"About Grandma? What on earth would that story be about? She's a wonderful woman, sweet, kind, generous, but I'm not sure her life story would merit a book."
An odd look entered Emma's eyes. "Maybe there's more to her life than we know. Grandma has been trying to say something for a while now, but she can't quite remember what it is long enough to get the words out. Or Grandpa comes in and tells her to be quiet, that she doesn't know what she's talking about."
Colton gave her a doubtful look. "You're imagining things."
"I don't think so. Everyone has secrets, Colton."
"Not Grandma. And, sadly, even if she had a secret, she's probably forgotten it by now."
"I guess we'll see."
Chapter Three
Sunday afternoon Olivia Bennett pulled into the parking lot next to the Sunset Senior Center. The two-story building was directly across the street from San Francisco's Ocean Beach, and from her spot she had a perfect view of the water.
It was a windy day in late September, and the dark blue sea shimmered in the sunshine, not a cloud or a hint of fog anywhere in sight. Several people took advantage of the stiff breeze to launch colorful kites into the air. Others were sharing a late lunch picnic, and a few walkers and runners jogged along the shoreline as the ocean rolled onto the beach with big, crashing waves.
It wasn't the kind of sea too many people were going to venture into for swimming, although there were a few surfers in wet suits attempting to ride the waves. That didn't surprise her. Growing up in San Diego, a southern California city, she'd known a few surfers in her time. In fact, she'd ridden the waves herself, but that was when she was young and stupid, when she didn't think anything bad could ever happen to her.
Watching those intrepid surfers now, she felt nostalgic. She'd missed this California beach vibe. Since going to college at New York University and then later working as a freelance writer and research assistant for a famous biographer, she hadn't been back to California for longer than a couple of days in almost ten years.
Now she was reminded of the days of her youth.
She'd been so carefree as a child and a teenager. She'd had an amazing, wonderful life as the adored only daughter of Elaine and Hal Bennett, two people who tried to give her the world with every breath that they took. She'd truly been blessed to have such wonderful parents. And even though she'd lost her dad, she still had her mom, and they'd always been close.
As if on cue, her phone rang, her mom's number popping up on the screen. They tried to talk every Sunday. It had been their ritual since Olivia had left for college, and she still stuck to it whenever she could.
"Hi, Mom," she said. "I called you earlier, but you didn't answer."
"I had to drive Will to his sister's house. His car is in the shop."
"How is Mr. Hansen?" She wasn't quite sure how she felt about the budding romance between her mother and her former high school algebra teacher, but the two of them seemed to be spending a lot of time together.
"You can call him Will. He's not your teacher anymore," Elaine said.
"So how is Will?"
"He's a good man. I want you to get to know him better. I was hoping you'd come home on your vacation," Elaine said pointedly.
"I was planning to, but then this potential story came up, and I couldn't resist following up on it. You know I've been wanting to write my own book for years."
"I know. The man you work for is a pompous ass who is taking all of your hard work and making millions of dollars off of it."
Her mom was right about that. Philip Dunston was a world-famous, bestselling author of celebrity and political biographies, and she was more than a little tired of writing his books under the guise of being his research assistant. But he paid pretty well, and she'd had an opportunity to perfect her craft the last few years. Now, however, she was itching to get out on her own.
"What I don't understand," her mom added, "is why you think there's some great story to be found at a senior center filled with ordinary people living ordinary lives. You need to focus on getting a celebrity to talk to you."
"They're only going to talk to Philip. And ordinary people can have extraordinary moments. The letter I received from Molly Harper led me to believe that this group of women did something amazing, something worth writing about."
"That still sounds vague to me. Have you spoken to this woman yet?"
Olivia sighed at the question. "Unfortunately, no. There's been a bad turn of events."
"What happened?"
"Molly Harper had a stroke two days ago. She's in the hospital. I called the other number she'd given me and spoke to the director at the senior center. She said the prognosis is not good."
"Oh, dear. I'm sorry about that, but now I really don't understand why you're in San Francisco. Why don't you take a plane down the coast and spend the week with me?"
Olivia hated to quench the hopeful note in her mom's voice. "I need to follow up with some of the other women. I'm actually sitting in my car in the parking lot outside the senior center. They're having a birthday party today for Eleanor Callaway, one of Molly's best friends. Eleanor was mentioned in Molly's letter as someone I needed to speak to. I figured since I was already in San Francisco, I might as well meet the other women in Molly's group."
"So meet them and then come home. By the way, I ran into Jeff Lawson the other day. He's working as an attorney in his dad's law office now and he's single. He asked about you."
Olivia smiled. Her mom was convinced that the only way she was going to get her daughter back to San Diego was if Olivia came home and fell in love with someone who lived there. She was constantly mentioning old boyfriends or someone's gorgeous son who still happened to be single. Jeff Lawson fell into the old boyfriend category. She'd dated him for six months when she was a sophomore in high school, and all she really remembered about him was that he liked to talk about himself—a lot.
"He's handsome and he has a good job," Elaine continued. "You should definitely reconnect when you come back here."
"Mom, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. Right now I'm just looking for a good subject for a book."
"Well, Jeff might know someone interesting. He's very well connected in the community down here."
"I'm sure he is, but we can talk about him some other time. I need to go."
"Fine, go, and as soon as you realize there's no fantastic story to be discovered, then come home and spend a few days with me. It's been too long since we actually got to see each other in person, and I miss you, Liv."
"I miss you, too, Mom."
"And I worry about you. I know you want a career, but I don't want you to shut yourself off from the rest of life and miss out on the fun stuff."
"I'm not exactly over the hill," she protested. "I'm only twenty-six. I have time for work and fun."
"I know you're not old, but you are cynical, Olivia. It started when your dad died, and it seems to get worse every year."
Her mom wasn't completely wrong about that, but her cynicism wasn't a topic she wanted to get into right now. "Mom, I have to go."
"Just promise me you'll keep your heart open. There's nothing better than a love that makes your heart pound, and your palms sweat and sends little chills up and down your spine."
"I promise," she said, not really because she meant it, but because she wanted to get her mother off the phone. She didn't understand how her mom could still be a romantic after the tragedy of her own love affair, but somehow she was. "I'll call you later."
"All right. Love you, honey."
"Love you, too."
As she ended the call and slipped her phone into her purse, her gaze fell on the lavender-scented purple envelope lying on the seat.
She picked it up, reminded again that the piece of paper inside was the first letter she'd received by snail mail in—she couldn't remember when. The penmanship was beautiful, the sign of a time gone by, and the words were written with the kind of formality that couldn't be found in an email.
The letter from Molly Harper had been forwarded around the world for almost three weeks by Philip's personal assistant as Olivia accompanied him on a European press tour for the release of his new biography on Carlton Hughes. Hughes was a man who'd entertained the world as an actor and then risen through state politics to national office, eventually serving as the U.S. Secretary of State for over a decade.
Mrs. Harper's letter had finally reached her at her final stop in London. While Philip had been hosting a party in his penthouse suite, she'd been feeling a little like Cinderella, working on her notes in her small room on a much lower floor. She'd tried not to think about the fabulous party she was missing or all the great lines from the book that Philip would be taking credit for. She'd been hired to do a job, and she would do it, until she could find something better or something of her own. She'd opened Molly's letter thinking it was some type of fan mail to be passed on to Philip.
However, the letter hadn't been addressed to Philip, but to her.
She read it again now, even though she'd already committed most of the words to memory.
Dear Miss Bennett
:
I'm seventy-seven years old, and I grew up in a generation where women were supposed to be silent, where the men did the talking for them, but in my life I have met many women who amazed me with their courage in the face of enormous odds. One of them I consider to be not only my best friend but also my savior. Her name is Eleanor Callaway. We met forty years ago, and we were part of a very special theater group.
Now you may not think a theater group is particularly interesting, but I can assure you that it was not an ordinary group. We did something that was pretty shocking and amazing. Sometimes I can hardly believe what we accomplished without getting caught.
It's been a long time, and for years we kept our secrets to protect not only ourselves but others—many others. But we are getting older, and our stories will die with us unless we find someone to write them down, someone with integrity and bravery, a woman who is not afraid to speak up for those who cannot.
We need you, Miss Bennett!
We've read about your work and we believe you are the right person to help us. It's a lot to ask. You're a young woman with a busy job, and you're probably not interested in talking to a bunch of old ladies, but I promise that you won't regret the trip.
There are moments in life when we're each faced with a decision. Sometimes we don't realize the full consequence of that decision until many years later. I should have told my story years ago, but I was too afraid. I am hoping you will have the courage that I did not have.
If you can spare a few days of your time, please come to San Francisco and speak to us. We will be forever in your debt.
Yours sincerely,
Molly Harper
Olivia set the paper down and stared out at the ocean, wondering why Molly's words always seemed to send a shiver down her spine. Certain phrases jumped out of the letter:
We did something that was pretty shocking and amazing. Sometimes I can hardly believe what we accomplished without getting caught.
What on earth had the women done?
And there was something about the way Molly said
we need you, Miss Bennett
that made her wonder again just how Molly had found her in the first place.
Molly had referenced her work, but she was only listed in the acknowledgments of Philip's book as someone who had helped Philip with his research, so why hadn't Molly written to Philip or another well-known writer? Why her?
The question ran around in her mind, but she wasn't going to find the answer sitting in her rental car. She was here. She might as well go inside and hear what the women had to say.
When she entered the senior center a few minutes later, she was both surprised and happy to see the brightly colored lobby. She hadn't known what to expect, but this was not some dreary, dismal old folks home, at least the lobby wasn't. There was no one at the reception desk, so she moved to the double doors on her left, seeing balloons and streamers.
She paused in the doorway, noting a buffet table in the corner that was laden with an enormous punch bowl as well as a large cake, platters of finger sandwiches and bowls of chips. An enormous sign covered one wall with the words:
Happy Birthday Eleanor
.
The large airy room with lots of windows was warm and inviting. There were several card tables in one area and then four large couches around a circular coffee table at the far end of the room. There were a half dozen people sitting on the couches, two men and four women, all of whom appeared to be in their seventies or eighties. At the center of attention was a pretty white-haired, blue-eyed woman wearing a bright red dress with a pair of matching red heels. She laughed at something someone said, and the whole room seemed to follow her lead.
The man sitting next to her had black hair peppered with gray, light blue eyes and a ruddy, weathered complexion. He was dressed far more conservatively in black slacks and a gray tweed sports coat over a white shirt. His handsome features would have made him quite the attractive man in his day, Olivia thought. He had his hand on the woman's thigh in a loving, somewhat protective gesture. He obviously cared a great deal about her.
She was about to go over and introduce herself to the group when a woman came up next to her.
"You must be Miss Bennett," she said. "I'm Nancy Palmer."
The tall, middle-aged, dark-haired woman was the one she'd spoken to on the phone the day before.
"It's nice to meet you," Olivia said.
"You, too." Nancy gave her an approving smile. "I am so glad you decided to come. Molly and the other women have been talking about your possible visit for weeks."