The One I Trust (9 page)

“Are you serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Very good.”

Even though she was through with everything for the semester on Wednesday, Emily didn’t go home to Pennsylvania until Saturday. She said that this was because she wanted to cook me a meal for my birthday after Denise was gone for the holidays and because she wanted to get the rest of her packing done, but I also wondered if another part of it might have been that she wasn’t real anxious to get home. She’d told me that her family did a lot of things with Ethan’s family around the holidays and I had the feeling that she wasn’t looking forward to being around them at Christmastime.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t argue but instead busied myself in Hale’s garage, finishing the Christmas present I’d been working on for Emily ever since her birthday. By the time I knocked on her door on Friday afternoon, a little before five, I had a tightly wrapped package safely tucked under my arm.

“Happy early birthday,” she said, kissing me gently on the lips after she opened the door and let me in. “And merry early Christmas.”

“Thank you,” I said, handing her the package. “Merry early Christmas to you.”

She smiled at me as she took it.

“Should I open it now?” she asked. “Or later?”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “And I’ll give you your Christmas present now, but you’re going to have to wait to open your birthday present until after dinner . . . when we have cake.”

“You made a cake?”

“Of course I made a cake,” she said, steering me toward the couch. “It’s your birthday.”

“It smells really good in here,” I said as I sat down. “What are you making for supper?”

“It’s a surprise,” she said, picking up a wrapped package from the counter and bringing it into the living room.

She set it on the coffee table in front of us and then sat next to me.

“Open it,” I said, nodding at the present she was still holding.

She worked on freeing it from the wrapping paper for a moment and when she did she exclaimed, “Oh, this is beautiful!” It was a stained wooden box with an otter carved into the lid. She looked at it carefully for another moment and then back at me. “Did you
make
this?”

“Of course I made it,” I said. “You think I can afford to buy you something?”

“This is amazing,” she whispered, running a finger over the otter on the top. “I can’t believe you did this.” She looked at me. “You’re so talented.”

“The hard part was actually the box,” I told her, pointing to one of the edges. “You’re holding my first and very last attempt ever at dovetailing.”

“It looks fantastic,” she said, giving me another kiss. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Good.” I smiled.

“Now open yours.” She lifted the package from the coffee table and handed it to me. It was a box, taped up in paper that was covered with angels. After I got the box unwrapped, I lifted the lid as Emily watched.

It was a photo album. At first I thought it was going to be pictures of the two of us or something, but I quickly realized that we’d only had our picture taken together maybe once or twice, and that it had to be something else and then I started thinking about what it could be and I realized what it probably was, and . . .

I did not want to cry. Did
not
.

But the album was just page after page of nothing but Noah. Hale and Anneka must have stolen my phone one night while I was sleeping and then put all those pictures together with all the ones they already had so that Emily could print them out. She’d probably spent as many hours on that album as I had on her box and the tears welled up no matter how hard I tried to make them to go away.

I couldn’t speak to thank her, but when she reached an arm around me and pulled me close, I did manage to bury my face in the curve of her neck. Hopefully that conveyed to her just how much I loved it and how much I appreciated what she had done.

“I thought you should be able to look at them somewhere besides your old, cracked phone,” she said quietly and I nodded against her. In a moment she said, “I’ve got to go get something out of the oven.”

I nodded again and she kissed the side of my head before she got up to leave so I could be alone while I wiped away tears.

My birthday dinner consisted of lobster bisque, seafood lasagna, salad with homemade dressing, and cheddar cheese biscuits.

I was again filled with the warmth of gratitude (or maybe something else) and I kissed her more than once during dinner to make sure that she knew just exactly what I was feeling.

The chocolate cake she’d made me had thirty candles on it (which was completely unnecessary because there was no way I was going to forget that Emily and I were no longer both in our twenties). I was pretty much over the age thing by now though and the cake tasted really good. After we’d each had a piece, we settled down on the couch again so she could give me my other present.

“Happy birthday,” she said, presenting me with an envelope.

“Thank you,” I answered, taking it from her. I opened the flap, pulled out a card, and looked at the front. There was a picture of a cat with a shocked look on its face. The caption read, “I can’t believe you’re thirty!” On the inside it said, “You don’t look a day over forty-five!”

“Ha, ha, ha,” I said dryly. “Very funny.”

She laughed. Next I looked at the folded piece of paper that had been tucked in the card.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s your birthday present.”

Before I’d even unfolded it all the way, I was certain that it was a handmade certificate or a voucher—hopefully for something like an hour-long massage or a week’s worth of homemade dinners.

But that’s not what it was. It
was
a homemade certificate . . . but not for a massage or food. It was a certificate for a membership—a year-long membership to ForeverLinked, complete with a user name and password for me to use.

Emily watched as I read it and I knew what kind of reaction she was expecting, but I just couldn’t give it to her. I did, however, manage to say, “Thank you.”

“Do you know what it is?” she asked, leaning closer.

“Yes.”

“It’s so you can answer that message!” she explained anyway. “Now you can find out if that was your mom or dad!”

“Thank you,” I said again. I couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, still not looking at her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her studying me for a long moment.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Yes, there is,” she argued. “What’s wrong?”

I finally looked at her.

“Look, Emily,” I said. “I’m sorry, but . . .”

When I didn’t go on, she said encouragingly, “But what?”

“I don’t
want
to answer that message.”

She looked at me, obviously confused.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, hearing my voice rise. “I have absolutely no desire to contact either one of them!”

“But . . . but you said it was just because you didn’t have money . . .”

“Well, I lied, okay?” I said, my voice louder than I meant it to be. “I could have a
million
dollars and wouldn’t want to answer that message.”

Emily looked as if I’d hit her.

“Why?” she asked softly.

“Because they got
rid
of me!” I exclaimed. “They
gave
me away.”

“But there are a lot of reasons they might have given you away,” she pointed out. “They were probably kids in high school or something who couldn’t even take care of themselves, much less take care of you. At least they cared enough about you to put you up for adoption and make sure you found a good home . . .”

“And so now, thirty years later, they finally decide they want to find me?”

“They might have been looking for you all along,” she pointed out. “For all you know, it was an open adoption, but then your mom ran off to get away from your dad and—”

“Emily,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m not going to answer that message.”

She looked as if she wanted to protest, but I stopped her by saying, “And I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes.

I rubbed my temple and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She didn’t respond.

“And I do appreciate the thought,” I added quietly.

“I ruined your birthday,” she said, still not looking up.

“No,” I promised. “No, you didn’t,” I reached for her chin and tilted her face toward me. “You didn’t ruin my birthday at all. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, looking as if she might cry at any moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I promised. “
I’m
sorry.”

She didn’t seem any less likely to cry so I moved closer and stroked the side of her cheek with my thumb.

“Look,” I said with a little smile. “We’re both sufficiently sorry, okay? Can we just forget that this even happened?”

I looked into her eyes until she nodded and gave me a small smile back.

“Okay,” I said, and I pulled her mouth to mine.

After we kissed I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. We were quiet for a minute until I said, “Dinner was wonderful.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“And I love the album you made.”

“I’m glad.”

I gave her a final squeeze before pulling back and looking at her.

“But I think I’m going to get going,” I said. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow and I want you to get a good night’s sleep.”

She nodded, but she still looked concerned. I leaned in and gave her another long kiss—one that would hopefully reassure her that everything was okay between us.

When I sat back I smiled at her and she smiled back, looking a little less worried.

“What time are you leaving in the morning?” I asked.

“I’m going to try to get out of here by eight.”

“Text me before you get going,” I said, and she nodded.

I put the album back into the box and set the homemade coupon on top before putting the lid on.

She walked me to the door and I hugged her again, still feeling the need to reassure her that everything was all right between us.

“Thank you for the box,” she said. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, and then I gave her a kiss that reassured us both.

AT THAT POINT, a lot of people probably would have gone home, thought about it for a while, broken down, logged on to ForeverLinked, and responded to that message.

Not me.

I went home, thought about it for a while, and then broke down and dug around in one of the cardboard boxes that was stacked in the corner of Hale and Anneka’s basement with the rest of my stuff, looking for a large manila envelope.

I had the contents of the envelope completely memorized, but I searched until I found it anyway. I looked at it for a moment and then went back upstairs, where I found Hale’s computer sitting on the couch.

It was only a minute or two later that I heard Hale and Anneka’s bedroom door open, and I quickly buried the envelope under a pillow behind me. Hale poked his head out of the hallway.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, giving him a little nod. “I just need to use your computer for a bit.”

“Filling out applications?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” I said. “Actually I forgot to tell you that I got a job.”

“You did?”

I nodded.

“Doing what?”

“Oh, it’s a great job. Lovely, really. Right after the first of January I start working as an Inventory Control Specialist.”

He furrowed his brow.

“What’s that?”

“That, my friend,” I said, “is a person who travels all over the Triangle counting bottles of shampoo and bags of dog food so that stores can see if their actual inventory matches their theoretical inventory.”

“Oh . . . well, um, that sounds, uh . . .”

“Mind-numbingly boring?” I suggested.

He looked at me with one of his suppressed smiles.

“Well, hey,” he finally said. “It’s a start, right?”

I nodded.

“And a paycheck?”

“I can hardly wait.”

“So, what are you working on?”

“Oh. I, uh, I was just checking the scores of the games tonight. I’m going to bed in just a second.”

He studied me carefully for a moment and I tried not to let my face give anything away. If Hale found out about Emily’s birthday present he’d have me sending a message through ForeverLinked faster than you can say, “Eternal optimist.”

“You sure everything’s okay?” he eventually asked.

“Yep.” I continued to hold his stare.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

“’Night.”

He disappeared down the hall and when I heard the bedroom door close, I pulled the envelope from its hiding place again.

Less than two hours later I pounded on Emily’s door. I saw a light come on and saw her check the peephole before she opened the door and let me in.

I was still holding Hale’s computer.

“What’s going on?” she asked as I stepped past her.

“You want to see why I didn’t answer that message?”

She looked at me, confused and bleary eyed.

“Look,” I said. “Come here and look.”

I walked over to the couch and sat down. She sat next to me.

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” I said, opening the computer.

“What?” she asked as the computer whirred to life.

A picture appeared on the screen and I pointed to it.

“That.”

She looked at the photo—a headshot of a beautiful woman, probably in her mid- to late forties. Her blonde hair was in loose curls and hung over one shoulder. A diamond earring sparkled against her tan skin. She was smiling for the camera and her eyes were sparkling.

My eyes . . . Noah’s eyes.

“Is that your mother?” she asked softly.

I nodded.

“How did you find her?” Emily asked. “Did you go on ForeverLinked?”

“No,” I said. “I knew her name.”