The View from Prince Street (21 page)

“Is that her?” Lisa asked.

“Yes. That's Susan Holloway.”

“She's sick, Rae.”

“I didn't know,” I whispered. “All the notes and letters she sent me never mentioned she was sick. Not one.” Guilt jabbed. “She must think I'm such a bitch.”

“You don't know that.”

“Sure I do. I am a bitch.”

Lisa laid a hand on mine. “She looks like she's a nice lady.”

“She is. Nice and kind.” My God. Poor Susan. And Michael. How was all this affecting him?”

I counted my breaths as I waited for the passenger-side door to open. One. Two. Three. “What if he didn't come? What if he sent his mom to tell me he can't do this?”

As I shifted to study her expression, the other car door opened. Out of the front seat unfolded a tall, lean boy. There was a splash of freckles across his pale skin, and his auburn hair could have used only the tiniest bit of a trim. Most of his height was already developed, but he had yet to fill out the frame with size and muscle. He was still a gangly kid. I hadn't missed his entire life.

He studied the pizza place, his brow wrinkling like mine did when I was worried. He looked at his mother and smiled in a way that made me think he was hiding his nerves to protect her.

His mother smiled, extending her hand and motioning for him to come around the car. When he walked, he stood straight. Carried himself with poise. I could see he was an exceptional young man.

“He's cute,” Lisa said.

I studied Lisa's expression, searching for any signs that she was joking, but I saw only sincerity. “He's handsome.”

“And he looks like you. It's like I'm flashing back to high school. I don't see much Dan Chesterfield.”

I couldn't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction. “Is it wrong to be glad about that?”

“Did Dan carry that boy for nine months? Did he labor for how many hours?”

“Nineteen.”

“Where was he when Michael was born?”

“Michael was born on a Wednesday in June, so Dan was most likely back from his first year of college and was on vacation with his family.”

“How would you know that?”

“I saw him the Christmas after Michael was born. He said I looked well. Said he loved college and he never missed a Wednesday night Hump Day Party.”

“He's an ass,” Lisa said.

And yet I couldn't summon the tiniest bit of resentment for Dan. Not as I watched this near-perfect boy open the door to the pizza place and allow his mother to go before him. “He has manners. Did you see that?”

“He's a good boy.” She laid her hands on my shoulders. “Now, why don't you go meet him?”

My gut clenched. “You're coming, right?”

“I've got your back.”

“If you weren't here right now, I could very well be running in the opposite direction.” I wasn't being overly dramatic but stating facts. This was the most terrifying moment I could ever remember experiencing.

She gripped my hand. “I'm not letting you run away. In fact, if you look like you might bolt, I'm taking you down like they do on
Cops
.”

“Understood.”

We got out of the car and crossed the parking lot, and when I reached for the door handle, I could feel the blood rushing to my head, making me light-headed. Drawing in a breath, I yanked open the door to a crowded place filled with kids, parents, and laughter. Scanning the crowd, I didn't see Michael or Susan. “I don't see them. What if he panicked and ran out the back door?”

“Then I'll tackle him, too. It will be worthy of an ESPN highlights reel.”

“You can't do that,” I said in all seriousness. “If he's afraid, that's fine. It's just me that can't be scared.”

“Got it. No tackling, choke holds, or tasing.”

“Okay.” I continued to scan the room. A group of middle school kids dressed in soccer uniforms rose from a table and in a loud rush of chatter and laughter made their way to the front of the restaurant. A couple of moms followed behind, herding the children like shepherds.

“Loosen up,” Lisa ordered.

“I can't.”

“Why not? Michael suggested the meeting. That means he wants to see you.”

“Good point.” Just then I saw Susan emerge from the ladies' room and a second later, Michael from the men's room. A sigh shuddered through me, pulling some of the tension with it. Either way my life would change in the next several minutes.

Susan and Michael sat at a back corner booth, and when a waitress came, they accepted three menus. They were expecting me.

The hostess appeared before us, a short, plump teenager with bouncy brown curls and a bright smile. She picked up a couple of menus. “Table for two, ladies?” she asked.

I looked at her and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Words usually came to me easily. They were my stock-in-trade.

Lisa leaned around me. “We're meeting friends. And we see them in the corner booth.”

“Great!” the young girl said as she tucked the menus back under the register.

Lisa nudged me forward. “One foot in front of the other, Rae.”

“I don't want to mess this up,” I said.

“You won't. Now march.”

Placing one foot in front of the other, I passed several booths, which were filled with mostly families. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won't,” Lisa said. “I'm right here.”

“Okay.”

We rounded the final corner, and Susan, sitting with her back to the wall and facing the door, spotted us before Michael. My guess was the decision was deliberate. She wanted to run interference in case there was trouble that needed heading off. A part of me appreciated the gesture while the other resented it.

Susan said something to Michael, and he craned his neck so that he could see me. Eyes that looked so much like mine locked on me, and for a second my heart stopped beating. Sixteen years ago, I was his age, holding him in my arms in the hospital. That had been the last time I'd looked into his eyes. I'd not felt all that young, but my mother knew I was just a child.

He pushed out of the booth, as did Susan. He simply stared at me, cataloguing each of my physical details, as I did his. Eyes.
Check.
Hands.
Check.
Limbs.
Check.
And on and on went the list.

Susan was the first to speak. “Rae?”

I pulled my gaze from the boy. “Yes. Susan?”

Her smile warmed. “Yes.” She came closer to Michael and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Michael, this is Rae McDonald. She's your birth mother.”

He stood staring, frozen.

Susan squeezed his shoulders, reminding him that he needed to say something. “Uh, hi. It's really nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.

Should I grasp his hand and shake or wrap my arms around him and
hug him? I thought about the counseling I gave my clients. The first moments of a meeting create lasting impressions. Less is more. Smile.

I smiled and took his hand, which felt warm and a little clammy. Nice to know I wasn't the only nervous one here. “It's good to see you again.”

“Again?” He cocked his head and then nodded. “Right. I guess we did kind of meet once before.”

“We did.”

Lisa reached her hand around me and extended it to Susan. “I'm Lisa Smyth. Friend of Rae's. I'm here for moral support.”

The comment relaxed Susan's tense shoulders a fraction. This close, she looked so pale. So frail. “I think we're all a little nervous. Todd would have been here, but he's overseas and couldn't get home.”

“That's okay,” I said. “Is he doing well?”

“He's great,” Susan said. “Why don't we sit down?”

“Sounds good,” Lisa said. She nudged me into the booth and then took the seat next to mine, eliminating an awkward moment of where Michael and I would sit. He and I both looked relieved that she'd grabbed the bull by the horns. He slid into the other side of the booth and Susan sat beside him.

The waitress appeared, gave Lisa a menu, and took our drink order. We all read the menus, but I didn't process a word. I couldn't concentrate and found myself stealing a peek at Michael. The second time I looked, I caught him staring at me. His face turned a light pink, embarrassed.

I smiled and leaned back in my seat.
Nonthreatening body language
, I said to myself.
Relax. Breathe.

“You don't look like your picture in the paper,” he said.

“It's not one of my favorites.” It made me look stern and angry, but of course, the writer had dubbed me the matchmaker with the heart of stone. So I suppose the photo fit the headline.

“Why did they write that article about you?” he asked.

“One of my clients is a friend of the reporter. She told the reporter
about her experience with me and the reporter was intrigued. I suppose she thought the story would be a light, fun read.”

Susan carefully sipped her soda, studying me closely. “I didn't realize you were a matchmaker.”

“I'm not, really. I've introduced some people who've ended up married. I told that to the reporter, but she wanted to hear something else.”

“The article outlines many of your successes,” Susan said. “Several couples had nice things to say about you. They called you a matchmaker.”

“I suppose so many people want to believe the perfect match is possible,” I said.

“Makes sense.” She smiled. “How is your mother doing?” Susan asked. She swallowed with care, her throat clearly raw.

Susan had met my mother a couple of times. In fact, it was Mom who found Susan and suggested I look at the Holloways' profile. “She passed a couple of years ago.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“And that's my fault. I'm sorry.”

Remembering how cool my mother had been to Susan during the adoption process, I felt I owed her an explanation. “You met my mother at a difficult time. My older sister had recently died in a car accident, and she wasn't herself.” Not entirely true, but I felt a need to defend her.

Susan's eyes softened with sadness. “I remember that. I felt so sorry for her. And you.”

I drew in a breath and looked at Michael. “My sister Jennifer died just before her eighteenth birthday.”

“That's what Mom told me.”

“You would have liked her,” Lisa said. “Jennifer and I were good friends.”

Susan stirred her straw in her glass and gently changed tact. “I remember your mother telling me the house that your family lived in was built in the 1700s.”

“It's almost three hundred years old and has always been in the McDonald family. I still live there.”

Michael nodded. “Cool. Our house is only three years old, but I guess Mom told you that in her letters.”

Heat warmed my cheeks. “Yes.”

A silence settled for a few seconds before Susan asked, “So you've both known each other for a long time?”

“Lisa and my sister, Jennifer, met in kindergarten. She was always around the house when I was growing up.”

Lisa nodded and sipped her iced tea nonchalantly. “So, Michael, what grade are you in?”

He cleared his throat. “I'm a sophomore.”

“So next year you'll begin looking at colleges,” she added.

“Yeah.”

“Any thoughts on where you'd like to go?” I asked.

“I've good grades,” he said. “I like UVA and Virginia Tech.”

“He's downplaying his talents,” Susan said. “He's very smart. Straight A's and on schedule for AP Honors classes next year.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Mom.”

“It's true,” she said.

“I took AP Honors,” I said. “It's nice getting to college with a semester or two worth of credits under your belt. Plus I was able to graduate high school a year early.”

“That's what Mom keeps saying.” When he realized he'd called Susan Mom again, he looked at me, worried he'd said something wrong.

There was a lot I'd not done right concerning Michael over the last sixteen years, but I was not going to mess up this meeting. “That's okay. She
is
Mom.”

“But so are you,” he said, glancing toward Susan, worried again he'd said something wrong.

Susan nudged him gently with her elbow. “She's your birth mom. And I'm proud of that, Michael. Without Rae, there'd be no you.”

“So what do I call you?” he asked me.

The ice around my heart dripped and melted under the heat of his watchful eyes. “Rae works just fine.”

He nodded, and again I sensed the rush of relief.

“Thank you for all the pictures,” I said to Susan.

Her dark eyes brightened. “Amazing how fast he's grown.”

Feeling that I owed her an explanation, I said, “It was hard to look at them, but you kept your word and I am grateful for that.”

“Why was it hard?” Michael challenged.

A lump rose in my throat. I struggled for objectivity and a sense of calm. “It's very emotional for me, Michael.” I struggled to corral the words that skidded just out of reach. “Giving you to your mother was the hardest thing I've ever done. And looking at the pictures reminded me of what I was missing. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about you and your family. You are so lucky to have each other.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through several screens before he found what he wanted and turned the phone toward me. “This is a picture Mom keeps in the den next to all the other family pictures.”

I took the phone and found a sixteen-year-old me holding Michael. My hair was tied back in a ponytail and the stark hospital gown made my face look sallow. “I remember when the nurse took this picture. It was the day you were born. I hadn't slept much.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Sore from nineteen hours of labor. Worried about you.” For a brief instant, my eyes stung as tears threatened, but I willed them away. “Of course, I can see I had nothing to be worried about.”