Ask Mariah (22 page)

Sophia opened the bottom drawer of her armoire and dug through the layers of underwear, bras, and slips until her fingers touched the soft velvet pouch. Only one other person knew about the pouch -- her younger sister, Elena. Elena had refused to keep it at her house. In fact, she had wanted her to throw it away, but Sophia couldn't do that.

Slowly she pulled it out and loosened the white silk cords that held it together. Inside was a soft pile of tissue paper and several strands of brown baby hair, curled contentedly in their innocence. She smiled, feeling the insistent push of tears behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Next to the curl was a tiny photograph of a baby girl. The baby's eyes were wide open, dark brown and inquisitive. Her tiny hands, still in fists, covered her ears as if she couldn't stand the noise of the real world. Or maybe she just couldn't stand hearing her mother say good-bye to her.

The front door slammed, and Sophia jumped. She couldn't let Vincent see what was in her hand. She tried to hide it as she heard the hurrying rush of steps on the stairs. She had barely touched the drawer when her bedroom door opened.

Elena came into the room, and Sophia breathed a sigh of relief. Elena was five years younger but six inches taller than Sophia. Her hair was a light shade of brown, her eyes the color of cinnamon. She dressed with style and a conservatism that pleased her banker husband and surprised the rest of her family, who remembered her fondly as a wild barefoot girl who lived in shorts and tank top T-shirts. "Oh, it's you," Sophia said with relief. "I thought you were Vincent."

"He's still at the restaurant. I came over to remind you that we're going out Saturday night, six o'clock sharp, and I absolutely refuse to take no for an answer. I know you said not to make a big deal, but your fortieth anniversary is a big deal, and I want to treat you both to dinner."

"It's not necessary."

"It is," Elena insisted. "You did so much for me, Sophia. All those years you took care of me, protected me. The least I can do is buy you dinner for your anniversary."

Her anniversary -- the date loomed in front of her, a reminder of all the time that had passed. She didn't want to celebrate it at all. But how could she not? It was expected. She had always done what was expected of her.

Elena frowned when she didn't answer. "What's wrong?" Her gaze traveled down to the pouch in Sophia's hand. Her face paled. "What is that?"

Sophia stared back at her. "You know what it is."

"You still have it after all these years? I told you to throw it away. I never wanted you to take the picture in the first place."

"I know." Sophia could still remember that day, even though it had been thirty years. She had pushed it to the back of her mind, but now it seemed as clear as if it had been yesterday.

The baby had been brought to the room for only a few minutes. Sophia had taken the photo, and Elena had cut the hair. Then the nurse had taken the baby away to their murmured good-byes. She and Elena had cried. They had held each other, the experience bonding them for all time. Yet they had never talked about it again -- not until tonight.

They were both older now, well past middle age, but in her heart and mind Sophia still felt thirty years old. She still felt scared, eager, worried, helpless, desperate, all the emotions she had felt that night. She knew Elena had felt those same emotions.

Elena sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Do you want to see the photo?" Sophia asked.

Elena shook her head. "No. Yes. I mean, no," She sighed at her indecision. "I'm afraid to look at it again."

"There's nothing to be afraid of." Sophia handed Elena the photo of the baby.

Elena let out a breath. "She's so beautiful. I'd forgotten how much hair she had, how big her eyes were, how her fingers curled into fists as if she were ready to fight the entire world." Elena bit down on her lip, obviously struggling for control as she handed the photo back to Sophia.

Sophia returned it to the pouch, then picked up the baby's hair between two fingers. "It's so soft, Elena, filled with innocence, love, and trust. We betrayed that trust."

"It's just hair. It doesn't stand for anything. Please, put it away." Elena stared at the carpet until Sophia returned the hair to the pouch. "Is it gone?" she asked.

"Yes, it's hidden away, so we can pretend it's not there." She walked across the room and sat down on the window seat, still twirling the cords of the pouch between her fingers. "I never went to confession. I never told the priest what we did."

"You couldn't. The priests knew us too well. If any one of us had said anything, it would have been disastrous for the family. Carlotta was recovering from that horrible car accident. Papa was drinking too much, and Vincent was working hard to keep the restaurant afloat after his father died. I was just getting my life together after the divorce. It was a difficult time. We did what was best for the baby."

"Do you really believe that? Do you believe that all of our problems were more important than that child's birthright?" Sophia shook her head, feeling the constricting band of guilt tighten around her heart. "We did what was best for us, not for her."

Elena crossed her arms as she stared at Sophia, worry written in every line of her face. Elena had always been able to escape guilt. Something within her simply shut down her conscience when difficult choices needed to be made. Sometimes Sophia wished she had that faculty.

"I spoke to Michael last night," Elena said. "He told me about Joanna Wingate. It can't be her."

Sophia uttered a short, bitter laugh. "Close your eyes to the truth, Elena, but please spare me your ignorance. You know it's her as well as I do."

"Okay, so it's her." Elena's foot tapped out a restless beat on the floor. "You have to let it alone."

"She has a right to know who her mother is."

"Her mother is the woman who raised her."

"But she's not the woman who gave birth to her," Sophia argued. "She's not the woman who carried her for nine months, who struggled to give her life. Have you forgotten how hard it was, Elena?"

"No. I could never forget that. In fact, it's haunted me for years -- you, me, her." She paused, waiting until Sophia looked at her. "Michael asked me if I thought anyone in the family could have given up a baby for adoption,"

"What did you say?"

"I said no."

"Did he believe you?"

"You know Michael. He can be persistent when he wants to find out something. He told me this woman is very concerned about the similarity between Angela and herself, but that to her knowledge Caroline and Edward Wingate are her real parents. So that's good."

She turned on her sister's innocent comment like a vicious dog after a hummingbird. "It's good? That Joanna grew up without her real mother? That she doesn't know her history, who she is, where she came from? That's good?" She was suddenly furious. She didn't understand how her husband and her sister could believe such a falsehood.

"She had a loving family. You keep forgetting that," Elena said.

"No, I'm not forgetting anything. That's the problem, Elena. Since this woman came into our lives, I can't stop remembering. I remember the rain beating against the windows. I remember the doctors and the nurses, the baby's first cry. And I remember how quiet the room was after they took her away."

Elena jumped to her feet, clapping her hands over her ears. "Stop it! We can't go back. It's too late."

"I can't stop it. I won't. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe this woman has come into our lives for a reason."

"You're twisting things around, Sophia. If you won't think of me or of Vincent, then think of her. Think of Joanna -- how much she has to lose. Maybe we did take away her birthright, but do you want to take away the rest of her life? Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you tell her the truth. Is that what you really want?"

* * *

Joanna was surprised to hear laughter and conversation when she returned home. It was past nine-thirty and her mother hadn't had company in -- she couldn't remember how long.

She set her purse on the hall table and walked into the living room. Her father's good friend and attorney, Grant Sullivan, sat on the couch with a brandy snifter in his hand. Her mother sat on the opposite couch, dressed in a blue sundress. Her makeup was perfect, and there was a flush to her cheeks, as if she and Grant had been discussing something of an intimate nature -- as if they had been flirting or something.

She tried to dislodge the ridiculous thought from her mind until she saw Grant smile reassuringly at her mother. Something passed between them, something Joanna didn't understand.

She had never seen her mother in the company of another man. If Caroline wasn't with Edward, she was with Joanna. It felt odd to see her now, entertaining a man with a known history of womanizing. Not that Joanna didn't like Grant. He'd always been like an uncle to her. But over the years she'd heard stories about this woman and that woman. Grant had been married three times and was currently divorced. It was probably an innocent visit between old friends, but Grant Sullivan had never been one to just drop by. He had to have a reason. She just hoped his reason wasn't her mother.

That sounded bad even in her own head. Why shouldn't her mother see other men? It just wasn't something Joanna had expected to happen this fast.

"How are you, Joanna?" Grant asked.

"I'm fine, and you?"

"Great. I thought I'd stop in and see how you and your mother were doing."

"Looks like we're doing pretty well," she said pointedly to her mother as she sat down in an armchair.

"How was your evening?" Caroline asked. "You seemed rather vague on the phone about where you were."

"I took another look at that house I told you about, the one that belonged to Ruby Mae Whitcomb."

"Oh, that's right." Caroline glanced over at Grant. "I told Grant about your resemblance to that Ashton woman."

"You did?" She asked, surprised. She would have thought that was the last thing her mother would bring up.

"The world is a funny place," Grant said. "I knew another guy who met his double. He couldn't get over it. But there wasn't a speck of common blood between them."

"Really? I guess that's true in my case, too. Hard to believe, though."

Grant took a sip of his brandy. "As a lawyer I spend most of my day disbelieving my own eyes. Some of the people who walk through my door, some of their stories are completely bizarre. I guess it's that old saying about truth being stranger than fiction, huh?"

"Maybe." She got to her feet, feeling set up. Grant and her mother weren't having some secret flirtation. The man was simply here to back up her mother's story, and his presence was doing exactly the opposite. "I think I'll go to bed."

"Don't go, Joanna. I'm sure Grant would love to hear about your teaching job."

"I'm tired, and frankly I don't like this whole thing."

Her mother's face tensed. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you really doing here, Mr. Sullivan?"

"I thought I might be able to answer some of your questions, Joanna. I've known your parents since the day they first met. We've been through a lot together."