Yesterday's Gone
- -
- 100%
- +
The way she stared at him, stricken, told him she understood.
“The stranger that pointed you to the picture. Is this the only person who saw it and noticed the resemblance?”
Her shoulders sagged. “No. A couple of others have said something.”
“All it would take is someone getting excited and telling a reporter. Think what a coup it would be. Doing it this way, we have some control over the flow of information. You can give exclusives to reporters who will treat your experience with sensitivity, say ‘No comment’ to everyone else. We’ll hold a press conference, then ask everyone to give you and the Lawsons the privacy you need to come to terms with this new reality.”
He’d always thought the idea of drowning in someone’s eyes was idiotic. Unable to look away from her, he discovered different.
“But...my life,” she whispered.
He had to say this. “Will never be the same.”
“Oh, God,” she said again. Her struggle to regain her balance was visible. “I should never have told you my name. I could have made one up. Then I could dye my hair. Wear colored contacts. I could still do that,” she said on a rising note.
He didn’t say anything.
Defeat flattened her expression. It was a long moment before she nodded. She bowed her head and seemed to notice their linked hands for the first time.
He gently disengaged them, however reluctant he was to sever the connection.
“When you called her, why didn’t you tell Mrs. Lawson you’d found me?” she asked suddenly. “They probably think you’re bringing bad news.”
“Me finding your body wouldn’t have been bad news.” He frowned. “It would have hurt in one way, but been a relief in another. They’d have had closure, at least.”
“I can understand that,” she conceded.
“The answer to your question is, I don’t know.” He heard his own uncertainty. “Maybe I just want to see their faces.” And it could be that was the answer. He’d worked hard to effect this reunion. Usually his greatest reward was to make an arrest, then see the jury foreman step up and say, “Guilty as charged.” He hadn’t been able to wall out Karen Lawson’s pain as effectively as he usually did. Seeing her joy—he needed that.
“Okay.” She sat tensely as he backed out of the slot, then drove across town. The sheriff’s department headquarters was on the outskirts of Stimson, the county seat that still had a population of only thirty-five thousand or so. The Lawsons had never moved from the house they’d lived in when their daughter was snatched. He’d read and knew from experience that was usual. People believed they had to be there when their missing family member magically made his or her way home. There was probably a subconscious fear that, if they weren’t there, everything as much the same as possible, the lost one wouldn’t be able to find them.
He stole glances at Bailey Smith, sitting marble still and almost as pale, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Scared to death and refusing to show it, he diagnosed. She didn’t like giving away what she felt.
And him, he kept watching for every tiny giveaway. His heart had taken up an unnaturally fast rhythm from the minute she turned around and their eyes met. He’d felt as if he’d taken a blow to the chest. Attraction multiplied times a thousand, an unfamiliar hunger to know everything about her, to soothe her fears and heal her wounds, a breathtaking need to protect her—and pounding at him the whole time was terror that she’d walk away before... What?
I can find out whether she might feel the same. Even close to the same.
“Here we are,” he said quietly, pulling to a stop in front of a nice two-story white Colonial-style house with dark green shutters. He was willing to bet the Lawsons had never even considered changing so much as the shade of green on the trim when they repainted. Kirk Lawson’s pickup was in the driveway. Lawson’s Auto Body, it said on the door. So Karen had called him to come home, as Seth had suggested.
Bailey’s head had turned and she stared now at the house where she’d grown up. Her breathing had quickened. She might swear she didn’t remember the house at all, but he wondered.
Seth turned off the engine but sat there, ready to give her all the time she needed. A minute passed. Two. Mercifully, the front door didn’t open and he didn’t see anyone at the front window. Probably they hadn’t heard the car out in front.
“You okay?” he asked at last.
“I...yes.” She drew in a deep breath she probably meant to be steadying. “Yes,” she said again, sounding a little more sure.
“Ready?”
Bailey nodded and reached for the door handle.
He met her on the sidewalk and stayed close on the way to the front door. After ringing the bell, he laid a hand on her back. He’d have sworn she leaned into it, just the slightest bit.
After the deep gong, he heard nothing until the door swung open. It was Kirk who looked through the screen door at him before switching his gaze to Bailey. Utter shock transformed his rugged face. “Dear God in heaven,” he choked out.
“May we come in?” Seth asked.
He pushed open the screen, his gaze devouring Bailey. “Hope?” Then he gave his head a shake. “Come in. Karen!” he bellowed.
They stepped into the living room. His wife appeared from the direction of the kitchen. She was braced for bad news, Seth saw, in the instant before she set eyes on her daughter, resurrected, and came to a stop.
And yes, everything he’d hoped to see blazed forth on her face, making him realize that most lines on it had been formed by grief.
“Hope?” she said tremulously. She took a few steps forward then stopped as if disbelieving. Tears brimmed in her eyes and overflowed. “It is you. It is. Oh, Kirk! Hope is home.”
Seth laid a seemingly casual hand on Bailey’s shoulder. Despite his focus on the two Lawsons, he was attuned to her, not them. Aware of her shock as she saw her mother’s face, so much like her own. Felt when the waves of emotion hit her, as she absorbed the yearning in these strangers’ eyes.
Seth cleared his throat. “I do believe this is Hope. That’s why I brought her to meet you. We will need DNA confirmation. You know that.”
Predictably, Karen shook her head, not looking away from her daughter. “Of course this is Hope.” A smile burst forth despite the tears, and she hurried forward, holding out her hands. “Oh, my dear. Thank God. You don’t know what this means to us.”
Bailey shrank toward Seth. “I...it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned her head. “Both of you.”
Karen stopped short of flinging her arms around the alarmed young woman. “Meet us? You don’t remember us?”
“I’m afraid not. I...it’s astonishing how much I look like you.” She sounded stunned. “I... I’ve blocked so much out. I suppose I couldn’t let myself remember.”
“That’s why you never came home. Because you didn’t know where we were.”
Seth squeezed Bailey’s shoulder in reassurance. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Yes. Oh, yes!” Karen gestured them toward the sofa. “Oh, my dear. This has to be the best day of my life, except possibly when you were born.”
Seth understood the sentiment, but was damn glad Eve wasn’t here to hear it expressed.
Bailey cast him a single, desperate glance as they sat, side by side. He smiled at her, hoping to convey without words that she was doing great.
Hoping. He’d never be able to use any variant of that word again without seeing her in his mind’s eye.
Karen tore her gaze from Bailey long enough to beam at him. “You brought her home. You accomplished a miracle.”
He had. He still felt shell-shocked. He’d found Hope. Or, at least, cast the right lure to draw her home.
Uneasiness stirred, because he knew she didn’t think of this house or this town as home. He hadn’t asked yet where she lived, what her life was like, thinking they had more than enough to deal with. She didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved with a man. She could have kids. Who knew?
If she had a guy in her life, where the hell was he? Seth thought savagely. No man who loved her would have let her do this alone.
“Will you...will you tell us about yourself?” Karen said timidly, seemingly still not realizing her face was wet with tears even as it glowed with joy.
Kirk sat heavily in an armchair. Seth had the impression he hadn’t once taken his eyes off Bailey. Both waited expectantly for her answer.
“Well... I live in Southern California. My name...” She floundered at their expressions, but squared her shoulders. “It’s Bailey Smith.” She hurried on, as if to be sure they didn’t have a chance to comment. “I’ve held all kinds of jobs since I graduated from high school, but I’m currently waitressing because I can do it nights and weekends. I’m about to start my senior year of college. A little late, but I finally got there.” Her lips had a wry twist. “Majoring in psychology. I don’t know what I want to do with it, but getting a degree feels...important.” She lifted her chin a little higher. “I wanted to make something of myself.”
“That’s wonderful.” Karen beamed some more. “What school are you in?”
Seth’s hand had been on his thigh, but he moved it to the sofa cushion where his knuckles just touched Bailey’s thigh. He waited for her to inch away, but she didn’t.
“USC,” she said. “Um, the University of Southern California.” She smiled weakly. “Go Trojans. Although I’m not really into sports.”
“Your father watches football and baseball—”
They all heard the front door open.
“Mom? Dad, why are you home?” Eve entered the living room, worry on her face. “There’s a police car here.” She stopped dead, her gaze moving from her father to her mother to Seth—and stopping on Bailey. Something dark entered her eyes. “I see.” She sounded almost casual. “The real daughter returns.”
CHAPTER THREE
BAILEY HUGGED HERSELF as Seth drove. “They still have my bed.” Why that blew her away, of all things, she had no idea, but it did.
She felt his swift glance. “I don’t think they changed a thing in your bedroom.”
“The whole room is pink.”
“You were only six. Little girls like pink and purple.”
She stole a look at him. “How do you know? Do you have children?”
Unless it was her imagination, his mouth curved. Because he liked knowing she was curious about him? “No children. Never been married. I have two nieces and friends who have kids.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “I always pictured this perfect bedroom.” Her voice sounded faraway, bemused. “It was pink, and I had a canopy bed. Like a princess.”
“You did.”
“So... I was actually remembering.” She was stunned to know those dreams had really been memories. Standing in the door of that bedroom had left her shaken in a way the faces of her parents hadn’t. And how weird was that?
As if he understood, Seth said, “Memories are odd. Unpredictable. A couple of my very earliest memories are of semitraumatic moments, which makes sense. Others are totally random. Why do I remember standing at the foot of a staircase in what my mother tells me was probably my great-grandmother’s house, feeling really small? It’s just a snapshot, but vivid. Couldn’t have been an earth-shattering moment. For you, maybe you really loved having a bed with a canopy.”
She gave a funny, broken laugh that didn’t sound like her at all. “I did. I mean, I don’t know that, but I used to think about what my bedroom would look like if I ever had a home. You know. I’d change the wall color as I got older, but the bed was always there.” She sighed. “I hurt their feelings, didn’t I?”
“When you wouldn’t stay?”
And sleep in that canopy bed, the idea of which had freaked her out. As in, if she’d tried, she just knew she’d have run screaming into the night. More irrationality—it wasn’t as if she’d been snatched from her bedroom and therefore had trauma associated with it.
“Or even agree to stay for dinner. And when I didn’t fall into their arms.”
“Maybe,” he said, driving with relaxed competence. “But they’re so happy that you’re alive, they’ll get over it. My impression is they’re good people. They probably had fantasies. They’ll adjust to the reality, which is that you’re essentially strangers. Any sense of family or intimacy will have to be built from the ground up.”
Bailey bowed her head and stared at her hands. “I don’t know if I want to join the construction crew.”
He was quiet for a minute, a small frown furrowing his forehead. But he looked thoughtful, not irritated.
“Why did you come here?” he asked. “What changed your mind?”
Would he understand if she admitted she didn’t know? That she’d have sworn her original decision had been final, except that knowing she could find out who she’d been had nibbled at her until she’d finally decided to make this trip?
“Curiosity,” she said at last. All she was willing to admit to.
He made a sound in his throat she couldn’t interpret.
“You in school right now?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t sign up for summer semester. It gave me a chance to work a lot more hours and save for the tuition. Fall semester starts the last week of August.” Which was a month away. She added hastily, “I should get back to my job, though.”
“How long did you tell them you’d be gone?”
“I...left it sort of open-ended.”
He turned into the parking lot of the sheriff’s department. She scanned the lot for her rental car and was reassured to see it.
“Have you found a place to stay yet?” he asked.
God. She almost had to stay for a few days, didn’t she? She’d raised expectations, and she didn’t want to hurt those people who had looked at her with such hunger and happiness and puzzlement. And then there was the whole press conference thing, which really scared her.
Aghast, she suddenly wondered whether Canosa would even want her back. The food and atmosphere were supposed to be the focus, not one of the waitresses. What if people stared? Went there just to see her?
Maybe she could change her appearance. But would brown hair or glasses fool anyone who had once seen a good photo of her? Say, on the cover of People magazine?
Her stomach dipped. With an effort, she dragged her attention back to his last question.
“No. I assumed there’d be a hotel in town, or I could drive back to Mount Vernon.” It was a county away, but straddled the I-5 freeway, making it busier than off-the-beaten-track Stimson, which wasn’t on the way to anything but the Cascade Mountains.
“There’s a Quality Inn.”
She nodded; she’d seen it as she’d turned into town.
“Also a more rustic place just out of town called the River Inn. And a couple of bed-and-breakfasts.”
No B and Bs. She didn’t want to have nosy hosts or have to share a breakfast table with other guests. “If they have a vacancy, the Quality Inn will be fine.” The more anonymous the room, the better.
“Until the press arrives,” Seth said. “Then we’ll have to think of something else.”
She shuddered.
He gave her a quick look as he finished parking, then gripped her hand again.
“Will you have dinner with me, Bailey?”
“You can’t possibly want—” she began in panic.
He interrupted. “I want.” There was the smallest of pauses during which she tried to interpret his enigmatic tone. “It’ll give us time to talk this out. You can ask some of the questions that must be on your mind. We can plan our strategy.”
“You can ask questions,” she said with quick hostility.
He did the eyebrow lifting thing really well. “I won’t tonight, not if you’d rather I don’t. We will need to talk eventually about what you remember about your abductor. I’m a cop, Bailey. If he’s still out there grabbing little girls, he needs to be stopped if there’s any way in hell I can locate him.”
What could she do but nod? She hated the idea he might have another little girl right now, who called him Daddy. She had spent most of her life blocking out those images, except they crept into her dreams.
“But this evening—” Seth’s voice had softened “—we’ll set that aside. I think it would be better for you to talk out what you’re feeling than go hide in a hotel room.”
“I’m used to being alone.” It burst out of her before she could think twice. “I like being alone,” she said softly. Not answering to anyone.
He turned off the engine and sat waiting, just as he had in front of the Lawson home. A patient man, he knew when not to push. And that made him a dangerous man, too, she thought, at least to her.
“Fine,” she said, disgruntled but grateful all at the same time. She hadn’t been ready to stay at the Lawsons’ for dinner, but the idea of getting takeout and eating in a hotel room by herself held no appeal, either. At least, Detective Seth Chandler offered distraction.
“Okay,” he said, as if the outcome had never been in doubt. “I need to go in and check messages, make a few calls. Why don’t you check in at the Quality Inn, and I’ll pick you up there?”
“Fine,” she muttered again.
He smiled and took out his phone. “Give me your number so I can call when I’m on my way.”
She told him. Apparently not trusting her, he touched Send and waited until the phone in her bag rang. Then, satisfied, he put his away. His hand emerged from his pocket with a business card, which he handed her. “My number.”
He insisted on walking her to her car. Bailey had no doubt he memorized the license plate number, just in case she ran for it. Then he let her go, but kept watching until she turned onto the main street and she could no longer see him.
At which point she pulled to the curb, put the car into Park and bent forward, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. And then she did her best to breathe as she struggled with the kind of roiling emotions she hadn’t let herself feel in something like ten years.
Strangely, it was a picture of the man she’d just left that she fastened on. His physical strength, his relaxed, purely male walk, the big hand he’d touched her with whenever he sensed she needed support.
How did he know?
Breathe.
He just did, she admitted. Somehow, those dark eyes saw deeper than she liked. Except today, she was grateful.
A new swirl of panic joined all her other fears. She couldn’t let herself depend on him. She shouldn’t have agreed to dinner. When he called, she’d make an excuse.
Bailey moaned, knowing she’d just lied to herself. Yes, she had to be careful where he was concerned, but right now, she needed him. She, who never let herself need anyone, wasn’t sure she’d get through these next few days without the man she’d met less than three hours ago.
* * *
EVE’S MOTHER—ADOPTIVE MOTHER—laid down her fork. “I keep thinking I dreamed it. But Hope really was here, wasn’t she?”
This was probably the tenth time she’d said something similar since they sat down for dinner. All she’d done was stir her food around.
Dad laid his big, scarred hand over hers in a gesture more tender than Eve remembered seeing. “She was. We’ll see her again in the morning.”
Eve didn’t have much appetite, either. She’d done a lot of scrambling to make up for opening her big mouth at the sight of her sort-of sister.
“I only meant biological,” she had explained.
Apparently that was good enough, because they immediately dropped the subject and went back to exclaiming in shock and awe.
Hope, Hope, Hope.
And I’m being such a bitch, Eve thought miserably. She should be grateful to Hope, whose disappearance had given her a chance to have a family. Nobody else had wanted the rail-thin, withdrawn eight-year-old she had been when the Lawsons had taken her in.
She’d always known the truth. They hadn’t taken her because they’d fallen in love with her, but rather as penance. They felt guilty because they had failed their perfect daughter. For their own spiritual salvation, they needed to save another child.
Which still didn’t mean she hadn’t been lucky to be that child.
She remembered her first visit to this house, when Kirk had opened a door partway down the hall and said, “This will be your bedroom.”
Now she knew it had been a guest bedroom before she had arrived. Then, given the way she’d lived before she got taken into the foster system, she’d been thrilled because she’d have a queen-size bed all to herself and her own dresser and closet and everything.
Karen had stepped into the room behind Eve and looked around. “We’ll paint and decorate once you’ve decided how you’d like it to look,” she said. “What is your favorite color?”
“Pink,” she had whispered, and then seen the expression on the face of a woman who was thinking about becoming her mother. “And yellow,” she said hurriedly. Yellow, she saw, was safe.
She had lived with them for a week before she worked up the courage to open the door to the other bedroom that nobody went in or out of. I want this bedroom, she’d thought, indignation swelling in her, but she never said a word, because she knew. It was her bedroom. The lost daughter the social worker had told her about. The Lawsons had insisted that of course they would keep Eve even if Hope was restored to them, but then, she wasn’t sure she believed that. She’d stared at the pink bedroom with furniture painted white and edged with gilt, and at shelves filled with dolls dressed in beautiful clothes, and most of all at the bed with tall posts and gilt-painted finials and a white lace canopy, and she had envied until she ached.
She had mostly been ashamed of that envy, because the pretty blonde girl in all the pictures was probably dead even though her parents kept her bedroom for her and told everyone that they knew she was alive and would come home someday. But the envy had crept into her heart and stayed no matter what she did to root it out, and today it had made her say, “The real daughter returns.”
Of course Mom and Dad were ecstatic. They’d been given a miracle. Eve loved them. She had dreamed of seeing them truly happy, and now they were.
Just not because of any accomplishment of hers, any gift she gave them. She’d always believed, in the back of her mind, that she was engaged in a competition. She’d just never let herself see that it was one she couldn’t win. Her bringing home a gold medal in athletics, being accepted to Harvard Law School or crowned Miss America, none of those achievements would ever have erased the grief that cast its shadow over both of them. Only the return of their precious Hope could do that.
And I am happy, Eve told herself. Just...envious, too.
She smiled at her mother. “Hope’s coming to breakfast?”
Karen Lawson’s face was both softer and younger than Eve had ever seen it. “Yes. But remember she asked us to call her Bailey. Oh!” She hugged herself. “I can’t believe it.”
Eve offered to come over and make breakfast, but no, Mom wanted to make it with her own hands, because she’d been cheated of the chance of feeding her daughter so many other breakfasts.
“Waffles,” she decided. “Or crepes. I have all those lovely raspberries. Oh, my. I should have asked her what she likes.” Her expression cleared. “But of course she loved raspberries. Do you remember, Kirk? That time we took her with us to pick berries, and lost sight of her for a minute?” That clouded her face momentarily, but the smile broke through again. “And when we found her she was stuffing herself with berries, and her hands and face were stained with the juice?”
He chuckled. “She tried to claim she hadn’t been eating them and was astonished we didn’t believe her.”
How touching, Eve thought. My little sister lied.
And I am a lousy human being.
* * *
DAMN, SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. Seth didn’t understand this intense reaction to Bailey Smith and wasn’t sure he liked it. He didn’t want to think it was related to the triumph of finding her. As in, I’m the creator.