He couldn’t believe his mom was listening to him about this. She was hearing him, really hearing him, for what was probably the first time in his life. Maybe his dad had been one of the reasons why his mom couldn’t ever find it in herself to support Adrian. Because his father never had.
“I think I understand,” she said. She stared at her clasped hands before lifting her eyes to his.
Adrian swallowed. “I also think you should give Gabby a chance.”
She shook her head slightly. “Gabby? I thought her name was Goldie.”
“Goldie is a nickname, I’ve come to find out. I want to call her by her real name. Gabrielle.”
“Pretty name,” his mom said without reservation. Her tone almost had an apologetic ring to it.
“I thought so, too.”
Silence collected between them. Adrian tapped the dustpan over the garbage can, hearing the sugar tinkle against the rest of the disposed items. He sifted through the remaining contents in Gabby’s grocery bag, placing a few in the fridge and leaving others on the countertop.
His mom collected a long, slow breath and allowed it to exhale. “Adrian? She’s not the only person I need to remedy things with. There’s something you should know.”
Adrian returned the dustpan to its place in the closet and faced her. Something in her tone caused his stomach to clench.
“What is it?”
Holding an apologetic grimace, she rose from the barstool and crossed the kitchen to him. She placed a hand on his forearm. “You’re sure you don’t want anything more to do with Danica?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I need to ask your forgiveness. I know where your father’s lockbox is.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GOLDIE HALF-EXPECTED THE SAME RESPONSE she’d gotten the other dozen times she and Adrian had dropped by. To ring the doorbell, wait in agony, only to have no one respond and to return to her truck. This time, though, footsteps responded. This time the sound of a lock being turned erupted like a rocket blast and shot her pulse into the sky with it.
A blonde woman stood in the open doorway, her blue eyes welcoming and repentant all at once. Her hair wasn’t just blonde. It was golden. Like Goldie’s.
“Hello, Goldie,” she said. “That’s what your family calls you, isn’t it?”
Goldie examined her aunt’s face, attempting to catalog similarities. The shape of her mouth, her cheekbones, her eyebrows. She found traces of resemblance in the line of Bethany’s hair and the tilt of her almond eyes. They were like Goldie’s mothers. Like her own.
She lifted her chin. “You knew I was in town.”
Her smile fell. “I did.”
“Why didn’t you contact me? Why didn’t you let me know?”
Bethany pushed the screen door open and held it. “Please, come in. I’ll explain everything, but we’ll be more comfortable sitting down inside.”
The house was dated. Clean, but old. Wood paneling lined the walls, rendering the living room and kitchen darker than they might have been otherwise. The faint smell of an animal also coated the air, making Goldie wonder if it was a dog or a cat her aunt owned.
A gray, fluffy cat made its appearance, strutting haughtily over to rub itself along the couch.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” Bethany suggested with a smile and a hand in that direction.
Stepping like she was on eggshells, Goldie moved forward toward a squat table situated beneath a lamp made of different colored glass. A plate of cookies sat at its center, along with what appeared to be a photo album. Goldie slipped into a spindle-backed chair.
Bethany took a seat across from her and slid the plate in her direction, but Goldie declined. She sat in a puddle of awkwardness and questions and decided to get right to it.
“Why haven’t I known you?”
Bethany stared at the rejected refreshments, interlocking her hands before her. “Your mom wanted it that way.”
“You’re sisters?” Again, she inspected her, noticing more similarities in their appearances. The shape of their brows, the line of their lips and cheeks. Goldie had to admit, Aunt Bethany’s countenance was a bit more pleasant than her mother’s was.
“We are,” Bethany said. “It’s why I had this ready for you. I thought you might want to see some pictures.”
“Proof, you mean,” Goldie said, but unlike the cookies, she didn’t decline the book when it was presented to her. Bethany flipped to stained photographs displaying two young girls, one with brown hair, one with blonde, laughing in dress-up clothes, blowing bubbles, running through a sprinkler.
“Jacey would hate me for this, but you’ve been on my mind for years, Gabrielle, and I needed to tell you the truth.”
Goldie’s frame turned to ice. “What truth?”
Bethany flipped the page of the photo album. There were fewer pictures of her mother in here. Instead, many images of a teenaged Bethany with friends appeared, Bethany at school, Bethany with a good-looking young man. Then one image captured Goldie’s attention.
Bethany was pregnant, with one hand resting on her stomach. She looked far too young for that kind of responsibility.
“You had a baby?”
The air between them constricted. “I did. See? There she is.” She pointed to a picture of a pretty baby.
Suspicion crept into the crevices between Goldie’s bones. It was the same picture she’d seen in her own baby album back home in Wisconsin.
“This makes no sense. I’ve seen all these before.”
“I was in no shape to be a mother. I was barely seventeen, and my boyfriend left town once I told him the news. Jacey had been married for a few years by that time. She and Jared had been trying for a while to have a baby but were struggling with infertility. So she offered to care for my baby and raise her—raise you—as their own.”
Goldie’s vision blanked. Bethany couldn’t be saying what she thought she was. It couldn’t be true. “Are you saying you’re my—mother—my birth mother?”
Bethany’s eyes were glistening with tears. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. For years I wanted to come to you, but Jacey told me to stay away.”
Goldie pushed the album away from her. Disbelief rattled through her like a freshly launched pinball. “Why now?” she managed. “Why are you telling me this now? It’s been twenty-seven years.”
“Your birth father and I have been in contact with one another over the years, and word reached me last month that he’d died in a car accident.”
Goldie gasped. “Oh my goodness.”
“I realized how short life is. He had so many regrets, Gabrielle, about you. He regretted not wanting to try and make things work, to try and be the father you needed. He wanted to contact you sooner, but I held him off. I told him it wasn’t time, and he respected that. And now he’s gone.”
A tear slid down Bethany’s cheek, and her lower lip trembled.
“I wanted to make things right with you. And with my sister,” she finished.
Goldie couldn’t breathe. She’d had a different father. A different mother. And her own mother had never told her?
Did everyone lie? Adrian had been so quick to scheme up his fake girlfriend proposition, never thinking twice about it. Her parents had known she wasn’t really theirs and they’d pretended all her life. She kept it together, though inside she was kicking and screaming like a child.