The Woman in the Photo (29 page)

NORTH BEVERLY PARK

Present

V
alerie had the afternoon off. Elizabeth swapped hours with a coworker to end her shift at noon. She hurried home to the pool house and made two turkey breast sandwiches. She filled a thermos with iced tea.

“I'm taking you to lunch,” she said when her mom came home.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

“To you.”

Val beamed. She scampered into the back room and peeled off her uniform. “Dress or casual?” she called out.

“Shorts,” Elizabeth said. “And flip-flops.” Though fall was approaching, L.A. was stuck in its perpetual summer.

They drove to Balboa Park. On a patch of grass by the lake—away from the squawking geese—Elizabeth spread out two beach towels. She unpacked their lunch. As Val
settled in next to her daughter, she asked, “Is this about the mysterious boy?”

Blushing, Elizabeth said, “So, you know.”

“Of course I know. I'm your mother. I have eyes in the back of my head and ears in the front. I am a Picasso.”

Elizabeth laughed. In spite of her guilt. She hadn't mentioned York because, how could she? How could she tell her mom how they met without confessing her many sins—swimming in the Adells' pool, sneaking down the hill, drinking alcohol? Instead, she'd said nothing. Even as her mom eyed her askance each time she slithered outside to make a private call.

“Here's the thing,” Elizabeth began, taking a deep breath.

Out it all spilled. The truth. About George, anyway. The Duke of York. The rest was harder to say.

“He sounds nice, honey.” Valerie took a bite of her sandwich. “Though I should ground you for drinking.”

“I only had one. And it was pink. And I wasn't driving.”

“You'd better not! No more sneaking into the pool either. You want us out on the streets?”

Elizabeth sighed. “It won't happen again.”

“No. It won't.”

They gazed out at the twinkling lake. A hidden gem in thirsty Van Nuys. Elizabeth's idyllic retreat. Her private club. Where she used to come with Shelby. Back when they were best friends.

“Too bad you two live so far apart,” Valerie said. “When will you ever see him again?”

Elizabeth looked down at her long toes. So different from her mom's. “That's the other thing,” she said, softly.

“Oh?”

“Well—” Surprising her, tears began to well.

Valerie set her sandwich aside and reached over to tuck her daughter's hair behind her ear. Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she say? How could she admit her secret search? How could she confess how long she'd wondered about her birth mother, how often she'd tamped down her curiosity? For years, when she couldn't sleep and the murky light before dawn bathed her bedroom in shadows, questions rained upon her. Had her natural mother fallen overboard? Was she
pushed
? Had she flailed her arms and cried out for her baby?

Elizabeth!

Was her name—her original name—the last word on her birth mother's lips as she sank to the bottom of the sea? How could Elizabeth now hurt the mother who had actually
mothered
her?

“You've found out who your birth mother was,” Valerie said, gently.

Elizabeth looked up, shocked. Valerie's eyes were damp, too.

“Is that it?” Val asked.

“Sort of.”

She looked so vulnerable Elizabeth didn't have the nerve to say more.

“Tell me,” Valerie said, almost in a whisper. Leaning across the beach towel, she wrapped her fingers around her daughter's palm. In the warmth of her mother's touch, Elizabeth felt her permission. From the crown of her dark, curly hair to the tips of her bony toes, a sense of peace floated over her. She opened
her mouth and released the history as she knew it. The South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. The flood. The aftermath.

“They still live in Johnstown, Pennsylvania,” she said, spent.

“Who does?”

“My birth mother's family.”

Valerie reeled back, as if blasted by a gust of wind. Her hands flew up to her chest. She pressed them against the cotton blend of her T-shirt. The one that read
YES, I AM A SUPERMODEL.

“Have you contacted them?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do they want to meet you?”

“Yes.”

Valerie inhaled and blew it out. Twice. Her eyebrows knotted together, then they smoothed themselves out. In a what's-done-is-done sort of way, both hands slapped her knees.

“Okay, then. Let's get you a plane ticket.”

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

Present

N
o one looks powerful in socks. That's what Elizabeth was thinking as she peeled down her jean jacket and kicked off her shoes at the heel. Standing spread-eagled in the giant X-ray machine, with both hands over her head, she understood the awkwardness of plane travel. Airports are a great equalizer. Even first-class passengers are treated like possible terrorists.

Not that she was flying first class. Elizabeth's cheap seat was at the back of the plane. In the middle of the middle section. By the time her group was called to board, first-class passengers were already sipping champagne.

With her carry-on backpack bobbling in front of her, Elizabeth shuffled to her seat. When she got there, she was surprised to see that her overhead bin was jammed full. Weren't they
supposed to provide storage for one bag? Wasn't that included in the price? Not sure what to do, she stood in the aisle with cheeks blazing in embarrassment.

“Allow me.” A man stood and took her backpack, stowing it over his seat next to the bathroom. Elizabeth was so grateful she didn't have the heart to tell him her book was still inside it.

“Thank you,” she said instead. Then, somehow, she managed to climb over the other passengers in her row just as the flight attendant announced, “We're cleared for takeoff.” Elizabeth plopped into her seat and buckled up. Even if she were dying to pee, no way would she have the guts to move now.

The plan was simple, though exhausting. With her mother's help, she hadn't needed to spend all of her laptop savings. Just
most
. Still, it was worth it. Elizabeth booked the cheapest flight to Pittsburgh. A redeye there and a redeye back to save the cost of a hotel. The train ride from Pittsburgh to Johnstown was an hour and a half long. There was one train into Johnstown in the morning, one train back to Pittsburgh in the evening.

Her visit would be a surgical strike. Meet her birth mother's family, take a tour of the town, have lunch, snap photos, get back on the train. No time to feel anything but tired.

In the plane, the lights blinked off and the engine revved up. Elizabeth's heart thumped. Trying not to let her head touch the white doily on the headrest—when was the last time they changed that?—she pressed her back into the seat and silently counted.

Four, five, six.

“Virgin?” The man seated next to her smoothed his tie.

She blushed. Was it that obvious?

“First time flying?” he asked, clarifying.

“Oh. Yeah.”

He said, “Relax. It's safer than driving.”

Elizabeth wanted to inform him that
thousands
of people died in car accidents every day, not to mention those that survived but were so maimed they wished they were dead, but she knew he was only being kind. So she smiled and nodded and swallowed her rising fear that she would miss the one and only daily train from Pittsburgh to Johnstown. If she missed the train, she'd have to spend the night in Pittsburgh and catch the train the following morning. Her plans—and her budget—would be blown to smithereens.

“When do they bring the peanuts?” Elizabeth asked instead, hearing her stomach rumble.

“Ha.” He guffawed, thinking she'd made some kind of joke.

T
HE SUN WAS
up by the time they touched down. Elizabeth had slept sporadically. The rumble of the engines soothed her into semiconsciousness. She even managed a brief nap during the early-morning layover at Chicago's O'Hare airport. Back in the air, as she was dreaming of floating on a raft in the ocean, the flight attendant woke her with the announcement that they were beginning their descent into Pittsburgh International Airport. Incredibly, they landed fifteen minutes early.

As soon as she was off the plane and in the airport, Elizabeth made a beeline for the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror was a fright. How could
sitting
for hours make you look so racked? Her skin was both pale and blotchy. Her hair looked deranged. Mascara goo sat like an oil spill in the corners of both eyes. Why did people like traveling? So far, it had been embarrassing, frustrating, squished, starving, and mortifying. And she had only just arrived.

Splashing cool water on her face, Elizabeth ran a damp tissue beneath her lower lashes, brushed her hair, peed, washed her hands, applied lip gloss, popped a breath mint, and rejoined the flow of humanity.

“Elizabeth!”

She heard him before she saw him. His voice had the casual confidence she'd come to love. Dressed in Levi's, Converse sneakers, a heather-gray T-shirt beneath a charcoal pullover, with his dark curls spilling rakishly over his forehead, he somehow blended into the black-suited drivers who stood around him holding up signs with printed names on them. Elizabeth's heart tap-danced in her chest. He was every bit as delicious as she remembered.

“You're here,” she said, shyly.

York took her backpack. When he grinned, she saw the three divots she had longed to see again: two dimples and a cleft. His teeth were white, but not blinding. His fingernails were the perfect shade of baby pink.

“I had a test today. I'd do anything to miss it.”

“Ha ha.”

As they walked outside to meet the shuttle that would take them to the Pittsburgh Amtrak station, York said, “Who doesn't love a good mystery?”

The warmth of his hand on her back melted the stress of her journey. It was morning. A new day. By nightfall, she would know all.

THE ALLEGHENY MOUNTAINS

Present

E
lizabeth tightened her grip on the backpack in her lap. Through the train window, she watched the branches flickering past. It had rained that morning. The green trees looked washed. High on the mountainsides she spotted flashes of fiery red and orange. The fall colors everyone talked about.
In a few weeks,
she thought,
the Alleghenies will be spectacular
.

“We're almost there,” York said, beside her. “Two more stops.”

We.
Elizabeth liked that pronoun. When she first told York she was flying to the East Coast, he said, “Where do you want to meet?” She didn't stop smiling for a week. Now, awash in so many emotions, she was finding it hard to breathe. York was next to her, her birth family was ahead.
Was this really happening
?
Would she wake up on a moldy couch in a stuffy pool house
?

As if to mimic her agitation, the train's whistle blared. Her
body felt the pull of the locomotive as they neared Horseshoe Curve.

“Whoo, whoo,” York chirped, on the seat next to her.

Elizabeth reached up for the air control vent and turned the knob. A rush of mountain air cooled her face. She let her eyelids fall shut. For a wisp of time, she felt free.

York poked her arm. “The loop,” he said. He'd read about the sharp U-turn curve, how tourists took the inclined plane at Kittanning Point up to the train tracks just to see the engineering feat. Elizabeth opened her eyes in time to see the front of the train circle all the way around the tip of Altoona's old reservoir. She felt the train car list as it curved in on itself. This high in the Alleghenies—swollen with forests of white pine and black cherry and foothills blanketed in yellow oxeye and lavender musk mallow—the view was calendar perfect. York clicked a photo with his iPhone. A deliciously woodsy aroma twirled around the floral scents that infused the air.

Elizabeth felt her panic easing. Fresh mountain air was a tonic.

F
INDING HER GENETIC
relatives had been surprisingly easy. Once Elizabeth had a last name and a city, her search went quickly. She found Haberlin descendants in Pittsburgh via a LinkedIn search.

“You're in luck,” one Haberlin e-mailed her back. “My grandson did one of those Ancestry.com searches. He's the one you want to talk to.”

He's the one she did talk to.

“Elizabeth Haberlin married Eugene Eggar in Johnstown,
Pennsylvania,” he told her. “In 1891. They had a son, Silas, and a daughter, Victoria.”

Wow. There it was. The woman in the photo came alive.

“Their descendants still live in Johnstown.”

“No way,” Elizabeth had said.

“Want an address?”

Just like that, Elizabeth Parker had the name and address of her birth mother's sister. Her
aunt,
Vida Eggar. Hiding it from Valerie, she wrote her biological aunt a letter. Vida e-mailed her back. On the subject line were three letters: “OMG.”

“Can I call you?” Vida asked in the e-mail.

Elizabeth replied, “It's best if I call you.”

Vida immediately sent her phone number. The next day, in the break room at Bed Bath & Beyond, away from the eyes and ears of her mom, Elizabeth sat alone in a chair by the lockers. With her heart ready to leap out of her chest, she made a call into her past.

“You sound just like her.” Vida burst into tears the moment Elizabeth spoke. “I never stopped wondering what happened to you.”

Upon hearing Vida's voice, Elizabeth's first impulse was to hang up. Her thumb flicked over to the red exit icon.
Who was this woman?
What was she doing?
Guilt washed over her. Valerie didn't deserve this. After her mom's hellish year, she was going to dump this on her, too?

Still.

“You must have a million questions,” Vida said.

She did. Of course she did. As any adoptee knew.

“I don't know how much you know,” Vida said. “Do you know anything?”

“Not much. Well, a little, I guess. My mother, I mean, my
birth
mother, drowned, right?”

“Right.” Vida sniffed.

“And my name was—is—Elizabeth. Maybe after Elizabeth Haberlin?”

“Wow. How did you find
that
out?”

“Long story.”

Exhaling, Vida said, “There are a lot of long stories in our family.” Then she asked, “Where do you live? Can we meet? Like, for lunch or something?”

“I live in California.”

“California? Vera would have been horrified.” She laughed. “She always wondered how people could live with so much sunlight.”

At the mention of her birth mother's name, Elizabeth felt a surge of electricity shoot down her arms. “My mom's name was Vera?”

“Yes,” Vida said, softly. “Vera Sinclair Eggar. An old family name.”