Somewhere Out There (31 page)

“I just don’t know what I should do,” Brooke said. “If I can be a good mother.”

“I think a lot of women feel like that with their first pregnancy,” Natalie said. “I know I was terrified I’d screw Hailey up. Or at the very least, drop her on her head.”

“Really?” Brooke asked as she sniffled and wiped her cheeks with a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

“Absolutely. It’s totally normal to be afraid. I think it just shows how much you already care. When Henry came along I was much more at ease, because I knew what to expect. It’s the unknown that’s scary.”

“But I don’t have a clue about any of it. Being pregnant, childbirth, breast-feeding or bottles, or what kind of diapers I should use. Not to mention where I’m going to live. I can’t keep a baby in my shitty little apartment.”

“I highly doubt your place is shitty. I also don’t think you have to decide all of that right now. Certainly not tonight.” Natalie gave Brooke what she hoped was a comforting look. “How far along are you?”

“Almost fifteen weeks.”

“Okay,” Natalie said. “So, first thing, we need to find you a doctor. And get you on prenatal vitamins.”

“I have a doctor. She scheduled an amniocentesis for me next week, since I’m over thirty-five.”

“All right, good. I can go with you, if you want.”

Brooke lifted her eyes back to Natalie’s face, her chin trembling. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“You don’t even know me. Why do you want to help?”

“Because you’re part of my family.” Natalie felt her own jaw tremble then, and she had to struggle to keep back her tears. “That’s what sisters do.”

Brooke stared at her for a moment, unblinking. “You want to find her, don’t you.” It was more a statement than a question, spoken in a dull voice.

Natalie cocked her head to one side. “Find who?”

“Our mother. That’s the whole reason you found out about me. You were looking for her.”

“Well, yes. Sort of. I wanted to know more about her, but once I knew you existed, I started to look for you, too.”

“And now that you’ve found me?”

Natalie searched Brooke’s face, wondering just how much either of them resembled the woman they were discussing. Other than their petite builds, she and Brooke didn’t look much like they were related. Now that she knew they’d had different fathers, Natalie had come to terms with the fact that she’d likely never meet hers. But her birth mother was different. It was she whom Natalie felt compelled to find. The woman who held her, took care of her for six months, and then just walked away.

“I do want to look for her,” she finally replied, and Brooke closed her eyes. “I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I want to understand why she did what she did. Especially now, knowing you were already four when she gave us up. I want to know how a mother could do something like that. Why
she
did something like that.”

“Does it matter?” Brooke said, opening her eyes again. “She did it. She neglected us. She left us in her car alone all of the time. I don’t remember a lot, but I remember that. I remember going to find her because I was so scared and seeing her getting screwed over a desk in some strange man’s office.” She gripped her fingers together tightly in her lap. “That’s the kind of mother we had, Natalie. And I don’t want anything to do with her.”

Natalie was quiet then, absorbing everything Brooke had just said. Did she really need to find this woman Brooke described? Maybe having her sister in her life would be enough; they would have each other and why their mother gave them up wouldn’t matter. But then something dawned on Natalie. “Maybe it will help you,” she said. “Seeing her again. You could confront her, tell her how much she hurt you. Maybe it would be cathartic. Make you feel better about having this baby.”

Brooke shook her head. “I doubt it.”

It struck Natalie then that however empty she’d sometimes felt growing up as an adopted child—however many faces she’d compared her own to in a crowd, knowing she had a birth mother out there somewhere in the world—she’d never know the hollow existence Brooke must have had spending all those years fundamentally alone. Natalie’s parents, whatever their mistakes, at least always made sure she knew how deeply she was wanted and loved. She couldn’t imagine the rejection Brooke had faced as one foster home after another sent her back to the state. She couldn’t fathom the kind of damage that had done to a little girl’s heart. No wonder her sister was guarded; she was always poised for disaster, waiting for that next destructive wave to crash over her and pull her out to an uncertain sea.

“I understand,” Natalie said, in a quiet voice. “And of course, I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“But you’re going to look for her.”

“I think so. Yes.”

They sat together in silence for a minute or two. Brooke kept her head down, and Natalie fiddled with the thick seam of a cushion. Natalie wondered if she should have lied to Brooke, but the last thing she wanted to do to her sister was what Natalie’s parents had done to her. She wouldn’t keep her search for their birth mother a secret, but she wouldn’t broadcast it in front of Brooke, either. At the moment, her sister had bigger, more pressing concerns. And now that Natalie had found her, she resolved to be there for her, in any way that she could.

For our fifth date, Evan invited me to his house so he could cook me dinner. In the three weeks since the morning I’d boldly given him my number, we’d met for coffee two times, and he’d taken me out to lunch twice—all were limited, casual interactions that left me wanting to know him better. I had learned that he was forty-one, nine years older than me. I knew his father taught him everything about being a mechanic and that his mother had died when he was thirteen years old. I knew he moved to Phoenix when he was twenty-six, following a girl he ended up being married to for ten years, and then divorcing five years ago, about the same time I was released from prison. I knew he had a brother he wasn’t close to and that losing both of his parents had left a black mark on his heart. I knew that Scout was his best friend.

As was my habit, I’d used broad strokes to paint the picture of my past. He knew that my father had left my mother and me when I was twelve, and that now, my mother had remarried and we were estranged. He knew I considered Randy and Lisa the family that I’d chosen, and that training service dogs and my work with animals in general was what fed my soul.

“Dogs are the best,” he said. “Pure, unconditional love. You can’t get that anywhere else.” I told him I one hundred percent agreed.

Luckily, Scout had responded well to the first course of meds, and ended up only having to board at the clinic for three days. Randy guessed he’d eaten something rotten; sometimes food poisoning in dogs manifested with the same symptoms as an infection.

He showed no signs of it now, as he greeted me, barking and tail wagging in a circle when I climbed out of my car. I opened the rear door and let Trixie out, too. When Evan had invited me over, he’d insisted that I bring her along. The house his father had lived in and had left to Evan was about ten minutes from my place, and was located on several acres of flat, lush land. The house itself was a newer rambler with lots of windows and a porch that circled around the back. The enormous gray outbuilding that served as Richmond Automotive was about a hundred yards away from the house and had its own driveway. There were a variety of vehicles parked by what looked to be a rolling garage door; Evan had said since he’d taken over for his father, business was as strong as ever. His brother hadn’t even come to their father’s funeral; apparently, he was a financial adviser who worked on Wall Street and told Evan to ship whatever token his father might have left him. I found it comforting, actually, that Evan knew a little about dysfunction, that he didn’t have some picture-perfect family. It made me a little less self-conscious about my own. I doubted that I could tell him about Brooke and Natalie—I hadn’t even told Randy and Lisa about the daughters I’d given up. Just the thought of mentioning the loss of my children made me feel as though I were teetering on the edge of a dark abyss. Uttering a single word about them might cause me to plummet.

I made my way up the walk to the house, holding a plateful of brownies I’d baked for our dessert, trying to erase a twitchy sense of uneasiness. I hadn’t told Evan about the years I spent in prison, either. I wasn’t sure if there was a protocol for that kind of thing—was incarceration a fifth-date conversation or something that should come later? Should I have done it right away? I wasn’t even sure what it was about Evan that had made me give him my number, let alone say yes when first he asked me out. All I knew was that from the minute I saw how he was with Scout, the unabashed tears he’d shed in worry over the animal he loved, I felt as though I’d met someone who might understand me.

I knocked on the door, both Scout and Trixie dancing excitedly at my feet, and a moment later, Evan answered. “You made it,” he said, giving me a big smile that helped assuage my nerves. He stood back so I could enter, then took the plate I carried from me. “These look amazing. So do you.”

My cheeks flushed and I dropped my eyes to the floor. “Thanks.” I’d worn a short black skirt, black tights, and a purple sweater. I forced myself to look up at him again, taking in his casual outfit of jeans and a dark green pullover. “You look nice, too.”

He closed the door behind me, leaving Scout and Trixie outside to play. The stereo was on, and Eric Clapton crooned the chorus of the heartbreaking “Tears in Heaven,” a song that always made me think about my girls, because even though Eric Clapton’s son had died and Brooke and Natalie were still alive—at least as far as I knew—I had lost them all the same. There was a large plaid cushion that rested in front of the fireplace—Scout’s bed, I assumed. The living room wasn’t huge, but it was filled with a comfortable-looking brown leather couch, a couple of recliners, and a standard coffee table, which was littered with newspapers, several automotive magazines, and a coffee mug.

“I hope you don’t mind I didn’t pick up,” he said. “I actually think it’s a good idea for people to see how the other really lives. I’m not a slob, but I don’t exactly keep things neat.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Are the dogs going to be okay out there?”

“They should be,” he replied. “Scout already knows this property like the back of his paw.” He smiled, and so did I.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as we made our way into his kitchen.

“A beer would be great,” I said, eyeing what looked to be a simple but functional galley kitchen. The walls were painted light blue, the appliances were white, and the cupboards were oak. The air smelled of onions, garlic, and some kind of citrus.

Evan set the plate of brownies on the counter and then reached into the refrigerator to pull out a couple of Coronas. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, and I shook my head. He smiled again, popped off the caps on both, and then handed me one of the bottles. We clicked their long necks together as we both said, “Cheers.”

I took a swig and then glanced at the stove top, which had a large pot on the front left burner. “What are we having?” I asked, grateful for the warm, soothing sensation that filled my body after that first swallow. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I did enjoy a beer or glass of wine on occasion. Especially on nights like tonight, when my nerves were a little on edge.

“Tortilla lime chicken soup,” Evan said. “I don’t know why it’s called that because there aren’t any tortillas in it, but I think I remember you saying that Mexican food is your favorite, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

I smiled, flattered that he’d remembered something I’d barely mentioned during one of our dates, then took another sip of my beer. “Do you like to cook?”

“I do.” He paused to take a drink, then pushed a bowl of chips and another of salsa in my direction. “What about you?”

I nodded, embarrassed to tell Evan where it was that I’d learned to cook, and who had taught me. “But since I live alone, sometimes it feels like too much work, you know? It’s easier to order takeout.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, smiling.

We both grabbed for a chip, and then he motioned for me to taste the salsa first. It was a spicy explosion of sweet, fiery tomato, garlic, onion, jalapeños, and fresh cilantro. “Oh my god,” I said, holding a hand in front of my mouth as I spoke so I wouldn’t spit out any crumbs. “Did you make this?” He nodded again and tried some as well. “It’s phenomenal,” I said. “Seriously. You could bottle and sell it.”

“Thanks,” he said, clearly pleased. A few minutes later, after we’d talked about how our workdays had gone, he pulled a couple of soup bowls from the cupboard and used a ladle to fill them with the soup on the stove. There was no dining room, but there was a table in the kitchen, which I just then noticed had two small votive candles burning in its middle. “Let’s eat,” he said, carrying the bowls over. I picked up the chips and salsa and followed him, only to be interrupted by the sound of a dog whining and scratching at the back door.

“They must have sensed it was time to clean up anything we happen to drop,” Evan said as he set the bowls down and took a couple of steps over to open the back door. Scout trotted inside with his white-tipped ears perked, still whining at his master. He was alone.

“Trixie!” I called out, hoping she was just outside, behind her playmate. I whistled, the short, sharp noise I used to call her in when we were at our own house. She didn’t appear. “Oh, no,” I murmured, dropping the two bowls I carried to the table. Salsa spilled out onto the light blue tablecloth, a fact I barely registered.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Evan said, but we both ran out to the back deck. It was already dark and there was no moon. The sky was inked with heavy clouds.

“Trixie!” I yelled again. “Come here, girl!” I whistled again, but the sound broke.
She can’t be gone.

“Wait just a sec,” Evan said. He turned around, went back into the house, and quickly returned with our jackets and a flashlight. He helped me on with my jacket, then put on his own. After closing the back door, we both headed into the yard, calling out Trixie’s name.