fill in the pieces.
“Breast cancer. The surgeons think they got it all but advised on the chemo just to be sure.”
“And Elaine’s daughter. What’s her deal?”
“I barely know Lofton. She didn’t grow up around here.”
“I met her yesterday. She clearly loves her mother.” Lofton’s underlying irritation with Libby had to stem from fear. Libby was an unknown entity, and it made sense Lofton would be overprotective of a mother who was sick and perhaps vulnerable.
“Did Elaine have a boyfriend in college?” Libby asked.
“She dated Scott Waters during her freshman year, but he transferred to a school out west, and that ended that.”
“What year was that?”
“Umm, 1987-ish.”
Unless Scott had doubled back and reconnected with Elaine around the time of her conception, he was not the daddy. And she’d said she had not met Ted until she was twenty-three, which would have been after she was born.
“Why all the questions about Elaine?”
“Just curious. They had me to dinner last night, and I can’t really figure out why.”
“Have you thought about asking her?” Mrs. Mancuso said. “I have always thought the direct approach was the best.”
Libby called Elaine, knowing if she hesitated it would be like pulling a bandage off slowly. Better to just do it.
She dialed the number several times but each time put the phone aside and found a reason to watch the news, do a load of laundry, or edit the pictures from Saturday’s wedding.
Sierra then called at ten to say they had a loan officer appointment in two days, and that gave her something else to think about for around thirty minutes.
Finally, at noon, despite her best efforts, Libby had run out of delay tactics.
She dialed Elaine’s number and hit call. As she counted each ring, her heart thumped louder in her chest. After four rings, the call went to voice mail. “This is Elaine Grant. I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave me your number, I will return your call promptly.”
Libby pulled back her shoulders, feeling the ache of tension that refused to leave. She had practiced her response to this scenario countless times over her life. Birth mother ignores me. Birth mother denies our past. Birth mother rejects me. How many times had she played out those scenarios in her head? Now faced with leaving a message for her birth mother, she wondered what tone would best fit her well-rehearsed words. Should she summon outrage, a cheerful ring, or a “no big deal; I am fine” tone?
“This is Libby McKenzie.” Her voice sounded rough, and she was not sure where she fell on the tone spectrum. “Elaine, if you could call me at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it.”
She hung up and spent the next five minutes staring at the display, half expecting, hoping, and dreading it would ring. But it remained silent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELAINE
Monday, June 15, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
Elaine stared into the bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were trembling slightly. For thirty-one years she had dreamed about the day she could spend with her daughter. She had gone over and over in her head what she would say to her but still did not have the words that felt right.
And when Libby’s name had appeared on her phone, she had panicked and had not picked up. Last night had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped. Lofton had been difficult, and as much as she had wanted to rail against her before she left this morning, she did not have it in her. Lofton was a smart young woman and very good at seeing what others did not. Elaine had known from the moment Lofton had taken a hard look at Libby she had recognized a family connection.
For most of her life, Elaine had pictured Libby as a little girl. The McKenzies had sent Elaine pictures on each of Libby’s birthdays. The one taken on her first birthday was always the one she looked at when she needed a lift. Libby’s little face was covered in cake as she grinned up at the camera, displaying her three teeth. At age two, she was standing on a field of green with a black Lab puppy. At six, her grin was gap toothed.
Elaine had always waited with excitement for the pictures to arrive and would spend hours staring at Libby’s face, searching for traces of her own features. Whose nose did she have? Did they share the exact same shade of green eyes? The comparisons were endless.
The pictures of