Sebastian leaned against the side of the main house at Sugar Maple Farm and talked with Natasha and Genevieve’s dad while dusk fell over Misty River.
A year ago Genevieve had moved into the guest house here at the farm and fallen in love with her landlord, Sam Turner. Since then, she’d invited Sebastian to several social events here. Genevieve loved people, loved talking with people, and loved hosting people, especially now that she had access to a great setting (Sugar Maple Farm) and a boyfriend who could do all the cooking (Sam).
On this last Saturday in September, the heat had topped out in the eighties, then slipped into the seventies. To take advantage of the weather, Genevieve had convinced Sam to move his dining room table and chairs outside to the grassy area on the side of the house. She’d sunk tall wooden stakes into the earth, then draped string lights back and forth from the house to the stakes, so that the lights formed a canopy over the table.
Genevieve had told Sebastian they were having a “small group” over for dinner tonight. He knew her well enough to know that “small group” could mean thirty. Because of that, he’d thought it possible that Leah might attend. He’d gotten his hopes up. Showered and shaved, chosen his clothes carefully, spent time on his hair.
Which was stupid. Embarrassing.
He found out after he’d arrived that tonight’s “small group” meant twelve. He’d shown up early along with Genevieve’s parents, Sam’s dad and stepmom, Natasha and her husband, Wyatt. Ben, Eli, and Penelope would be here soon.
Sebastian kept wondering why he was feeling let down. Then remembering . . . it was because Leah wasn’t coming.
Almost three weeks had passsed since he’d given her and Dylan a tour of the hospital.
His life and hers overlapped too little. So little, it was making him crazy. Weeks would go by without his seeing her. Then, when he was finally near her again, he experienced the kind of high that made him crave more. Then more weeks would go by without her.
It reminded him of the conditioning he’d learned about in Psychology 101 in college. The occasional reward of seeing her motivated him to wait and watch and wait and watch for more.
He spotted Ben making his way toward the gathering, and excused himself. He and Ben had talked a couple of times since Ben’s date with Leah, and things were getting back on decent footing between them. However, this was the first weekend Sebastian had spent at his Misty River house this month, so this was the first time they were seeing each other in person.
“Hey,” Sebastian said.
“Hey.” Ben offered his hand for a fist bump.
They executed the elaborate fist bump motions they’d made up when they were fourteen. They tapped elbows. Ben jumped and spun so that his back was facing Sebastian. Sebastian pretended to lower a crown on Ben’s head and Ben pretended to pull a royal cape up over his shoulders. They’d gone through this routine before all of Ben’s baseball games.
Ben took his measure. “Don’t look so serious. We’re cool.”
“Are we?”
“If we do our fist bump, you know we are. Besides, there’s a lot to be happy about tonight. Sam’s cooking, right?”
“Right. Unfortunately, there’s also a lot to be sad about tonight.”
“Like?”
“Your shirt.”
“Did you steal that from a Hawaiian retiree?”
“Men wear pink!”
“Some men shouldn’t. Especially pink with palm trees and flamingos on it.”
“Man!” Ben laughed. “I look sweet in this shirt.”
“If by sweet you mean precious, then I agree.”
“Now, now, boys.” Genevieve met them, carrying a tray. “Play nice with each other. Appetizer? The toothpicks are for the meatballs and the dip is for the zucchini sticks.”
Both men helped themselves to the food.
“I can’t get over this piece of property,” Ben said.
Sam’s historic farm was owned and leased to him by the National Park Service. The tract of land included an orchard, a farm-to-table garden, and large bands of untouched nature.
“I love it here,” Genevieve said.
“I can’t get over this food,” Sebastian said.
“Is all of this paleo?” Ben asked.
“Every single thing you’ll be eating tonight is paleo.”
“I don’t understand how Sam makes healthy stuff taste so good,” Ben said.
“Me neither.” Natasha drifted over and speared a meatball.
“It’s his spiritual gift. It can’t be understood.” Genevieve leaned in. “People might suspect that I fell for Sam because of this place or his food. And I get it because, honestly, both are spectacular. But the truth is that I’d have fallen for him if he lived in a shack and could only cook frozen waffles. Don’t tell him, though. I want to keep him on his toes.”
“How can anyone say with confidence that they’d have fallen for someone under different circumstances?” Natasha asked. “The circumstances are what they are, and they do play a role in falling in love.”
“I’m telling you, Natasha, I’d have fallen for Sam under any circumstances. He’s just . . . my person. I don’t think there would have been any mistaking that.”
“Except that you did mistake that for the first few months after you met him.” Mischief danced in Natasha’s eyes.
“A commonsense observation like that has no place in a conversation like this one about love.” Genevieve’s big earrings swung against her thick hair. “I know what I know.”
“Speaking of love.” Natasha zeroed in on Ben. “What’s the latest with Leah?”
Sebastian stiffened.
The humor in Ben’s face leaked away. “She told me a few weeks ago that she just wants to be friends.”
Sadness pulled both sisters’ mouths into frowns.
“Why?” Genevieve asked.
“She doesn’t feel romantically toward me.”
Sebastian remained statue-still, listening as Natasha and Genevieve expressed their sympathy.
“I don’t get it,” Genevieve said to Ben. “If Leah can’t see how amazing you are, she’s nuts.”
Ben glanced at Sebastian, gauging his reaction.
Sebastian met his friend’s eyes levelly.
“It’s not that Leah can’t see how amazing I am.” Ben focused on the sisters. “She can. I mean, my amazingness is pretty hard to miss.” In this group, Ben was the one who lightened everyone’s mood. He was trying to fulfill his role, but none of them was buying it tonight. “She told me she wishes she could feel that way about me. But she just doesn’t.”
“That might still change,” Natasha said.
Sebastian clamped down on the edge of his tongue.
“I can’t expect that, though,” Ben said reasonably. “She’s made herself clear, and I have to respect where she’s at.”
“Of course,” Genevieve replied. “I’m just so bummed. For you and for her, too. You’d have been good for her.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Natasha asked. “Are you going to start going out with other people?”
“In theory, yes.” Ben took a bite of his zucchini stick. “But I’m still hung up on Leah, and I don’t know how to change that.”
“Aww.” Natasha linked her arm with Ben’s.
“And you?” Genevieve asked Sebastian. “Dating anyone new?”
“No.” I’m also hung up on Leah.
“How many promotions have you earned since we saw you last?” Natasha asked. They liked to rib him about his professional success. “Five?”
“No promotions since I saw you last.”
“Slacker,” Natasha said affectionately.
“Good evening.”
The four of them turned toward the voice, which belonged to Eli, a friend of Sam’s. Eli, a fighter pilot, had married Penelope, a Misty River local, last December, shortly before the Air Force sent them to Germany. As far as Sebastian knew, this was their first visit back to Georgia.
Genevieve thrust the tray into Sebastian’s arms in order to give the newcomers hugs, tell them how great they looked, and how glad she was that they’d come.
“How’s life in Germany?” Natasha asked.
“It’s excellent for me, because Penelope’s there,” Eli said. “So long as she’s with me, I’m good.”
Penelope slanted a look of appreciation toward her husband. “Overall, I’m really enjoying living overseas,” she told the group. “Until I had the chance to travel, I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed experiencing new places.”
“‘You are never too old to set another goal . . .’” Natasha tapped her sister’s forearm.
“‘. . . or to dream a new dream,’” Genevieve finished. “That’s a—”
“C. S. Lewis quote,” Sebastian said.
“Well done, Sebastian!”
How long was he going to be stuck holding the appetizer tray like a waiter?
“I’m just glad that you kept Polka Dot Apron Pies open here in Misty River,” Ben said. Penelope had converted a 1950s camper trailer into a food truck. For years she’d sold pie from her spot near Misty River’s downtown square. “I’m a huge fan of your apple pie.”
“Thank you! Does it taste the same as it always did now that Kevin’s managing the pie truck for me?”
“It does.”
Penelope looked pleased. “Kevin’s fastidious about following my recipes.”
“Are you still baking pies in Germany?” Natasha asked.
“I don’t have a storefront. But people on the base place orders with me, and I bake out of our kitchen. I’ve also been working on a cookbook.”
“I’ll buy the cookbook the moment it comes out,” Natasha vowed.
“She’s an incredible baker,” said Eli, who apparently couldn’t compliment his wife enough in public.
“Here’s to those of us who have significant others who know their way around food.” Genevieve lifted a meatball as if it were a champagne glass.
Sebastian couldn’t have cared less whether Leah knew her way around food. He could pay to have food delivered.
Sam called them over. Genevieve lifted the tray from him, and they found their place cards and took their seats.
Light gray clouds drifted lazily through a dark purple sky. Candles, pumpkins, and berries decorated the center of the table. The conversation flowed. Laughter expanded into the night.
Genevieve sat next to Sam, her hand draped over his elbow, her eyes sparkling at something he’d said. Sebastian had been concerned when Genevieve had turned her life upside-down like a bucket of golf balls and moved from her home in Nashville to Sam’s farm. In an effort to win back her mental and physical health, she’d stepped away from writing contracts, speaking engagements, and social media for the last ten months. She’d slowed the pace of her life.
It turned out that his concern had been misplaced. Genevieve had never looked better, never seemed more at peace than she did now.
As glad as he was for her, this dinner was giving Sebastian the same unsettling sense he’d experienced many times before when surrounded by cheerful people . . . the sense that he was an island, and the rest of them were an ocean, flowing around him. He was close to them, but he was separate, not a part of them in the same way that they were a part of one another.
After the main course wound down, Sam rose to his feet. He clinked his butter knife against his glass until the voices quieted. In the semi-darkness, his pale eyes looked even paler than usual next to his olive skin and brown hair. “Before we serve dessert, I’d like to say a few words.” His Australian accent carried on the air.
“Ooh.” Genevieve’s overly emotional mom rested a hand on her chest. “That would be lovely.”
“Before I met Gen, I’d been living alone on this farm for four years,” Sam said. “I told myself that’s how I wanted it, but to be honest, I was miserable. And then thirteen months ago, Gen showed up. Even as I was giving her permission to move into the guesthouse, I was regretting my words.”
Genevieve laughed. “And then, after I moved in, I gave you a lot more reasons to regret them.”
“A lot more.” Sam regarded Genevieve with softness.
“I bring drama,” Genevieve stated.
“And worry.”
“And chaos.”
“You added difficulty to my days at first,” he acknowledged. “But then you began to add other things. Color and laughter and hope.”
Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. This conversation felt like it should be private, between Genevieve and Sam. But it looked like his opinion fell in the minority. Everyone else sat forward in their chairs, fascinated.
“With you,” Sam continued, “God gave me a second chance that I still don’t feel like I deserve. But I value it more than anything, because I know how much it’s worth. You’ve become my favorite person. My best friend. I want to pull your long hairs off my sweaters and make you coffee and tease you about your terrible taste in music—”
“My excellent taste in music, you mean.”
Sam sobered. “I want an opportunity—a million opportunities—to make you smile. The best I can hope for the days I have left is to spend them all with you. I don’t want to be apart from you for a single one of them.”
Genevieve’s face communicated amazement. Moisture gathered on her lashes.
“I’ve got this farmhouse, this property, a restaurant, some savings, a tractor, and a beat-up truck,” Sam said. “Everything I have is yours. My loyalty, my support, my commitment, my heart. Me. Always.”
“Sam.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Sam reached into his pocket. Excited murmurs raced between the guests as Sam lowered to one knee beside Genevieve. He pulled out a small jewelry box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring.
Genevieve appeared to have been struck by lockjaw.
Sam hesitated. “You okay?”
“No. Sam! Yes . . . I’m okay.” She gestured for him to go on. “Please continue with whatever you were about to say.” Tears slipped down her face toward her grin.
“Sure?” he asked.
“Please continue!”
“Because if another time would be better—”
“Another time would not be better!”
“All right, then.” Sam looked into her face. “Genevieve Mae Woodward?”
“Present.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Sam slipped the ring onto her finger. They stood. Kissed. Then Sam wrapped her in his arms.
The rest of them pushed to their feet in a mass, everyone clapping, some whistling or whooping. The guys exchanged high fives. The women hugged. Genevieve’s mother wept with joy, and Genevieve’s dad tried to find a pack of tissues for his wife. Natasha snapped pictures.
Sam whispered something to Genevieve. She whispered something back, admiring her ring. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head and pulled her against him.
The guests crowded around the newly engaged couple to congratulate them.
From the first time that Sebastian had met Sam, Sebastian had seen how perfect he was for Genevieve. She was outgoing and passionate. He was honorable and even-keeled. In fact, as far as Sebastian knew, Sam was so even-keeled that he’d only ever lost his head over one thing.
Genevieve.
Eight days later, Leah traveled to Atlanta.
This time, she did not make the trip in order to see a whip-smart doctor. This time, she made the trip to see a house. Jonathan and Trina Brookside’s house, to be precise.
She drove past their address slowly. Then she parked her Honda—far enough away to be safe, close enough to observe.
Jonathan and Trina now lived in the Tuxedo Park neighborhood of Atlanta, surrounded by some of the region’s wealthiest families. Their sprawling Tudor sat on its lot like a queen on her throne. The oak trees, dogwoods, and lush landscaping surrounding her pledged fealty.
In an alternate version of her life, Leah would not be parking on the street, a stranger. She’d be intimately familiar with this house and its occupants. She’d come here often for holidays, meals, family gatherings. When Jonathan and Trina traveled, she’d stop by to feed the cats or water the flowers or collect the mail.
Then again . . . maybe not. Had these people raised her, she’d likely have attended Princeton. In which case, she might have opted to teach at one of the East Coast universities. In which case, she wouldn’t be living in Georgia.
Her actual life and her possible life had diverged from each other the day of her birth. The more years that passed, the farther apart the two paths grew.
She tapped her fingertips on the lower curve of the steering wheel. The past few weekends, work responsibilities or Dylan-related responsibilities had prevented her from making this pilgrimage. However, she’d spent plenty of time planning her sleuthing tactics and staring at this house on Google maps—which had in no way prepared her for the appeal of the real thing.
Ultimately, she’d decided to make the trip to Atlanta early on this Sunday morning because, under the section of her mother’s obstetrical records marked Religious Affiliation, Trina had checked the box next to Christian. Not all Christians attended church regularly on Sunday mornings. But a large number did. Should Jonathan and Trina drive to church this morning, she’d be poised to follow. Churches were public, unthreatening places that welcomed visitors. No one would give her presence a second thought, and she’d be able to get close enough to the Brooksides to get a good look at them.
She’d arrived here at 7:45, right on schedule.
As her watch ticked off one hour, then another, the plan that had seemed solid to her back in Misty River began to tarnish. Both she and her car appeared harmless. However, a woman sitting alone on a residential street for hours at a time could not expect to go unnoticed. Eventually her presence would raise suspicion.
She had a multitude of papers to grade back home. She and Dylan needed groceries, and it would be excellent if she could find time to go walking today, because she hadn’t found time Friday or Saturday. Most important, she didn’t want to leave Dylan to his own devices for the entire day. He’d promised to go to Tess and Rudy’s for lunch, and Tess could be counted upon to call Leah if he didn’t show. Still. Dylan might be vaping marijuana at this very moment, while she was chasing her phantom history.
Checking his location on her phone, she saw that he was at his friend Isaac’s house, just like he’d said he’d be. Isaac’s mom was trustworthy.
Everything was fine. Dylan wasn’t vaping marijuana . . . probably.
The Brooksides’ home remained motionless, concealing its secrets.
She killed time browsing wistfully through her Princeton album. Nassau Hall, once George Washington’s capitol of the fledgling United States, with its bell tower and stoic façade. Blair Hall, with its castlelike turrets. Alexander Hall, with its Tiffany stained-glass windows.
When she’d looked through all her photos and scoured the Internet for a few more to add to her collection, she checked Beckett Memorial’s website to see if she could find a picture of Sebastian there.
She couldn’t.
Since she’d seen him at his hospital almost a month ago, she’d often mulled over his appearance—giving her memories of him color and three-dimensional depth. Again and again, she’d envisioned him in his T-shirt, scrubs, Adidas.
She’d thought of Levi and Isabella, too. For those babies and their families, the specter of death wasn’t some abstract, distant thing. She’d felt just how close it was when she’d visited them. Levi and Isabella were small and helpless. Death, big and dangerous.
Sighing, she returned her focus to the house just as a shiny black BMW sedan finished backing out of the driveway. The car turned in her direction, and she dropped low in her seat with a gasp.
What! A car? Who was inside it?
Despite the glaze of sun and shadow against their windshield, she glimpsed two passengers in the front seat before the vehicle slipped past.
She executed a three-point turn as quickly as possible.
The BMW turned left at the end of the street.
Adrenaline jerked through her system. She was tailing a car like in the movies!
They wound through the neighborhood onto increasingly larger streets, until ten minutes later, the BMW pulled into a church parking lot.
She’d hypothesized that they’d leave their house for church this morning, and they had. Little pleased her more than forming a hypothesis based on logic, then watching that hypothesis proven true.
She parked two rows away from them in the lot, which gave her a clear view of the woman and man who exited the car. Based on the Facebook cover photo Leah had so carefully studied, the woman was definitely Trina Brookside. The man, very likely Jonathan Brookside, was of medium height and distinguished. Trina wore a pink cardigan over a classy blouse and skirt. Jonathan wore a black suit.
Leah watched them walk inside.
Rapidly, she finger-combed her hair and applied lipstick, then merged into the stream of people heading toward the service. Anticipating that this morning might include a church service, she’d chosen a tailored white shirt, bright blue blazer, cigarette pants.
A greeter handed her a bulletin, and she eased into a formal sanctuary. An orchestra lined the front. White-painted square columns rose to the soaring ceiling on either side of the stage.
She searched the congregants for a pink sweater in combination with a black suit. Where had they gone? She panned back and forth across the milling people, searching—
There. She made her way toward them and slid into the pew directly behind theirs. She sat slightly to the side of their position, so that when she looked toward the pulpit, a direction that would seem natural to those around her, the two of them fell within her line of sight.
The building buzzed with the sound of musicians tuning their instruments, talking, background worship music.
Leah was thrillingly close to Trina and Jonathan.
Trina had styled her blond hair the way she had in her Facebook photo, into a long, flattering bob.
For a man of fifty-seven, Jonathan had a full head of blond-gray hair, expertly trimmed. His suit oozed quality. She caught a hint of his luxurious aftershave.
Jonathan and Trina alternated between periods of quiet and periods of chatting in undertones. They’d been married a long time, and while she didn’t see evidence of fawning adoration, she did see evidence of rapport, companionship, respect. Her parents’ relationship had been tempestuous and transitory. The couple before her seemed to represent the opposite.
The service opened with worship music, and the congregation stood to sing. Near the end of the first song, Trina looked to the side, smiled, and lifted her hand in a gesture of greeting.
Leah followed the direction of her gaze—
A pang vibrated through her, because she recognized Sophie approaching. Closely behind Sophie, Sophie’s groom. And then a third person. . . . A young woman with long blond hair who resembled Trina strongly.
Father God, does Sophie have a sister?
Do I have a full-blooded sister?
Her lungs reminded her that she’d forgotten to breathe, and she pulled air into a tight chest.
Clearly, Trina and Jonathan had saved seats because the three newcomers easily made themselves at home in the pew.
Leah moved her lips as if singing, but for the remainder of the worship time, no sound emerged. The family before her commanded her full attention.
The blonde had to be a sister. By the looks of her, she was a few years younger than Sophie.
Leah thought of her lonely childhood . . . of all the times she’d wished for a sibling and imagined a blond-haired sister. It was almost as if she’d been implanted with knowledge of the sister biology had intended for her.
Did Jonathan and Trina have more children? For all she knew, they might have five kids. Seven kids. And every one of those children, other than Sophie, would be a full-blooded biological sibling of hers. They might look like her and think like her. Talk like her. Love math like her. Fail at sports like her. She couldn’t imagine the security of growing up in that type of homogenous family, because her own experience had been so different.
A minister prayed and made announcements. “Before we continue with worship, please stand and take a few moments to greet one another.”
The minister’s invitation provided her with a golden opportunity that felt like the culmination of five months of research, waiting, and soul-searching.
Sophie turned in her direction first, and Leah was taken aback by how much she looked like Dylan, with her fair skin and big brunette curls. She could see both her mother, Erica, and her father, Todd, in this woman who’d been born at Magnolia Avenue Hospital just minutes before Leah.
“Hi, I’m Sophie Robbins.” She offered a manicured hand.
Leah shook it. “Leah Montgomery. This is my first time to visit this church.”
“Oh? I’m so glad. Welcome! Here, let me introduce my family. This is my husband, Logan.” He was handsome in a money-buffed sort of way. “Abigail,” Sophie said, to gain the blonde’s attention.
The blonde smiled at Leah. Her eyes were hazel, not misty blue like Leah’s own eyes. But her face shape, height, and body type were all very similar to Leah’s.
“This is my sister,” Sophie told Leah.
“Nice to meet you,” Abigail said.
“You too.”
“And these,” Sophie continued, “are our parents, Jonathan and Trina.”
Her pulse darted into a sprint. Was there an alarm buried within parents that enabled them to recognize their child even if they didn’t know the child existed?
Jonathan and Trina shared parting words with the couple they’d been greeting, then faced Leah.
“This is Leah, a first-time visitor,” Sophie said to them.
“Thanks for joining us,” Trina said warmly.
“I just met your daughters.” Leah motioned toward Sophie and Abigail. “Do you have other children?”
“No, these two keep us on our toes.” Trina made a wry sound of amusement. “Do you live nearby, Leah?”
“A few hours away, actually. I’m just in town for the day.”
The opening notes of another worship song began. Jonathan gave Leah a polite nod before facing the stage.
No! She’d had so little time.
“Whenever you’re back in town, please stop by again,” Trina said.
“I’d like that.”
Trina swiveled to the front.
Trina exuded an elegant yet friendly vibe. Jonathan’s demeanor struck Leah as reserved, proper.
They had not recognized her.
Was she relieved or sorry?
More relieved than sorry. Her highest hope for today had simply been to see Jonathan and Trina. Meeting them had been a boon. The disappointment sifting through her was due only to the fact that their exchange had been so brief.
Be grateful, she told herself, resuming her fake singing. Jonathan and Trina had led her to Sophie, Logan, and Abigail. She’d learned things she hadn’t been able to learn in weeks of investigation. She’d learned that the Brooksides had two children, both daughters. She’d learned what her father and sister looked like. What their voices sounded like. Their manner.
Sitting side by side on the pew before her, they formed a clear family unit. She could sense the long history, ease, and affection between them. They probably had no idea that Sophie was not their biological child.
Should Leah tell them at some point that she and Sophie had been switched at birth?
A case could be made that she had that right. If she divulged the truth, she might gain a family, and they might gain a daughter.
But wouldn’t inserting herself into their lives be like thrusting herself, uninvited, between them on that pew? If she did so, she’d probably fracture their close-knit, familiar status quo.
She might also fracture the close-knit, familiar status quo she shared with Dylan, because if she came clean to the Brooksides about her identity, then Sophie would no doubt want a place in Dylan’s life.
Yet Dylan was so very much Leah’s. She didn’t know if she could share him with Sophie or stand for him to know she wasn’t who he’d always believed her to be.
Was it selfish of her to deprive Dylan of his blood sister? Or would that be somewhat acceptable in this case, because Dylan already had a sister? He couldn’t mourn the lack of Sophie, because he had no inkling that anyone was missing from his life.
It made her head hurt to wrestle with the ramifications of the choices before her. Which course was moral, right, compassionate?
She didn’t know.
As the service progressed, Leah noted every whisper, glance, and shift of position the Brooksides made.
Why had she and Sophie gone home in the arms of the wrong mothers all those years ago?
Nothing she’d uncovered so far had shed light on that issue.
Essentially, mathematics was the art of solving problems. While she pondered whether to reveal herself to Trina and Jonathan, she’d begin solving the problem at the heart of her switched-at-birth story.
What had gone wrong on the day of her birth?