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.