Take Another Look (17 page)

More than once Jane had fantasized about keeping both babies. She would scribble lists of numbers. The plus column of her savings, the money she had scraped together substitute teaching and temping in Seattle. And then the list of her expenses : food and an apartment rental in Oregon. Car insurance. Bills from the doctors and hospitals, which would not be paid by the adoptive parents if she kept both babies.

“Would you file for welfare?” Marnie had asked Jane one night as Jane added numbers to each column. “You could probably get food stamps.”

Jane had already researched that. She had around ten thousand dollars saved—money she planned to use to live on for the first six months or so. “A person with more than two thousand dollars in the bank cannot get food stamps,” she said. “Besides, public assistance would put me into yet another database where Frank might find me.”

Try as she might to cut the expenses and twist the numbers, the bald reality always shone through. She could barely afford one child; two would put her in a deep financial hole.

She did not discuss the matter of her mental health with anyone, not even Marnie, but she knew she was in a tenuous place, walking a tightrope. One misstep, and the fall would be devastating for Jane and her two babies.

Adoption was the only way to save them all.

And so Jane chose the Zaretskys. They stood out as stable, grounded people—an island of calm in the sea of fear and doubt where Jane had been struggling to stay afloat. She had been living in panic, afraid that, in his spare time, Frank was hunting her down, intent on killing her.

That was why she had decided to leave Seattle. Marnie's support had proven to be invaluable, but sooner or later Frank would find Marnie and then Jane. She couldn't let that happen. She had to keep moving.

And so she had chosen to give one of her babies to the Zaretsky family and move south to Portland, Oregon, far enough away from Seattle that the two girls would not cross paths. It had been a closed adoption; Louisa would not be given Jane's information, and Jane signed away all parental rights. Chrissy and Nick were happy with that; they didn't want to share their baby with an occasional mother. Jane had changed her name in the state of Washington, and spent the last few days before the babies were born searching online for a neighborhood in which to raise her daughter. Somewhere that felt like home, with trees and a main street and a waterfront. A slice of Americana with ethnic festivals and a Fourth of July parade. She had found those joys in Mirror Lake; she had built a life here.

And now, a sliver of the past threatened.

Eager to get to the truth, Jane pulled into a visitor's spot in front of the school and went straight to the main office. Keys in hand, she called a few hellos on the way to the registrar's office, where she paused in the doorway, relieved that Carol Delaney was still here. Jane did not have full access to all student records; she would need Carol's help.

“Hey, there.” Carol took a slug from a water bottle. “You caught me on my way out. It's too quiet around here without the kiddos.”

“Tranquility is good for the soul,” Jane teased. “And for getting work done. Listen, do you have a minute to look up a student for me? A potential softball player.” A small lie, but she needed some reason, and she could hardly say
my long-lost daughter.
“Her name is Louisa Zaretsky.”

“Let's see.” Carol sat down, swiveled toward the computer, and clicked the mouse a few times. “Do you know what grade?”

“A sophomore, I think.”

Carol's fingers flew over the keyboard. “Hmm. We have one Zaretsky. First name Isabel.”

Jane held her breath as Carol clicked open another file. Maybe this girl was a distant relative of her daughter.

“But it looks like her middle name is Louisa. Isabel Louisa.”

Slammed by the truth, Jane stared at the screen. This was her daughter.... It had to be her.

“What info do you need?”

Jane forced herself to shed the paralysis of panic. “Just her contact info.”

“Isabel Louisa . . . That's a pretty name.” Carol copied the information in her round script. “I need to tell my daughter. They're looking for names for baby number two.”

“I didn't even know you were a grandmother,” Jane said, leaning over Carol's shoulder to take in the details on the screen—the impossible morphing into a concrete reality.

Isabel's mother was Christine Zaretsky, but no father was listed. Had Chrissy and Nick divorced? They had seemed like a cohesive couple, so determined to keep their family together.

“There you go.”

Thanking the registrar, Jane clutched the slip of recycled scrap paper as she made her way out to the corridor. There, she leaned against the shiny porcelain tile of the wall and dared to look.

Arbor Lane.

The GPS on her phone pointed to a location on the flats, away from the lake but near the freeway. Although she was tempted to head over there right now, there were grades to finish inputting, and Harper would have to be picked up from her tutor. But as soon as she could get away, sometime this evening, Jane would be paying the Zaretskys a visit.

Chapter 18

F
rom the street, much of the small ranch house was obscured from view by a dense mat of bamboo shooting up from the ground. Probably planted by a novice gardener who had no inkling that the tough stalks would grow wild, tall, and invincible.

Although Jane had not seen any activity inside, the yellow glow from the main window led her to believe that someone was home. Most likely, the daughter Jane had given away was inside that house, and Jane wasn't sure how to feel about that. Staring at the house, she vacillated between feeling like a psycho stalker and feeling like the wronged party in an agreement that, now broken, was going to crack her life wide open. She dreaded Harper's bitter reaction. To learn that your mother had given your sister away at birth and kept it a secret all these years . . . It sounded wrong to Jane's ears, even though she knew there were logical, sound reasons for her actions.

Then there was Luke. He didn't deserve the ripples and obstacles Jane had brought to his life. She worried that the story of the daughter she had given away would be one secret too many, that he would see Jane as a bundle of lies, slowly unraveling as the past caught up with her.

And what would happen if the school administrators heard about this? Of course, they couldn't fire her because she had given a child up for adoption. But upon the unseemly appearance of a scandal, administrators were usually able to find some bogus way to dismiss an employee. Everyone knew the story of the teacher who had been fired for posting “party photos” on Facebook.

It was a sordid mess, one that she had spent a lifetime trying to avoid. And she would have succeeded if Chrissy Zaretsky had stayed put in her lovely Bainbridge Island home.

Holding on to that righteous indignation, Jane marched across the soggy lawn and rang the bell. Her plan was to inform Chrissy that she had been living and working in this town for more than a decade and politely ask the woman to relocate as soon as possible to maintain the privacy of both parties.

But Chrissy did not answer the door.

“Ms. Ryan!” Isabel's smile was effervescent. No longer dressed like Harper, she wore her hair swept back in rhinestone barrettes. The pink cashmere sweater and coordinated plaid miniskirt worn under her kitchen apron were obviously expensive. Isabel stood back and ushered Jane in with all the composure of a fifties housewife. “I didn't expect to see you at the door. Is Harper with you?”

“She's at home.” Jane tried to see inside, but a wall blocked her view. “Is your mother here, Isabel?”

“Sure. Come in.”

Inside the house was more upscale, with travertine marble floors and eclectic pendant lights shaped like gumdrops hanging over the table in the vestibule. Jane peered around the wall to the living room, but it was empty, as was the dining area behind the living room where sliding glass doors led to the backyard.

“Mom is taking a nap,” Isabel offered by way of explanation. “She isn't feeling well.”

“That's too bad. I'm sorry to bother her, but I really need to speak with her tonight.”

Isabel's smile faded. “Am I in trouble, Ms. Ryan?”

“No. It's nothing you did. Although I have to say that I don't appreciate being pranked.”

“I guess Harper told you.” The girl's blue eyes grew round. “I'm really, really sorry. I take full responsibility for that. Kids are always saying we look alike, and we wanted to see if we could fool an expert. I can never resist a challenge.”

As the girl spoke Jane took in the L-shaped house. An open door on her right revealed a hallway, probably leading to the bedrooms, and from here she could see the doorway off the dining room leading to the kitchen. It was modest and tidy, but a far cry from the house on Bainbridge Island. She turned away and moved toward the built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace. One photo collage showed Isabel's school pictures from kindergarten through ninth grade, with empty spaces for the last three grades. Most of the other photos featured Isabel, sometimes alone, other times with Nick and Chrissy. Nick's hair had turned to silver, and his face had thinned, but his merry, bold-cheeked smile was unmistakable.

“Is this your father?” Jane asked, lifting a photo in a black frame.

Pressing her lips together, Isabel nodded. “It was. He died last spring. On Easter Sunday.”

Stunned, Jane put the photo back. “I'm sorry.” She had not expected this; Nick would only have been in his fifties.

“It's been a sad time for Mom and me. That's why we moved here—for a new start. Mom had to get away from the memories.”

The block of ice around Jane's heart was melting. “And you? Did you want to come here?”

“It was my idea to move here.” When Isabel lifted her chin, tears sparkled in her eyes. “Please don't be mad at me, but I have to tell you the truth. We came here to find you, Ms. Ryan. You see, I know that you're my biological mother.”

“What?” Jane straightened.

“After we lost Dad, Mom and I realized that family is everything. My dad used to say that all the time, but I didn't really understand how true it was until he was gone. Mom and I figured that since I have a sister and another mother in the world, it was a good thing to get to know them . . . to get to know you.” With pleading eyes, she opened her hands to Jane. “And so here we are.”

Jane's fury had dissolved in the midst of Isabel's utter sincerity. This girl, this young woman, her polite, well-mannered daughter. Isabel Zaretsky was the exact opposite of her twin—the day to Harper's night—and this moment gave Jane all the satisfaction that had been lacking in the past fourteen years.

Giving in to the welling emotion, Jane took Isabel in her arms and wrapped her in a hug. “I never thought I would be able to hold you in my arms,” Jane whispered.

“I know. Me too.”

While Jane ignored the tears filling her eyes, Isabel patted her back. Such a maternal gesture for a teenager, wise for her years.

“I'm glad you're not mad. That would just destroy me right now. I'm in a tender spot with Dad gone and Mom so sick.”

Jane stepped back, her hand on Isabel's shoulder. “How long has your mother been sick?”

The girl shrugged. “It started when Dad died. That's understandable. We all felt awful. Then it got bad, and . . . when the doctors didn't know how to help her, the therapist suggested a move.”

“Did that help at all?”

“In the beginning. Mom really liked it here. But a few weeks ago, her dizziness and nausea came back.” Isabel twisted the string of the apron around her fingers. “She started seeing some doctors here, but they can't figure out what's wrong. I just hope and pray that they find something to help her. I love her so much.”

“I'm sure you do.”

A scuffling sound came from the hallway. “Isabel?”

Jane had to bite back a gasp. The shell of a woman leaning against the wall barely resembled Chrissy Zaretsky, who had been so vibrant and robust the last time Jane had seen her. Her hair, now thin and a watery gray and white, hung limp on her shoulders, and her damp, drawn face was lined with pain.

“Who is this?” Chrissy rasped.

“My name is Jane. Don't you remember me, Chrissy?” How could Chrissy forget the woman who had given her a child, the light of her life?

Chrissy ran her palm along the wall as if to steady the room. “Refresh my memory.”

Was she suffering from early-onset dementia, too?

“Mama, this is Jane, my birth mother. Remember? You and Dad met her and won her over, and then you adopted me.”

“Yes, yes. I remember now.” Chrissy's dark eyes pinned Jane with surprising fervor. “I suppose we need to talk.”

“We do,” Jane said, hoping this woman wouldn't put her off because of her illness. Jane had come this far; she wasn't about to back off now with only half of the answers.

“Let's sit.” Chrissy pushed off the wall and began to shuffle toward the living room, hunched over her belly as she moved. Isabel hurried to her side, easing her onto the sofa.

“Can you get us some tea, Isabel?” the woman asked.

“Of course. I need to finish the dishes anyway.” Isabel turned to Jane. “Would you like some cookies? I baked them with lavender from the garden.”

“No, thank you,” Jane said, “but tea would be great.”

There was a glimmer of her former self as Chrissy stared after Isabel with gratitude and fondness. “Such a good girl. She deserves better than I can give her.”

“Don't say that, Chrissy. You love and support her, and I can see that Isabel has turned out to be a wonderful young woman. Respectful and kind.” Jane hadn't planned a pep talk, but none of this was turning out as planned. “You are Isabel's mother, and she needs you. That's why it's important for you to take care of yourself. Isabel said you've been seeing some doctors?”

Chrissy waved as if slapping away a gnat. “All the experts money can buy, and so far they can't help me. Gastrointestinal something, they're not sure.” She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. “I'm sorry about before. I get confused sometimes. Weak and anemic. This disease or whatever it is, it sucks the life out of you.”

“It sounds awful, Chrissy. It really does.”

For a while they talked about the health issues that had driven Chrissy to leave Seattle. Jane listened sympathetically as the woman described weeks of hospitalization that finally helped Chrissy regain her strength, only to have the same symptoms return again here in Mirror Lake. “And it all came on the heels of Nick's passing.” Chrissy pressed a fist to her mouth. “Isabel told you that we lost Nick?”

Jane nodded. “He looks so happy in your photos. What happened?”

“His heart gave out. It was quite sudden. He was seeing a cardiologist, but none of us knew how serious his condition was. After that, the house on Bainbridge Island felt too big, too quiet without him. And so full of memories.” Chrissy told Jane about the decision to leave Seattle. Isabel had come up with the idea of moving closer to Jane and to Isabel's twin sister. “She always knew she was adopted, and she knows how important it is to be surrounded by family.”

“But we're not really family,” Jane pointed out. “Yes, the girls share much of the same DNA, but they have been raised so differently. They're not really sisters. I wish you hadn't brought Isabel here. Now everything is so . . . complicated.”

“What else could I do? A child needs a family.”

“She has you, and it was a closed adoption. I counted on you to respect my privacy. How did you find me, anyway?”

“A private investigator.”

So easy when you had the money. Jane felt compassion for Chrissy, and although sympathy kept her from railing about the unfairness of the situation, she could not let this woman ruin her life. “I'm really happy to see Isabel thriving, but I can't hurt my daughter by breaking the truth about the adoption to her. I just can't open that can of worms.”

“I apologize,” Chrissy said. “I know we weren't supposed to contact you. But losing Nick was such a blow, and then with this sickness and being in the hospital, I got to thinking. I wondered, where would Isabel go if something happened to me? My little Isabel, she would have no one.”

“But you have family,” Jane said. “Nick's mother. Your mom and your sisters.” And all the money in the world.

“Nick's mother passed away. My mother and my older sister . . . they returned to Europe. Now I have but one sister in the Seattle area, and Anya cannot take care of a child. She has suffered some tragedies, a terrible breakdown that caused her to be institutionalized. She now lives and works with the Carmelite nuns, a peaceful way of life, but very insular. We haven't spoken for years, but even if we mended things, Anya could not manage Isabel. So. I looked at the big picture and saw that Isabel was right. I knew that if things went wrong, we would have to turn to you. And so, here we are.”

“I'm not sure what you expect me to do, exactly, but I'm afraid I can't help you. I've got my hands full raising my own daughter.”
And I have the rebellious daughter, the one who struggles in school and would not be caught dead serving her mother tea.
“And to be honest, I'm shocked at the way you pushed into our lives, moving to our town and enrolling your daughter at our school. Our girls are becoming friends. Do you have any idea how awkward that is for me? Really, Chrissy. You could have sent a note of warning. You could have called to ask for help. But to just arrive here and insinuate yourself—”

Chrissy cut her off with a firm gesture of warning as Isabel came in with two mugs of tea. “Thank you, dear.”

“You're welcome, Mama-dear.”

How eerily similar that sounded to Harper's resounding “Mama-dish.”

“Do you need milk or sugar, Ms. Ryan? I wasn't sure.”

“This is fine, thanks.” Jane gripped the hot mug, glad for the reality check of the heat on her palm.

“Are you feeling better, Mom?” Isabel gave her mother a coy smile that reminded Jane of a smug parrot. This expression was not in Harper's repertoire.

“Not so dizzy anymore, and the numbness has gone away. That delicious dinner helped.”

“They say that chicken soup is penicillin for the soul,” Isabel said brightly.

“And your soup is always soothing.” Chrissy lifted the steaming mug to her face. “Isabel is an excellent cook. She has perfected all the family recipes.”

“Cooking is fun for me,” Isabel said. “I just wish I had more time for it. Now that I'm editor of the newspaper, I'm spending a lot more time at school.”