The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (6 page)

“That’s good advice.” I looked up when I heard a key in the door. “Rick’s home. I should go. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Call me later when you decide what you’re going to do,” Becky quickly replied.

I hung up and went to greet Rick at the door.

“
I
THINK THIS
is the weirdest thing I ever heard,” Rick said, leaning back against the kitchen counter and sipping his wine. “But if you need someone to go check her out, I’m your guy. I’m pretty sure my morning’s clear tomorrow. I can go then, if you want.”

I slid my hand into an oven mitt, opened the stove door and withdrew a sizzling pan of broiled chicken. “Hand me that, will you?” I pointed to the serving dish on the center island.

Rick brought it over. “That smells great. What is that?”

“Ginger and lime,” I replied. “Now go grab the cucumber salad out of the fridge and we can eat.”

A few minutes later, we were sitting across from each other at the table.

“What if she really is your twin sister?” he said, cutting into his chicken breast. “How will you handle that?”

I shook my head as I leaned over my plate. “I don’t know. It could be a really great thing. I’ve always wondered about my real family, and I have to admit, I was kind of jealous when Becky found her birth mother. I felt left out, like that would never happen to me, because my mother was dead. Part of me was afraid that Becky would drift away from me, because we weren’t really blood relatives, and she’d want to be with people who shared her genes. I was terrified of that.”

All my life I’d had sporadic nightmares of Becky being kidnapped or taken away. Was that possibly a residual memory of the moment I was separated from my twin at birth? Had I never truly recovered from that trauma?

Get a grip, I said to myself. I still didn’t know for sure if this woman was my twin. Maybe all this was just a silly delusion.

“Lots of people share the same genes,” Rick said, “but they can’t stand each other. You and Becky are close. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

I picked up my wine and took a sip. “I’m nervous about this,” I said, “but I can’t possibly ignore it. I need to know who this woman is. Could you go over there for me tomorrow? I’d really appreciate it.”

His mouth curved into an irresistibly devastating grin, and I melted like butter. “How grateful would you be, exactly?” he asked.

I set down my fork and gave him the look he wanted – the look that answered his question with a sensuous smile.

We went to bed early that night without putting away the dishes.

The next morning, we kissed each other good-bye in the front seat of his Audi when he dropped me off at work.

“You’ll call me as soon as you see her?” I asked, gathering up my purse before I got out.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ll call you soon.”

I stepped onto the curb and felt a rush of nervous butterflies invade my belly as I watched him drive away.

A
N HOUR LATER
, I was seated at my desk with a cup of coffee, reviewing a file. I nearly jumped out of my chair when my cell phone rang. I scrambled to pick it up.

“Hi,” I said, recognizing Rick’s number in the call display. “What happened? I’m going nuts here.”

“Well...” he replied, taking his good old time to elaborate. “I did see her, and there’s no doubt about it.”

He paused, and I waited, breath held, for him to continue.

“There’s no doubt about
what
?” I pressed.

“That she looks exactly like you. Seriously, Di, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I was in some kind of parallel universe, because she didn’t know who the hell I was. She has to be your twin, unless this is a sci-fi flick and she’s your robotic clone.”

I stood up and moved to the window to look out at the city below. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah, though I played it cool. I said I was looking for the restroom and she gave me directions. Her voice was just like yours, too. It was so weird.”

“Did you get her name?”

“Yeah, there was a name plate on the desk. It said Nadia Carmichael. I double checked before I left and I even said, ‘Thanks, Nadia,’ and she said, ‘No problem.’”

I felt my eyebrows pull together in dismay. “My God. You’re sure she looked exactly like me? She wasn’t just...
similar
?”

“She’s your mirror image, Di, and that can’t be a coincidence. You know that little beauty mark above your lip. She even has that, but on the opposite side. I don’t know much about the science of this stuff, but there’s no way she could be anything but your identical twin sister.”

I felt slightly nauseous all of a sudden, and returned to my chair to sit down. “I can’t believe this. What should I do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I have to get to work. Let’s talk it over when we get home.”

“You’re not free for lunch?” I asked, feeling desperate to know more about his brief encounter with the twin I never knew I had.

“I have to meet a client,” he said, “but I’ll come home early tonight. I’ll bring Chinese.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and swiveled in my chair to look out the window at the city skyline.

Was all of this really happening? Did I truly have a flesh and blood twin sister?

Who was she? What was she like? Where had she been all this time?

And did she know about
me
?

T
HAT NIGHT
, R
ICK
told me everything about how he had walked into the reception area of Perkins and McPhee, and was greeted by a woman who looked exactly like me. He told me he’d been stricken speechless – an odd response from a man who was always suave and had a clever reply for everything.

“I thought about telling her the truth,” he said, using his chopsticks to scoop his chow mein noodles out of the box, “but I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. You need to think about this, Di. If she is your twin, it’s going to change everything. If you meet her and tell her who you are, there will be no turning back. It’ll be like a marriage. She’ll be part of your family forever.”

I listened to what he was saying and knew he was right about the permanence of such a connection. There were so many issues to consider. How would this affect the family I already had? I was fortunate to have two amazing parents who loved me more than life itself. I never once felt less valued because I was adopted. They made me believe I was special and rare, and they told me they were blessed to have found me.

Maybe it was selfish, but I didn’t want to give up my distinctiveness, my special individuality either. If there was another person exactly like me, wouldn’t that make me less of an original?

And what if my twin was a better version of me? What if she was wittier, smarter, or more kindhearted?

I knew my family. If they opened their hearts to her, they would do so with love. Would that make me suddenly half as important to them? Would I stand in my twin sister’s shadow because she was new, and because she’d been lost to us – might need extra attention? Or would she always stand in
my
shadow?

And what about
her
family? Would they welcome me as a daughter? Would I even want that? I didn’t know anything about them.

“How did she seem?” I asked Rick, as I poured more chicken fried rice onto my plate.

“What do you mean?

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Did she seem confident? Smart?”

I wanted desperately to know more, to know every last detail about the kind of woman she was. Had she been adopted by loving parents like mine? Did she have siblings to replace the twin she’d lost? Or did she grow up as an only child with abusive parents who lived in a ghetto?

The notion of such a life for my twin stabbed me in the gut, and I knew in that moment that I was already deeply involved – whether I wanted to be or not. I couldn’t possibly walk away now, no matter what sort of person she turned out to be. I needed to know the truth, and I needed to know that she was okay.

“I only spoke to her for a minute,” Rick said, “but she wasn’t as...” He stopped.

“Wasn’t as what?”

He dug into the bottom of his chow mein box, finished it off and set it on the coffee table. “I’ll be honest, Di, because I know you want the truth. She wasn’t as classy as you.”

“
Classy
...” I struggled to understand what he was trying to say.

“She didn’t look like the law school type,” he explained.

“What makes you say that?”

He leaned back on the sofa and rested his arm along the back of it. “She was wearing a low cut top, and bright red lipstick. Huge dangly earrings. I’m surprised any law firm would want someone like that in their storefront, if you get my drift.”

“You mean she looked trashy?”

He inclined his head flirtatiously and pointed a finger at me. “That’s your word, not mine. I’m sure, if she’s your sister, she’s a lovely and intelligent woman.”

I tipped my head back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, because I needed to digest the information. If this woman
was
my identical twin, how alike would we be?

More specifically, how much impact did environment have over genetics?

I resolved not to make any decisions about meeting her until I did some research of my own.

T
HAT NIGHT
,
MY
desire to know more about the science of identical twins kept me up until three in the morning.

I learned that in this decade, monozygotic twins occur approximately once in every three hundred thirty-three births. They share one hundred percent of the same genes because the mother’s fertilized egg splits in two after conception, not before. Nevertheless, identical twins don’t share the same fingerprint, because genetic changes continue to occur in the womb after the splitting of the embryo.

I was most interested in researching twins who were separated at birth, and discovered that no matter what sort of environment they were raised in, they usually shared similar IQ’s later in life, and had similar body mass indexes.

Based on other studies I read, however, it seemed apparent that environmental factors did play a significant role in the development of each individual, whether they were reared apart, or together.

Twins who spent their lives apart had the greatest number of differences, though they often chose similar professions, which was a notable similarity between Nadia and me, as we both worked in law firms, and Nadia, allegedly, wanted to go to law school.

I wished I knew more about her. So far, I could only document two characteristics: she smoked and she did not share my taste in fashion – though that was likely a result of her financial situation. I didn’t smoke and my parents had paid for my postsecondary education, and because of their distinguished profile, I was in demand by high paying firms after law school. I was offered a six figure salary, which was unheard of for someone at my level. On top of that, Rick was generous and did not ask me to contribute to the condo fees, so my closet was full of Armani suits and designer purses.

But who was Nadia Carmichael? I was desperate to know what sort of life she’d led. I Googled her, but found nothing to satisfy my curiosity. She wasn’t listed in the phone book, and there were dozens of Nadia Carmichaels on Facebook. Some had flowers or pets as their profile pictures, and none of them matched my face.

I also searched the adoption agency, but they had gone bankrupt years ago because of a series of law suits.

By the time I stumbled into bed with bloodshot eyes, I knew I couldn’t possibly live with these questions rolling around in my head for the rest of my life. I had no choice in the matter. I was going to have to meet her.

Nadia

I
’
LL NEVER FORGET
the day that crazy letter arrived on my desk at work. It was a dismal, gray morning and the sky was pouring buckets of rain outside. I had waited at the bus stop for nearly twenty minutes, struggling with my crappy orange-and-white polka dot umbrella. The metal spokes were bent and broken, and the rain poured off the nylon like water from a gutter. Naturally, the bus was late.

By the time I arrived at work and sat down at my desk, my hair was frizzy, my shoes were soaked and squeaky, and my damp leggings made my thighs itch.

On the upside, a couple of clients canceled their appointments, so I was able to steal a few minutes to play Solitaire on my computer.

“Quite a day out there,” the courier said when he entered the reception area at 10:00 and approached my desk. He placed four envelopes on the high granite counter and handed me the gadget for my electronic signature.

“I got soaked, too,” I replied as I signed the screen and passed it back.

“You need a car for days like this,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

After he left, I finished my card game on the computer before I flipped through the packages. Everything was addressed to the lawyers, except for one that said
Nadia Carmichael. Personal and Confidential
.

This was different. No one ever sent me personal mail at work, and certainly not by courier.

I wasted no time ripping open the envelope. I withdrew a handwritten letter, which was equally odd. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a letter someone actually wrote with a pen.

Dear Nadia,

I’m sure this is going to seem strange to you, but I’m writing because I think we might be related. My name is Diana Moore and I was adopted out of the Jenkins Adoption Agency in New York in 1986. I was raised in Bar Harbor, Maine, but I moved to Los Angeles a few years ago to attend UCLA.

Recently, I was told there was someone at Perkins and McPhee who looked exactly like me. A good friend of mine visited you there recently and confirmed that we are in fact mirror images of each other. I am wondering if we might be twins.

I’m not sure what year you were born, but if it was 1986, there is a chance we are true sisters.