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“But that’s probably coincidence, isn’t it?” she asked, sighing. “I mean, more likely than not, it’s a chance resemblance. Right?”
“Of course.” He deliberately lowered his voice to mask the jumble of emotions swirling in his gut. “But I’m not done.” He paused, almost afraid to say the words. “Today’s her birthday.”
“Today? That skater turned eighteen today?”
From the strength of her voice alone, Miles knew he’d planted the conversation on firmer ground. “That’s what the announcers discussed—this competition was a big deal so they went on at length about what a great present the medal was on such an important birthday.”
“Wow. I don’t follow skating,” Lark said, rushing the words. “You know, except when the Internationals are on TV. Then I tune in like everyone else. I would have missed this entirely.”
He was almost afraid to go on, but it was the detail that made the others fit like puzzle pieces. “There’s more. One other thing—something big.”
“What?”
“Perrie Lynn is adopted.”
He waited out the seconds of silence.
“How do you know that?” she whispered.
“The announcers said so, Lark.”
“They discussed something so private? On TV?”
Miles chuckled. “Well, according to Brooke, this is not a secret. You see, her parents, the Olsons, are classic blond, blue-eyed Scandinavians. Apparently, she’s always known she was adopted.” He paused, calling up his grandmother’s face. “I can’t even describe how much she resembles the early photos of my mother, but especially my grandmother.”
“Oh, Miles, it’s still so hard to believe. I’m afraid to hope it’s true.”
He heard the longing in her soft voice. An eighteen-year-old memory of her fighting off tears—and failing—slipped into his mind. “I know. But to tell you the truth, Lark, it really was the widow’s peak and her pretty smile that made me think of you.”
Silence.
“But it still might not be true.”
Her skepticism sounded forced. “You sound like me. Like you’re putting the brakes on your thoughts. You don’t want to let hope run away with you.”
“Yes,” she said, “not that I know what to do with the information. I mean, I’ve been thinking about her all day, and I filled up time with Christmas shopping. Just now I was out on a...well, out for dinner with friends, but for a couple of hours before I left the house I picked up the phone half a dozen times wanting to beg off, make some excuse not to leave the house.”
“I understand. It was on my mind, too. I was listening to Brooke talk with half my attention. Until the camera zoomed in on Perrie Lynn’s face and the commentators bantered about all these details of her life.”
“It seems so unlikely.”
He held back, not wanting to reveal exactly how convinced he was that Perrie Lynn was their child. He also suspected this birthday was more complicated for Lark than it was for him. “All that aside, I want to find out for sure, even though I don’t have a plan in place. Obviously, we’ll act in a way that won’t intrude on this girl’s life. If it’s all a big coincidence, then that will be that.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Can you meet me for breakfast, maybe tomorrow morning?” he asked. “I leave for Richmond on a late afternoon flight, but I’d like to see you first. We should talk about what to do next.”
“Yes, talk. We need to...take the next step, whatever...” She let out a frustrated groan. “Listen to me. I’m a writer, but I can’t string words together in a complete sentence. Tomorrow morning? Let me check.”
The line went quiet. The seconds ticked by.
“Yes, yes, that’s good. I was double-checking my calendar. I have a phone interview scheduled in the afternoon. I write articles about health. I’m talking to a doctor about a new drug for...” She sighed. “Now I’m babbling. None of that matters. Tomorrow morning is fine.”
What a relief. He hadn’t wanted to leave town without seeing her face-to-face. He suggested meeting at eight o’clock at Hugo’s, a café just east of Green Bay, not too far for either of them.
“Hugo’s it is,” she said.
Silence.
He cleared his throat. “Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait! One more thing, Miles.”
“What is it?”
“You have a strong hunch about this, don’t you?”
The unexpected question threw him, but not for long. “Yes, I do.”
“Me, too.” She ended the call.
He stared at the phone, amused by the abrupt end to their conversation. At least it saved them from an awkward goodbye. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his folded arms. The oak table felt cold under his hands, but he welcomed it. He needed to cool the heat of the moment. Lark had your child. Yet a simple matter of setting up a meeting was stiff and strange.
Would it have been easier to talk with her if they’d been in love back then, or at least infatuated? Maybe they were awkward with each other because they’d shared so little. Back in college, they’d spent a few carefree nights listening to bands at a local pub. Their handful of dates had been more like hanging out. They’d spent a couple of chilly spring Sundays in his room in an apartment he shared with a couple of guys. Studying. Obviously doing more than that.
With all he’d said, he’d failed to mention another clue. Perrie Lynn had grown up in Minnesota. Where he and Lark had given up their baby. And, at the time, without even one other person in their lives aware of what they’d done.
* * *
SO AWKWARD. SHE hadn’t helped by more or less hanging up on him to end the call. But what was the protocol in situations like this? The etiquette? Silly question. She snickered to herself. Had she really used the words protocol and etiquette, as if this was a case of choosing the correct way to interact with Miles? The facts spoke for themselves. When they’d left the hospital, Miles had driven her back to her studio apartment in St. Paul and looked after her for a couple of days. Since then she’d seen him exactly twice, the first time two weeks after they’d given up their baby.
Miles had come home for the holiday break, too, and asked her to have dinner with him. She’d agreed to meet him at a local pub. He was just checking in, he’d said, concerned by the way he’d left her in her apartment after they’d turned over their baby girl.
She remembered their evening well, but not happily. They’d struggled to make conversation. She’d held back her tears, tried to be strong, but failed. As much as he’d shown concern for her, his relief bled through. He was free and clear. When they’d left the pub and walked to their cars, she’d told him her plan was to try her best to put what happened between them behind her. First, she didn’t want him worrying about her, but second, she didn’t want him to contact her ever again. Miles had started to respond, but apparently had nothing meaningful to say. He’d nodded tersely and they parted ways.
Sitting at her desk, Lark took a deep breath, hoping to chase away gathering hope mixed with fear. Yet she wanted—needed—to savor this moment, just in case it all turned out to be true. She opened her laptop and within seconds was staring at an image of Perrie Lynn Olson in a red sequined skating costume. She was exactly as Miles had described, right down to the same pronounced widow’s peak Lark saw in the mirror every day. The girl’s warm skin tone and her rich brown eyes reminded her of Miles—the Miles of years ago when he was twenty and she was nineteen. Not much older than their daughter was now.
Their daughter? “Get hold of yourself,” she said aloud. These similarities didn’t prove anything. She read on, following the highlights of Perrie Lynn’s skating life, including a newly added banner announcing the medal she’d just won. As a skater she was fresh and new, having spent the previous year on the senior circuit before bursting out of the pack during this, her second season, and surprising skating experts and fans alike.
“You look happy,” she whispered as she lightly brushed her fingertips across Perrie Lynn’s image on the screen. “That’s all I ever wanted.” It was the hope that overrode all the heartbreak in the walled-off part of Lark that remained isolated from the outside world. She’d longed—sometimes desperately—for her little girl to grow up loved and happy.
One photo on a website confirmed nothing. Still, Lark couldn’t help but think this beautiful young woman would go to sleep that night basking in her big win and happy with her life. “I hope it’s true,” Lark said, “and that one day soon you’ll tell me yourself.”
Reluctantly, she shut down the computer and left her desk to get ready for bed.
CHAPTER THREE
MILES ARRIVED FIRST, and after scanning the customers in the café, he waited for Lark inside near the front window. He studied the faces of women coming in to order to-go coffee or claim a table. He couldn’t be positive he’d immediately recognize her, even though he’d seen her pretty face on her website photo. And most coffee seekers entering Hugo’s were camouflaged in heavy coats and thick scarves, their hats pulled down over their ears as protection against the frigid December air.
He’d suggested Hugo’s because he’d been there before, the last time on a forgettable late-afternoon coffee date with a woman he’d met on a flight from Detroit to Green Bay. Pleasant enough conversation, but as so often happened in the past few years, nothing about the date compelled him to follow up. She hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for a second meeting, either. No matter. He’d lost nothing but a couple of hours.
Through the front window he spotted Lark walking toward the entrance. His whole body warmed at the sight of her. She appeared so young in a bright red jacket, jeans and knee-high black boots. A large leather bag hung from one shoulder. She gingerly stepped around patches of ice on the sidewalk, but then glanced up and caught him watching her. Her mouth turned up in a shy smile.
He walked closer to the door to greet her, wanting to lean over and kiss her cheek, maybe give her a quick hug. But she’d turned her face away to check out the café.
“How about that table in the corner?” She spoke in a businesslike tone, pointing to a small table for two.
“Fine,” he said, following her quick steps. Still not looking at him, she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair before she sat down. Then she pulled out a menu card from behind the napkin holder.
He also shed his coat and sat across from her. “Lark?”
She lifted her head, her expression quizzical.
“Hello.”
She snorted a laugh. “Don’t mind me, Miles. I’m nervous as can be.”
“Believe me, I understand.” He paused, but decided to acknowledge what they both knew to be true. “This is awkward.”
“No kidding.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and gave her head a quick shake. “But not as awful as bumping into you at the mall a few years ago.”
Oh, boy, she didn’t mince words. Neither would he. “True. That was excruciating.”
She swiped her hand across her forehead. “Whew. We got that out of the way.” She went back to studying the menu. “Let’s order right away. I’m starving. I usually eat much earlier than this.”
Right on cue, the waitress stopped at their table and took their identical orders of coffee and omelet platters with the cranberry-walnut muffin of the day. As if the intervening years had been wiped away, he recalled her big appetite, even the image of her shaking peanuts from a can into her palm. She’d snacked nonstop while they sat on his bed with open textbooks in front of them and unapologetically polished off huge plates of burgers and fries at the pub where they’d hung out.
“You’re grinning,” she said. “Are you shocked at my hearty breakfast order?”
“Not exactly,” he said with a snicker. “I was remembering how you ate me out of house and home.”
“And I haven’t slowed down a bit.” She peered into his face, as if really seeing him for the first time. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Neither have you,” he said. “Not on the outside, anyway.”
“Yes, the inside is another thing.” She leaned across the table, folding her hands in front of her. “Tell me about your daughter—and your wife, assuming you’re married.”
Since they hadn’t exchanged many details on the phone, he filled in the facts of his brief marriage to Andi. “Brooke is the light of my life, though, and her mother and I have managed to raise her together without too much conflict.”
“I’m divorced, too.” She spoke matter-of-factly. “And my son is by far the best thing to come from my misbegotten marriage. Evan is almost thirteen now, and pretty close to his dad, which is good.”
Miles nodded, happy to have this exchange out of the way. For reasons he didn’t understand, he was relieved that no husband was in the picture. Maybe because a spouse was more likely to interfere with plans Miles wanted to share only with Lark.
They were quiet when the waitress brought a carafe of coffee to the table and filled their white diner-style mugs. He watched Lark add cream from the pitcher drop by drop, until the color suited her. He remembered she was precise about her coffee.
“It’s odd how I recall little things about you,” he said, nodding at the cup in front of her.
“Is that so?”
“The way you drip cream into your coffee, for one thing.”
“My coffee habits and my huge appetite. That seems especially odd because we never knew each other well.”
“I know,” he said, suddenly filled with regret, “and I’m sorry.”
She frowned. “For what?”
He responded with a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m sorry we weren’t closer, or I regret that you went through so much.” He hesitated to find the right words. “I didn’t do as much as I could’ve.”
She averted her eyes and took a few sips of her coffee. His words seemed hollow, even to him. He could only imagine how ridiculous they must have sounded to her ears.
“I shouldn’t have jumped into the past like that,” he said. “Not when there’s something so immediate to talk about.”
“It’s natural, I suppose. I shuffled through some memories myself last night.” She smiled. “I’ll admit to spending a restless night. I guess I managed a couple of hours sleep. Evan was at his father’s house all weekend, so I was alone. He’ll come home after school today.”
Home was Lark’s house, just like Andi’s house was Brooke’s real home. He wondered if Lark’s ex was as resigned to that as he was.
After their omelets and muffins arrived, Lark squared her shoulders. “I’m calling this meeting to order.”
“No more small talk, huh?”
“Another time. I’d really like to find out more about your life, but my stomach is flip-flopping—and growling.” She tensed her shoulders and then released them. “I’m nervous. I’ll be okay when we get on with whatever we need to do.” She turned her head and glanced at the table for four behind her.
“Are you checking the place for someone you know?” he asked.
“Am I that obvious? But I’ve been silent for eighteen years and will stay that way, at least for now.”
“No explanation needed.” Lowering his voice, he asked, “I assume you went to Perrie Lynn’s website?”
She nodded vigorously. “I saw exactly what you were talking about.” She stared out into the crowded café. “She’s simply breathtaking. There’s no other word for her. And she definitely reminded me of you, and not just the hair and skin. There was something else. An expression, maybe an attitude. Even in the photo she exuded an air of confidence.”
He chose not to probe further into what she’d just said. Yes, he’d been a fairly confident twenty-year-old back when he and Lark were seeing each other. He was considered a good-looking guy, and he’d made his way through college without a lot of drama, at least until what happened with Lark. Up to that point he’d been carefree, with his eyes on the future, specifically his career plans.
“I think we could make a good case for exploring this further based solely on her resemblance to us,” Miles offered, “but the other details line up perfectly, almost too perfectly. If there is such a thing.”
“It’s premature to start thinking of this precious girl as our daughter, Miles, but we have a place to start. From the beginning, I’ve always known I’d do what I could to prepare for her eighteenth birthday, a landmark year in adoption terms. So I’m ready.”
“What do you mean by ‘prepare’?”
She frowned. “I’ve registered with the adoption agency and it’s cross-referenced on a state list. If our child decides she wants to look for me now that she’s old enough to make her own decisions, I made sure I could be found.”
That felt like a blow. Irrationally, he was hurt. “You mean, you’ve already begun a process to find her.”
“Well, yes, in a way. But it’s not a matter of me finding her,” she explained. “As I said, if she looks, she’ll be able to find me—easily.”
Still nursing an open wound, he asked, “Would you have told me if she’d found you?”
“Of course, if that’s what she wanted.” She dropped her fork, letting it clatter on the plate. “I can see from your pained expression that I’ve upset you. But I think you’re getting the wrong impression.”
“Then fill me in.” His voice had turned cold, but he couldn’t help it.
“Statistically, adopted kids tend to think of searching for their birth mothers first.”
Good point. “I suppose that’s true.”
“It makes sense when you think about it.” She spoke in a low voice. “Adopted kids, girls and boys, tend to think about the woman who actually gave birth to them more than they think about their father.”
She leaned forward, her tone earnest. “Many people search, especially as young adults, because if they don’t, they always wonder. The first step was providing my information to the adoption agency, and with their cooperation, to the state office that responds to inquiries. But I’d never have disrupted this young woman’s life by popping up unannounced.”
She picked up her fork and jabbed the air for emphasis. “I’ve always hoped she’d look for me. For all we know, now that she’s turned eighteen...”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence, and he nodded to acknowledge he understood. The image of the graceful skater, so triumphant in her medal win, flashed in his mind. He couldn’t see that focused girl taking a detour to search for biological parents, not while she stood in the very spotlight her adoptive parents undoubtedly had worked hard to help her reach.
“We can’t assume she’d search right now,” Miles said, giving voice to his doubts. “From what I understand, which is based on what the TV commentators said, she trains every day to prepare for the next event.” He paused. “I won’t do anything on my own, by the way. Whatever we do to locate our child, I want us to do it together.”
She raised her eyebrows. “In contrast to what I’ve already done, you mean?”
“I don’t want to be petty about it, but it’s just that I thought of you first when this possibility became clear. I wouldn’t have checked it out without talking to you.”
“I see.”
“And it’s apparent you would have plunged in alone.”
“Yes, to be honest, I would—I did.” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “But, Miles, I haven’t ever told anyone about our daughter.”
“I’m not anyone. I always thought that having the baby was something we went through together. If you were talking to that agency we worked with, you should have called me to see if I wanted to be included.”
Her eyes opened wide in surprise. It was clear she didn’t share his stance on that. She pushed a slice of bacon to the side of her plate and focused on buttering a chunk of the muffin.
“Your silence speaks volumes, Lark.” He’d never expected this wave of reproach, even anger, that was coming over him now.
Raising her head, she stared boldly into his eyes. “Okay, to be perfectly honest, until now I’ve felt entirely alone with my secret. But starting today, we’re together in this.”
He forced a smile. “Okay. I guess that will have to be good enough.”
“Oh, tell the truth, Miles,” she said, her voice low but impatient. “How much did you think about me over the years? Did you ever wonder if I thought about the baby we gave up? You know, like every day of my life.”
Uncertain where to begin, he said nothing. But she wadded up her napkin and tossed it on her plate.
“Are you finished picking at that mountain of food?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Then let’s take a walk.” He signaled the waitress and took cash from his wallet to pay the bill. The chair legs scraped on the wooden floor when Lark stood. With her face pinched in emotional pain, she struggled to pull on her jacket. He grabbed it and held it so she could shove her arm through the sleeve. Last night when he pictured this reunion of sorts, he’d imagined it would be all about strategies and plans. Dispassionate and businesslike. What a fool he could be sometimes. He might have known resentments, old and new, would be dredged up.
Once outside, they stood on the sidewalk in front of the café.
“I didn’t want to start an argument, Miles.”
He shook his head. “Me, neither, but it seems we need to clear the air. Let’s do it where we’re certain no one will overhear us.”
The coffee had left him jittery, or maybe he’d have been anxious, anyway. Especially now, knowing he’d put Lark even more on edge.
“Do you have time for a drive?” she asked. “We still haven’t made any decisions. That’s what this morning was supposed to be about.”
He nodded. “I didn’t expect to be so stirred up inside. Where do you want to go?”
“Follow me. I’m right next to the south end of the waterfront park in Two Moon Bay. I’ll pull into the lot in the park. We can walk on the beach and jetty and talk this through. Then we can warm up inside my cottage.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES AFTER leaving Hugo’s, Lark pulled into the lot adjacent to the beach and waited for Miles to park next to her. She watched him get out of his car and walk toward her while pulling a knit hat over his ears. Staring at the whitecaps forming on the water, he looked grim, his forehead wrinkled in thought, or perhaps consternation.
Unfortunately, Lark didn’t know him well enough to draw conclusions. Back in college he’d been an easygoing guy, out for a fun time. Now he was divorced and a responsible dad.
Regardless of what he was feeling at the moment, she’d bet money their baby had barely produced a ripple in the pond of his life. Not like the boulder that had crashed into hers.
“Let’s walk down to the end of the jetty.” She pointed to the left, where the concrete pier looked clear of ice.
“Lead the way.”
They headed down the beach, one of two jewels along Two Moon Bay’s waterfront. The other stretch was a stony beach and marina closer to downtown. Both offered grassy areas with picnic tables under the trees to provide shade in the summer. The concrete jetty, about a block long, appeared abandoned, even lonely on the cold, overcast day. The rising wind stirred up the water, sending spray flying over the far end of the jetty. In a couple of weeks the shallow water in this part of the bay would likely freeze over.
“No one else is crazy enough to be out here today,” she said, glancing at his glum face. She stopped abruptly. “Look, I didn’t mean to rile you.”
“I know.” He stared out at the lake. “It’s completely irrational, but yesterday I immediately thought of you as a partner when I suspected Perrie Lynn was our daughter. You weren’t the first person I thought to call. You were the only person.”
She closed the gap between them by lightly touching his arm. “Let me finish my whole thought. Then you can judge.” She repeated her reasoning for listing herself on the registry with the state of Minnesota. She’d assumed their daughter would look for her first. That pattern was well documented by decades of research. “But I would never have gone beyond the first contact—if I were blessed enough to have a contact at all—without making it clear to her that I could, and would, get in touch with her father.”