The woman in my dreams existed. In a way, Rachel and I were having the same experience: both of us had wondered for most of our lives about the same woman, then suddenly there she was, captured on film. It was surreal—like seeing a picture of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster.
I started to read Noel’s diary out loud.
June 18, 1986
Dear Diary,
The home I have been sent to belongs to a family named the Churchers. It’s small but comfortable. They’re nice. The man, Scott, is a social worker, which is why I was sent here. He’s kind. The woman, Ruth, is polite to me but quiet. I don’t know if she really wants me in the house. They have two young boys: a very active eight-year-old named Charles, and a sweet little four-year-old named Jacob. His middle name is Christian. Christian Churcher. I think that’s kind of cute. He’s adorable and immediately took to me. I think we will be good friends. Still no word from Peter. Where is he?
Noel
I looked over at Rachel, who sat rapt, clearly eager to hear more. I turned the page.
June 25, 1986
Dear Diary,
Peter is gone. I called my friend Diane. She saw him with another girl. Rebecca. I feel like the victim of a hit-and-run. How could he do this? He said he loved me. Of course he did. He wanted me.
I just finished the first trimester of my pregnancy. Time is moving very slowly. I have very strange cravings. The other day I wanted to eat the dust on the windowsill. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Not all is bad. I was in my room crying, and little Jacob walked up to me. He laid his forehead against mine. It’s like he knows I’m hurting. He just stood there. I took him in my arms, and he nestled into me. It’s almost like he came at this time to show me the potential joy of motherhood.
Noel
As a writer, I found it surreal to be reading about myself in the third person, like a character in someone else’s story. Yet the truth of what I was reading resonated like a thinly veiled memory.
There was a knock at the door. I looked out the window and saw a large white truck with a picture of a piano keyboard running the length of its trailer. I handed the journal to Rachel.
“Looks like the piano movers are here,” I said. I got up and walked over to the door and opened it. A broad Polynesian man stood on the front porch. He wore a black beanie, a hoodie, and leather gloves. His breath froze in the air in front of him. “We’re here for the piano.”
“It’s right in here. Come in.”
He stepped inside the room. “That’s a big one,” he said. “Steinway. Nice.” He stepped back out the door and waved at the truck. The truck’s driver pulled forward out into the road, then backed up to the end of the driveway. Then, gathering a little speed, the truck broke through the tall bank of snow into the driveway, stopping about ten feet before the Dumpster. The driver shut down the truck.
“Grab a snow shovel,” the man on my porch shouted to the driver as he climbed out.
“Sorry,” I said. “I should have shoveled, but I don’t have one. I don’t live here. We’re just cleaning up.”
“No worries, man.”
It took the piano movers about an hour to wrap the piano in cellophane and padding, attach it to a gurney, carry it outside, and load it into their truck. I gave them my home address and the number of my housekeeper, Lilia, to call when they reached the city. Then I called her and arranged for her to prepare a place for the piano in my living room and to meet the movers at the house and let them in.
After they were gone, I looked back at Rachel. “Ready to go?”
She hadn’t stopped reading from the journal. “Can I bring this with us?”
“Of course.”
She tucked the diary carefully under her arm.
I turned off the kitchen lights and locked the back door, then turned down the thermostat. As I walked back into the front room, someone knocked at the door. I opened it to see Elyse standing in the cold. She wore a long, red wool coat and boots.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “I saw the moving truck.”
“They were just taking the piano. I’m having them deliver it to my home.”
She stopped and looked at Rachel. “We haven’t met.”
“I’m Rachel Garner.”
Elyse extended her hand. “I’m Elyse Foster. I live just two doors east from here, but I think you’ve been to my house.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I remember your mother being beautiful too.”
“You remember my mother?”
“Only a little. She wasn’t here long, and it was a very long time ago.”
“Come in,” I said.
“Thank you.” She smiled a little as she walked over to the couch. “I always liked this couch.” She looked at me. “When I saw the moving truck pulling out, I was afraid that you might be leaving today.”
“Actually, I am.”
Her face fell. “Are you going back home?”
“No. I’m driving to Phoenix to see my father.”
“Oh.” She looked thoughtful. “He’ll be very happy to see you.”
“I hope so.”
“I know he will.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he told me that he was very disappointed that you weren’t at the funeral.” She forced a smile. “So do you know what you’re going to say when you meet him?”
“No idea. I’ve got the drive time to figure that out.” I looked at Rachel. “I know that I plan to ask him how to find Rachel’s mother.”
“He might know that,” she said, glancing at Rachel.
“So do you have any advice?” I asked. “For how I should approach my father?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “With grace.”
I looked at her quizzically. “You think he deserves it?”
“If he deserved it, it wouldn’t be grace, now would it?” She looked at me. “It’s easy to see how things should have gone after the fact. He didn’t know how your mother was. She didn’t turn the way she did until several years after he was gone. He never would have allowed it.”
“You know that?”
“I knew him. He was very protective of you boys. That’s why he was so broken by Charles’s death.” She sighed. “Well, I better not keep you any longer. Do you plan to come back here before you go home?”
“Yes. I still have some legal work.”
“Very good. Then please stop by and let me know how everything goes. I’ll pray that it all goes well and you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you.”
She looked past me to Rachel. “Good luck to you, dear. And Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too.”
She turned and walked out the door. I helped Elyse down the stairs, then went back inside where Rachel was sitting on the sofa.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“She’s nice. It’s just weird thinking that she’s seen my mother. It’s like these people who have near-death experiences and come back and say they’ve seen God.”
“I’m pretty sure that your mother’s not God.”
“No. But they do have something in common.”
“What’s that?”