Chapter 3 - THE NAME SHE REFUSED TO EXPLAIN
“Rebecca Montgomery knew my birth mother.”
The words sounded impossible even as I said them.
Charles stared at me across the café table.
“Are you absolutely certain she's your mother-in-law?”
“Eleven years of marriage is a long time to mistake someone's identity.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Rebecca was twenty-nine when she worked at St. Anne's. Her father helped operate the private placement agency.”
“What was its name?”
“New Dawn Family Services.”
I repeated the name.
Something about it sounded familiar.
Then I remembered the annual charity dinners Rebecca hosted.
The speeches about helping disadvantaged mothers.
The expensive photographs of smiling babies.
Rebecca had served on the board of a children's foundation for years.
I'd designed several of its fundraising events without charging her a dollar.
Charles watched my expression.
“You recognize it.”
“She's still involved with the organization.”
He sat back.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I reached for my suitcase.
“I'm going back.”
“Mariana—”
“I need my jewelry box. And I need to look Rebecca in the eyes.”
He didn't try to stop me.
Instead, he offered to accompany me.
I refused.
There was one thing I needed to discover before revealing that I'd found Charles.
Whether Rebecca would tell the truth when she believed I knew nothing.
Forty minutes later, I stood outside the house I'd spent eleven years turning into a home.
My key still worked.
Inside, the furniture looked exactly as I'd left it.
Except the photographs of Ryan and me had disappeared from the mantel.
Vanessa was in the kitchen, talking to a florist.
She stopped when she saw me.
“Oh. You're back.”
“For my belongings.”
Vanessa shifted uncomfortably.
“Rebecca said you'd send movers.”
“I didn't.”
She looked toward the staircase.
“Ryan's upstairs.”
“I didn't come for Ryan.”
I walked past her.
In the bedroom, I found my jewelry box inside a cardboard carton marked DONATIONS.
My wedding photographs were beneath it.
So was the pale blue scarf my adoptive mother had knitted before she developed arthritis.
I stood there holding the scarf, fighting tears.
Then I heard Rebecca behind me.
“Really, Mariana? You're rummaging through things we've already packed?”
I turned.
“Were you ever employed by New Dawn Family Services?”
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Answer my question.”
“I worked there years ago. What does it matter?”
“At St. Anne's Hospital?”
She folded her arms.
“Yes.”
“Did you arrange adoptions?”
“Occasionally, I helped with administrative records.”
“Did you know a woman named Eleanor Whitaker?”
Rebecca's face lost its color.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she laughed.
It was a strange, brittle sound.
“Good heavens. Where did you dig up that name?”
“So you knew her.”
“I knew hundreds of women.”
“Eleanor says her baby was taken without permission.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“You should be very careful repeating accusations you don't understand.”
I looked straight at her.
“Was that baby me?”
Silence.
From downstairs, I heard Vanessa laugh at something the florist said.
Upstairs, a door closed.
Ordinary sounds from a household that had once been mine.
Rebecca's expression hardened.
“You were adopted into a respectable family, Mariana. You were loved. Why go digging into painful history?”
“Because someone told my birth parents I was dead.”
She looked toward the doorway.
“Lower your voice.”
“Why?”
“Because Ryan doesn't need another scandal.”
There it was.
Not concern for a stolen child.
Not sorrow for grieving parents.
Concern for her son's reputation.
I took the gold star necklace from my jewelry box.
Rebecca stared at it.
Her right hand rose involuntarily toward her throat.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother gave it to me.”
“Which mother?”
The question struck harder than an insult.
“The one who raised me.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“That necklace means nothing.”
“Then why are you frightened of it?”
She stepped backward.
“I am not frightened.”
“Did you know who I was when Ryan brought me home eleven years ago?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
I studied her face.
“Then why did you ask me to stop wearing this necklace four years ago?”
Rebecca said nothing.
I remembered that Thanksgiving.
She'd told me the charm was childish.
I'd removed it to avoid another argument.
Now I understood that she had been staring at it long before she'd criticized it.
Suddenly, Ryan appeared in the doorway.
“What's going on?”
Rebecca recovered immediately.
“Your wife is accusing me of stealing babies.”
“Ex-wife,” Ryan corrected.
The word hurt.
But not as much as it would have yesterday.
I looked at him.
“Ask your mother what happened at St. Anne's Hospital thirty-five years ago.”
Ryan frowned.
“Mariana, seriously? You're doing this now?”
Rebecca seized his arm.
“She's upset. She's inventing things.”
I put the necklace away.
Then I noticed something on Rebecca's wrist.
A narrow gold bracelet with five tiny stars.
I'd seen her wear it countless times.
But I had never examined the engraving on its clasp.
Today, Rebecca had accidentally turned the clasp outward.
I could see three letters.
E.W\.M.
My mother's initials were Eleanor Whitaker.
And before she'd married Charles, her maiden name had been Mercer.
Eleanor Whitaker Mercer.
My heart began pounding.
“Rebecca,” I whispered, “why are you wearing my mother's bracelet?”
Ryan turned toward her.
Rebecca immediately covered her wrist.
And when she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.
“Because she gave it to me the day before you were born.”
May you like
Then she looked at Ryan.
“Get Mariana out of this house before she finds out what your grandfather did.”
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