Union Street Bakery (9781101619292) (14 page)

“You never told me that.”

“It was all hearsay. And they never found anyone like her so I thought they were just wrong.”

“You said once the social worker tried to take me.”

“She did. By then you'd fallen asleep on my shoulder. When you started awake and saw the social worker, you started to scream. I'd never felt such sadness. I asked then and there if I could just keep you. I didn't even ask your Dad because I knew it was the right thing to do.” A wistful smile teased the edge of her lips and her expression transformed to one of pure love for my father. “When the social worker started to argue, Dad intervened. He said you would be staying with us and called a friend of his in the district attorney's office. In the end you did not leave.” She cleared her throat. “I gave you a bath that night and put you in one of Margaret's sleepers. You were already too tall for anything that belonged to Rachel. We fell asleep in the La-Z-Boy together.”

Sudden hot tears stung the back of my throat. I'd spent a lifetime driving my mother crazy and confounding her on many levels but if not for her and dad . . . I wanted to lean over and hug her and tell her how much I really did love her. But the emotion got all tangled up in fear and hurt. A moment passed before I could speak. “You never heard from this Terry woman.”

“No, I never heard from her. And the
Alexandria Gazette
ran several articles on you. It was never printed that we adopted you.”

“Why?”

“That was my request. Of course, our friends and family knew, but I had this fear that if the information were printed, this Terry woman, or whoever she was, would just show up and take you. Silly, but I worried about that a lot when you were little.”

“You never told me.”

“I didn't want my worry to become yours.” She tugged at the edge of her T-shirt and straightened her shoulders a fraction.

“You said there was another letter?”

“I burned it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was vague enough that it could have been written with information from one of the old articles. And I didn't want to upset you.”

“I wish you had.”

She frowned. “Well, you've got the letter that really matters.”

“Have you told Dad?”

“Not about the first letter, but he opened this one. He said you are a big girl now, and we should leave it up to you to contact her when and if you wish.”

“Why isn't he here now?”

“I told him to let me handle it. I know Dad is like you. Emotions don't agree with him.”

I couldn't fault him for that. And if not for him, Mom may have burned the second letter.

Curiosity warred with a deep sense of loyalty I had for my family. All those nights of longing for Renee aka Terry. All the unanswered questions about my past. All the hurt. This Terry woman could fill in so many pieces.

I folded the letter, skimmed my fingers along the crease, and tucked it back in the envelope. “I don't need to talk to her.”

That wasn't true. I did need to talk to her. But I wouldn't dig for answers at my family's expense. I made a show of walking to the large trash can in the café, tearing up the letter, and dropping the bits into the can. “I've got enough going on in my life right now. Terry can just wonder.”

Calling her “Terry” gave me a bit of much welcome distance. In my mind she was Renee, not Terry. I
knew
Renee. I'd loved and missed Renee. Terry was a stranger.

Margaret shook her head. “You're making a mistake, Daisy. You need to call her.”

“Why?”
The word sounded as if it were torn from my body. “Why do I want to see a woman who left me to fend for myself when I was just a baby?”

Margaret's expression held a hint of pity. “Because she is a piece of your puzzle and you need her.”

“I don't need her!” Too much anger leaked into the statement.

“I don't mean
need
in the sense of
Need
.” Margaret's tone sounded adult and careful. “But there are basic considerations here. Like medical information. What if cancer runs in your birth family? You might be a McCrae in every sense of the word but genetically you are different.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, stop being a drama girl about this,” Margaret said. “This Terry chick might have valuable information for you.”

Rachel laid her hand on my shoulder. Small fingers projected surprising strength. “One day you might have children of your own and you will want to know.”

“I'm on the no-kid plan, remember?” That point had been another bone of contention between Gordon and me. He'd dreamed of a half-dozen children whereas I couldn't quite summon the excitement to replicate my unknown DNA. He'd never seen the logic, and I'd never been quite able to fully explain.

Rachel shook her head. “You have nothing to lose.”

“Rachel,” I said, “I am holding on by a thread right now. I've lost my real job, my health insurance, and my apartment, and my ex-fiancé just walked into the bakery yesterday.”

“Your what?” Mom blinked.

“You were going to marry him?” Rachel exclaimed.

“Shit, Daisy,” Margaret said.

“Never mind about Gordon. That's another day's drama. Long story short, guys, I don't have the reserves to deal with this woman now. I've got a full plate.”

“But that plate might empty in the next few months,” Rachel said. “When Mike died, it was all I could do to tie my shoes and brush my teeth. The idea of planning made my head hurt. In time though I not only managed the basics but I could think ahead. That day is coming for you.”

“My thoughts aren't going to change on this. I'm not calling her, and if she sends another letter then return it unopened. I don't care.”

“Daisy,” Rachel whispered. “Let us help you. Let me contact her.”

“No!” And then more calmly, “No. I don't need any help, Rachel.” I enunciated each word with cutting directness. “Honestly.”

She shook her head. “Yes, you do.”

Unable to summon another fighting word, I stormed across the bakery toward the front door. Nothing mattered right now. Not the letter, my family, not even the journal. All I wanted was fresh air to fill my empty lungs. I needed space. Silence. “I'll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?” Mom said.

“Out. I'll be back.”

Mom opened her mouth to say something else but Margaret silenced her with a look. “Mom, not now. Daisy, we'll see you soon.”

“Right.”

The air outside had turned cooler and the wind had picked up. Thick clouds promised rain. I crossed the outdoor café, wanting to put much distance between it and me. The bakery was the last place I needed to be, but something tugged at me and I stopped.

Hugging my arms around my midsection, I turned and stared at the uneven brick sidewalk now covered in a thick green layer of pollen. The pollen came every year at this time, coating everything as it brought renewal, stirred allergies, and created an endless need to dust. When I was a kid, I'd been the one to sweep the pollen. Now as I studied the faint coating of green dust on the patio, I realized Mom had been keeping up with it this spring. In the days since my return, I've been too busy to even step foot on the patio.

Stupid to care about the damn patio, but it made me wonder how much of my life I would miss because I'd be slavishly working in the bakery's basement or some new financial office.

A sudden urge rose up in me. I wanted to pack my Toyota and just start driving. I'd always wanted to see Nova Scotia and Seattle and New Mexico. There was so much I wanted to do, but work at Suburban and now work in the bakery kept me tethered.

Why couldn't I just break free and run away?

Because as much as I'd like to have packed up my car and driven as far away as I could from the bakery and Renee, I wouldn't. Yes, the bakery and I were shackled together because of finances and promises made, but it was more than that. I really was not so different than I was when I was seventeen. I may have crossed the Potomac to work but basically I had lingered in the Washington, D.C., area because I was waiting for Renee's return.

And now she had.

And now I did not want to see.

A year ago, I'd have been in a better place to handle the letter. A year from now, I'd be back on my feet. But now . . . I was off balance, wondering who I was and how I was going to help support my family. Renee could not have picked a worse time.

I walked up and down the street, dressed in my jeans, sweatshirt, and flour-dusted kitchen apron. The air was chilly, the clouds above thick and dark with rain. I moved down Union Street toward Founder's Park, a small, grassy area that bordered the Potomac. It was less than a couple of blocks wide, but it was a welcome bit of nature in the city. Today, there was an ancient tall sailing vessel, a schooner I suppose, that had moored at the Queen Street dock. At one time there'd have been dozens of ships just like it in the harbor but now the ship was an odd, out-of-place visitor that no longer belonged.

On warmer days the park would have hosted children and tourists. But the cold and threat of rain had driven everyone inside.

Sitting on the park bench, I stared out at the water. The water rose and fell in short choppy waves. A sailboat skimmed past, its white sails full of wind. The boat's captain had his face to the wind.

I was jealous. He looked so free. And I felt anything but free.

I wasn't sure how long I sat on that bench. I think I'd have stayed all night—but then a fat raindrop plopped down on the seat beside me. Another and then another fell. The sky was about to open up. And as much as I wanted to remain, I had to get back. Like it or not, I had a life that needed tending.

Halfway back up the street, the rain started to fall faster and faster and by the time I reached the shop, I was soaked. Water dripped from my sweatshirt, my hair, and my eyelids. My shoes squished and slurped with each step. It was past three and the front café was quiet. The shop was closed for the day. The front window sparkled, the floor swept, and the display case cleaned out and ready for tomorrow's baking.

I'd forgotten how peaceful the place could be at this time of day. This morning had been chaos and tomorrow would bring the same bedlam but for now it was so orderly and perfect. When I was a kid, I'd snag several cookies that had not sold, and I'd slip into the closed café after school and just read. Breathing deeply, I had to concede the bakery wasn't all bad. It did have its moments.

I moved past the trash can toward the counter. There was a blue plate sitting on the counter, which held two carrot cake cupcakes. A smile teased my lips as I moved behind the counter and picked up a cupcake. Carefully, I peeled away the baking paper and bit into the moist cake, savoring the bits of raisins, carrots, and the cream cheese icing. Rachel knew her carrot cake cupcakes were my cure-all.

Halfway through the cupcake, I glanced toward the trash can.

Shit. I'd made such a show of ripping up and tossing away the letter. At that moment I really didn't want anything to do with it or the sender. But now that a little time had passed I wasn't sure of anything. What if . . . ?

The trash bags should have been dumped in the Dumpster in the back alley. It wouldn't be too hard to dive in and find the bag.

I glanced toward the back door, which led to the alley. “Damn.”

No, look. It's still here.

The feeling made no sense and still I set the cupcake down on the plate, glanced around the café, and out to the street to see that no one was watching. Then I moved toward the can, half hoping it had been dumped and half praying it had not. I peeked inside the lid.

The can was full and untouched. The other can was empty and had a fresh garbage bag liner but this one was as I left it.

Mom and my sisters. They hadn't dumped the trash, and, knowing them, they'd have left the can untouched and un-dumped for days. They knew that eventually, despite protests, I'd want the letter.

I lifted the lid and found the pieces of the letter lying on top. Carefully, I collected them and folded them into a neat square, before I shoved it into my back pocket. The bulk pressed into my backside as I crossed the café and ducked behind the counter to wash my hands in the sink and grab the plate of carrot cake cupcakes.

In my room, I sat on my pull-out sofa and ate, uncaring of calories or protein exchanges or how much exercise it would take to mend the damage. I just didn't care right now.

I spotted Susie's journal sitting on the center of my unmade bed. I didn't remember leaving it there.

Dealing with anyone's past life or secrets right now felt too overwhelming. I just didn't want to deal.

Quietly, I picked up the book, which felt heavy and awkward in my hands. I carried it to a small box of books that remained packed in a copy box and stowed in a dim corner. I pulled off the lid and gently set the journal on the stack. I dug the torn letter from my back pocket and laid it in the box as well. The journal had been hidden for over 150 years and Terry has waited thirty years to write her letter. Leaving it unread a little longer wouldn't matter in the big scheme of things.

I closed the lid and backed away, carefully and slowly as if I'd just witnessed a great car accident. “Not today, ladies. Not today.”

Sinking down onto the mattress, I barely noticed the squeak of the bedsprings or jab of the spring in my fanny. Already the mattress and I were becoming far too familiar with each other.

I plucked the last cupcake from the plate and bit into it. Carefully I peeled the pink paper from the cake and then gently licked icing from around the edges. Though it was my second cupcake, it still tasted as sweet and sinful as the first.

It also tasted of denial and fear.

At best, eating was a temporary fix. I knew, like the journal and letter, my problems waited for me, like specters in the shadows.