Chapter Nineteen

My phone rang a lot over the next two days. Most of the calls were from Gordon. A couple calls were from Ralph and Brad. I let all of them go to voice mail.

I just didn’t have room in my head or heart for anything emotional or troublesome. Gordon wanted more from me; I could hear it in his voice. And Brad, well, he would want to know why I’d walked away from a great job. But I had no answers for anyone.

Noticeably absent from my message bank was a call from Terry. She’d said she was in town all week and I could call her. But it hadn’t taken long for hurt feelings to sour into anger. Why should I have to chase after her? She was the one who should be coming to me, hat in hand.

And, just like the little three-year-old who’d waited for nights and nights for her mother to return, I waited for Terry to call me.

Rachel stepped out of the kitchen, her gaze a little wild. “The cake is done.”

I continued to count the change in the till. “For Davenport?”

Rachel blew out a breath. “I feel like I just gave birth.”

I grinned. “You look like it.”

She pushed her hair away from her face. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She plucked a sugar cookie from the case and bit into it. “God, I hope Davenport loves that cake.”

“I’ve never known you to doubt your cakes. What gives?”

“Something about the guy screams, Prove to me you are good enough. I hate that.”

“Your cake will be good. You’ve nothing to worry about. Is the cake loaded in the van?”

“It is. Can you drive me?”

“Where’s Margaret?”

“MIA.”

“Shit.”

“I’d drive myself but someone has to sit in the back and steady the cake.”

“Right. Fine. And because Margaret is not here we’ll have to close the bakery.” I yanked off my apron and tossed it in the corner.

“Boy, you’re in a lovely mood today. In fact, I think you’ve been an all-around delight since Terry’s visit.”

“Sorry.”

“Why don’t you just call her? Talk to her more. Maybe there is more to learn.”

“She pretty much said what she needed to say.”

Rachel pulled off her apron, neatly folded it, and laid it on a nearby chair. “I never figured you for a victim, Daisy. You always seemed so strong.”

“I am strong.”

“Marshmallow.”

“Stop it.”

“Then get over yourself and call.”

Margaret pushed through the front door. “You will never believe what I have.”

“Where have you been?” I shouted.

“And good afternoon to you, darling.” Margaret wore her hair down and a blue peasant blouse that billowed when she moved.

“Bite me.”

“Ah, there’s my Daisy.”

Rachel groaned. “Look, as much as I’d love to stand here and watch you two gripe, I have a cake to deliver. And might I add the client is paying a fortune and please don’t forget the fact that I was up all night working on the damn thing!”

Margaret and I had never heard Rachel yell. And it caught us both off guard. I closed the register and really looked at her. Face flushed, eyes bright blue, she looked ready to explode.

“I’ll get my keys,” I said.

“Doesn’t anybody want to hear what I have to say?” Margaret protested.

“Got to drive Rachel across town.”

“Fine, I’ll come with you.”

“You have to babysit the shop.”

Margaret went to the door leading upstairs. “Mom!”

“What?”

“We have phones, Margaret,” I said.

She waved me away. “Can you work the bakery for an hour? We have a delivery.”

“Sure, honey.”

Margaret smiled. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, I was behind the wheel of the truck that Dad bought in the early eighties. The buttons on the radio had broken at least a decade ago and duct tape covered several cracks and splits in the front seat. Margaret rode shotgun while Rachel sat in the back, guarding her cake as if it were a child.

“So why are you here?” I asked Margaret. The engine started on the first.

She twisted in the seat and faced me. “You are going to be sorry for your attitude, missy.”

“Right. Sure.” I pulled out of the alley and onto a side street.

“I found out what happened to Susie.”

Susie had hovered behind Terry thoughts, but she never quite made it to the front of my mind. “Great.”

“You don’t look impressed,” Margaret said.

I put on my blinker, turned onto Duke Street, and wove into traffic. “I am. Really. Really,” I added with more meaning. “Tell me.”

“I found out she was sold at Bruin’s in January 1853 to a man named Murdock. I started doing a little digging on Murdock and discovered he owned a house of prostitution in New Orleans.”

I gripped the wheel, feeling a sense of injustice for the girl. “Basically she was sold as a sex slave.”

She twirled her hair around her finger. “‘Fancy house’ makes it sound nicer but yeah, that is exactly what happened.”

“That just breaks my heart,” Rachel said softly from the back. “I think of my girls, and it makes me sick.”

Hearing of Susie’s bleak life shook away some of my own melancholy. “So what happened after she got to New Orleans?”

“Well, there’s the thing. There was no record of her arriving in Murdock’s cathouse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Susie was put aboard the ship called the Diamond. Murdock bought six slaves that day and he was using the ship to transport them south. The trip by water took a third of the time as it did by land and I guess the way he looked at it, time was money.”

I rounded a corner and had to brake suddenly when the car in front of me stopped to let someone off. Rachel held onto the cake while I honked the horn. “So what happened?”

“Well, I went to the archives and found the manifest for the Diamond. Sure enough, six slaves were loaded onto the ship. But only five were delivered to New Orleans.”

I glanced at her. “They lost one along the way?”

“She was listed as lost at sea,” Margaret said.

“Maybe she jumped overboard and swam to shore,” I said.

“It was January. Even if she did jump and even if she could swim, she’d have frozen in the waters.”

Before I could answer, we arrived at the office building and I parked out front in a NO PARKING zone. While Margaret sat behind the wheel, Rachel and I yanked out the folding stainless steel delivery cart and set it up. We loaded the cake on top and pushed. Rachel then grabbed a pink makeup bag, which was really chock-full of all kinds of cake repair tools. She also stuffed a piping bag full of icing in her pocket.

As we pushed the cart, the front wheel wobbled and squeaked. This was the part I hated the most: the long walk up the service ramp to the elevators. We’d never lost a cake in my memory but Dad always told the tale of the time he dropped a cake. Splattered into one holy goddamn mess. I’d heard the story a thousand times. And it had left its mark on me.

“You know this fee is going to really help,” I said.

“Good.” Rachel gritted her teeth as we moved along the concrete. “It damn near killed me.”

The wobbly wheel stuck in a crack in the sidewalk and the cake lurched forward. Rachel caught it but judging by the paleness of her face, the near-miss shaved years off her life. “Shit.”

I shook my head. “There are easier ways to earn a buck, Rachel. You know that, right?”

She blew a blond lock out of her eyes. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“So why are we doing this?” Why did I give Ralph the big kiss-off?

“You’ve got to admit, there is never a dull moment. You know what you need to do in the morning and you know if you’ve done it or not by night.”

I laughed. “My pushing-paper days were never clear-cut.”

“Or satisfying.” She hesitated. “Margaret told me about the job offer you turned down.”

I wasn’t surprised. There were no secrets in the bakery. “It’s already ancient history.”

“Well, for the record, I’m beyond glad you’re staying. You’re the heart of USB now.”

“You’re the heart. I’m the legs and maybe the hands.” The smell of cake swirled around me. There was a time when I adored the smells of confections. But lately I had been around it so much I’d lost my taste. “This year for my birthday, I know what I want.”

“Cake?”

“God, no. I want a bag of chips, a cheese pizza, and a day of dull moments.”

“At the rate things are going for us, you might have to settle for cake. We ain’t gonna be earning big money.”

“Don’t I know it.”

When we arrived on the eighteenth floor, the elevators opened to the quite sterile environment of Davenport Property. There wasn’t the rush of customers coming and going, the clang of pots, or the gurgle of the espresso machine. I’d longed for this clean sterility just a month ago and now found it flat and dull.

A secretary, sleek and tall with smooth blond hair, rose from her station. “Union Street Bakery?”

Rachel, who’d been on fire in the kitchen, seemed to wilt under the woman’s icy stare. She opened her mouth to speak and then glanced at me.

“That’s us,” I said as cheerfully as I could manage. “We’re here with Mr. Davenport’s cake.”

“In the conference room. Follow me.”

As we followed, I glanced at Rachel and wagged my eyebrows. I mouthed the name Cruella Deville, which coaxed a little smile.

A long bank of windows, with its views of the Potomac River, dominated the room. It was impossible not to stop and stare at the stunning view. I was only sorry it was a cloudy day. No doubt on a sunny day, the views extended down to the river plantations nestled on the fingers of land jutting into the river.

Rachel carefully pulled the box off the cake and together we lifted it onto a credenza. The cake weighed a good fifty pounds and was a bit unwieldy. But when in place, it was a sight to behold. Rachel had outdone herself.

Even Cruella lifted an eyebrow as she picked up a phone receiver. “As soon as Mr. Davenport gives his final approval, I’ll cut you a check.”

“Great.”

Rachel pulled a small digital camera from her pocket and snapped several pictures. “For our website.”

“Which I’ve got to do this weekend.” The to-do list only seemed to get longer.

Davenport appeared minutes later, cold, stern, and distant. Gordon had been much like Davenport when he’d worked at Suburban. Tight, controlled, and like ice. I’d liked that about him at the time. Untouchable had suited me just fine then. Now, I thought about Gordon’s sun-brushed hair and easy smile. He was now so approachable, touchable . . . and frightening.

“The cake appears off center,” Davenport said. He must have been six or seven inches taller than Rachel. And his broad frame dwarfed her size.

Rachel tucked her camera in her pocket and studied the cake. “It is perfectly straight.”

He moved closer to her to study the cake from her vantage. “It tilts.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not a skyscraper. It’s a cake. And I promise you when you bite into it, you will feel as if you’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Doubtful.” He reached in his pocket and handed her a check. “But I’ve no doubt that it will do.”

“It. Will. Do. My cakes will do better than just do. They will make your event.”

Her tone had me straightening. You go, Mama Bear.

“I’m sure you believe that,” he said. “But it is just a cake.”

I really thought Rachel’s eyes were going to pop out of her head so I hooked my arm in hers. “I promise you, Mr. Davenport, Rachel is an artist. You will not forget this cake.”

He checked his watch. “I’ll forget the cake.”

I glanced at Rachel’s face. His indifference had not only stunned her, it had offended her. She’d put her heart and soul into this cake and it was a masterpiece. And this guy didn’t think it was much more than a Hostess Twinkie. I took the check from Rachel’s clenched fist and tossed a fleeting look at the $1,400 windfall. This check was going to solve more than a few problems. It was hard cash we could really use.

“Take the check back,” I said.

He frowned but didn’t reach for the check. “I pay my debts.”

I laid it on the credenza next to the cake. “If that is not the best cake you have ever eaten in your life, then don’t pay us.”

“That’s a lot of money, Ms. McCrae.”

“It is. But the way I see it, my money is safe.”

Rachel’s eyes widened as her gaze darted between the check, Davenport, and me. For a moment I thought she’d cave and take the check but her voice was clear and strong when she said, “And when you discover that that cake is the best you’ve ever had, I expect you to make us your exclusive caterer.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re quite confident.”

“About my baking, yes.”

“Deal.”

“That’s quite a few groundbreakings, Mr. Davenport,” I said. An exclusive deal with Davenport could mean tens of thousands of dollars.

“I’ll call you in the morning with my verdict.”

We left the offices feeling courageous for as long as it took us to reach the elevator and for the doors to close behind us.

“What have we done?” Rachel buried her face in her hands.

“I just turned down fourteen hundred dollars.”

“Fourteen hundred frickin’ dollars.” She sounded a little hysterical. “I should have grabbed the check and run.”

My heart hammered in my chest. “It’ll be okay.”

The doors dinged open and a couple of men in suits stepped onto the car. I lowered my voice. “Because that cake is a masterpiece.”

“I know that. You know that. But what if he hates the cake? What if he reneges on the deal?”

I laid my hands on her shoulders. “Rachel, he will love the cake and thanks to your throw down, we just might land a great catering gig. And I know Davenport. He never reneges.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. You said so yourself: When it comes to business, I’m not so talented. And what if he hates the cake? Do you know how much it cost me to make it?”

“I’ve seen the receipts.”

“The specialty chocolate and organic eggs tipped me over budget, but I just really wanted to blow his socks off.”

“You will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you and your talents. You are a genius. Not in the office, but in the kitchen there is no one better.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She hugged me, unmindful of the suits staring at us.

For a moment, I stiffened before relaxing into the hug. “I do have my moments.”

“So if you can believe in me so much, why can’t you believe in yourself?”

“I believe in myself.”

She shook her head, fished a tissue from her pocket, and blew her nose. “No, you don’t. You have about as much confidence in yourself as I do in business.”

“I’m superconfident.”

“You’re a marshmallow.”

“I am not.”

“Then go see Terry again. Talk to her. Get to know her.”

“I don’t need Terry to feel good about myself.”

She tucked the tissue in her pocket. “That’s the thing. You do.”

Tears stung my eyes and for a moment I tipped my head back so that I could corral them. “I don’t need her.”

“Not on a day-to-day basis. But you need to make peace with her so you can make peace with yourself.”

“This is bullshit.”

Rachel, who had never uttered a harsh word in her life, met my gaze head-on. “Life is full of shit we don’t want to deal with. I’m living proof. Now put on your big girl pants and go see Terry before she leaves town.”

We got into the truck and Margaret fired up the engine. “So where is the big money?”

“We didn’t get paid,” I said.

“Did that cheese dick stiff you?” Margaret said. Her bracelets rattled as she turned the corner.

“No. I kinda got pissed when he dissed Rachel.”

Rachel leaned forward between the seats. “That’s not important. You need to take Daisy to Terry’s hotel.”

Margaret slammed on the brake, narrowly missing the BMW in front of us. “I can do that.”

“No,” I said. “Take me home. I need to shower and change first. Provided I live that long.”

“Sure. But if you don’t leave within the hour, we’re tossing you into the street,” Rachel said.

“Fine.”

Margaret hit the accelerator and the van lurched forward. “Guess this isn’t the best time to tell you the rest of my story.”

“Birth mother. Rejection. Financial ruin. Maybe later.”

•   •   •

As promised, I showered and dressed for another meeting with Terry. This time I lingered in the shower, washing my hair twice and shaving my legs. I dug a clean pair of jeans out of a garbage bag of clothes and an olive-green blouse, which was one of my favorites. I dried my hair and applied makeup.

This was the most pulled together I’d looked in months and that included my interview with Ralph and my quick change in the fast-food ladies’ room. I’d done my best to look my best—all for Terry. “So like she’ll like you better if you wear mascara? Pathetic.”

As I headed downstairs, Anna’s and Ellie’s giggles drifted out from their rooms. The sound was so pure and joyful that I had to stop and listen. They were whispering to each other and laughing.

I rounded the corner and found the two sitting cross-legged on the floor around a picnic blanket. A child’s plastic tea service was set. The cups were filled with milk and the plates filled with Oreo cookies. There were three place settings.

“Store-bought cookies, ladies?”

Anna laughed. “Mom said we could have real cookies if we were good.”

“Real cookies do not come out of a box.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “They do! All the girls at school have them.”

“I wish we had more real cookies instead of that homemade stuff,” Anna said.

“Don’t tell your mother that. So what are you two doing?” I said.

Ellie smiled. Her neck was draped in bright, colorful beads. She’d lost her front tooth last week and now whistled when she talked. “We’re having tea. Can’t you see?”

“I can see you’ve set a lovely table.” Rachel had liked tea parties when we were little, but I’d never had much patience for them once the cookies and milk were gone.

Anna had a boa around her neck and the feathers tickled her nose, making her sneeze. “Ellie won’t let me eat my cookies until we’ve finished.”

“Finished what?” I sat between the girls in front of the untouched tea setting.

“Our discussion. And you are sitting in her spot,” Ellie said.

I stared at the single Oreo and full cup of milk. “Is Mama coming?”

“No.” Ellie giggled. “She’s taking a nap.”

“I don’t think she slept much last night.”

“Baking a cake,” Anna said.

“So who is the setting for? Grandma?”

“No,” Ellie said. “She’s at yoga.”

“Grandpa?”

“No.” Ellie laughed. This was turning into a game for her. “He’s at Roters.”

“You mean Rotary?”

“I guess.”

I rubbed my chin. “Is Aunt Margaret coming?”

“No. She’s at the center. She’s got a tour this afternoon.”

I shrugged. “Well, I give up. Who is your mystery guest?”

The girls looked at each other and giggled.

I waited, starting to wonder what I was missing.

Anna leaned forward, cupping her hand over her mouth, and whispered, “It’s for Susie.”

Susie. For a moment I froze. “You have a friend named Susie?”

“Yep,” Ellie said. She picked up her teacup carefully and raised her pinky as she sipped. “You have to drink tea like this.”

“So where is your friend?” I said, peering around.

“She comes and goes,” Anna said.

“Where is she now?”

“I dunno. Around,” Ellie said.

“What does she look like?”

The girls looked at each other as if they didn’t know how to answer. “She looks like Susie.”

I didn’t want to describe my Susie because I wanted to make sure I’d not put answers in their heads. “What does she wear?”

“A white dress and white stockings,” Anna said.

“A white dress with black ankle boots,” Ellie offered. “And she has ribbons in her braids.”

I glanced down at the untouched cookie. Nerves had me picking it up and taking a bite.

“Hey!” Anna said. “That is for Susie.”

“If we’re talking about the same Susie, she doesn’t eat.”

“Why not?”

Because she’s a ghost and she’s dead. “I dunno.”

“She might want a cookie,” Anna said.

“If she comes and wants a cookie I’ll get her one.”

That satisfied the girls enough so that they let me eat the cookie. And so we sat, eating our Oreos and drinking lukewarm milk. I was also careful to keep my pinky elevated as I sipped.

“She knows you,” Anna said.

“She does?”

“And she wants you to do something,” Ellie whispered.

“What is that?” I whispered back.

“She said you have to talk to Terry.”

I swallowed wrong and for a second coughed and struggled to catch my breath. I’d never mentioned Terry to the girls and knew they’d been out of the bakery during her visit. “Terry?”

“The lady who looks like you,” Ellie said. “Don’t you know anything?”

“I don’t think I know so much anymore.” I looked down at the dark crumbs sprinkled on my plate and lap. I was tempted to search out the remaining Oreos and polish them off alone in my room. “Did she have anything else to say?”

“She misses Hennie,” Ellie said.

“And sometimes she argues with the mean man,” Anna added.

“What mean man?”

“She won’t tell us,” Anna said.

“But,” Ellie said in a whisper, “he really doesn’t like you.”

•   •   •

I passed a few lively and fun-looking bars as I walked up King toward the Armistead. I could have ducked in any one of them, ordered a few beers, and eaten chicken wings until I was sick. I could have even rounded the block and gone to the center and hung out until Margaret returned from her tour.

Instead, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and found myself standing in front of the mahogany desk in the Armistead’s reception area. The lobby had an old-world feel with Oriental carpets, leather chairs, and a large stone fireplace still sporting the charred embers from last night’s fire.

“I’d like to ring Terry Davis’s room,” I said to the receptionist.

“We announce all guests to our visitors. May I give her a name?”

“I’m Daisy McCrae.” I hesitated and then added, “Her daughter.”

The clerk, a young girl with straight blond hair and clear skin, nodded. She dialed the room and announced me.

I pictured Terry receiving a message that her daughter was downstairs. Not Daisy. Not a friend. But her daughter. A part of me wanted the announcement made to the entire lobby just to upset her . . . a little payback, I guess. But a bigger part of me wanted her to feel some sense of joy or happiness that her own child stood in the lobby waiting for her.

I moved away from the desk, shoving trembling hands in my jeans pockets and took a seat at a baby grand nestled in a corner. Mom had signed me up for piano lessons when I was a kid but I’d had no interest in learning. The eight weeks’ worth of lessons in Mrs. Grover’s house had been living hell and I’d been sure to let Mom know all about it each time she picked me up. As a result, the best I could manage on a keyboard was “Chopsticks” and I didn’t think the lingering guests wanted to hear that. I traced the black and white keys lightly with my fingers, marveling at the worn softness of the ivory.

“Do you play?” Terry’s raspy voice jostled me to my feet.

“No. I made an attempt when I was ten but I didn’t have the patience. Both my sisters play.”

Terry wore a black long sleeve T-shirt, black jeans, and heels. She’d swept her dark hair back into a ponytail bound at the base of her head with an ebony clip. She wore almost no makeup but that gave her a natural attractiveness. With luck, I’d at least age gracefully.

“Why don’t we have a seat by the fireplace? I’ll order coffee.”

“Sure.” She was polite and formal when all I wanted was a hug. But when we sat, she ordered our coffees, scooted back on the full cushions of a red couch, and stared at me. “I’m guessing you have questions.”

“Honestly, Terry, I don’t know where to start.” Though I’d called myself her daughter at the front desk it never occurred to me to call her “Mom.” I knew Sheila McCrae as “Mom.” “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around everything.”

She sat back on the couch. Though we were both tense, at least this time it wasn’t the paralyzing fear that had made it tough for us both to breathe. “It must be confusing.”

“Confusing is on a different scale from what I’m feeling. Confusing is equivalent to a brush fire. I’m standing on the surface of the sun.”

“Okay.” She crossed and recrossed her legs. “Maybe I should start with the questions.”

“Sure.” Our coffee arrived and we both passed on the sugar and cream. “Everyone in my family took cream but I’ve never had a taste for it.”

“I’ve never cared for milk in my coffee.” A half smile tipped her lips. “Genetics is a crazy thing.”

“You’re telling me.” I sipped the coffee, grateful to have something to do with my hands. “Thanks for the medical information. I’ve not had a chance to look at it but it will come in handy one day.”

“Sure.” She studied me. “So have you been working and living at the bakery all these years?”

“No, it’s a recent thing.” Pride had me avoiding the topic of my job loss. “Rachel . . . my sister . . . needed a hand and since the timing was good, I came on board.”

“That’s good.”

“So, I have two half brothers?”

The apprehension in her eyes faded a fraction and she nodded. “Kyle and David. They’re a lot like you. Like me. Both are math-minded and like sports.”

I’m not sure if she cared but I decided to offer, “I played soccer in high school and majored in business and finance at the University of Richmond.”

“You were always a smart kid. Always asking questions.”

“What else was I like when I was a baby?”

“You weren’t much of a sleeper and you hated being in the crib alone. You always wanted to sleep with me.” Her gaze softened as if a hint of a memory had returned. “When you were two, I took you to see Santa at the mall. All the other kids your age screamed but not you. You stared at Santa as bold as you pleased and then you pulled his beard off.”

“Is that why you left me? Did I ask too many questions? Was I just too demanding?”

I sensed if she could have melted into the cushions she would have. “As I said before, none of this had anything to do with you. I just wasn’t ready to be a mother.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that you walked away from your own kid.”

She set her cup down. “I know you have a right to be angry, but I’m not interested in sitting here and getting beat up.”

“As tempting as that is, I really don’t want that either.” Odds were my anger would return but for now it was quiet. “I just want answers.”

She fiddled with her wristwatch. “Look, you were a good kid. You were cute. Everyone loved you. I just couldn’t hack it.”

“But you are hacking it with your sons. I can see that you love them.”

“I am older. I’m in a better place and ready to be a mother. Frankly, Daisy, I wouldn’t wish teen motherhood on my worst enemy.”

“My timing was just bad.” Bitterness tightened my throat.

“Yes. I suppose.”

My stomach clenched. “You said my birth father was too young to drive. What was his last name?”

“I don’t know. He never told me.” She held her hand to silence my next comment. “It was a one-night thing at the fair. I only knew about the driving thing because he asked for a ride home.”

“That’s all you know about him.”

She sighed. “I’m not proud of what my life was like when I was younger. I made a lot of really big mistakes, both before and after you were born.”

This was just getting better and better. “You’ve no idea who he was?”

“No.”

“What did he look like?”

“Short. Reddish hair. Blue eyes. He had a thing for baseball.”

“That’s not much.”

“No.” She threaded her manicured fingers together and nestled them in her lap. “I’d doubt I’d even recognize him if he walked into the room right now. And before you ask, you look nothing like him.”

“Where did you two meet?”

“Here.”

“In Alexandria?”

“Yes. My dad had sent me here to spend a week with Mabel. At the time it felt like punishment and I was looking to get back at him.”

I sat back against my chair. For a moment I simply stared at the ceiling. As much as I wanted to rant and rave I just couldn’t seem to summon the energy. I was the product of teen rebellion. “When is my real birthday?”

“May 12.”

“May 12?”

“You never knew your real birthday, did you?”

“I didn’t.”

“What date did you celebrate?”

“That’s the kicker. Mom and Dad chose May 12.”

“Really?”

My head felt like it was pounding and I didn’t have the reserves to figure out how they’d landed on the correct day. “So where do we go from here?”

She frowned. “I’m here to give you pieces of your past. But . . .”

All the background noises in the room vanished and all I could hear was the rush of wind in my ears. “You don’t want to see me again.”

She rubbed her palms together. “Look, if you ever have questions—medical questions—I can try to help, though you’ll find most of what you’ll need in the file. But no, as far as a mother-daughter thing, I just can’t go there.”

“I’m not really in the market for a mother. I have a great one. But I thought if we could just correspond.” My voice sounded far away, as if it belonged to someone else. “It would be nice to have some kind of connection.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. There’s no sense in it.”

“No sense?” I laughed.

She raised her chin, the one that looked so much like mine. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You don’t? Well, I do. I find it somewhat hysterical that the lady who abandoned me when I was three doesn’t want anything more to do with me. Again. God, I thought after all this time something would have changed. I’m not a high-maintenance toddler and you’re not an overwhelmed teenager.”

Stress sharpened angles on her face. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”

“Me, too. Shit. Me, too.” As much as I wanted something between us, I wasn’t going to beg. “Best of luck to you, Terry.”

I rose and left.

•   •   •

I was not sure where I was going after I left the Armistead, and for a while I walked around and around, just circling the block over and over. Finally, I thought about Mom. She was the one to talk to about Terry. She knew me better than anyone. But Mom also had a dog in this fight and I was afraid she’d get wound up. Margaret and Rachel would parrot Mom.

Gordon again was the logical choice. But I’d spent the better part of the week ignoring his calls and was not sure if he’d be pissed or glad to see me.

Feeling like it all couldn’t get much worse, I walked to his shop and I pushed through the front door. I wove down the rows of bikes and found him in the back working on a mountain bike.

“Hey.”

He glanced through the spokes at me. “Daisy.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“I’m putting a new derailleur on this bike. The owner needs it in the morning but I’ve got a few minutes to spare. What’s on your mind?” His tone was clipped, direct, and not the least bit welcoming.

I deserved that. I’d been rude. “I’m sorry I didn’t call back.”

He fitted his wrench on a bolt and tugged until it loosened. “What can I say?”

This was like removing a Band-Aid. I could peel it off slowly or just let ’er rip. I ripped. “What is it about me that makes people leave me?”

He cocked his head as tension rippled through his body. “Say that again?”

I folded my hands over my chest. “People leave me. What do I do to drive them away?”

He shoved out a deep breath as he set down his wrench and grabbed a rag. He wiped the grease from his hands. “You left me.”

“Because you had left me. I mean, not physically but you’d checked out mentally. Your life became all about work and there didn’t seem any room for me.” I picked up some of his business cards and then set them back down in a neat stack. “I was trying to save us both grief.”

He shook his head. “That plan didn’t work out so well. At least for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. And if it helps, I didn’t do myself any favors by leaving.”

He tossed the soiled rag aside. “Want to know something? I thought if I moved back to Alexandria and put myself in your way every chance I got, you’d eventually start talking to me.”

“And here I am, which brings me back to my original question.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “No question is simple with you, Daisy. Ever. What happened?”

“I went to see Terry. I won’t bore you with all the details but basically she doesn’t want a relationship with me.”

The lines on his face deepened with sadness that heightened my edginess. “She said that?”

“She was quite clear. Several times. So what is it about me, Gordon? Why do I drive people away?”

He came around the bike and stood so close I could smell the bike oil mixing with his scent. “I didn’t leave you, Daisy. At least, I didn’t see it that way. I was trying to work as hard as I could so things would turn around in the company and we could stay together. Your mom and dad and sisters haven’t gone anywhere. Fact is, I think they’d all kill for you.”

I dropped my gaze and shook my head.

He shoved out a breath. “You are a hard, exasperating woman with strong opinions, a mouth like a trucker, and the work ethic of a sharecropper.”

“Those are my good points?”

“You’re funny. You make a great grilled chicken. You can play chess, and you’re one of the best investment bankers I know.”

“But there is something wrong, Gordon. Otherwise we’d have done a better job. And Terry wouldn’t have left me in that damn café all those years ago.”

He laid his hand on my shoulder and I absorbed the warmth while resisting the urge to lean into him and cry.

“I could see how shitty the investment numbers were, Daisy. I knew I was going to put a lot of people out of work.” His voice was barely above a whisper but the words were as rough as sandpaper. “I was fucking up and I couldn’t stop it. And I couldn’t be with anyone.”

Tears burned my eyes. I heard the words but they didn’t satisfy me. “I thought we were friends.”

“We were. We are.” His fingers tightened on my shoulder. “I just couldn’t deal with anyone.”

“Not even me.”

“I’m sorry I pulled away. And I’m sorry Terry doesn’t see what she has in you. You really are special.”

Tears trickled down my cheek. “Special. Right. That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“You’ve had the unfortunate luck to be surrounded by damaged people, starting with Terry and, more recently, me.”

He captured my hand in his and pulled me toward him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. The dam of emotions cracked, letting the sorrow leak and then flood free. I clung to him and started to weep.

Finally, when the tide ebbed I was able to pull free. I felt foolish standing there all red-faced and weepy. “I better go.”

“I want a second chance, Daisy.”

“What?”

“It’s why I came back. I want to try again.”

“I don’t know, Gordon. I don’t have it in me to endure another breakup.”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

He brushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Assuming the shit is going to hit the fan.”

“It always does. It always does.”

“Not always.”

“It’s happened enough to scare the shit out of me.”

A hint of frustration snapped in his eyes. “Doesn’t sound like you have a lot of trust in me.”

“Or myself.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be patient, Daisy. But I can’t wait forever.”

“I know.”

He stepped back. “Well, when you do, let me know.”

With as much dignity as I could muster, I walked out of the bike shop and back to the bakery. Instead of going to my room, I went to Mom’s place and knocked on the door. Only seconds passed before the door snapped open. Mom stood there in her RUNS WITH SCISSORS T-shirt and her knitting in her hand. One glance and she set the knitting aside and took me in her arms.

Tears welled and before I could stop them, I cried.

For several minutes, Mom did not say anything but held me close. She patted my back and whispered, “I know, I know, my dear.”

Finally, when my throat ached and my eyes burned, I pulled back and rubbed fingers over my swollen eyes.

Mom studied me. “You went to see her again.”

“Yes. At her hotel.”

Mom ushered me inside and closed the door behind me. “Come in the kitchen. I’ll make you something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She squeezed my hand. “Neither am I but it’ll give us something to do.”

“Okay.”

I settled into a chrome chair at her kitchen table. I’d sat at this table for as long as I could remember. I’d not only eaten but I’d colored, done homework here, learned to paint my nails, written my college applications as I wished for a different life. And now here I was again. Older. And not so much wiser.

Mom opened the fridge and pulled out luncheon meats, cheeses, and a loaf of bread from the bakery. With her back to me, she got her cutting board and serrated knife. “So what did she have to say?”

I watched as Mom sliced the bread. “She wished me the best.”

Mom glanced over her shoulder at me, her brow cocked. “Really?”

“I thought our first meeting was just too much and that maybe if she had time to think it over she’d want to get to know me. But she doesn’t.”

I could see it was taking a lot of control for Mom not to unload. “Did she say why?”

“She’s married and has a family. She doesn’t want to remember the past. And I am the past. Nothing has changed since the other day.”

Mom dug her knife deep into the bread and into the cutting board beneath.

“She did say if I ever had any medical questions that I could contact her.”

“How generous.”

I traced circles on the table. “She doesn’t know who my birth father is. He was a young kid she met at the fair. And I was conceived in Alexandria.”

“Really?”

“Terry is Mabel’s great-niece.”

“Did Mabel know about you all along?”

“She did. Terry came to town with me looking for money. Mabel gave her two dollars and told her to come to the bakery and think over her life.”

Her mom frowned. “That was the spring of 1982.”

“Yeah.”

Mom’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Mabel showed a lot of interest in you. She encouraged us to keep you. She even suggested we pick May 12 as your birthday.”

“Which, as it turns out is my real birthday, according to Terry.”

Mom slapped slices of meat and cheeses on the freshly sliced bread and squirted spicy mustard on it, like I preferred. She cut the sandwich on a diagonal and set the plate in front of me. She pulled up a chair across from me. “That crusty old broad knew all along and never said a word.”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the photos of me as an infant. “She gave me these.”

Mom studied the photos. Her eyes alighted with joy as if she stared at a great treasure. “My goodness. You were a serious little thing even as a baby. See the way your mouth curves down? You do that when you are worried.”

“Rachel and Margaret are always smiling in their baby pictures.”

She took my hand in hers. “You had a lot on your plate, even as a little thing. My guess is that you understood things were not great even then.” She squeezed my hand. “Daisy, I know you. You have been carrying Terry’s problem since you were a child. It’s time to let go. Forgive her. And remember that you deserve all the love that is waiting for you to accept.”

“I hear you.”

“Do you?”

“Sure. Hey, don’t worry. I will be fine.”

“I want more for you than fine.” She studied my face. “What about that Gordon fellow?”

“What about him?”

“He likes you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom, we had a good thing going but it’s over.”

“I don’t think that it is.”

“How can you say that?” Anguish coated the words.

“Honey, he’s in town. No one made him come here. He wants to be here near you.”