Her mother said she had moved to the city just a few weeks before Joanna was born. She had to have been pregnant when she lived next door to Pamela Cogswell.
Unless Caroline had never been pregnant. Unless she'd gotten her baby some other way.
Goose bumps ran down Joanna's arms. Her pretty, petite blond mother was turning into a stranger in her mind. And her father with his jovial smile, his twinkling eyes, his tender words. Had it all been a lie? A farce? Was she really their child? And if Caroline wasn't her mother, who was?
* * *
Sophia dawdled as long as she could, but the redheaded teacher named Nora seemed eager to usher her out the door. "I was hoping to meet their teacher," Sophia said.
"Joanna's on the phone," Nora replied. "I don't know how long she'll be."
"Could I wait?"
"Maybe you could speak to her tomorrow -- or the next day." Nora glanced at her watch. "I need to close up the school."
"Can we go to the park?" Lily tugged on Sophia's sleeve.
"In a minute, dear."
Sophia darted another look toward the doorway, desperate to prolong her visit. She had summoned up the courage to see Joanna now, not tomorrow, not the next day -- but today. She didn't know if she would have the guts to come back. Second thoughts already crowded her mind.
"Why do you want to talk to Joanna?" Lily asked. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Do you think she's Mama, too?"
Sophia stepped back, startled by the question. "No, of course not. I just wanted to meet your teacher, that's all."
"Why don't you come back tomorrow?" Nora said decisively, moving them toward the door.
Sophia walked as slowly as she could, but eventually they reached the front door, then the walkway, then the sidewalk. She stopped to take one last look at the school. No sign of Joanna Wingate. Maybe it was meant to be this way.
* * *
Joanna met up with Nora at the door to the teachers' lounge.
"Don't move," Nora said sharply. Then, contradicting her own request, she took Joanna by the hand and led her over to the window. Slitting the Venetian blinds with two fingers, she tipped her head toward the window. "Look."
"Why?"
"Just look."
Joanna stepped up to the window. She saw Lily and Rose holding hands with an older woman. The woman had short black hair and was somewhat plump. Before Joanna could catch a glimpse of her face, the woman turned and walked away from the school.
"Who was that?" she asked, surprised that Michael hadn't picked up the girls.
"Sophia De Luca, their grandmother." Nora lowered her voice. "She wanted to see you."
"She did?" Joanna felt a shiver run down her spine. "I guess that's only natural. I showed you that picture of her daughter."
Nora stared at her without saying a word.
"You're making me nervous," Joanna said.
"I didn't like the way she looked."
"How did she look?"
"Like you," Nora said. "She looked like you, Joanna."
She swallowed hard. "It's just the dark hair. People think I'm Italian all the time. My mom and I just laugh it off. Some people think I'm Hispanic and they speak Spanish to me. It's no big deal."
"Are you done?"
Joanna hugged her arms close to her body. "I'd like to be done."
"You've got to talk to your mother, Joanna."
"I have. She thinks it's a coincidence."
"What do you think?"
Joanna moved away from the window. "I don't know. They say everyone has a double.It happens. A fluke of genetics."
"Your mother has always been so possessive of you," Nora said slowly. "She rarely let you out of her sight. Even in college she used to call you a couple of times a week and come down on the weekends. It was always fun to have her around, but now that I think about it, it was a bit odd."
She held up a hand. "Please, Nora. Don't speculate. Believe me, I'm doing enough of that on my own."
"What if something really strange happened?"
"Like what?"
"Like you were kidnapped. You might have been one of those kids who was stolen as a baby."
Joanna's hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Don't be ridiculous. You know my mother. Can you imagine her doing such a thing?"
Nora didn't answer.
"Neither can I," Joanna finished. "I have to get out of here."
"Are you going home?"
"I don't know. I need to talk to someone who can tell me something, someone who can make sense of this absurd situation. Maybe I should talk to the twins' father again. Find out more about the De Lucas."
Nora walked her to the door. "The girls told me about your trip to their house and the ice cream parlor. Are you sure talking to Mr. Ashton is a good idea? You're getting pretty involved with this man and his family."
"I'm not sure about anything anymore," Joanna said as she left the room. Her life had once been so calm, so peaceful, so boring. Now she felt continually uneasy, as if every second of each day brought her closer to the edge of a precipice, and she was terribly afraid that if she fell in, she wouldn't ever get out. Unless someone threw her a lifeline -- someone like Michael.
* * *
Michael set down his drafting pencil. His sketch of the Connaught Office Building still didn't impress him. The lines were too bland. There was nothing exciting about it. It certainly wasn't special enough to replace the Stratton Hotel.
Impulsively he picked up the paper and crumpled it into a ball, "With two seconds on the clock," he said, mimicking a sports announcer, "he goes for the three pointer. At the buzzer he shoots and scores."
He tossed the paper ball through the small plastic hoop he had placed over the trash can. If nothing else, his shooting skills were getting better.
He sat back in his chair and tried to get inspired, but instead of lines and angles, he thought about Joanna, about her passionate plea to restore the Stratton. Of course, he could never convince Gary Connaught to do that. He wouldn't even try. Jackson Cox would probably fire him if he even mentioned the word "restoration."
Resting his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He needed a vision, something to spark his imagination. Who was he kidding? There was nothing to get excited about. He was designing a rectangle, a very expensive checkerboard of squares that would reach into the sky, blocking out sunlight and turning the street below into a dark and windy tunnel.
But he was not destroying the city. Contrary to what Joanna thought, there could be beauty in modern buildings, buildings that would withstand earthquakes, that could house offices, condos, and restaurants all within one structure. Each generation demanded its own monuments. Who was she to criticize Gary Connaught's choice of an office building?
A historian, that's who she was. He smiled to himself. Joanna might look like Angela, but she certainly didn't think like her. Angela had thrown food out before the expiration date just to make sure she didn't have anything old in the refrigerator. She had watched the fashion trends like a hawk, never wanting to be left behind the newest fad.