Remembering Me (33 page)

Sarah riffled through old papers until she found the address Ann had given her after the train crash. Might Ann still be living there? After all, Sarah had moved several times since then. Ann, though, had no one chasing her from one place to another.

She spent an hour packing Janie’s clothing and toys, trying to keep her mind on her task rather than the magnitude of what she was doing. But once she was in the car for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to the outskirts of Philadelphia, and once Janie had fallen safely asleep, she let out the racking sobs she’d been holding in all day.

She drove with her eyes focused on the rearview mirror, making certain no one was following her, stopping only once along the way to give Janie her dinner.

She reached Ann’s house, a small, well-maintained Cape Cod, in the early evening. The street was narrow and lined with trees. The Cape Cod’s windows glowed with yellow light. A gaslight burned on the porch, and a potted azalea rested on the top step.

Please be there, Ann
. She lifted Janie out of the car and walked toward the front door. Even if Ann were there, would she believe Sarah’s incredible story?

She rang the bell, and it was Ann who answered. Sarah, close to tears with relief that the social worker still lived there, could not even say hello.

“Are you…?” Ann broke into a wide smile. “You’re Sarah, aren’t you? From the train?”

Sarah nodded, trying to smile, but she started to cry instead.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Ann asked. “Come in, come in.”

Sarah stepped into the warmth of Ann’s little fire-lit living room, clutching Janie close to her chest.

“Let me take your coat,” Ann said. “Is this your little girl? She’s so darling. Can I take your coat, too, sweetheart?”

Sarah still could not speak. She let Ann slip Janie’s coat from her shoulders, then took off her own.

“You sit by the fire, Sarah, and warm up,” Ann said. “I’ll get you tea. And I have some soup. Would you like some of that?”

Sarah shook her head. “Tea’s fine,” she managed to say. She sat in the chair closest to the fire, Janie on her lap, shivering. It was warm, almost too warm in the house, yet her teeth were chattering.

Ann returned with the tea. She poured a cup for Sarah and set it on the end table next to her chair. Then she crouched down in front of her, one hand on Sarah’s knee. “Sarah. Dear,” she said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Janie reached out sleepily to touch Ann’s blond hair.

“Will she come to me?” Ann asked.

Sarah didn’t want to let go of her daughter, but she forced herself to do so, and Janie slipped easily into the stranger’s arms. Ann sat down on the sofa with her, stroking the little girl’s hair.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said again to Sarah.

“You mustn’t tell anyone what I tell you,” Sarah warned.

“Not a soul,” Ann said, and Sarah knew she could trust this woman completely. She could trust her with her daughter’s life.

Through her tears, Sarah explained the entire situation to Ann. She told her of the terrible research being performed at Saint Margaret’s, and of Joe’s attempt to uncover what was going on there and the price he paid for his recklessness. She told her of Dr. Palmiento’s threats and finding Gilbert on her
doorstep no matter where she moved. The color drained from Ann’s face when Sarah told her about Sammy’s “accident.”

“You poor dear,” Ann said. “You must feel so trapped.”

Sarah cried again at that. “I
am
trapped,” she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “That’s why I’m here. Please, Ann. Please. Is there a way you could get Janie adopted without there being any records? Without her being traceable in any way? She’s not safe with me. I’d want her to be—” She swallowed hard and pulled a tissue from her purse to blot her eyes. “I’d want her to be with good parents.
Two
parents. She only has one with me. Two parents who would raise her as their own daughter. They’d have to change her name. And her birthday. She’ll be two next month, but they should change that, too, so no one could ever figure out that she was my daughter. So she’d be safe.”

Ann was crying herself, silently, as though she didn’t want to awaken Janie, who had fallen asleep against her chest. She stared at the ceiling, and Sarah knew she was trying to figure out what she could do to help. She said nothing to disturb her thoughts.

Finally Ann lowered her gaze to Sarah. “I’m no longer a social worker,” she said, and Sarah’s heart sank. “Remember how terrible I was at it? But, listen to me, dear.” She paused, as if collecting her thoughts once again. “I’m engaged to be married,” she said quietly. “In two months.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Sarah said politely.

“I learned recently that I’m unable to have children, and my fiancé and I are considered too old to adopt. It’s broken our hearts. If you think…if you’d be comfortable with…You don’t know our qualifications, or anything about us, really.”

“Yes!” Sarah sat forward. “And I
do
know your qualifications. I saw you on the train with that little boy, remember? I knew then that you were meant to be a mother.”

Ann laughed through her tears. “I know. I am. But Sarah, you must be sure of what you’re doing. I’m thirty-nine. My fiancé is forty-two. We won’t be young parents for her.”

“You will be far better parents for her than I can be.” This was fate, Sarah thought. Fate had put her and Ann together during that train crash. Fate had brought her here tonight. “Tell me about your fiancé,” she asked.

“I can assure you he loves children,” Ann said. “He’s the youngest of eight in his family. He’s brilliant.” She blushed. “Well, in my opinion, anyway, which, I admit, is a bit biased. He works for a company designing jet engines. He’s a good man, Sarah.”

Sarah nodded. “All right, then,” she said, slowly getting to her feet. Her body felt a hundred years old. “I have her things in the car.”

“Oh, Sarah.” Ann carefully laid Janie on the couch and stood up, reaching for Sarah’s arm. “Don’t do this yet. Don’t rush—”

“Let me go,” Sarah said, brushing past her. “I’ll be right back.”

She went out to the car without her coat, not even feeling the cold, and returned with Janie’s belongings.

Ann took the suitcase from her and set it by the stairs.

“She might be afraid when she wakes up and I’m not here,” Sarah said. “But she’s very resilient. You saw how easily she went to you. I’m afraid she’d go easily to anyone, and that’s why…” Her voice trailed off.

“I know, Sarah.” Ann touched her arm again. “Listen, dear. I think you should have some time alone with Janie. I think you need to sit here with her and think through what you’re doing. Maybe there’s another way.”

Sarah glanced at Janie, sleeping peacefully on the sofa, and looked away quickly. “No,” she said. “No, I’ve thought about
it enough. I don’t want to give myself the chance to change my mind.”

“How can I keep in touch with you?” Ann asked. “I’ll want to let you know how she’s—”

“No,” Sarah said quickly. “It’s too dangerous. We must never have any contact.” She reached for the collar of her blouse and removed the pin Joe had given her. “Give this to her, please,” she said. “When she’s older, I mean. Make sure she knows it came from someone who loved her very much.”

Ann took the pin from her hand, cupping it in her own. “I will,” she said.

“Thank you.”

Sarah put on her coat, then turned numbly and left the house, knowing Ann’s worried eyes were on her as she walked toward her car. She didn’t look back as she drove away, the pain in her heart tempered by the knowledge that, with Ann, Janie would be safe.

“Oh, Sarah,” Laura leaned forward, resting her hand on Sarah’s hand. On her
mother’s
hand. “That must have been so terribly hard.”

“It was hard.” Sarah nodded. “But it was the right thing. I knew she would be taken care of there and no one could find her.”

Laura squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I need to tell you something,” she said. She lifted the pendant at her throat. “Do you recognize this?”

Sarah squinted at the pendant. “Is it a lady with a hat on?”

Laura smiled. “This was your pin, Sarah. The one Joe gave you.”

“No, it’s not. Mine was a pin.”

“Yes, I know. But it was made into a necklace.” She unfastened the necklace and held it out to Sarah.

“Oh, my!” Sarah said. “That looks just like my pin.”

“It
is
your pin, dear,” Laura said gently.

“Joe gave me one just like it.”

“Listen to me, Sarah. I’m Janie. I’m your daughter.” Her voice broke, but she continued. “I was the little girl you took to Ann’s. Ann raised me as her own daughter. Ann and her husband, Carl. He was her fiancé in the story you just told me. That’s how my father knew who you were. He must have tracked you down, somehow. He wanted to be sure you were always taken care of. He was very grateful to you for giving me to him and Ann.”

Sarah looked at her blankly.

“You’d asked Ann to give me the pin when I got older, right? She or Carl had it made into a necklace. Into this.” She held up the pendant again. “And Carl gave it to me. Do you understand?”

Sarah shook her head, a childlike expression of confusion on her face.

“Sarah, do you know my name?”

Again, Sarah shook her head.

“My name is Laura Brandon. My parents were Ann and Carl Brandon. I’m the little girl you gave to them. I’m your daughter.”

“No.” Sarah looked a bit annoyed. “Janie is my daughter.”

“And I’m Janie.” Laura bit her lip in frustration, blinking back tears. “Ann and Carl gave me the name Laura. You’d asked them to change my name, remember?”

“I want to go to bed, now,” Sarah said, standing up.

She did not understand. She could tell Laura everything about the past, right down to the potted azalea on the Cape Cod’s porch, but she was never going to make the connection between the two-year-old daughter she’d lost long ago and the woman sitting next to her now.

Laura stood up and leaned over to give Sarah a kiss on the cheek. “I love you,” she said. “Sleep tight.”

“T
HEY ALWAYS SAID THEY WERE MARRIED IN
1957,” L
AURA SAID
. She was sitting next to Dylan on the back porch of the lake house. “But I guess that was to keep me from thinking I was illegitimate.”

“And did your father work for a company that built jet engines?”

“He sure did. And they lived in Elkins Park, just outside of Philadelphia. I grew up in that Cape Cod Sarah was talking about. My father built a little deck outside one of the upstairs windows for his telescope.”

“You sound so calm.” Dylan put his arm around her shoulders. “This has to be overwhelming for you.”

“I don’t feel overwhelmed,” she said. “I feel…” She tried to sort through her emotions. “….Sad that my birth mother has no idea who I am. And terribly sad for how much she suffered in her life. But I was very lucky, and I owe that to Sarah. I don’t know if I could make the same choice if Emma were in danger. It must have devastated her, but who knows what would have happened if she’d tried to keep me?”

It was cool on the porch, and she shivered. Dylan tightened his arm around her shoulders.

“She gave me to wonderful parents.” Laura thought of Ann.
She had not known that her mother was once a social worker. “I wish I’d gotten to know my mother—Ann—better. And if it hadn’t been for my father, I probably wouldn’t be an astronomer. He pushed and cajoled me into that career, I have to admit.” She laughed. “But I’ve hardly regretted it.”

“And now you have another father.”

“I do,” she said softly, smiling to herself. “I should call him to tell him what I found out from Sarah.”

“Right,” said Dylan. “And then you should sleep with me.”

She looked at him in surprise, then laughed again. “Yes, I should.” She raised her chin to kiss him. “I’ll meet you in my bedroom,” she said, standing up.

“The skylight room,” he countered.

“Okay,” she said. “The skylight room.” Then she walked into the house to call John Solomon.

She found Dylan in the dark skylight room, lying under the comforter he’d pilfered from her bed. His clothes were piled in the corner of the room, and starlight illuminated his bare chest against the dark fabric of the pillows.

“Do you have anything on under there?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Hesitating only a moment, she began to undress, tossing her shirt and jeans on top of his, enjoying the idea that they would have to hunt through that pile later to separate his clothes from hers. She felt the starlight on her own body and closed her eyes against a sudden shyness.

Slipping beneath the comforter, she sank into the pillows. Dylan’s hand slid over the curve of her waist as he gently pulled her to him, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the touch of his skin against hers, a feeling she’d never expected to have again outside her fantasies.

This would be new to him, she thought, though not so to her. He remembered nothing from that night; she remembered all.

Yet her memories were wrong. No matter how intense, how erotic, those memories had been, they’d lacked something that existed now but had not then: Dylan’s attentiveness. His consciousness. He was present now, body and soul. His touch was deliberate. His hands glided like a sun-warmed stream over her flesh, stopping to lap gently at her breasts and at the feverish place between her thighs, and she felt a tenderness in him he had not shown her that night long ago.

Afterward, when he tossed the comforter from their hot, damp bodies and they lay exhausted, bathed in starlight, she knew that no matter how familiar Dylan’s touch became, it would always arouse in her that same marriage of excitement and safety. She felt sure of his love—for Emma, and for herself.

As sure as she was of the stars above them.