He held up his hand. “Wait. You’re suggesting we get in touch through a Facebook page?”
“Well, she’s more likely to be active on Facebook than Eric, and we can’t message Perrie Lynn on her page—and she has one. I checked. Besides, Maxine and Eric might restrict Perrie Lynn’s access. She’s a public person now, and I’d be surprised if the Olsons let her manage it by herself.”
Miles shook his head, amazed he was even having this conversation. “Listen to us talking about Maxine and Eric, as if we know them.”
“You’re right.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest.
“And you’re nervous. Are you afraid?”
“Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped. “What if we send a message and Maxine doesn’t reply? What if they message back and tell us they aren’t the right people in the first place? That they aren’t even her adoptive parents.”
“Her parents,” Miles warned. “Once people adopt children, they’re parents, no qualifiers.”
She waved him off. “I know, I know. You don’t need to lecture me.”
“Okay, but it seems as if you’re thinking of yourself as Perrie Lynn’s mother, I mean, now that she’s turned eighteen.” He’d raised his voice, startling Lark, but he had to make the point. “Even if we find her, we’ll always be on the edges of her life.”
He drew back slightly in response to the flicker of anger in her eyes.
“What makes you so sure of that?”
Forcing himself to lower his voice, he said, “C’mon. You’re jumping way ahead of yourself.”
She hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’ve been jumping ahead of myself for eighteen years. This is the first time I can take a step, a real step, other than listing myself with the agency. Besides, like you said, her parents don’t call every shot now that she’s of age.”
She stalked away, disappearing through the small dining room and into the kitchen. Out of his sight.
There it was again, her expectations. He and Lark weren’t on the same page. Maybe they weren’t reading from the same book.
Not knowing if he should go after her or leave her alone, he stared out the window, allowing indecision to take over.
“I’m sorry,” she said, coming back into the room a few minutes later.
“Are you okay?”
“As okay as I’m going to be.” She flopped down on her desk chair and turned it sideways so she wasn’t facing him. “You’re right. I know perfectly well that she’ll never be my daughter in the same way Evan is my son. Never. That train left the station the minute I let that nurse, the one with the bright red hair and freckles all over her face and arms, carry my baby out the door.”
“What? Freckles? Red hair? What do you mean?”
She swiveled the chair, facing him. “I remember the moment like it was yesterday.” She tapped her forehead. “It’s all like a photograph stored up here. Every detail sharp and distinct.” She splayed her fingers across her heart. “And the feelings, too.”
Her face reddened as she spoke.
“Of course I remember the nurse’s hair and her freckles. And our baby’s scent, her tiny hands and the shape of her face—my face, a miniature heart.”
He looked away. A memory formed for him, too. Young and stupid, with no idea the moment would be imprinted on him with such power, he’d stood behind her, hands squeezing her shoulders. He remembered, but Lark was right, the frozen moment in time was different for him.
“And you, Miles? You gripped my shoulders harder when the nurse left with our baby and closed the door behind her. You kept me standing when my knees buckled. I fell back and covered my eyes and sobbed. It was only minutes, but it felt like hours.”
“I remember.” His mental image lacked something, though. Intensity. Reality. Something. “But it feels distant, as if it happened in another life,” he admitted. He’d never given a thought to the nurse. No trace of her remained in his memory. Even the baby who carried another generation of his genes had become more of an abstraction as the years passed, reawakened only with Brooke’s birth. Then, when he was home alone after holding his new baby girl for the first time, memories of Lark and the hospital came back, but in an unwelcome flashback that taunted him until he managed to push away the images.
Making no attempt to fill the silence, he turned to the window, watching the gray water, chaotic with spray scattering every which way in the wind. Suddenly, he had an idea for moving out of the past and going forward. A safe, nonthreatening way to reach the Olsons. Facebook messages were out of the question, almost certain to alarm Eric and Maxine.
“So, should we try to contact Maxine?” Lark’s voice was calm again, if not pleasant. “You know, through Facebook.”
He shook his head. “No. Definitely not. Something tells me that would scare the Olsons. Make them uneasy, as if we’re threatening to them in some way. Put yourself in their position. Imagine Maxine seeing a message out of the blue from strangers claiming to be their daughter’s birth parents.”
Lark shrugged. “No matter what we do, it will seem like it’s out of the blue.”
“True. But hear me out. What if we were to contact the coach? We could explain the situation, assure him we have no intention of disrupting anyone’s life, least of all Perrie Lynn’s.” The idea grew in appeal, mainly because it was so safe. “Reaching out to the coach first is a way to demonstrate that we’re responsible people. We only want to find out if we’re Perrie Lynn’s birth parents. If we are, we can go from there. If not, we’ll disappear, no harm done.”
Lark turned away and propped her elbows on her desk, holding her head in her hands. His heart raced. Apparently, she hated his idea, but even worse, he’d upset her—again.
“Lark? It’s okay. We’ll come up—”
“No, no.” She lifted her head, facing him with tears welling in her eyes. “It’s a great idea. Reasonable and sensible.”
“Then why are you angry?”
She cupped her cheeks in her palms. “I’m just furious with myself for not considering the ramifications. Reaching out through Facebook with something this important? I’m a mother. I should know better. Of course we’d scare Maxine and Eric.”
“So, you’re okay with the coach idea?”
She nodded, smiling now. “I was so careful and systematic years ago when I contacted the adoption agency. I saw it as a long-term quest and knew it could take years to make contact after our baby’s eighteenth birthday. I made myself accept that it might never happen. But now I can’t seem to think straight.”
He took a tentative step toward her, wanting to reach out, touch her shoulder, but he held back. “It’s okay. I understand. Whatever we do, I don’t want to upset you, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about me. These are difficult decisions.” She held out her hand, letting him see it tremble. “My feelings are simmering on the surface, ready to boil over. Talking about all these details—past, present and even future—skewed my thinking.”
“Well, how about this? I’ll call Declan Rivers and explain the situation. I’ll provide our phone numbers and websites and all that, so he can start checking us out.” He grew calmer as he thought out the next steps. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll give him the name of my attorney, the one I used for my divorce and still use for some business issues. I’ll fill in the basic facts. We can let Declan Rivers contact Eric and Maxine—or at least advise us the best way to go about it.”
“What