Mrs. Benson slid the lid from the cardboard filing box and removed the packing paper. “Oh my. Some of these were part of my mother’s collection at one time. She’d gifted them to your grandma. So sweet of Pearl to remember.” She flashed them a watery smile. “Would the two of you like some pie?”
Reese crossed his arms over his chest. “Ivy, don’t you think we ought to—”
Ivy cut off the rest of his excuse with the heel of her sandal on his toe. “We’d love a slice.”
Mrs. Benson tottered to the kitchen with Reese and Ivy in her wake.
“I actually had a question for you about something Grandma left for me.”
Mrs. Benson glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll help if I can. Let me get us all situated and we can chat.”
Reese and Ivy sat in the vinyl seats at her Formica dining table. Mrs. Benson hummed softly as she sliced her pie. Ivy wiped her palms on her thighs. Reese shot her a look she couldn’t decipher. Probably considering having her committed. Or he was annoyed because he actually had somewhere important to be besides assisting her unlikely interrogation.
Mrs. Benson slid two Corelle saucers their way, the same butterfly gold print on the rims as Ivy’s grandmother’s. “This was my mom’s recipe. What I would give to make one more apple pie with her.”
Ivy averted her gaze and blinked back the moisture that welled in her eyes without warning.
Mrs. Benson settled into a vacant chair. “Now what was it you wanted to ask me about? One of her antiques? I do love discovering origins of things from days gone by. There’s this show on television where people bring in old stuff to find its value. I’m an absolute addict.”
“It’s about my adoption.”
Mrs. Benson’s fork stilled. “Your adoption? What does that have to do with your grandmother?”
Ivy leaned in. “She told me she left me a journal, but it’s missing. I think it’s about my adoption. Do you remember Grandma coming to you about anything unusual when you worked at the police department? Any specifics about my adoption? Something someone would want kept hidden?”
Compassion—or perhaps pity—softened Mrs. Benson’s look of concentration. She reached across the table and squeezed Ivy’s hand. “No, honey. Your arrival in Triune sure shook the town up though. I’ll never forget the stir that caused.”
“My parents, they told the police I arrived on their doorstep?”
Mrs. Benson shifted in her seat and picked at her acrylic nails. “Yes, dear. Not much more was ever discovered. But if you’ve got questions, you ought to talk to them, sweetie.”
Mrs. Benson picked up her fork and rolled the stem between her fingers, eyes focused beyond Ivy. “Hold on, now. There was this one time your grandma called, asking questions about a young woman. A potential missing person. I only remember because it was such an odd conversation. That was a while before you showed up though, so I doubt it was connected. More likely she’d been watching too many Unsolved Mystery shows. I figured a story got ahold of her, and she wanted to do something to help. She was like that, you know, always searching for a way to help the hurting.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
SEPTEMBER 12, 1994
On Monday Harvey stood at the end of Pearl’s sidewalk. The morning sun filtered through the trees, splotching the yard with oak leaf shadows.
He straightened his shoulders, ensured his large shirt didn’t cling to Ivy’s sleeping form, and trudged down the cracked concrete path. All he had to do was ring the doorbell, apologize, and then hand her the replacement mug. Like a normal person.
His sandaled feet echoed too loud on the concrete porch. The cord of muscles down the length of his spine tightened. He reached toward the doorbell, index finger out. An inch from the glowing button, he froze. Harvey curled his finger into a fist, squeezing his hand so tight his knuckles whitened.
Breathe in. Normal person. Breathe out. He jabbed the button. A tinny song burst through the interior of the house, faintly muffled by the door.
Nope. He couldn’t do this. Harvey placed the mug on the weathered yellow table and made a quick retreat.
“Harvey?”
So much for his attempted doorbell dash. Turning slowly, his pulse throbbed in his ears. “Uh . . .”
A smile lit Pearl’s face. “Good morning. I’m so glad you stopped by. I wanted to apologize for what happened Friday.”
The back of his neck heated. She didn’t have anything to apologize for. Without his consent, his feet traveled back down the walk to the old woman in her threadbare pink bunny slippers. One was missing a black button eye.
“No . . . I . . . I’m . . . I brought you a cup.” I’m sorry. He closed his eyes for a beat. Why didn’t his words ever come out right?
She picked up the mug, white with a black bear and the words THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS in curling script. A hairline crack ran the length of the handle. Pearl pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, Harvey. You didn’t have to replace it. I wish you hadn’t troubled yourself. It was just a mug.”
Harvey swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to”—he gestured to the place the ceramic had shattered—“leave the mess. I—”
Pearl held up a hand, tenderness in her eyes. “Please. You don’t have to explain. I barge around here, flinging open doors and pouncing on unsuspecting visitors.” She held the coffee cup toward him. “You don’t have to do this. I have plenty.”
Idiot. She didn’t want a stupid cracked mug, not when he’d broken one in perfect condition. Heat spread from his neck to the tips of his ears, then radiated off the top of his head.
If only he could vanish into thin air. But he and his humiliation remained a fixed presence on Pearl’s front porch.
Pearl tilted her head, then she pulled the mug to her chest, stepping toward him. “On second thought, I’ll hang on to this if you truly don’t mind. When you come by, this can be yours. I always like to pick a favorite mug to match my mood. This one I’ll keep and think of you.”
His heart pounded as the porch ceiling closed down on him. The space between them narrowed as she took another step.
It was just a coffee cup. Admittedly, the best of his hodgepodge dish collection, but it was only his pathetic attempt at making amends. Not some sort of representation of him.
She reached for his shoulder, and he went rigid. Instead of touching him, she lowered her outstretched arm to her side and stepped back, her eyes searching his face. Pearl lifted the cup. “How about a cup of coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
She reentered her house before he had the chance to answer. Great. This wasn’t supposed to be the start of a morning tradition.
Harvey tugged his collar away from his chest and stole a peek at sleeping Ivy. It was so much easier over the weekend when it was just the two of them. Tucked away where he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out about her.
Wait. Was that why Pearl was being so nice? She suspected something and was drawing him closer to discover why he had Ivy. Then she’d turn him in for having a baby that didn’t belong to him. He went from burning with embarrassment to ice cold.
Pearl appeared, this time gently opening the door. She stepped to him, full coffee cup outstretched. There was such warmth in her expression that Harvey swallowed his dark thought and reached to receive the mug.