Chapter Thirty-Four

KENDALL SAT OUTSIDE the 1960s ranch-style house on a quiet street in Littleton, studying the front like she was on a surveillance detail. She’d put the address of her last foster home into her phone’s GPS, thinking she probably wouldn’t recognize it after a decade, but the minute she drove onto the street, she locked onto the home like she was following a beacon. Memories flooded back, ones she could fully understand repressing: the nights crying in her new room, wanting to go back to the last foster home because it was familiar even if it was unhappy. Being the new girl at school yet again and trying to hide her foster kid status for as long as possible. The day that everyone found out anyway and the whispers began about why her parents had abandoned her.

But that wasn’t all. There were also memories that shouldn’t need forgetting: riding a bike up and down the street on Christmas Day, her foster father Bill running beside to steady it until she got the hang of it. Sitting out on the front porch drinking hot chocolate with Nancy after a hard day at school. Backing down the driveway in the Novaks’ station wagon on her sixteenth birthday, right after she’d gotten her driver’s license.

And the day she’d packed up one suitcase full of stuff, the clothes and shoes that she’d bought herself with money from a part-time job, and walked away from this place without a second look.

Kendall swallowed hard, tears pricking her eyes. She should probably have called ahead. There was no guarantee they’d even want to see her, and her flight back to Burbank left in three hours. She didn’t really have time to be making this unplanned stop.

And yet she knew this was something she should have done long ago, that she would never be able to move on with her life until she dealt with her past. Now that she had some of the answers, maybe Bill and Nancy Novak could fill her in on the rest.

There were two cars parked in the driveway, the old station wagon and a newer SUV, so she knew they were probably home when she left her rental vehicle and crossed the street to the house. She braced herself for an uncertain reception. With the way she’d left without another word, not even a card or a phone call to say how she was doing, they might not even want to see her. They might have spent the last decade thinking about how ungrateful she’d been for their help when she’d had nowhere else to go.

They wouldn’t be totally wrong.

Kendall took one more deep breath and then shook off her hesitation and rapped sharply on the door. For good measure, she pressed the doorbell too.

From deep inside the house, a dog barked twice and then a woman’s voice shushed it. Kendall’s heart rose into her throat. Bill and Nancy had never had a dog; if it hadn’t been for the familiar station wagon with the same small dent in the bumper from where she’d accidentally backed into a trash can, she might think they’d moved.

And then the door swung open, revealing Nancy Novak, holding on to the collar of a panting, smiling golden retriever. She looked older than Kendall remembered, of course, a touch more silver woven into her blonde hair, but she looked as trim and healthy as ever. She straightened with a smile for whoever she thought was at the door, and then it slowly slipped off her face. “Kendall?”

Her name on her foster mom’s lips struck a pang into her heart. For a second, she’d wondered if she would even recognize her. “Hi, Nancy. I didn’t mean to drop by without notice, but I was in Colorado . . .”

Nancy’s eyes welled with tears, shimmering in a film. She turned away and yelled, “Bill! Come here! You won’t believe who’s here!” Kendall was still standing there, but Nancy seemed momentarily unable to figure out what to do.

“Can I come in?” Kendall asked tentatively.

Nancy shook herself. “Come in, come in. I was just surprised. I didn’t expect . . . I never thought . . .” She snapped her mouth shut and stood aside for Kendall to enter. The instant she let go of the dog’s collar, he started dancing around Kendall’s legs, sniffing her and nudging her hand.

“You probably smell Fitz on my boots still,” Kendall murmured, kneeling down to scratch the dog. She was aware she was really just delaying the inevitable, but it was much easier to face the friendly dog than the unknown expression of her foster mom.

Bill came around the corner from the back of the house and froze. “Kendall?”

Kendall straightened. “Hi, Bill. I’m sorry to drop in on you two so unexpectedly. I was in town and . . .” She broke off, aware she was bungling this reunion, but right now she wasn’t even sure if it was welcome or not. “Could we sit down and talk for a minute?”

Bill recovered faster than his wife and smiled. “Of course, Kendall. You know you’re always welcome here. You just surprised us. Although not as much as getting a visit from a private investigator.” He held his hand out toward the adjacent living room, and Kendall took tentative steps toward one of the chairs placed near the front window.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t hire him. A . . . friend of mine . . . took it on himself to get some answers for me. I had no idea he was even doing it.”

Bill and Nancy took seats on the leather sofa opposite her, Nancy automatically reaching for Bill’s hand. The gesture instantly made Kendall nervous. She recognized it from nearly a decade with this couple; Nancy always reached for him when she was uncertain about what came next. They were as unsettled as she was.

“It’s no problem, Kendall,” Bill said. “We weren’t sure if we should even talk to him. But his questions weren’t that intrusive . . . or at least it didn’t seem like it was anything that could hurt you or make you susceptible to identity theft or something like that.”

That was Bill, the practical one. Nancy was still staring at Kendall like she was a ghost, almost shaking.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Kendall said finally. “I just got the report this morning and . . .” She tried to order her thoughts. How could she have lived with Bill and Nancy for eight years and feel like they were strangers now? Maybe because she’d been away for longer than she’d known them. She’d lived two-thirds of her life without them.

“My mother didn’t abandon me. She was killed. Actually, both my parents were, at different times.”

Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth, tears coming to her eyes again. Kendall had forgotten how tenderhearted she was. “I’m so sorry, Kendall. That must have been difficult to learn.”

“It was. Kind of. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief.” Kendall swallowed hard, feeling guilty even thinking the words, let alone saying them aloud. “I didn’t realize how much I hoped my mom was still out there, that I would find her someday and she could give me an explanation.”

“That’s absolutely understandable,” Nancy said. “It’s why . . .” She broke off and glanced at Bill, who gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

“No, what were you going to say? ‘It’s why’ what?” Kendall looked between the two of them. “Please. Tell me.”

Bill cleared his throat. “It’s why we never pushed to adopt you after the first time you refused.”

Kendall blinked. “You asked to adopt me?” She’d read it in the investigator’s report, but she also hadn’t completely believed it. She would remember something like that, wouldn’t she?

“About a year after you came to live with us,” Nancy said. “You seemed like you were settling in. Making friends. You seemed happy here.”

Kendall hadn’t really remembered being happy there, but now that she said the words, there were flashes, recollections of stretches where things were peaceful. She had settled in. But it felt less about being happy than having finally accepted her fate.

Aloud she said, “I think I must have been. What did I say when you asked me?”

Nancy chewed her lip. “You said that your mom was still out there somewhere, and you were going to find her someday. You said that we’d never be your family.” Tears glistened on her foster mom’s lower lashes, and she swiped them away quickly. “We didn’t blame you, of course. But after that, you pulled away. Stayed in your room. Wouldn’t see your friends. We thought . . . well, we thought it was better to let it go than to push you. To unsettle you.”

Kendall flushed hot and cold. The only things she remembered from that time were emotions she couldn’t deal with, ones she now recognized as guilt. Guilt that she liked living with Bill and Nancy. Guilt that some days she didn’t even think of her mom. And extra guilt when she realized she couldn’t remember her mother’s face, if she’d ever really committed it to memory.

“I’m sorry,” Kendall said softly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No,” Bill said resolutely. “We don’t blame you. We understood what we were signing up for. Even if it was . . . difficult at times.”

Restlessness overtook Kendall and she pushed up from her seat. Wandered around the living room for a second, looking at all the things that had changed, all the things that had stayed the same. Remembering all the details she’d hidden away: family dinners at the scarred oak dining table every night, Nancy picking her up from school every day, Bill helping her with math homework at the coffee table in this room. The Christmas tree that would go up in the corner the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and the yearly trip to pick a new ornament to hang on the tree. The birthday banner with her name that went up over the fireplace every year.

Kendall made two realizations. One, she had no idea what her actual birthday was.

And two, this whole time she’d been thinking she was an orphan, she’d actually had a family.

All the years she’d spent thinking she was alone, she’d had people caring for her and holding her up.

She’d just been so mired in her own loss and pain that she hadn’t been able to see it.

She turned to Bill and Nancy, forcing down the lump in her throat. “Thank you for everything you did for me. I’m so sorry I didn’t . . . that I couldn’t . . .”

Nancy let out a strangled noise and leapt from the sofa, crossing to Kendall’s spot near the fireplace and enfolding her in her arms. “Kendall, sweetheart, we’ve missed you so much. But it wasn’t our place . . . We didn’t want to force you to do anything you didn’t want to.”

Bill stood and moved to their side, his warm hand settling on Kendall’s shoulder. “The important thing is that you came home. We were hoping you might someday.”

It was that word, home, that finally broke her. The tears that had been hiding behind her eyes welled up and spilled down her cheeks, poured out of her in indelicate sobs to wet Nancy’s sweater. Bill encircled both of them, his arms around their shoulders while they cried. She had no idea how long this went on, but when she finally pulled away, she figured she was completely red and swollen. But Nancy and Bill were smiling at her.

It was Nancy who spoke first. “We were just about to have lunch. Do you want to join us?”

And despite the fact that she was going to miss her flight, Kendall nodded. “I’d love that.”

It was surreal being back in this house, sitting at the familiar oak table. Nancy bustled around the kitchen, putting together roast beef sandwiches.

“Can I help?” Kendall asked more than once, but Nancy waved her back to the table, where Bill was busy asking questions about her life for the last ten years.

She’d already told them how she’d gotten a free but completely undocumented interior design education in California while she was working as a receptionist and moved on to her business. “I’m about to start a project in Pasadena on Monday, restoring an old Craftsman in the historic district.”

“So what are you doing in Colorado, then?” Bill asked, puzzled. “I assumed the private investigator was because you lived somewhere far away.”

“That’s kind of a long story.”

Bill and Nancy exchanged a glance; then Nancy smiled. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

That led to the story of how she’d inherited the homes in Jasper Lake and how she’d found the letters between her mother and grandmother. Nancy gasped. “You were so close and no one had any idea?”

Kendall shook her head. “No. Something to do with unconnected computer systems. I’m told it would probably never happen today.”

Nancy set the platter down in the center of the table, sandwich halves stacked neatly alongside freshly washed grapes and dill pickle spears, her usual casual offerings for company. They were treating her like a guest; Kendall wasn’t sure whether to be honored or hurt. After ten years, she guessed they were feeling as awkward as she was.

Bill took Nancy’s hand and then held out his other hand for Kendall. “Shall we say grace?”

Kendall blinked. She tentatively joined hands with both Bill and Nancy and they bowed their heads. She followed suit, though she still studied them through her eyelashes.

“Dear Lord,” Bill prayed, “we thank You for bringing Kendall back to us today. We thank You for Your grace and protection over her for the last ten years and for granting her many successes. We pray that You’ll help her find exactly what she’s looking for. Amen. Oh, and bless this food.”

Kendall and Nancy laughed at the last-minute addition and pulled their hands away, but the last words lingered with her. Help her find exactly what she’s looking for. What was she looking for?

Nancy gestured for her to help herself, and she took a sandwich half and some grapes automatically. She never had liked pickles. “So when did all this happen?”

“When did what happen?” Bill asked.

“The prayer thing. I don’t remember you being particularly religious when I was growing up.” She winced at how accusatory the words sounded as they left her mouth, but Nancy and Bill didn’t seem to notice.

“Well,” Bill said slowly, “I was raised Episcopalian, but I wouldn’t say I was ever really a believer.”

“And I would have called myself an agnostic.” Nancy laughed a bit self-consciously. “Though I think it was less a matter of not knowing if God existed and more wondering why, if He existed, things didn’t go my way more often.”

Kendall winced, hearing her own thoughts come out of Nancy’s mouth.

“But after . . . I guess we needed some comfort. Bill asked me to go to church with him—bullied me, really—and we realized that the thing we were looking for all these years was something we already had.”

“What was that?” Kendall asked.

“Family.”

She couldn’t hear that word without feeling a pang, but now she was curious. “What do you mean?”

Bill reached for Nancy’s hand and squeezed, but his eyes remained fixed on Kendall. “Did you ever wonder why we fostered, why we wanted to adopt?”

Not really. It was a testament to her childish self-involvement that it had never occurred to her to wonder.

“We tried to have a baby for years,” Nancy said softly. “But after six miscarriages, it seemed like it was never meant to be. So we decided to foster. We were really looking for an infant, to be honest. But then we got a call and they needed an emergency placement for a ten-year-old girl, and we . . . well, we couldn’t say no.”

Kendall knew this part from their interview with the PI, but she wanted to hear it from their own mouths. “Why?”

Bill chuckled. “Well, now it seems pretty obvious that it was God working behind the scenes. We thought we wanted a baby, and we got a preteen. We thought we wanted to adopt, and we ended up fostering.”

Guilt struck Kendall. She put down her sandwich. “I’m sorry. If you hadn’t taken me, you might have gotten your baby.”

“That’s what we’re trying to tell you,” Nancy said. “We’re not sorry at all. You were just what we needed. You made us realize that it really wasn’t about us, what we wanted.” She got teary again. “You made us parents.”

Kendall’s own eyes swam in response, and she rubbed her nose to make the stinging sensation go away. She’d already done more crying on this trip than she’d done in the last ten years, and she was afraid her mascara was probably now ringed around her eyes like a raccoon’s.

“But part of being parents is letting go. And after you left, we realized that we’d devoted ourselves completely to you—which is not a bad thing, by the way—and the hole that was left made us start to question things. We saw the emptiness of our life.”

“And that’s when you found church,” Kendall guessed.

“That’s when we found Jesus,” Bill corrected. “In something that was absolutely not a coincidence, the first service we came to talked about how God has predetermined us for adoption as sons and daughters through Jesus. I remember hearing that verse when I was growing up and it not making any sense to me.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I always thought the status of adopted son was less than. But now it made sense to me, for the first time in my life.”

“Kendall, we couldn’t have loved you more if we gave birth to you,” Nancy said softly. “But the choice to be adopted or not was yours and yours alone. We weren’t going to force it on you. We could only love you the best we could.”

“And we realized that’s exactly what God had done for us. He was just waiting for us to take Him up on the offer.” Bill smiled. “The rest is history.”

Kendall shifted uncomfortably in her seat, though she didn’t know if it was because of the talk of God or the talk of her rejected adoption. As memories filtered in of nights sitting at this table, of how well they’d treated her, of how much they had actually loved her, she couldn’t push back the guilt swelling in her chest. They’d accepted her as a member of their family, and she’d scorned it. She’d been too busy thinking about all she’d lost to ever realize what she was gaining in return. There was no real need to have felt alone for the last decade.

She barely noticed when tears began falling again. “What happens when you realize that too late?” she whispered.

Bill and Nancy reached for her hands at the same time, but it was Nancy who spoke. “It’s never too late, Kendall. You’re our daughter, legal or not. You’ve always been part of our family if you want to be. We were just waiting for you to come home.”

It was too much. It was all too much. The knowledge of her birth family, Gabe, the understanding of what she’d thrown away with her foster family. She pulled her hands away and jumped to her feet so quickly that she knocked the chair backward onto the kitchen’s tile floor. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

She fled the kitchen and found herself standing on the front porch of the house that had been home for much of her childhood. But found she couldn’t walk down those stairs. Couldn’t walk away again. Her feet were rooted to the spot as surely as if they’d been poured in the cement of the steps. She swallowed and rubbed her raw eyes and instead settled onto the porch swing. It had a new flowered cushion, but it still creaked in the same way when she sat on it, the chain squealing with every push.

After a few minutes of swinging, the front door opened. Bill stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him. “Can I join you?”

Kendall scooted over to make room, but she didn’t look at him. He sat beside her but didn’t say anything, just started the swing swaying again.

Finally Kendall couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For how I treated you and Nancy. I should have said yes.”

Bill stopped swinging abruptly. “It’s not your fault, Kendall. Maybe we shouldn’t have told you. We never meant for you to carry our burdens.”

She glanced at him. “I don’t even remember you asking to adopt me.”

“You were hurting. You’d had a lot of change in your life. We understood.”

“That makes one of us,” Kendall said. “I’ve spent my entire adult life feeling like I had no one to count on. Like I was just one bad decision short of being on the street, with no safety net.”

Bill nodded and resumed swinging. “You know, it’s not too late.”

“I’d say it’s about a decade too late.”

“Not necessarily. There’s something called adult adoption.”

Now it was Kendall’s turn to still the sway of the swing. “You’re serious about this.”

“Of course we are.” Bill looked at her. “It’s a little different because you’re a fully independent adult, but it would still make it legal.”

Kendall’s heart swelled in her chest and she felt like it might stop. She had just discovered her Green roots. She’d just learned that had things turned out differently, she would have been a Burton. And now Bill was asking her to consider becoming a Novak? She had no idea how to answer that question. And yet the fact he’d asked . . .

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You have no idea what that means to me. But it’s a big decision. I feel like my last name is the only thing I have left, the only connection I have to my mother’s family.”

Disappointment laced his voice. “I understand. And we thought you might feel that way. That’s why Nancy didn’t come out with me.”

Because she couldn’t stand another disappointment. The unspoken words hung between them.

“But there are other kinds of family, aren’t there?” Kendall asked softly. “Just because it’s not legal doesn’t mean . . . Well, I mean, I’ve always wanted someplace to spend Christmas.”

A slow smile spread over Bill’s face. “We still have your stocking, you know.”

“Are you sure that’s okay with you guys? I know it’s not really what you’d hoped your family would look like . . .”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “We loved you, Kendall. We never stopped. We’ll take you however we can get you.”

The tinge of self-deprecation made her laugh and her heart lifted. Even Bill had to know that what he offered was too much for now, maybe ever. But to know that she wasn’t alone . . . to choose a family based on love and gratitude for what they’d done for her . . . that had to mean more than anything a judge could pronounce.

And yet reality called. She glanced at her watch. “I’m not sure I can still make my flight, but I should probably try.”

Bill looked disappointed but he nodded. “Let us wrap up your lunch. You can eat it at the gate.”

“Thanks.” She rose and smoothed her hands down her jeans-clad legs. “But I’ll be back. And I can call you guys, right?”

Bill put one arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Of course you can.”

Kendall lingered on the porch, and when Bill came back, Nancy was with him, bearing a care package for the plane—her uneaten sandwich, some chips and grapes (no pickles), and a couple of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She gave her foster parents one last hug goodbye and promised them she’d be in touch, feeling both wrung out and lighter than she had in years.

She waved one more time after she climbed into her rental and put it in gear. That was absolutely what she had needed to do, and if she wasn’t mistaken, they’d needed it just as much. Even though she would soon be twelve hundred miles away, knowing that they were there waiting for her, that she’d see them at Christmas, filled a spot in her soul that she hadn’t realized needed filling.

But she’d also realized that this house was not her home now, any more than it would have been had they been her birth parents. Children were supposed to move on and have their own lives. And however abruptly it had happened, regardless of the ties unnecessarily severed, they’d unknowingly given her that gift of wings.

It was time to fly home.