Unraveled (21 page)

“Lauren—” Dad stepped between them.

Jane smirked. “Please. I did you a favor. It’s exhausting living a lie, isn’t it? Maybe you and Deb could commiserate on that.”

She glanced at Mom, still huddled on the couch.
How can you just sit there and take this?

Mom stood and drew her shoulders back, rising to her full height. “Get out.” She spat at Jane, pointing toward the door.

“Gladly. But I’m not finished here. I told you I’m taking Mother back to San Diego and I meant it. I’ll be at the Anchor Point Inn when you’re ready to discuss the details of her move.” Jane gathered her purse and marched toward the front door without a backward glance. The cloud of expensive perfume that hovered in her wake turned Lauren’s stomach. Aunt Jane slammed the door behind her.

Matt came and stood beside Lauren, placing his hand on her arm. “Hey.” He dipped his head, concerned eyes seeking hers. “We love you. No matter what.”

But his words did nothing to assuage the gaping wound in her heart. “I have no right to demand the truth, given all I’ve concealed from you, but I need to know. What was she talking about?”

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Matt asked.

A surge of anger coursed through her. “Why wait? It’s not like I’ll be getting any sleep.”

“Why don’t we sit down together,” Mom said. “Mike, will you get the pictures?”

Dad nodded and went into the kitchen.

“Need anything? Water? Coffee?” Matt asked.

“Water, I guess. Thank you.” Lauren squeezed his arm. He was being so thoughtful, giving up precious hours of sleep to support her. Whatever Mom and Dad shared with them would change things. She could sense it. Regret and confusion enveloped her, weighing her down as she settled on the couch across from Mom.

“I never imagined it would turn out like this.” Mom pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the tears on her cheeks.

Dad came back before Lauren could answer, a manila envelope tucked inside Mom’s well-loved copy of
The Joy of Cooking
. Matt trailed behind him, carrying four bottles of water.

Adrenaline tingled through her veins as Dad tugged the envelope free. The ink had faded, but she recognized Granny’s handwriting scrawled across the front.

“Honey, this is not easy for any of us. But it’s time you heard the truth. Let’s start with the photographs.”

Her heart lurched. Photographs?

Matt set the bottles of water on the coffee table and sank onto the couch beside her. Dad handed her the envelope, his eyes moist with tears.

She lifted the flap, her gut churning in a vortex of equal parts curiosity and apprehension. Slipping her hand inside, she pulled three photographs out of the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat. A teenage girl with a wild mass of curly red hair sat up in a bed, holding a tiny bundle of pink-faced baby in her arms. The girl’s green eyes were bright and a wide smile spread across her delicate face. She wore a locket identical to Lauren’s. “Mom?” she whispered.

“Yes. The baby in the pictures is you. The redheaded girl holding you is my sister, Mallory. She is your birth mother.” Mom pressed her knuckles to her lips.

Lauren’s vision blurred. She shook her head. How could this be? Matt slid his arms around her shoulders. “No. How? I don’t understand.”
My mother is dead?
Goose bumps pebbled her flesh.

Mom sighed. “I’m so sorry. We should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Lauren studied the other two girls perched on either side of the bed, each with an arm slung around the girl’s shoulders and a hand on the baby’s blanket. The curly brown hair and almond shape of Mom’s eyes were unmistakable. That had to be her to the left of the redhead. The girl on the right looked a lot like Aunt Jane with the exception of the long blond hair. “So you just kept these pictures shoved in your cookbook, thinking I’d never find out?”

“To be perfectly honest, it was easier this way. You were a tiny baby when Mallory died. Jane wanted to raise you as her own. But Pop refused to let her.” A hint of a smile touched Mom’s lips. “He loved you so. I remember you spent one night in the orphanage and Pop couldn’t stand it. Went down there first thing in the morning and brought you right back here.”

Lauren turned the photos over and studied the handwriting on the back, processing this news about Pop. Then she spread them on the table. Matt leaned in for a closer look. The second included Granny and Pop with the redhead still holding the baby. Pop was frowning. The third picture was just the baby, a tiny fist pressed to her cheek while she slept, swaddled in a striped blanket. It was all so familiar. Lauren trembled all over, her brain a fragmented slide show of images.

“We wanted to protect you, sweetheart.” Dad’s voice was gruff. He cleared his throat. “You were never an orphan. We loved you from the minute Pop brought you home.”

Orphan
. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. She stared at the photographs in front of her.
Where was my father in all of this? Is my son going to wonder the same thing one day?
Pain pierced her heart and she covered her mouth to stop the cry from escaping.

Mom stepped around the coffee table and squeezed onto the couch beside her. “Oh, honey. It’s okay, just cry.” She slipped her arm around Lauren’s shoulders and pulled her in for an awkward hug. Lauren stiffened. Mom’s sweater was soft against her cheek and smelled faintly of laundry soap.

“Wait.” Lauren pulled away. “What about the microfiche? You took these from the library, didn’t you?”

Mom shook her head. “I didn’t take them. A dear friend brought that by. She was volunteering at the library, converting the old records to digital. When she came across this particular story, she thought I might want to hang on to it. Until the time was right. She was only trying to help.”

Lauren swiped the back of her hand across her nose. That explained her wild goose chase at the library. But still no one had mentioned her father.

“We’ve come so close to telling you. I know that sounds ridiculous now, but it’s true,” Dad said.

“My father?” Lauren whispered. “Who is he?”

Mom exchanged glances with Dad. The uncertainty that passed between them was almost palpable. Then Mom reached for Lauren’s hand and captured it between both of her own. “Remember the day you got here and Granny called you Mallory? We were upstairs and I told you Mallory and her boyfriend died in the same accident? Honey, that young man was your father.”

Matt, silent until now, sucked in a breath. “Good grief,” he whispered, his hand trembling as he rubbed his forehead.

“We’re so sorry.” Dad’s voice broke. “Please know that we love you and raised you as our own.”

So that was it? Both parents gone in an instant and more than two decades spent concealing a secret? Although she had no right to be angry, she was. Livid, in fact. Dark spots peppered her vision. Nausea swept over her and she jumped up from the couch, her feet tangling with Matt’s. “I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I can’t even think … I need to go.” She ran toward the stairs and climbed to the loft. Tears were flowing freely and she gasped for breath between sobs. The waning twilight cast shadows across the room and her eyes struggled to adjust. She stumbled toward the bed and fell across it. Kicking her shoes off, she burrowed under the quilt and cried until she had nothing left.

Blake gripped the steering wheel with one hand, knuckled a tear from his cheek with the other, as his truck found its way down Hillside Drive. A son. The news pierced him to his very core. And to think she’d never even tried to tell him the truth. Granted, he hadn’t been in any shape to parent a newborn, but still—to have no input at all—He smacked the wheel hard with his hand. She had no right to make this choice without him.

His mind replayed their stolen moments together, spring of her senior year. He’d come home from college for the long Easter weekend. They were miserable apart and eager for the semester to be over. Things went too far that night, as they are prone to do, when two teenagers are nestled in sleeping bags in the bed of a truck.

“Of course,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. This explained her abrupt decision to leave town less than two months later. No amount of pleading on his part could change her mind, either. He’d always imagined she’d come back when she found what she was looking for. Turns out she was running. And apparently never looked back.

Driving down Main Street, he slowed the truck at the entrance to Mack’s Bar and Grill. Blake’s pulse accelerated in anticipation of how the whiskey would feel sliding down his throat, quenching his thirst and dousing the grief that roared through his soul. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience sounded a warning to keep moving. But he was past logical thought at this point. He nosed his truck into the last available spot, shoved the gear shift into park and climbed out. Slamming the door, he jammed the keys in his pocket and headed for the entrance, riding on a wave of equal parts anger and adrenaline.

Once inside, Blake pushed his way through the crowd, a haze of cigarette smoke wafting from the usual suspects parked at the bar. Claiming an empty stool at the end, he ignored the curious stares and waved down the bartender.

“Shot of Maker’s mark,” he mumbled, rage clouding his vision. This was the quickest way to dull the pain.

The bartender affectionately dubbed Lefty for the port-wine birthmark splayed across his left cheek, stood on the other side of the bar, polishing a shot glass with a white towel tucked in the waistband of his worn Levi’s. Blake could feel Lefty’s steely gaze boring into his skull.
Don’t even try to talk me out of this
. He craved a drink with every fiber of his being.

“You sure about that, son?”

“I’m a big boy, Lefty.”

“True.” Lefty poured the amber liquid into a shot glass, concern etched in the deep crevasses that lived above his brow line. Rubbing his beefy hand over his bald head, he slid the glass aside and leaned his massive forearms on the bar. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Not really.” He just wanted to forget. The picture, the look on Lauren’s face, the shock. All of it. His stomach churned.
Why?
How was she even capable of that kind of deception?

“Generally speaking…” Lefty traded the shot glass for a tumbler full of Coke “…I like to keep my customers happy.”

Blake frowned at the drink in front of him. “That’s not what I ordered.”

“Well, it’s what you’re drinking. Your dad and I go way back. To Vietnam and beyond. He would tan my hide if you fell off the wagon on my watch.”

“One drink. That’s all I need, man. You’ve got no idea what I’m dealing with here.”

“I probably don’t. But whatever it is ain’t worth flushing eight years of sobriety down the drain. You can sit here all night if you want. But it ain’t worth it. You hear me, son?”

“I’ve held it together a long time, Lefty. Eight years is pretty good, don’t you think? Shouldn’t I get some kind of reward or something?” Blake hated the bitter edge that tainted his words. Even worse, he hated that he was trying to manipulate his father’s closest friend.You’re pathetic.

“I’ve heard it all before. There’s no bargaining here.” Lefty set the Coke in front of him again. “Stay as long as you like, but that’s the only drink you’ll be getting from me.”

Blake hung his head and watched the bubbles collapsing against the glass. What a waste. He’d spent so many months—years, in fact—only half-living. Waiting for her to come home. But Lefty was right. She wasn’t worth it. And he was done trying to pretend she was.

Lauren awoke to sunlight streaming through the window.
Make it stop.
She buried her head under a pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Just for a minute, she floated in that blissful space of unawareness. Then the events of the previous day flashed through her mind, each one more painful than the last. It was like rubbing salt in an open wound. She groaned and pulled the pillow away, tossing it aside. Her phone chimed and she rolled to the side of the bed. Where did she leave it? Her bag sat on the floor, slumped against the nightstand. Maybe it was in there. She rummaged inside until her hand closed around it. She pulled the phone out and squinted at the screen. A text from Matt.

Are you ok?

She dropped the phone back in her bag. No. She wasn’t okay. Not even close. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head hurt but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
Blake
. Kind, generous, selfless Blake. He’d been absolutely transparent yesterday and she’d crushed him with her deception.

Her mouth was dry and her stomach growled. A shower could wait. Coffee was a definite must. She grabbed a sweatshirt from the chair beside her bed and slipped it on over her rumpled t-shirt. Dragging her fingers through her tangled curls, she opened her door and went downstairs.

The house was eerily silent. She couldn’t even remember if they’d had guests last night. Dishes were piled in the sink and remnants of breakfast stuck to the counter. She craned her neck to look out the window. Mom and Dad’s cars sat empty out front. Where were they? It was almost noon. Only a swig of coffee remained in the bottom of the carafe. She dumped it out and fixed a fresh pot. She tapped her fingernails on the counter while the coffee brewed.

Mom and Dad
. She shook her head. Last night was a disaster of epic proportions, worse than she ever imagined. Of all the possible scenarios she’d played out in her head, Aunt Jane and a box of quilts never entered the equation. Then again, she’d been so consumed with her own secret that the hard truth about her own identity was a complete shock. A fresh wave of hurt and confusion washed over her. How did they keep such a juicy secret in this tiny town? Her cheeks grew hot. Was she the last one to know?
Granny
. Did she remember her real father? There were so many questions that demanded answers.

Her running shoes beckoned from the doorway of the laundry room. Not now. There weren’t enough miles of road in Alaska to outrun this heartache. She downed a few sips of coffee, eager to get to the hospital before her courage dissipated. She ran up to her room, grabbed her phone and her purse then dashed back down the stairs. Her stomach roiled in protest. Coffee didn’t exactly count as a meal. But she couldn’t stay in the house another second. Grabbing the van keys, she jogged toward the front door.

Mitchell was sprawled on the porch. He thumped his tail and followed her with his brown eyes as she gripped the porch railing. A light breeze rustled the branches of the trees and a shadow slid over the yard as the sun went behind a cloud. Although the view was the same, everything else had changed. She was alone. Deceived by the ones she trusted the most. She stepped over Mitchell and ran to the van.

A custodian was mopping the floor in the waiting room when Lauren passed through the hospital’s double doors. The acrid smell of disinfectant filled the air and the only nurse behind the desk at the nurses’ station let Lauren pass with a cursory wave. So distracted by the long list of questions running through her head, Lauren didn’t see Shannon coming out of a patient’s room until it was too late. They collided and Shannon squawked, the chart in her hands falling to the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Lauren squatted to retrieve the chart.

As they stood up, both gripping the chart, Shannon’s eyes roamed Lauren’s face. “You look like death warmed over. What in the world is going on?”

Lauren cringed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. C’mon, your grandmother is still with the physical therapist. Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

Stepping into the break room, Shannon grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and motioned for Lauren to sit down at the round table in front of the vending machine.

“Here?” Lauren glanced around.

“Sorry. I’d take you out dancing but I’m on for another hour.” Shannon winked and twisted the top off of her bottle. “It looked like you and Blake were having a good time. Where did you go?”

Lauren gnawed on her lower lip. How did she even begin? “It’s not what you think. Our evening didn’t end on a happy note.”

“You certainly don’t look like the same Lauren Carter I saw last night. What’s up?”

Lauren’s hands fluttered to her throat, reaching for the locket and any measure of comfort it might bring. She took a deep breath and in a matter of minutes, told Shannon everything. Both the secrets the Carter family had spent years concealing and the truth about why she’d run off to Portland.

When Lauren was finished, Shannon pulled a tissue from the pocket of her scrubs and dabbed at the moisture on her cheeks.

“Wow,” she whispered, twisting the tissue between her fingers. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Please don’t hate me.”

Shannon knitted her brows together. “Hate you? How could I?”

“Isn’t this the kind of thing you tell your best friend?”

Shannon reached across the table and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “As your grandmother often says, most folks do the best they can. I’m sure you did what you thought was best for everybody at the time.”

Lauren released a slow breath and looked out the window. “I don’t know, Shan. I’m not sure Blake will ever forgive me.”

“Have you asked him?”

Lauren dipped her chin, peeling the label off the full water bottle. “I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Blake’s always been fiercely loyal. Why don’t you go talk to him? What have you got to lose?”

That was the problem. It was already lost.