Don't Say A Word (18 page)

    "Not much. Good interview." Tracy popped the rest of the doughnut into her mouth.

    "Thanks. Anyone call while you were sitting at my desk?"

    "Only about half a dozen people. How did you suddenly get so popular?" Tracy tossed a yellow pad in front of Julia, on which she had scribbled several messages. "Your sister called twice. Michael, your father, and some guy named Alex, who I'm betting is the hunk who came by to see you the other day, also called."

    Julia stared down at the list of names. It was early in the morning. What on earth could have happened?

    "That guy, Alex, said to call him before you call anyone else," Tracy continued.

    That definitely didn't sound good.

    "Is this all part of the wedding mania? Or is something else happening?" Tracy asked.

    "It's a long story."

    "If you need to talk, I'm here. Now I'll get out of your way. Let me clean this stuff up."

    As Tracy picked up the newspaper, one of the sections slipped to the desk. Julia picked it up, her heart stopping at the headline and the photograph. "Oh, my God," she murmured. "I can't believe they printed this."

    "Printed what?" Tracy grabbed the paper from Julia's hand, then whistled under her breath. "You're a celebrity, girl. Not the best picture of you I've ever seen, but… Wow." She looked at Julia with a question in her eyes. "Is this why everyone is calling?"

    "I think so." Julia glanced back at the newspaper, reading the headline again: found! world's most famous orphan. How could they print such a thing without any proof? She took the paper back from Tracy, flipping to the page with the article, where there was another photo of Julia as well as one of Alex. The story focused on the exhibit and the fact that one of Charles Manning's most famous subjects was now living in San Francisco. They gave her name, spoke of
DeMarco's
Seafood Cafe, and finally admitted that, while the photographer's widow, Kate Manning, said they were almost convinced that Julia was the orphan girl, proof had not been clearly established.

    "Is it true, Julia? Are you her?" Tracy asked.

    "I don't know. What I do know that is no one should have printed this article without concrete evidence."

    "They always print gossip in this section. It's what sells the newspaper."

    "Well, they shouldn't print anything that isn't a fact. This story could hurt a lot of people-my father, my sister, Michael." She shook her head in frustration. She should have realized that once the reporter had • a photo of her, she would probably print it. "
Dammit
, what am I going to do?"

    Tracy offered her a compassionate smile. "I have no idea, but I think you're about to be rescued by the cavalry."

    Julia looked up to see Alex stride through the front doors of the office, a grim, determined expression on his face.

    She ran out to the lobby to meet him, the paper still in her hand. "I just saw this. I had no idea they would run a story based on nothing."

    "I know. Are you all right?"

    She shook her head, feeling completely overwhelmed. Her head was spinning so fast she was dizzy. She didn't know what to do first, where to turn. When Alex held out his arms, she moved into his embrace without a second thought. He pressed her head to his chest, and she closed her eyes, feeling for the moment that she was in exactly the right place.

    Unfortunately, the moment ended far too soon. "I did some research this morning on your grandparents," Alex said, stepping away from her. "I found Susan Davidson, the surviving spouse of Henry Davidson. I called her on the phone and asked her if she had a daughter named Sarah."

    Julia's eyes widened. She'd been thinking about contacting Susan Davidson, but hadn't quite found the nerve to take that step. "What did she say?"

    "She said Sarah died twenty-five years ago in a fire."

    "No!"

    "She also said that Sarah attended Northwestern and not a day went by but that she didn't miss her daughter."

    Her nerves began to tingle. "Did she know about me?"

    He shook his head. "No. She said Sarah died single and alone. Then she started crying and had to hang up."

    "That doesn't make sense," Julia murmured. "Twenty-five years ago I was three years old. And my mother said that her parents disowned her when she had me, so why would they have thought she was all alone? Wouldn't they have wondered what happened to the baby? To me? It must be a mistake. This Susan Davidson is not my grandmother."

    "I think she is," Alex said, refusing to go along with her.

    She met his gaze and saw nothing but confidence. "Why? We don't have any evidence."

    "Sure we do. Don't start running scared again, Julia."

    She bristled at his brisk tone. "I'm not doing that. I'm examining the facts."

    "No, you're trying to twist the facts, undo the connections, but you can't. Your father gave you the names of your grandparents, Henry and Susan. They had a daughter named Sarah, and she went to Northwestern. It all matches."

    Maybe it did. Maybe she was just scared to connect the dots. Thinking about vague, nebulous grandparents was different than actually speaking to them.

    "But you're right," Alex continued. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions without further investigation. That's why I bought two plane tickets for Buffalo, New York. We're on the ten-forty-five flight, and if we're going to make that flight, we need to leave now."

    Her jaw dropped in amazement. "Are you out of your mind? I can't go to Buffalo."

    "Of course you can. Even with the time difference and a short layover in Chicago, we can be there by eight o'clock tonight."

    "What about my family? I can't leave them to fend for themselves, especially with this article in the newspaper." She dreaded having to return calls to Liz and* Michael, who would probably not be happy about this latest development.

    "What about Daniel Brady?"

    "Haven't heard from him. I left Stan another message. They both have my cell phone number. We'll be back tomorrow."

    Julia hesitated for a long moment. It was one thing to move along in her daily life and do a little research, but flying across the country was a big step. Still, the sooner she got some answers, the better. And she was curious about whether or not this woman was her grandmother. "Did you tell her about me?" she asked. "Did you tell her we were coming?"

    "I didn't get a chance. She hung up too fast. I can go on my own if you'd rather stay here. I thought you might-"

    "Want to meet her," Julia finished. "I do. If she is my grandmother, she's probably the only person who can tell me about my mother. I need to stop by my apartment and pick up some clothes. And I'll bring the necklace and the
matryoshka
doll. Maybe she'll know where they came from."

    "And some photographs of your mother," Alex said. "I want to make sure we have the right woman."

    It was just after eight o'clock in the evening when they landed in Buffalo. Julia was glad she'd grabbed a coat before leaving San Francisco. The northeastern air was much colder, and the clouds were threatening rain, maybe even snow, and it was only September. She couldn't imagine her mother, who had shivered in sixty-degree weather, living on the East Coast with its long and brutal winters. Maybe that was one of the reasons why she'd never gone back. But deep down Julia suspected her mother's reasons had nothing to do with the weather.

    Alex rented a car and put Julia in charge of the map as they made their way out of the airport. They'd decided against calling Mrs. Davidson in advance. Since Alex had spoken to her that morning, at least they knew she was in town, and hopefully she would be at home. Julia still couldn't quite believe that she'd jumped on a plane and flown across the country with barely an hour's notice. But she was already glad that she'd come. No matter what they learned, at least she could see the city where her mother had spent the early part of her life.

    It turned out that her grandmother didn't live in Buffalo proper but in the nearby suburb of Amherst, an upscale neighborhood with gracious old homes set back from the street, lots of trees, and beautiful yards. Alex parked in front of a white two-story house with light blue shutters and colorful floral window boxes. Julia wondered if this idyllic place was where her mother had grown up. It was hard to believe she would have turned her back on such a home, or on her parents, for that matter.

    Before they could get out of the car, a woman came through the front door. The light went on as she crossed the porch to pick up the newspaper. She was a small woman, barely five feet, with short, dark brown hair. She wore a burgundy velour warm-up suit, her feet in tennis shoes. Was this her grandmother?

    Julia bit down on her bottom lip, feeling suddenly terrified to talk to the woman.

    "Showtime," Alex said.

    "Don't say it like that," she snapped at him. "This isn't funny. This is my life."

    She could tell by his expression that he thought she was overreacting, but he was wise enough not to say so. "Are you ready?' he asked instead.

    "Yes. Who are you?" the woman asked warily. "I won't be buying anything."

    "And we won't be selling anything," Alex said, flashing her a reassuring smile.

    Julia saw Mrs. Davidson relax under that smile. The man could certainly put on the charm when he wanted to. "We'd just like to speak to you for a few moments," Julia told her.

    "About what?"

    Julia hesitated, not sure how to begin. "About your daughter," she said finally. "Sarah."

    Mrs. Davidson gasped and put a shaky hand to her heart. "Sarah?" she echoed. "Why would you want to talk about Sarah?" She turned to Alex. "You're the man who called this morning, aren't you? I told you my daughter is dead, and I really don't care to talk about her with strangers. If you'll excuse me-"

    "Wait." Julia drew in a deep breath, knowing there was no easy way to deliver the news. "I'm not a stranger. Sarah was my mother."

    "No." The woman began to shake her head, her eyes wide in disbelief. "No, that's not possible. Sarah was killed in a fire. She didn't have any children. You're thinking of another Sarah."

    "Show her the photo," Alex advised.

    Julia reached into her purse and pulled out the photo of her mother and herself taken at her college graduation. She handed it to the older woman. Mrs. Davidson moved so she could look at it under the light. Alex and Julia followed, waiting for her reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

    As she studied the photo, her breathing came short and fast. "That's her. That's Sarah, my baby girl." She lifted her head to stare at Julia in bewilderment. "She's older in this picture. I don't understand. She died twenty-five years ago."

    Julia swallowed hard. "No, she didn't. That picture was taken seven years ago. I have others, some from last year and the year before."

    "She's alive? Where is she? I want to see her."

    Damn. She hadn't phrased that right. "I'm sorry, but I should have started by saying that my mother died six months ago."

    A flood of emotions ran through the older woman's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Then she began to sway. "I-can't-breathe."

    Alex grabbed the elderly woman just before she hit the ground. He swung her up into his arms and carried her into the house.

    "Oh, my God!" Julia felt incredibly guilty. Had she caused her grandmother to have a heart attack or a stroke? She wasn't a young woman. She was thin and frail, and she'd lost her husband only a short time ago. Julia immediately regretted blurting out the news about her mother without any warning. "I shouldn't have said it like that," Julia murmured. "I should have softened the blow."

    "There was no way to do that." Alex set Mrs. Davidson down on a floral-print sofa in the living room, pulling a pillow under her head. He put his finger against her pulse and bent his head to check her breathing. "I think she just fainted."

    "Maybe I should get some water or a cold towel."

    "Good idea."

    "I hate to walk around her house, though. It's not like she invited us in."

    "Well, we're in now," Alex said. "And since she identified Sarah as her daughter and your mother, then you're family."

    "I can't believe it." Julia stared down at her grandmother. Her skin was pale, her face lined and wrinkled, especially around her eyes and mouth. Judging by her reaction, she'd obviously loved Sarah very much. But why on earth did she think Sarah had died in a fire? And why had Sarah said her parents disowned her because of her pregnancy? Julia had so many questions. She wanted her grandmother to wake up, to give them some answers. But they would have to go slow. The woman was probably in her early eighties. Who knew how strong she was? "Do you think we should call 911? What if something is really wrong with her?"