Playing for Keeps (5 page)

Avery wept aloud, rocking back and forth, and didn't hear the attic floor creak or see her parents walk in.

“Oh, Avery.” Her mother fell to the floor and pulled a distraught Avery into her arms. “Oh, baby, I'm so sorry….” Her mother cried, holding Avery close to her heart.

“So, it's true, then?” Avery asked as she held on to her mother for dear life. “I'm adopted?”

Silence ensued, fracturing whatever thread of hope Avery had had that the document wasn't real.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, but we never wanted you to find out this way. We wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn't you?” Avery choked out. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Her father kneeled down beside her. “I don't know, baby girl. I suppose we were just selfish and wanted you all to ourselves. Ever since the day you were born, you've been the light of our lives.”

“My whole life has been a lie.”

“That's not true.” Her mother shook her head.

Avery flung herself out of her mother's arms. Her father tried to help her from the floor, but Avery refused his help and rose on her own. “How can you say that? Everything has changed. I don't even know who I am.”

“You are our daughter, Avery Roberts.” Her mother's voice rose vehemently. “Nothing has changed.”

“How can you say that?” Avery asked, nearly hysterical. “Everything has changed! You lied to me. You should have told me long ago that I was adopted. My God, I've always wondered why people said I looked nothing like the two of you. Why I always felt out of place, like a square peg in a round hole.”

When her parents stared at one another without answering, Avery yelled at them. “Where does a black girl with green eyes who looks almost white come from? Where do I come from?”

Avery was upset because her father was doing his stoic routine while her mother hung her head low and remained silent. “Where do I come from? Answer me!” A hot tear trickled down her cheek.

“What do you want to know?” her father asked.

“I want to know about my biological mother,” Avery said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Your birth mother was very young and she wasn't ready to be a parent,” her father replied.

Avery nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “That explains her reasons for giving me up. What were yours for adopting?”

When her mother finally spoke she stammered. “I'll—I'll answer that.” She rose to her feet. “Your father and I wanted a newborn. We were evaluated and screened like any other adoptive parents.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Avery said.

“Avery, does it really matter?” her father asked. He knew this was a touchy subject with Veronica and he didn't want his wife or his daughter to suffer anymore.

“Yes, it does,” Avery said adamantly.

Her mother walked over to the small window overlooking the tree-lined street and stared listlessly out of it. Neither of her parents spoke for several long, excruciating minutes.

When her mother turned around, her cheeks were stained with tears. It hurt Avery to see her mother in pain, but she would not be dissuaded. She wanted the whole truth and nothing but. She deserved that much.

“We adopted you because I couldn't have any children,” her mother said. “I couldn't give your father a child and despite my shortcomings, he stayed with me. He vowed we'd have a family someday and we did. We had you.”

“Oh, Veronica.” Her father came toward her mother and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed under the emotional strain, but he didn't let go, he just held on tighter.

Avery did feel a pang of guilt. It couldn't be easy for her mother to admit that she wasn't perfect, that she was flawed like the rest of the human race. “I know this is difficult for you, but imagine what this is like for me,” Avery said. “I need answers.”

“Honey, now is not the right time,” her father said over his shoulder. “Can't you see your mother is upset?”

Turning blindly, Avery dropped the adoption papers and stumbled down the stairs. She couldn't stand it anymore. Knowing that her parents, the people she'd confided in, loved and trusted the most, had betrayed her was beyond unbearable.

Seeing Avery upset, Louisa instinctively called out to her, but Avery shook her head, grabbed her jacket off the coatrack and rushed out the door.

Somehow she managed to hail a cab and once inside she fell against the back seat. Her whole world was falling apart. Avery covered her mouth with her hand and smothered the grief that threatened to spill out. How could this be happening?

A short while later as she rode the elevator up to her apartment on Central Park West, the future looked bleak. Her mind was spinning and she had no idea how she was supposed to go on after learning her life was built on a lie. Once she was inside her apartment, she felt sick to her stomach and barely made it to the bathroom before purging her breakfast. Afterward, she fell down to the floor and let out a gut-wrenching sob.

 

Avery's emotions raged over the weekend as she reeled from the knowledge that she'd been adopted. She tried losing her sorrows on the piano by playing sad music, and when that didn't work she did the one thing that usually made her feel better and that was making pottery. Once she felt the moist lumps of clay in her hands as she sat over the potter's wheel, with her foot on the treadle, Avery felt somewhat calm. But then, out of nowhere she had a bout of hysteria that had her so debilitated she had to leave the wheel. Hours later, she'd accomplished nothing. Somehow she managed to put one foot in front of the other and make it to work on Monday. She masked her inner turmoil to her coworkers and boss even though she was dying inside.

The only thing she was sure of after she'd cried her eyes out was that she had to find her biological mother. Even if the woman didn't want to have anything to do with her, she had to find out where she came from, or at least that was what she told herself. But Avery secretly hoped that her biological mother would want to have a relationship with her. She knew that it would hurt her parents to hear she was launching a search, but this was something she had to. If she didn't, she would always wonder and never be free.

The problem was that when she called the New York State Department of Health to obtain an original copy of her birth certificate, she discovered that all adoption records were sealed. They suggested she register with reunion agencies or petition the court to open her adoption file. All of which could take a considerable amount of time and Avery had to have answers now. What she needed was to find an honest, reliable private investigator to research her past. Luckily, one of her sorors, Julia Peoples, a fellow alpha kappa alpha from NYU, was a criminal attorney. Avery was sure Julia used investigators in her line of work and if she didn't, she might know where to look.

After picking up the phone, Avery nervously dialed Julia's number; thankfully she picked up on the second ring. “Julia, how are you, darling? It's Avery.”

“Avery, long time no hear,” Julia said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I'm fine,” she replied, trying to sound cheery, even though she felt the exact opposite. “How are things at the law firm? Are you still hoping to make partner this year?”

“I sure am. I've been working my fanny off in the hopes there will be a big payoff.”

“I'm sure it will, Julia. You have the drive and the ambition,” Avery said. “Listen, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“Anything for a soror.”

“Well, I am in need of a private investigator with absolute discretion and I was hoping you might know of someone.” Given her parents' social standing in the community, she didn't want word of this leaking out.

“Is everything all right, Avery? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Julia asked. “If so, you know I'll help any way I can.”

“No, no. It's nothing like that. It's nothing criminal. I just need some information.”

“All right, let me get his number out of my Black-Berry.” Julia paused for several moments before returning to the line. “His name is Woody Owen. He's my go-to guy. If someone is hiding something, he'll find it. And Woody will treat you with the utmost confidentiality.”

“Excellent,” Avery said. “He's just what I need.”

Ten minutes later, she had an appointment to meet with Mr. Owen at his office near the courthouse later that day.

 

The rest of the afternoon, Avery was as jittery as a cat. She was dying to meet Woody, since walk-in traffic was slow at the gallery, but Hunter was watching her like a hawk. Avery was admiring several abstract paintings when Quentin Davis walked in.

What is he doing here? Avery wondered. Every time she was around him for longer than a few minutes, he threw her off balance, and she didn't need that today, so she hid behind a wall to prevent him from seeing her.

She watched and admired the man from afar. He exuded raw sex appeal even from across the room. She didn't know if it was his glistening bald head or the way his jeans hung low to his well-shaped posterior. All she knew was that she was attracted to him and that would never do. He was all wrong for her. She preferred the clean-cut, suit-and-tie type. So what was it about Quentin Davis that caused her to get all hot and bothered?

Avery didn't take the time to find out. She scurried off to the ladies' room to bring down her rapid pulse and to check her appearance. She smoothed her ponytail and bangs, straightened her diamond heart necklace and checked her lipstick. Satisfied that she looked presentable, Avery exited the restroom and walked toward the front of the gallery. She found Quentin leaning over the reception desk speaking with the intern they'd recently hired.

She stopped a few feet from their little tête-à-tête and waited to be acknowledged. Quentin finally glanced in her direction and when he did, Avery nearly froze in place, her breath catching in her throat as he rewarded her with a disarming smile.

“Avery.” Quentin straightened and strolled toward her. “Just the person I was looking for.” He had decided to make a spur-of-the-moment stop at the Henri Lawrence Gallery. He hadn't forgotten the bet, and it was time he paid it due attention.

“Oh, why was that?” Avery asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Well…” Quentin started, but then stopped in front of a painting. “This is an excellent piece of abstract work, don't you think? I love the artist's use of color and form.”

“Yes, I agree. Forbes has an amazing gift for depicting objects in an unconventional way, but I doubt you came all this way to discuss art,” Avery replied, glancing sideways at Quentin.

“No, I didn't.” He shifted his gaze to Avery. He allowed his eyes to travel from her conservative pumps, her black wide-leg pants up to her crisp white shirt and black vest.

Avery tried hard to keep her eyes on the painting, but with the way Quentin was staring at her, she found it difficult to remain focused.

“I came to ask you to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, you know, it's called a date when two people agree to share a meal at the same table.” Quentin laughed as he spoke.

“I know what a date is,” Avery replied tersely.

“Perhaps you haven't been on one in a while?” he asked. “If so, I'd like to remedy that.”

“Just because we agreed to be civil doesn't mean I'd agree to share dinner with you,” she responded.

“Please don't tell me we're back to square one again? I thought we agreed to be friends and if so, you can look on this as a friendly dinner.”

Avery was about to answer when Hunter came toward them. “Hunter, I'd like you to meet Quentin Davis.” Avery relished the thought of changing the subject.

“Mr. Davis,” Hunter said. “It's a pleasure to have you at the gallery.” Hunter hadn't realized that he was the world-renowned photographer when he'd crashed Gabriel's showing.

Quentin glanced at the interloper. He didn't appreciate his conversation with Avery being interrupted. “Thank you. And you are?” He was trying to make headway with the beautiful diva.

“Hunter Garrett, the director of the gallery.”

Avery watched Hunter puff out his chest as if he were some big dog and extend his hand. She despised Hunter's posturing. He didn't hold a candle to Quentin's naturally broad chest.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hunter,” Quentin said, shaking his hand. Then a mischievous thought popped into his head. He could use Hunter to help him on his mission. “I was just asking Ms. Roberts to dinner so that we could discuss the possibility of exhibiting some of my work.”

“Would you really be interested in exhibiting in a gallery as small as ours?” Hunter asked.

Avery gave Quentin the evil eye. She knew exactly what he was up to. He was using her job as a way to get her to go out with him. She could strangle him!

“I could be persuaded over dinner if Avery would agree to accompany me,” Quentin said open-endedly. He couldn't disguise the glint of humor in his eyes as he smiled at Avery. He could see the wheels turning in her head and knew she could spit nails at him, but he suspected she would do the right thing.