The daughter they never knew

When Miles Jenkins sees the graceful young figure skater on TV, he can’t believe how much she resembles Lark McGee, the girl he dated briefly in college. Could this aspiring star be the child Lark gave up for adoption eighteen years ago? He has to find out.

Locating Lark ignites conflicting emotions in Miles—including regrets for what might have been and romantic feelings that take the two single parents by surprise. As they prepare to meet their daughter, this deeper connection between the two just might be the chance at love they never got.

Miles smiled softly. “Does it seem too weird? Like something that we thought couldn’t happen between us? Maybe even shouldn’t happen?”

Lark raised her hands in a gesture of confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe a little too magical. I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“Wonder why we so easily went our separate ways years ago?”

She jerked her head back in surprise.

“We were kids, Lark,” he explained. “I’m not that guy anymore. And yes, my feelings for you have come as a shock. That’s why I want more evenings like this.”

She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You’re right. When we met so many weeks ago, I never imagined we’d become close again. And about Perrie Lynn—”

“No matter what ultimately happens between us,” he said, “from now on, we’re united when it comes to our daughter.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Two Moon Bay, Wisconsin, and thanks for choosing Girl in the Spotlight. I’m thrilled that it’s my debut book for the Harlequin Heartwarming series.

Several years ago, I told a friend about an adoption story that had been nagging—haunting—me for years. Hardly surprised, my friend teased me with the question “Isn’t adoption an important theme in your family’s history?” Yes, that’s true, and as a theme it goes back a couple of generations on both sides of my family. The first article I ever sold was about the joys of becoming a mother in two ways, first through pregnancy and then through adoption. As the years passed and my children grew up, I was privileged to cross paths with several women who wanted nothing more than to one day be reunited with the child who, for complex reasons, they’d placed for adoption.

I hope you enjoy the path Lark and Miles take to learn the identity of their child, and in the process also discover what drives this young girl’s life. As someone who yearns for happy endings, it was deeply satisfying to listen to Lark and Miles “tell me” how they rediscovered each other.

Two Moon Bay is a fictional place, but bears close resemblance to many small towns not far from my current home, Green Bay, Wisconsin. I grew up in Chicago, so I completely understand the lure of Lake Michigan and I enjoy characters that fall under its spell.

To happy endings,

Virginia McCullough

Girl in the Spotlight

Virginia McCullough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After a childhood spent on Chicago’s sandy beaches, VIRGINIA McCULLOUGH moved to a rocky island in Maine, where she began writing magazine articles. She soon turned to coauthoring and ghostwriting nonfiction books, and eventually began listening to the fictional characters whispering in her ear. Today, when not writing stories, Virginia likes to wander the world.

To contact the author, please visit www.virginiamccullough.com, or find her on Twitter, @vemccullough, and Facebook, www.Facebook.com/virginia.mccullough.7.

This book is for all whose lives have been touched by the heartaches and joys inherent in the adoption experience.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

WITH HIS PHONE next to him on the couch and out of his little girl’s sight, Miles Jenkins scrolled through the three new texts. The first was from the meeting planner organizing a management conference in Denver, where Miles was booked to present a seminar in late January. That fell into the category of important, but not urgent. Exactly like the second and third, both sent by a speakers bureau he regularly worked with. Nothing he needed to interrupt his Sunday afternoon to handle.

Brooke tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you see that girl fall down? She won’t get a medal now.”

“Sure, honey, I saw it.” Sort of. Out of the corner of his eye he’d caught a glimpse of the skater on the TV screen. “So, one spill on the ice means she won’t get a medal?”

Brooke answered with a solemn nod. “Well, that’s not always true, but this time it knocked her right out of the competition.”

Miles smiled to himself. From the moment they’d begun watching, his eight-year-old had taken on the role of a professional commentator. Without skipping a beat Brooke predicted who among this group of young women would emerge as medal winners and who’d likely go home empty-handed.

“You know so much about the sport you could be one of those experts on TV.”

Brooke responded with an exaggerated roll of her brown eyes. When had she learned to do that?

“I mean it,” he said, feigning a defensive tone. “You’ve taught me more about skating in the last couple of hours than I’ve learned in my entire life, all thirty-nine years of it.” Or ever cared to know, but that was beside the point.

Andi had mentioned their daughter’s interest in skating had quickly moved from casual to intense, leaving Brooke completely enamored with these real-life princesses performing impossible feats in their glittery costumes. Andi encouraged the interest, too. These self-disciplined girls trained every day and worked hard to compete, she pointed out. They weren’t like the out-of-control young celebrities who ended up as headlines on too many glossy magazine covers for all the wrong reasons.

His former wife had also advised against making plans to see a movie with Brooke on Sunday afternoon. “It’s the Grand Circuit final,” she’d said. “The last event of this year’s figure-skating competitive season. Brooke’s been looking forward to it all week. It’s a big deal, a step on the way to determining who gets on the International Figure Skating Championship team.” She’d paused and then laughed. “Listen to me. You’d think I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t need to explain the ins and outs. Our skating enthusiast will fill you in. Every last detail.”

Andi was right. Brooke had talked about almost nothing else but her favorite figure skaters from the moment he’d picked her up on Saturday morning. It seemed that Mamie, his little girl’s babysitter, had created a fan.

“You could take skating lessons yourself,” he said. “Would you like that?”

Brooke shook her head. “I already told Mom I want to keep playing soccer. And basketball is fun, too.”

“Okay, honey. You let us know if you change your mind.”

Photographs on the wall on either side of the TV showed Brooke in her soccer uniform, her auburn hair in two pigtails. He agreed with Andi, who reminded him—often—about research showing that little girls who were involved in sports developed healthy self-esteem. They were less likely to fall in with a bad crowd and do all the risky things that left parents so terrified they could barely breathe.

“I will.” Brooke scooped up a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. Before putting it in her mouth, she added, “But don’t forget about the horse, Daddy. I’ve already picked out her name.”

“Magic,” he said, nodding. “I remember.”

“Won’t be long now.”

“I know, less than four years.”

“Three years and five months...to be exact.”

He suppressed a laugh, not wanting her to think he’d ever make light of her longing for a horse. Not long ago, Andi had brought up the horse once again, as if warning him to be prepared. Andi also believed girls who loved horses would be less likely to spend time with boys who’d divert them from their goals. When she’d put it like that, was she subtly reminding him that he’d been a boy—or rather, a young man—who’d once been responsible for interrupting a girl’s goals?

As much as he agreed with his ex-wife on almost all their joint parenting issues, Miles thought she was overly concerned about Brooke being a child of divorce. Andi regularly mentioned the emotional risks of divorce and the frightening specter of teenage girls wandering aimlessly through adolescence.

Brooke bounced on the cushion next to him. “Only one more skater to go before Perrie Lynn, Daddy.”

“Perrie who? One of your favorites?” He squeezed Brooke’s hand to show he was only teasing. Whatever Andi feared might happen in the future, their little girl was 100 percent safe and happy in this moment.

“Her whole name is Perrie Lynn Olson.”

He knew that, of course. Brooke had started his education about skating by extolling Perrie Lynn. Still, although he enjoyed these exchanges with his little girl, sometimes he found himself listening with only one ear and much of what she said didn’t settle into his memory bank. “And what makes her a special skater?”

Brooke gestured toward the TV with both hands for emphasis. “She’s sort of new. She got to go to the Grand Circuit final because she won two big competitions. Mamie said she surprised everyone in the skating world.”

Miles grinned at the lingo she’d picked up from Mamie and the commentators. The next skater was a young Canadian woman named Misty, who made a quick trip around the rink in her blue sequined costume. Even her short blond hair sparkled.

No wonder little girls thought these athletes were spinning, jumping princesses. For the next four minutes, the commentators, Katie and Allen, former champions themselves, counted triple jumps and what looked like impossible spins, explaining each move. Allen groaned over two jumps that went awry and caused Misty to, as he put it, lose the landing. Down she went. Misty recovered, though, and flashed a big smile for the audience when she thrust one arm high in the air for her dramatic finish. The smile disappeared almost immediately, replaced with a glum expression as she skated off the ice and into the open arms of her coach.

Miles picked up the remote and muted the sound when the commercials started.

“She was okay,” Brooke said, “but not as good as Perrie Lynn’s going to be.”

Miles hoped Perrie Lynn didn’t take a spill and break the spell Brooke had created around the young skater.

The ads over, he got the sound back on in time to listen to Katie and the other commentators discuss Misty’s scores, which they all agreed left plenty of room for Perrie Lynn to jump ahead.

“Pay attention, Daddy. Here she comes.” Brooke clapped her hands in anticipation.

The dark-haired girl skated onto the ice to rising applause and encouraging cheers. She took her time taking a turn around the periphery of the rink.

“Every detail is attended to,” Katie pointed out, “and wow, doesn’t she look elegant in her deep red costume?”

“Such a big moment for her,” Charlie, the network announcer, added. “It was unexpected, but so welcome.”

Katie, Allen and Charlie kept up their patter about the recent changes in Perrie Lynn’s life, and why she and her mother had moved from Minnesota to Michigan to train with a new coach.

Brooke lifted her shoulders in a happy shrug. “Look at how pretty she looks, Daddy. Her dress sparkles all over.”

“It sure does.” Even from the long camera angle, Miles could see the girl was lovely, with olive skin and black hair, much like his own, features he’d inherited from his Italian mother and grandmother.

Miles was impressed as the skater slowed down and glided on one skate to the center of the ice, then stopped abruptly. In one flowing move, she positioned her legs and arms, and finally lifted her chin to signal her readiness to begin. The girl knows how to work a crowd.

Bemused, Miles saw in the young skater the qualities of some of his best colleagues in the professional speaking business. They captured the audience before uttering the first word. Perrie Lynn would start her routine with the entire arena and TV audience already focused on her.

Miles glanced at Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged but had leaned forward, as she rested her arms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the screen. When Perrie Lynn began skating backward and picked up speed, Katie described the move and built anticipation for the first jump. The confident young skater’s lift off the ice appeared effortless.

“Wow,” Allen said, “she opened with a perfect triple flip.”

“She got so high in the air, Daddy.”

“She sure did,” he said, patting Brooke’s hand.

Another jump followed, and then another and another.

“A triple-triple combination, Daddy,” Brooke said sagely. “Those are hard.”

“I bet they are.”

More jumps and spins, and a long, graceful glide across the ice followed. To Miles’s unschooled eyes it was like watching ballet dancing.

“She has the whole package, all right, athleticism and artistry,” Katie remarked. “And now she’s finishing with her final set of spins. Fantastic!”

Brooke clapped her hands over her head. “Yay! I think she won a medal, Daddy. She was that good.”

Miles hoped Brooke wouldn’t be disappointed, although he’d heard one of the announcers predict at least a bronze and possibly a silver medal for the girl, who was so new on the international skating scene. In the grand scheme of expectations, a medal for Perrie Lynn would mean an upset and a huge surprise. Others had come to the competition with far more experience.

Perrie Lynn completed what looked like a spectacular spin and came to a sudden stop, then dramatically bent backward, and swept her arms to the side before slowly lowering them and clasping her hands behind her. She held the pose, looking like a statue. Extending her moment, and exploiting the mood, Miles thought. He stared at the screen as the camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of her face.

A brilliant, triumphant smile. His stomach rolled over. A familiar prominent widow’s peak. A heart-shaped face.

“See, Daddy,” Brooke said, bouncing on the couch, “people are clapping and clapping because her skating makes everyone feel happy.”

Brooke was right. Perrie Lynn skated off the ice to thunderous applause and was immediately enveloped in her coach’s arms. Suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by a commercial for potato chips. His mouth dry, Miles ran his tongue over his lips and cleared his throat. “So, what happens now, honey?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.

“She has to wait for the scores.” Brooke waved her crossed fingers high in the air. “But she was the next-to-the-last skater. Goody, goody, goody. I bet she gets a medal!”

“And I bet you’re right.” He curled his fingers into a tight fist, then used his knuckle to wipe away beads of sweat above his upper lip. His reaction was ridiculous. Olive skin, a widow’s peak. Countless young women would fit that description.

Miles exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Brooke’s happy chatter about Perrie Lynn and medals. The commercials over, the commentators picked up their conversation about the surprising turn in the competition.

“So much excitement for such a young woman,” Charlie observed, “and on her birthday, no less. She turns eighteen today.”

Adrenaline shot through him, putting every cell on alert. Today. The minute he’d opened his eyes that morning, he’d remembered this day. The December date sat more or less dormant in his mind the rest of the year, but memories came alive on what was usually a cold, often snowy day. He’d been glad this was his weekend with Brooke, relieved to have something to serve as the distraction he always needed when this day rolled around.

The camera focused on Perrie Lynn’s parents seated in the audience. More energy zipped through his body and sent his heart thumping hard. Who were those fair-haired people? They didn’t look much like Perrie Lynn.

He swallowed hard as he struggled to focus on Allen’s comments about the significance of Perrie Lynn’s coaching change. “She also chose a new choreographer,” Allen said. “These shifts can make a big difference, but they meant Perrie Lynn and her mother had to leave her dad in Minnesota so she could train with her new coach in Michigan.”

“But the decision appears to have paid off,” Charlie added.

“Mamie said the coach is really famous,” Brooke said.

Miles nodded. “So it seems.”

“She’s adopted,” Brooke said. “Mamie told me.”

“Who’s adopted, honey?” His voice cracked. “Perrie Lynn?”

Brooke nodded. “Mamie said her parents got her when she was really tiny. Maybe only a couple of days old.”

He swiped his knuckle across his upper lip again. “Really?”

“And it’s not like a secret or anything. Maybe ’cuz she doesn’t look like her mom and dad.”

“I see.” He rubbed his chest, as if sending a signal to his heart to slow down.

The camera zoomed closer to Perrie Lynn sitting on the bench next to her coach. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The wide smile that took over her face, her olive skin and the large dark eyes. And the one-of-a-kind widow’s peak. Like Lark. The birthday. Minnesota. It all added up.

Suddenly the audience roared as the scores came up. Perrie Lynn got to her feet and thrust her arms over her head to wave to the crowd. He heard the commentators talk about her “personal best,” and “having a shot at the International Figure Skating Championship.” One warned she had to do well at the upcoming North American Figure Skating Competition.

“Did they just say Perrie Lynn could go to the Internationals?” he asked Brooke.

“I guess so. Looks like she won the bronze. That’s a big deal, because no one expected it. Woo-hoo!” Brooke laughed. “Mamie is probably jumping up and down right now.”

Wild speculation whirled through his head, spiraled down through his body and left him weak. Calm down. It’s a coincidence. Happenstance.

Brooke sighed. “I can’t wait for the NorAms.”

“And when does that happen?” He forced the question through his nearly closed throat.

Brooke frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“Want me to look it up?” Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed his phone.

Brooke leaned over his shoulder and watched him search for North American Figure Skating Competition.

“See, it came right up. It’s in January. Let’s see when the Internationals start.”

“Mamie said February,” Brooke said.

“Right you are.” He focused on the screen, fighting the urge to search for Lark online. He’d wait until he was alone, but once he found her, he’d contact her immediately. She’d either take him seriously or brush off the whole thing. He wouldn’t know until he tried. Or maybe this was crazy. These little details could add up to exactly zero.

With the skating program coming to a close, the network had reporters backstage for interviews. When the camera focused on Perrie Lynn, she waved with both hands, her face still showing the thrill of a winner. The curve of her mouth set in a smile sent a pleasant shiver through him. In that moment of happiness, she might have been Lark.

His phone chimed, alerting him to a new text. He glanced at the screen. “It’s your mom. She just turned into the complex.”

With Brooke following, he got up and crossed the room, then lifted her coat off the hook next to the front door. “Here, put your jacket on and go out to the car. I’ll get the rest of your things.”

He hurried to Brooke’s room and stuffed her clothes into her pack. The hairbrush and pajamas stayed at his house. Only the clothes and her favorite doll-of-the-moment went back and forth, along with the library books he grabbed off the nightstand. With his arms full, he headed down the hall and out the front door to the driveway.

“Sorry,” he said to Andi when she buzzed down the passenger window. “We got involved in figure skating.” Brooke pulled her backpack through the open window and put it between her knees, then rested the pile of books in her lap.

“No problem,” Andi said pleasantly. “We have plenty of time to get to the dinner.”

“You give your parents my best.”

When he had Brooke for a weekend, which wasn’t as often as he’d like because of his work schedule, Miles usually kept her until Monday morning, when he dropped her off at school. But this was a special occasion, a retirement dinner for Andi’s dad. Miles was okay with letting Brooke go back to her mother early because he harbored no negativity toward his former in-laws. They’d been nothing but kind, had welcomed him into the family and then expressed sadness when he left it four years later, shortly after Brooke’s second birthday.

Six months after that, Andi had impulsively married some guy named Roger, a less than blissful union lasting only a few months. That fiasco caused Miles’s stock to rise in his ex-in-laws’ eyes. They gave him credit for staying close to Brooke, especially during what turned out to be Andi’s tumultuous second divorce.

He squeezed Brooke’s arm through the window before giving the roof of the car a quick pat. After Andi raised the window and pulled away, he watched until the car disappeared around the next corner onto the winding road that led out of the complex. When he turned to go back up the walk to his town house, he waved to Edie and Christopher, his elderly neighbors two units down. They were sitting by their patio doors, as they did most days, acting like unpaid security guards as they chronicled the comings and goings of the residents of Bay Trails, the multiunit condo development he’d moved into when he and Andi separated.

As for Edie and Christopher, he’d long harbored the feeling they didn’t wholeheartedly approve of him, or maybe they found all single dads suspicious. On the other hand, they assured him they kept an eye on his unit during his frequent absences and were unfailingly pleasant to Brooke. That’s all that mattered.

Back inside, he wandered into Brooke’s room, straightening up the stuffed animals and making the bed, but all the while images of Perrie Lynn spinning like a magical top raced through his mind. He had a hunch, a strong one. But what to do? Squash it, forget it? Not a chance.

Lark McGee passed through his mind whenever he wondered about the baby—that’s what he used to say, the baby. But as the years passed, he’d rephrased that. Whoever the baby had become, wherever she lived and whatever she was doing that very minute, she was their girl, their child. He always thought about Lark herself on their child’s birthday. Today.

Unless she’d moved, Lark likely wasn’t far away. He knew a few of the basics. He and Lark had both eventually come home from college and settled in northeast Wisconsin. They’d each married and started their own families. He didn’t know the state of her marriage. Maybe she’d had better luck with love than he had. Miles knew she’d married because he’d run into her once about five years back, an awkward encounter consisting of three minutes of superficial small talk. She’d been coming out of a mall in Green Bay as he was heading into it. She’d introduced the boy with her as her son. Miles remembered little about him, other than noting he was older than his Brooke and had inherited Lark’s light brown hair. Miles had greeted the boy, who returned a shy smile. He’d then explained he was on the hunt for a present for Brooke’s third birthday.

Her eyes had darkened, but just for a second. “How nice,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m happy for you.”

Miles had almost blurted that he was divorced, but he’d stopped himself in time. Lark wouldn’t have taken the slightest interest in his marriage, a sad tale of a mismatch that had revealed itself all too quickly and hadn’t changed with Brooke’s arrival.

He and Lark had limited their conversation to an exchange of basics, including the fact that she lived with her husband in Two Moon Bay, a lakeside town not too far from his town house in Green Bay. He in turn said he had a condo out near the airport and the botanical garden. When they’d run out of trivial details to exchange, their conversation had come to an excruciating halt. They’d both laughed nervously, wished each other well and gone on about their business.

Miles winced as he remembered that encounter. He wandered into the kitchen, where his laptop sat open on the table. He typed Lark McGee into the search box. It was the only name he had for her. If she’d changed it when she married, he’d have to find some other way to reach her.

He breathed deeply to calm the shaky waves of emotion that had been crashing over him from the instant he’d seen a close-up of Perrie Lynn. Her coloring and nearly black hair. His skin, his hair. Not particularly unique, he reminded himself. But the wide smile, the widow’s peak? Lark’s distinctive features.

Okay, he’d concede the chances were good the skater’s physical resemblance and the fact of her adoption were coincidences. But on national TV he’d heard three commentators wish Perrie Lynn a happy birthday. Her eighteenth birthday.

For the first time in his memory, he was glad Brooke wasn’t with him on Sunday night. He usually hated to see her leave even one minute early. He especially enjoyed a companionable ride to her school on Monday morning. That was true, even if Brooke’s accusations that he wasn’t paying attention to some of her meandering conversations were justified. He had to watch it. His little girl was getting old enough to notice that in these days of texting and emails, he was at least half-distracted more often than he cared to admit.

His search yielded pages of citations for Lark, including her website as the first item. She used her own name, professionally, anyway. He clicked on the link and a second later, there she was. He grinned at the small photo on her home page. He’d always thought of her as pretty in a distinctive way, defined by the prominent widow’s peak at the top of a heart-shaped face. Her smile appealed, too, maybe because it looked like the prelude to a hearty laugh. Lark’s hair hadn’t changed and, of course, neither had her clear blue eyes.

Miles drew in a breath. Wow. If Perrie Lynn really was their daughter, the mix of their features had made her an unusual beauty, like Lark.

The website filled in a few impressive facts about what Lark had done with her life. Like him, she worked for herself. He hadn’t known Lark for very long, but she’d talked of becoming a writer, and she’d accomplished that goal. She was a health and parenting journalist, and an impressive list of her latest published articles appeared on the right side of the screen.

The short bio told him she still lived in Two Moon Bay. He knew that town, if only because it was usually noted as one of northeast Wisconsin’s most charming among the collection of quaint small towns on Lake Michigan. It was about an hour away from where he lived on the far west side of Green Bay. But that was enough distance to explain why he and Lark hadn’t crossed paths more than once in all these years. Since Brooke spent so much time with Andi’s family at their cottage on a small lake up in northern Wisconsin, Miles rarely took his daughter to the Lake Michigan shore.

Miles clicked on the “About” page, quickly scanning the longer bio that reinforced his first impression that Lark had done herself proud. She’d even coauthored three books with doctors. He’d fulfilled his dream when he’d found his niche as a consultant and speaker specializing in collaboration and team building, and now he took satisfaction in knowing Lark had also made her dream come true. She deserved her success. He was certain of that.

He mulled over his options. He could forget the whole thing and simply write off the afternoon as a string of coincidences. He scoffed out loud. Out of the question. Not when he couldn’t get his mind off the dazzling girl who had turned eighteen that very day. Was there any possibility Lark would have forgotten their daughter’s birthday? Somehow, he didn’t think so.

He scanned the bio again. It said nothing about a husband, but he’d need to tread carefully. She could be married and have chosen not to put that detail in her bio. He noted she’d written many articles about kids’ health issues and tied them to parenting, so mentioning a son in her bio made sense.

Deciding to keep it simple, Miles used the email address on the website and typed in his cell number and a message: Need to talk, please call tonight.

CHAPTER TWO

LARK SIPPED HER decaf coffee, hoping the waiter would come by to top off her cup. Pretending to reach into her handbag that sat on the floor, she checked her wristwatch. Only 7:45 p.m. This dinner was crawling by. She’d give it another thirty minutes, and then she could politely make her exit.

Why had she said yes to this fix-up in the first place? To distract herself? She’d never forgotten the significance of the date, so what made her think this year would be different? But she’d behaved as if packing her schedule would allow the day to pass unnoticed. Lark had started the morning with brunch with half a dozen women friends from her book club, followed by Christmas shopping in a nearby town. That should have been sufficient to keep her distracted. Of course, it could have been fifty women wandering the streets of Paris and her mind still would have drifted into the past. But she’d known one thing for sure—this could well be the year she’d finally disclose what she’d kept hidden in her heart for so long.

Lark had always thought it curious that no one could look at her and detect the slightest clue about her secrets or regrets or her deepest hopes. In every external way she’d lived out the adoption cliché. She’d gone on with her life. But every year, as November faded into the flurry of December and the holidays, the memory of the tiny newborn baby she’d held in her arms, oh, so briefly, rippled beneath the rhythm of each day, strengthening and intensifying as the date came closer. The rest of the year, Lark managed to tuck that period of her life away. Instead of dominating her days, it was more like a low hum in the background, not intrusive or disruptive, but never completely vanishing, either.

“Lark is a big movie fan,” Dawn said, casting a pointed look her way.

Hearing her name gave her a jolt and forced her to refocus. She shifted in her chair and said, “I sure am.”

“But I bet you and Dawn only like chick flicks.” Bruce, Lark’s blind date, mocked a reproachful tone.

“I plead guilty.” Lark grinned. “Bring on a screen filled with women talking about life.”

The loudest groan came from Dawn’s boyfriend, Chip, whose youthful looks matched his nickname. Real name, Henry. Lark found it odd, even a little off-putting, that he’d never outgrown being called Chip.

“I guess that means you’ll pass on the latest zombie takeover movie,” Bruce teased.

“We’ll both take a pass, thank you,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes.

Lark could find nothing wrong with Bruce, an affable fortyish bachelor looking to settle down. At long last, Dawn claimed. Too bad he wasn’t romantically appealing—to Lark, anyway.

Guilt alone forced her back into the conversation. Filled with optimism about introducing Lark to Bruce, Dawn had done everything a best friend could to make this evening a success.

Lark sent Dawn a reassuring smile. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that on this particular evening she couldn’t quiet her inner turmoil and be 100 percent present at the table. She vowed to be pleasant, even enthusiastic, until she could duck out. Thankfully, she had her own car, so there’d be no awkward moments at the door to contend with.

“How long have you two been friends?” Bruce asked, pointing back and forth between Dawn and Lark.

“Not all that long, really,” Dawn responded. “Three years or so. We bonded over the snack committee for our sons’ basketball team.”

“Dawn and I noted that it was left to the mothers to figure out the snacks on game days.” Lark knew she sounded resentful, but so what? Way too many of these school sports rituals fell to the moms to handle, as if the dads couldn’t manage to pick up boxes of granola bars on their way to the games.

Dawn playfully bumped her shoulder against Chip’s. “We actually solidified our friendship over the plan we hatched to get the kids’ dads more involved.”

“Did it work?” Bruce asked.

“Not really,” Lark said, chuckling, “but we planted a seed, or so we like to think.”

This small talk was getting old. As close as Lark was to Dawn, she’d never for one minute considered confiding details about certain parts of her past. Lark could talk freely and without embarrassment about her ill-fated marriage and, paradoxically, her confidence-building divorce. She had no trouble bragging about her son, or grousing about her sometimes troublesome parents, but she’d become completely resigned to silence about one of the most significant—and wrenching—events of her life.

Lark was content to listen as Dawn switched topics. “Lark and I have our best times during our weekly coffee dates, where we brainstorm about our businesses. We’ve both worked for ourselves for years, but it can be isolating, too, especially for Lark. She spends so much time hunched over her laptop.”

“Ah, yes,” Lark said, putting the back of her hand on her forehead, “the loneliness of the writer in her garret. Seriously, though, I do have my nose buried in research much of the time. My regular trips to the Bean Grinder with Dawn provide the best breaks.”

“It sounds interesting, what you do,” Chip said. “Were you a science major in school?”

“No. Typical English major, specifically creative writing and literature. Not the most practical degree, but rewarding in other ways.”

“Seems so,” Bruce said, smiling in a genuinely admiring way.

By the time they’d finished their coffee, Lark’s spirits had lifted. They’d passed a pleasant hour chatting about Dawn’s latest PR client, a new fitness center and Lark’s recent series of articles about learning disabilities for a parenting magazine. Chip and Bruce contributed stories about office politics in the accounting department of the energy consortium they worked for.

The stilted conversation that defined the atmosphere over dinner had subtly given way to an amicable camaraderie as they topped off the evening with blueberry pie and coffee. By the time they said good-night in front of the restaurant, Lark was sincere in telling Bruce she’d enjoy seeing him again. Perhaps for dinner one night soon.

And for almost one whole hour, she’d pushed the memories into the storage box in her mind. She arrived home and let herself into her house, grateful that Evan was with his dad for the weekend. After shedding her coat and boots, she filled the kettle to make herb tea. Then she sat at her table to check her phone, starting with the texts. Nothing urgent. Mom seeing if they could meet for lunch at the Half Moon Café soon, maybe on her day off from the gift shop in town, where she’d recently been promoted to assistant manager. Lark mentally pictured her day planner. She could probably manage time for lunch with her mother. She hadn’t seen her in quite a while.

A text from Dawn. A thumbs-up on their dinner with Chip and Bruce. Lark grinned. It had taken her friend less than half an hour to send a message about their double date.

She thumbed quickly through unimportant emails, mostly from journals and health newsletters. The kettle began its boiling-point hum at the instant the familiar name popped up on her screen. She quickly turned off the burner to stop the rising volume. A strong buzz traveled through her chest and down her arms to the tips of her fingers. Miles Jenkins. Not letting go of her phone, she used her other hand to go through the motion of pouring water over a bag of ginger tea. She let it sit on the counter to steep and went back to the table and stared at her phone.

Miles had never tried to contact her before. Why now? On this day. Could it be he wanted to talk to her for no other reason than to acknowledge this landmark eighteenth birthday? This was the day their daughter would leave childhood behind. Legally, anyway.

Years ago, Lark had been clear about not wanting to be in touch with Miles. But that was way in the past. Now he’d left his phone number. Same area code as hers, so he wasn’t far away, and he wanted to talk that very night.

Jittery nerves expanded inside her. Before she could take the next deep breath she sat at the table and held her head in her hands, conscious of the rapid beating of her heart as panic moved up from her solar plexus and filled her chest. This birthday meant so much to her, but Miles hadn’t figured into her thoughts. Not at all. He’d played no part in the hopes she harbored over what could—would—happen in the years to come, now that their little girl had turned eighteen. She’d seen Miles only once since their final meeting after giving up their baby, and their stilted conversation was painful to recall.

Odd, though, as much as she’d tried to suppress them, her memories of Miles weren’t all bad. When her thoughts drifted back to that cold December day in a hospital in Minnesota, Miles’s soft dark eyes appeared in her mind. In reality, he’d been her only comfort. But she’d been so wrapped up in herself, she hadn’t given much thought to his emotions. Whatever he’d been feeling he kept to himself and, instead, concentrated on her.

She and Miles had shared an important—and irreversible—decision. They’d given up their baby. Since neither had told anyone about her pregnancy, they’d acted entirely in secret. She didn’t know whom he’d confided in over the subsequent years, but she’d never spoken one word about the infant who’d come into the world already sporting thick dark hair and perfect hands. She’d counted the fingers and toes, a distraction, she later realized, from the moment she’d allowed the nurse to carry her baby away.

Her arms empty, Lark had gone limp, dead weight falling back against Miles. He’d half carried her to a chair, holding her until she’d pulled away.

His support in the moment aside, Lark also cynically assumed what Miles felt was relief—deep, profound relief. He’d been free and unencumbered as he headed back to Stevens Point to finish his senior year at the University of Wisconsin. Determined to keep her secret from the start, Lark had already transferred to a small private college in Minnesota early that fall. She’d known no one when she arrived and deliberately had made few connections.

She’d never blamed Miles for what happened, not for a minute. He had offered to help her with the baby if she decided to keep her. Sure, he’d said the right words, but Lark knew that’s all they were. No emotion, no conviction, propped them up and gave them a spine. He’d made gestures, but hadn’t tried to persuade her to make a different choice.

“Why don’t you go home, Lark?” he’d asked many times, genuinely confused about her refusal to confide in her mother.

“Impossible,” she’d insisted. “My parents will be fighting each other in court for months to come.” On the day she was with Miles in that hospital room in Minnesota, her parents were in Wisconsin locked in a struggle over custody of her younger brother, who was constantly acting out. Her dad had wanted to ship off Dennis to military school, but her mother refused, so the fight went on and on. Simply making it through Christmas at home would be a miracle.

She and Miles had covered that ground before. Lark preferred to keep this chapter of her life completely private, even from her mother. She would put it behind her.

When the hospital released Lark, she and Miles had gone to the shoe box of a studio apartment she’d rented near the campus. She’d spent the previous months studying, working in the library and pretty much keeping to herself as she slogged through the days.

Still weak, she’d settled into bed and watched Miles heat tomato soup on her two-burner stove and crush crackers on top.

“This is the champion of comfort food,” she’d said, feeling her mouth turning up in a smile for the first time since they’d left the hospital.

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. But he hadn’t met her eyes and his mouth was set in a grim slash.

“You should go back to school right away,” she said. “I’ve got to study for my last two finals, anyway.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re really going to take finals.”

“You are, aren’t you?” she shot back, her voice sharp.

“I didn’t just go through what you... I didn’t have a baby. And I’m not driving back to Stevens Point today, or tomorrow. I’m staying here.” He pointed with his chin to the tiny stove. “I’m going to keep heating up soup and when you’re ready I’ll go out for pizza or Chinese food.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t nag me about resting.” She felt surprisingly okay, physically, anyway. She’d been terrified of childbirth, but bringing their baby into the world hadn’t been all that grueling. Lark had prepared herself to face much worse. Even one of the nurses said she’d sailed through it. If she had anything to be grateful for, and at that time it was difficult to count her blessings, she’d been thankful for her strong body.

Over the next day and a half, Miles had kept his word and had seen to it that she ate regularly. He’d made a couple of trips down the street to the Hot Wok, the second time bringing enough egg-drop soup, vegetable shrimp and chicken-fried rice to last through her finals.

Most of the time they avoided talking about what they’d done. When he tried to express regret, she waved him off. They’d been careful, responsible. But they’d realized too late that nothing was completely safe.

“I’m sorry,” she’d finally said, hoping to end the conversation once and for all, “because we never should have let things go that far between us. It’s not like we were in love or anything.” She’d exhaled with a soft groan. “It was all supposed to be casual...you know, fun and games.”

Now, so many years later, Lark ran that conversation through her head. It had ended when she’d convinced him to head back to his apartment in Stevens Point. Then she’d carried out her plans to the letter. She took her finals and passed her classes, and dutifully went home for Christmas, where no one had any inkling that she’d had a baby a couple of weeks earlier. On New Year’s Day, she’d boarded a plane in Green Bay for the first leg of her trip to Dublin, where she’d spent her next semester.

Sitting at her kitchen table on a cold, clear night eighteen years later, she concluded that Miles must be going through some kind of flashback and for some reason wanted to acknowledge the years that had passed. But she wasn’t ready to talk to him. Monday was soon enough to return the call. She rubbed her forehead. She was accustomed to these solo trips into the past and unsure if she could handle a companion walking the same path.

She turned off her kitchen light and carried her mug of tea into the living room, where she stared out the window at the expanse of Lake Michigan visible from her picture window. The sliver of a moon vaguely illuminated the whitecaps dancing erratically across the water’s surface in the strong wind. The scene mirrored her unsettled mood. She couldn’t shake off Miles’s call. Maybe something important had happened. What if he had information about their child? Or, what if he wanted to find their daughter? She let her mind drift to another place. Impossible as it seemed, could their daughter have found him?

She’d never sleep until she talked to him. She went back to the kitchen to retrieve her phone.

* * *

HE WAS GETTING way ahead of himself. Like an observer of his own thoughts, Miles had watched his mind take so many twists and turns he hardly knew how to go back to the starting point. He stared at his phone, desperate to hear it ring. All evening the house had seemed painfully empty. Pushing away from the table—with his phone in his pocket—he wandered to the doorway of Brooke’s room and studied the shelves overflowing with stuffed animals. She had yet to outgrow the desire for them—a dopey-looking whale, a couple of grinning giraffes, a kangaroo with a baby in her pouch and a white horse with a red-and-white-striped ribbon braided in her tail. His little girl had named the horse Magic, the same name Brooke reserved for the real one she longed for.

Brooke’s collection of knickknacks, mostly ceramic and wooden horses, lived in her room at her mother’s house, which she called home. She talked about going to Daddy’s house, as if visiting, but then said she was going home when it was time to leave. That stung a little. But he consoled himself with the knowledge of how lucky he was to be deeply involved in Brooke’s life.

What was Perrie Lynn’s room filled with? Medals? Were those sparkly skating costumes hanging in her closet? What had she been like ten years ago when she was Brooke’s age?

Slow down. You can’t be sure Perrie Lynn is that baby, your little girl. Young woman, really. Odd that the possibility the young skater wasn’t his child sat heavy with him now. Before he’d seen Perrie Lynn earlier that afternoon, thoughts of the child he’d given up had receded more and more over the years as being a good dad to Brooke became priority number one. It was as if he’d put the past behind him once and for all. Now, another voice in his head nagged that he’d betrayed this first child, a stranger.

His phone chimed. Finally. The screen ID confirmed it was Lark.

“Hello,” he said, “thanks for getting back to me.”

“What is it, Miles? Is something wrong?”

Detecting an edge of apprehension in her voice, he said, “Oh, Lark, it’s nothing bad. No need to worry.” He put his hand on his chest, hoping to slow the pounding of his heart. “It’s just that I believe it’s possible, not a certainty, but possible, our—our child, our daughter...is a figure skater. Sort of a rising star.”

A sharp intake of air. Then silence.

“Lark?”

“I’m—I’m here, Miles.” A loud exhale followed. “I don’t know what to say—or what to ask first.”

As he walked away from Brooke’s room and back to the living room, he heard her gulp, or choke, he wasn’t sure which.

“Are you okay? I can tell you—”

“Yes, yes, tell me how—” her voice quavered “—how this came about. Your speculation.”

He cleared his throat. “Again, nothing is certain. But something happened earlier today. Brooke, my eight-year-old, is a skating fan.”

From there, the words flowed more easily. He described the afternoon and the shock he’d experienced when he saw the skater up close and was struck by the shape of her face. “She has dark hair and skin like mine, common enough, but her smile, and especially the shape of her face, are all you. Or could be.”

“But that’s probably coincidence, isn’t it?” she asked, sighing. “I mean, more likely than not, it’s a chance resemblance. Right?”

“Of course.” He deliberately lowered his voice to mask the jumble of emotions swirling in his gut. “But I’m not done.” He paused, almost afraid to say the words. “Today’s her birthday.”

“Today? That skater turned eighteen today?”

From the strength of her voice alone, Miles knew he’d planted the conversation on firmer ground. “That’s what the announcers discussed—this competition was a big deal so they went on at length about what a great present the medal was on such an important birthday.”

“Wow. I don’t follow skating,” Lark said, rushing the words. “You know, except when the Internationals are on TV. Then I tune in like everyone else. I would have missed this entirely.”

He was almost afraid to go on, but it was the detail that made the others fit like puzzle pieces. “There’s more. One other thing—something big.”

“What?”

“Perrie Lynn is adopted.”

He waited out the seconds of silence.

“How do you know that?” she whispered.

“The announcers said so, Lark.”

“They discussed something so private? On TV?”

Miles chuckled. “Well, according to Brooke, this is not a secret. You see, her parents, the Olsons, are classic blond, blue-eyed Scandinavians. Apparently, she’s always known she was adopted.” He paused, calling up his grandmother’s face. “I can’t even describe how much she resembles the early photos of my mother, but especially my grandmother.”

“Oh, Miles, it’s still so hard to believe. I’m afraid to hope it’s true.”

He heard the longing in her soft voice. An eighteen-year-old memory of her fighting off tears—and failing—slipped into his mind. “I know. But to tell you the truth, Lark, it really was the widow’s peak and her pretty smile that made me think of you.”

Silence.

“But it still might not be true.”

Her skepticism sounded forced. “You sound like me. Like you’re putting the brakes on your thoughts. You don’t want to let hope run away with you.”

“Yes,” she said, “not that I know what to do with the information. I mean, I’ve been thinking about her all day, and I filled up time with Christmas shopping. Just now I was out on a...well, out for dinner with friends, but for a couple of hours before I left the house I picked up the phone half a dozen times wanting to beg off, make some excuse not to leave the house.”

“I understand. It was on my mind, too. I was listening to Brooke talk with half my attention. Until the camera zoomed in on Perrie Lynn’s face and the commentators bantered about all these details of her life.”

“It seems so unlikely.”

He held back, not wanting to reveal exactly how convinced he was that Perrie Lynn was their child. He also suspected this birthday was more complicated for Lark than it was for him. “All that aside, I want to find out for sure, even though I don’t have a plan in place. Obviously, we’ll act in a way that won’t intrude on this girl’s life. If it’s all a big coincidence, then that will be that.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Can you meet me for breakfast, maybe tomorrow morning?” he asked. “I leave for Richmond on a late afternoon flight, but I’d like to see you first. We should talk about what to do next.”

“Yes, talk. We need to...take the next step, whatever...” She let out a frustrated groan. “Listen to me. I’m a writer, but I can’t string words together in a complete sentence. Tomorrow morning? Let me check.”

The line went quiet. The seconds ticked by.

“Yes, yes, that’s good. I was double-checking my calendar. I have a phone interview scheduled in the afternoon. I write articles about health. I’m talking to a doctor about a new drug for...” She sighed. “Now I’m babbling. None of that matters. Tomorrow morning is fine.”

What a relief. He hadn’t wanted to leave town without seeing her face-to-face. He suggested meeting at eight o’clock at Hugo’s, a café just east of Green Bay, not too far for either of them.

“Hugo’s it is,” she said.

Silence.

He cleared his throat. “Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait! One more thing, Miles.”

“What is it?”

“You have a strong hunch about this, don’t you?”

The unexpected question threw him, but not for long. “Yes, I do.”

“Me, too.” She ended the call.

He stared at the phone, amused by the abrupt end to their conversation. At least it saved them from an awkward goodbye. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his folded arms. The oak table felt cold under his hands, but he welcomed it. He needed to cool the heat of the moment. Lark had your child. Yet a simple matter of setting up a meeting was stiff and strange.

Would it have been easier to talk with her if they’d been in love back then, or at least infatuated? Maybe they were awkward with each other because they’d shared so little. Back in college, they’d spent a few carefree nights listening to bands at a local pub. Their handful of dates had been more like hanging out. They’d spent a couple of chilly spring Sundays in his room in an apartment he shared with a couple of guys. Studying. Obviously doing more than that.

With all he’d said, he’d failed to mention another clue. Perrie Lynn had grown up in Minnesota. Where he and Lark had given up their baby. And, at the time, without even one other person in their lives aware of what they’d done.

* * *

SO AWKWARD. SHE hadn’t helped by more or less hanging up on him to end the call. But what was the protocol in situations like this? The etiquette? Silly question. She snickered to herself. Had she really used the words protocol and etiquette, as if this was a case of choosing the correct way to interact with Miles? The facts spoke for themselves. When they’d left the hospital, Miles had driven her back to her studio apartment in St. Paul and looked after her for a couple of days. Since then she’d seen him exactly twice, the first time two weeks after they’d given up their baby.

Miles had come home for the holiday break, too, and asked her to have dinner with him. She’d agreed to meet him at a local pub. He was just checking in, he’d said, concerned by the way he’d left her in her apartment after they’d turned over their baby girl.

She remembered their evening well, but not happily. They’d struggled to make conversation. She’d held back her tears, tried to be strong, but failed. As much as he’d shown concern for her, his relief bled through. He was free and clear. When they’d left the pub and walked to their cars, she’d told him her plan was to try her best to put what happened between them behind her. First, she didn’t want him worrying about her, but second, she didn’t want him to contact her ever again. Miles had started to respond, but apparently had nothing meaningful to say. He’d nodded tersely and they parted ways.

Sitting at her desk, Lark took a deep breath, hoping to chase away gathering hope mixed with fear. Yet she wanted—needed—to savor this moment, just in case it all turned out to be true. She opened her laptop and within seconds was staring at an image of Perrie Lynn Olson in a red sequined skating costume. She was exactly as Miles had described, right down to the same pronounced widow’s peak Lark saw in the mirror every day. The girl’s warm skin tone and her rich brown eyes reminded her of Miles—the Miles of years ago when he was twenty and she was nineteen. Not much older than their daughter was now.

Their daughter? “Get hold of yourself,” she said aloud. These similarities didn’t prove anything. She read on, following the highlights of Perrie Lynn’s skating life, including a newly added banner announcing the medal she’d just won. As a skater she was fresh and new, having spent the previous year on the senior circuit before bursting out of the pack during this, her second season, and surprising skating experts and fans alike.

“You look happy,” she whispered as she lightly brushed her fingertips across Perrie Lynn’s image on the screen. “That’s all I ever wanted.” It was the hope that overrode all the heartbreak in the walled-off part of Lark that remained isolated from the outside world. She’d longed—sometimes desperately—for her little girl to grow up loved and happy.

One photo on a website confirmed nothing. Still, Lark couldn’t help but think this beautiful young woman would go to sleep that night basking in her big win and happy with her life. “I hope it’s true,” Lark said, “and that one day soon you’ll tell me yourself.”

Reluctantly, she shut down the computer and left her desk to get ready for bed.

CHAPTER THREE

MILES ARRIVED FIRST, and after scanning the customers in the café, he waited for Lark inside near the front window. He studied the faces of women coming in to order to-go coffee or claim a table. He couldn’t be positive he’d immediately recognize her, even though he’d seen her pretty face on her website photo. And most coffee seekers entering Hugo’s were camouflaged in heavy coats and thick scarves, their hats pulled down over their ears as protection against the frigid December air.

He’d suggested Hugo’s because he’d been there before, the last time on a forgettable late-afternoon coffee date with a woman he’d met on a flight from Detroit to Green Bay. Pleasant enough conversation, but as so often happened in the past few years, nothing about the date compelled him to follow up. She hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for a second meeting, either. No matter. He’d lost nothing but a couple of hours.

Through the front window he spotted Lark walking toward the entrance. His whole body warmed at the sight of her. She appeared so young in a bright red jacket, jeans and knee-high black boots. A large leather bag hung from one shoulder. She gingerly stepped around patches of ice on the sidewalk, but then glanced up and caught him watching her. Her mouth turned up in a shy smile.

He walked closer to the door to greet her, wanting to lean over and kiss her cheek, maybe give her a quick hug. But she’d turned her face away to check out the café.

“How about that table in the corner?” She spoke in a businesslike tone, pointing to a small table for two.

“Fine,” he said, following her quick steps. Still not looking at him, she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair before she sat down. Then she pulled out a menu card from behind the napkin holder.

He also shed his coat and sat across from her. “Lark?”

She lifted her head, her expression quizzical.

“Hello.”

She snorted a laugh. “Don’t mind me, Miles. I’m nervous as can be.”

“Believe me, I understand.” He paused, but decided to acknowledge what they both knew to be true. “This is awkward.”

“No kidding.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and gave her head a quick shake. “But not as awful as bumping into you at the mall a few years ago.”

Oh, boy, she didn’t mince words. Neither would he. “True. That was excruciating.”

She swiped her hand across her forehead. “Whew. We got that out of the way.” She went back to studying the menu. “Let’s order right away. I’m starving. I usually eat much earlier than this.”

Right on cue, the waitress stopped at their table and took their identical orders of coffee and omelet platters with the cranberry-walnut muffin of the day. As if the intervening years had been wiped away, he recalled her big appetite, even the image of her shaking peanuts from a can into her palm. She’d snacked nonstop while they sat on his bed with open textbooks in front of them and unapologetically polished off huge plates of burgers and fries at the pub where they’d hung out.

“You’re grinning,” she said. “Are you shocked at my hearty breakfast order?”

“Not exactly,” he said with a snicker. “I was remembering how you ate me out of house and home.”

“And I haven’t slowed down a bit.” She peered into his face, as if really seeing him for the first time. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Neither have you,” he said. “Not on the outside, anyway.”

“Yes, the inside is another thing.” She leaned across the table, folding her hands in front of her. “Tell me about your daughter—and your wife, assuming you’re married.”

Since they hadn’t exchanged many details on the phone, he filled in the facts of his brief marriage to Andi. “Brooke is the light of my life, though, and her mother and I have managed to raise her together without too much conflict.”

“I’m divorced, too.” She spoke matter-of-factly. “And my son is by far the best thing to come from my misbegotten marriage. Evan is almost thirteen now, and pretty close to his dad, which is good.”

Miles nodded, happy to have this exchange out of the way. For reasons he didn’t understand, he was relieved that no husband was in the picture. Maybe because a spouse was more likely to interfere with plans Miles wanted to share only with Lark.

They were quiet when the waitress brought a carafe of coffee to the table and filled their white diner-style mugs. He watched Lark add cream from the pitcher drop by drop, until the color suited her. He remembered she was precise about her coffee.

“It’s odd how I recall little things about you,” he said, nodding at the cup in front of her.

“Is that so?”

“The way you drip cream into your coffee, for one thing.”

“My coffee habits and my huge appetite. That seems especially odd because we never knew each other well.”

“I know,” he said, suddenly filled with regret, “and I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “For what?”

He responded with a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m sorry we weren’t closer, or I regret that you went through so much.” He hesitated to find the right words. “I didn’t do as much as I could’ve.”

She averted her eyes and took a few sips of her coffee. His words seemed hollow, even to him. He could only imagine how ridiculous they must have sounded to her ears.

“I shouldn’t have jumped into the past like that,” he said. “Not when there’s something so immediate to talk about.”

“It’s natural, I suppose. I shuffled through some memories myself last night.” She smiled. “I’ll admit to spending a restless night. I guess I managed a couple of hours sleep. Evan was at his father’s house all weekend, so I was alone. He’ll come home after school today.”

Home was Lark’s house, just like Andi’s house was Brooke’s real home. He wondered if Lark’s ex was as resigned to that as he was.

After their omelets and muffins arrived, Lark squared her shoulders. “I’m calling this meeting to order.”

“No more small talk, huh?”

“Another time. I’d really like to find out more about your life, but my stomach is flip-flopping—and growling.” She tensed her shoulders and then released them. “I’m nervous. I’ll be okay when we get on with whatever we need to do.” She turned her head and glanced at the table for four behind her.

“Are you checking the place for someone you know?” he asked.

“Am I that obvious? But I’ve been silent for eighteen years and will stay that way, at least for now.”

“No explanation needed.” Lowering his voice, he asked, “I assume you went to Perrie Lynn’s website?”

She nodded vigorously. “I saw exactly what you were talking about.” She stared out into the crowded café. “She’s simply breathtaking. There’s no other word for her. And she definitely reminded me of you, and not just the hair and skin. There was something else. An expression, maybe an attitude. Even in the photo she exuded an air of confidence.”

He chose not to probe further into what she’d just said. Yes, he’d been a fairly confident twenty-year-old back when he and Lark were seeing each other. He was considered a good-looking guy, and he’d made his way through college without a lot of drama, at least until what happened with Lark. Up to that point he’d been carefree, with his eyes on the future, specifically his career plans.

“I think we could make a good case for exploring this further based solely on her resemblance to us,” Miles offered, “but the other details line up perfectly, almost too perfectly. If there is such a thing.”

“It’s premature to start thinking of this precious girl as our daughter, Miles, but we have a place to start. From the beginning, I’ve always known I’d do what I could to prepare for her eighteenth birthday, a landmark year in adoption terms. So I’m ready.”

“What do you mean by ‘prepare’?”

She frowned. “I’ve registered with the adoption agency and it’s cross-referenced on a state list. If our child decides she wants to look for me now that she’s old enough to make her own decisions, I made sure I could be found.”

That felt like a blow. Irrationally, he was hurt. “You mean, you’ve already begun a process to find her.”

“Well, yes, in a way. But it’s not a matter of me finding her,” she explained. “As I said, if she looks, she’ll be able to find me—easily.”

Still nursing an open wound, he asked, “Would you have told me if she’d found you?”

“Of course, if that’s what she wanted.” She dropped her fork, letting it clatter on the plate. “I can see from your pained expression that I’ve upset you. But I think you’re getting the wrong impression.”

“Then fill me in.” His voice had turned cold, but he couldn’t help it.

“Statistically, adopted kids tend to think of searching for their birth mothers first.”

Good point. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It makes sense when you think about it.” She spoke in a low voice. “Adopted kids, girls and boys, tend to think about the woman who actually gave birth to them more than they think about their father.”

She leaned forward, her tone earnest. “Many people search, especially as young adults, because if they don’t, they always wonder. The first step was providing my information to the adoption agency, and with their cooperation, to the state office that responds to inquiries. But I’d never have disrupted this young woman’s life by popping up unannounced.”

She picked up her fork and jabbed the air for emphasis. “I’ve always hoped she’d look for me. For all we know, now that she’s turned eighteen...”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence, and he nodded to acknowledge he understood. The image of the graceful skater, so triumphant in her medal win, flashed in his mind. He couldn’t see that focused girl taking a detour to search for biological parents, not while she stood in the very spotlight her adoptive parents undoubtedly had worked hard to help her reach.

“We can’t assume she’d search right now,” Miles said, giving voice to his doubts. “From what I understand, which is based on what the TV commentators said, she trains every day to prepare for the next event.” He paused. “I won’t do anything on my own, by the way. Whatever we do to locate our child, I want us to do it together.”

She raised her eyebrows. “In contrast to what I’ve already done, you mean?”

“I don’t want to be petty about it, but it’s just that I thought of you first when this possibility became clear. I wouldn’t have checked it out without talking to you.”

“I see.”

“And it’s apparent you would have plunged in alone.”

“Yes, to be honest, I would—I did.” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “But, Miles, I haven’t ever told anyone about our daughter.”

“I’m not anyone. I always thought that having the baby was something we went through together. If you were talking to that agency we worked with, you should have called me to see if I wanted to be included.”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. It was clear she didn’t share his stance on that. She pushed a slice of bacon to the side of her plate and focused on buttering a chunk of the muffin.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Lark.” He’d never expected this wave of reproach, even anger, that was coming over him now.

Raising her head, she stared boldly into his eyes. “Okay, to be perfectly honest, until now I’ve felt entirely alone with my secret. But starting today, we’re together in this.”

He forced a smile. “Okay. I guess that will have to be good enough.”

“Oh, tell the truth, Miles,” she said, her voice low but impatient. “How much did you think about me over the years? Did you ever wonder if I thought about the baby we gave up? You know, like every day of my life.”

Uncertain where to begin, he said nothing. But she wadded up her napkin and tossed it on her plate.

“Are you finished picking at that mountain of food?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then let’s take a walk.” He signaled the waitress and took cash from his wallet to pay the bill. The chair legs scraped on the wooden floor when Lark stood. With her face pinched in emotional pain, she struggled to pull on her jacket. He grabbed it and held it so she could shove her arm through the sleeve. Last night when he pictured this reunion of sorts, he’d imagined it would be all about strategies and plans. Dispassionate and businesslike. What a fool he could be sometimes. He might have known resentments, old and new, would be dredged up.

Once outside, they stood on the sidewalk in front of the café.

“I didn’t want to start an argument, Miles.”

He shook his head. “Me, neither, but it seems we need to clear the air. Let’s do it where we’re certain no one will overhear us.”

The coffee had left him jittery, or maybe he’d have been anxious, anyway. Especially now, knowing he’d put Lark even more on edge.

“Do you have time for a drive?” she asked. “We still haven’t made any decisions. That’s what this morning was supposed to be about.”

He nodded. “I didn’t expect to be so stirred up inside. Where do you want to go?”

“Follow me. I’m right next to the south end of the waterfront park in Two Moon Bay. I’ll pull into the lot in the park. We can walk on the beach and jetty and talk this through. Then we can warm up inside my cottage.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES AFTER leaving Hugo’s, Lark pulled into the lot adjacent to the beach and waited for Miles to park next to her. She watched him get out of his car and walk toward her while pulling a knit hat over his ears. Staring at the whitecaps forming on the water, he looked grim, his forehead wrinkled in thought, or perhaps consternation.

Unfortunately, Lark didn’t know him well enough to draw conclusions. Back in college he’d been an easygoing guy, out for a fun time. Now he was divorced and a responsible dad.

Regardless of what he was feeling at the moment, she’d bet money their baby had barely produced a ripple in the pond of his life. Not like the boulder that had crashed into hers.

“Let’s walk down to the end of the jetty.” She pointed to the left, where the concrete pier looked clear of ice.

“Lead the way.”

They headed down the beach, one of two jewels along Two Moon Bay’s waterfront. The other stretch was a stony beach and marina closer to downtown. Both offered grassy areas with picnic tables under the trees to provide shade in the summer. The concrete jetty, about a block long, appeared abandoned, even lonely on the cold, overcast day. The rising wind stirred up the water, sending spray flying over the far end of the jetty. In a couple of weeks the shallow water in this part of the bay would likely freeze over.

“No one else is crazy enough to be out here today,” she said, glancing at his glum face. She stopped abruptly. “Look, I didn’t mean to rile you.”

“I know.” He stared out at the lake. “It’s completely irrational, but yesterday I immediately thought of you as a partner when I suspected Perrie Lynn was our daughter. You weren’t the first person I thought to call. You were the only person.”

She closed the gap between them by lightly touching his arm. “Let me finish my whole thought. Then you can judge.” She repeated her reasoning for listing herself on the registry with the state of Minnesota. She’d assumed their daughter would look for her first. That pattern was well documented by decades of research. “But I would never have gone beyond the first contact—if I were blessed enough to have a contact at all—without making it clear to her that I could, and would, get in touch with her father.”

His features relaxed and a faint smile appeared. “Thanks for that.”

“Here’s the other reason for acting alone. I didn’t know how you turned out, or what kind of life you have. Or whom you’d confided in.” She lifted her open hands high in the air to emphasize her point. “After I saw you at the mall I assumed you were married. I could have tried to reach you, but I imagined that would have disrupted your life—in a big way.”

“Funny you should say that,” he said, nodding. “My ex-wife is the only person who knows about what happened. No one else.”

“Ha! That’s one more person than I told.”

“What? You must have told your ex-husband.”

She lowered her gaze and studied her boots. “Not on your life.”

His voice turned from puzzled to concerned. “I don’t understand.”

She waved him off. “Oh, it was very calculating on my part. I decided that if I’d, you know, confessed, then he’d have had a big fat issue as an arrow in his quiver. Sooner or later, he would have pulled it out and sent it flying toward me to wound me in some way.”

“Wound you?”

His shock surprised her, although it shouldn’t have. She’d already sized up Miles as a far more decent man than Lyle. The irony of that thought threatened to sink her into a bout of harsh self-doubt about her choices. “Lyle would have made me pay. One way or another.”

“Wow.”

She smiled wryly. “My ex is not a particularly nice guy.”

“Okay, I admit it. I’m stunned that you were afraid to talk with the man you married about such a significant part of your life.”

It was time to change the subject. “Tell me how your ex-wife reacted when you told her.”

“She was a little shocked.” Once again he stared off into the distance. “But I told her before we decided to get married. And I never believed she’d use it as a weapon against me—and she never did.” He turned to Lark. “We divorced for other reasons, and they had nothing to do with the past. It never came up.”

Lark met his eyes directly. “My ex didn’t fight fair. That’s what I’m saying. He looked for advantages, a little edge here and a point to score there. He still enjoys the sense of power any weakness on my part provides.”

Miles’s eyes had softened with sadness. “It can’t have been easy.”

“I didn’t mean to draw you into what’s old news.” She hesitated. “Or, more or less old news. Lyle and I still have our struggles.”

“I understand that.”

“Did your wife wonder why we didn’t keep the baby?”

Miles stared at the ground. “At first. But I told her we weren’t...”

She watched his face change as he seemed to struggle for words. “Serious about each other. Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“It will do. But I explained that we weren’t ready. Either of us.” He sighed. “Probably mostly me.”

She nodded, but didn’t like seeming to agree with him. Or maybe she didn’t want to let him off the hook, or be let off the hook herself. They could have done better, couldn’t they? Was adoption really their only choice? Why had it felt that way, so much so that she hadn’t seriously entertained the notion of keeping the child and raising her alone? At least she hadn’t considered that choice for long and never to the point of forming a plan. Why? Back then she’d blamed the emotional chaos of her parents’ split. She shook off that train of thought. Her parents and their troubles were issues to address another day.

“I know you’re leaving town, so let’s get on with it.” She pointed down the beach. “My house is just past the edge of the park. You can pull into the drive behind me.”

“We say we’re going to make our plans, but we take these side trips instead.” He stared at the lake. “And I want to know what’s happened with you over the years. Now I wish we’d kept in touch. Ever since I saw you walking toward Hugo’s with your hair flying in the breeze, the past has come rushing back for me.”

Feeling her face warm, she pointed to their cars and started walking toward them. “We’ll be at my place in two minutes.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“DID YOUR FAMILY own this place before you moved in?” he asked, scanning the room.

She smiled. “Nope. I chose it after Lyle bought me out of my share of our house. I could have found a larger home for the same money, but I traded all those possibilities for this cottage with a view of the lake and empty space on each side of me.”

She beckoned him farther inside and pointed to the cushioned window seat as an invitation to sit. “The location meant much more to me than the size of the rooms.”

A sleek wooden desk sat angled so her office chair looked out the window at the lake. High bookcases lined the wall next to it and three tall file cabinets provided a boundary where the living room and dining area ended and the office began.

The main room housed a short couch and a couple of reading chairs and lamps, but left no space available for more shelves or even a TV.

As if reading his mind, she said, “We have three tiny bedrooms, and the smallest is our TV and game room, more or less. Evan regularly grumbles about being cramped in there. His father’s place—our old house—is about four times the size. We have joint custody, so Evan spends a lot of time there, too. But this place is big enough for him to bring friends around, especially in the summer, when we grill on the patio at the side of the house.”

Miles stared at the whitecaps rippling over the gray water. “Don’t worry, one day Evan will tell stories about the great little cottage he grew up in.”

“Promise?” she said with a laugh. “Somehow, we do manage to make it work. His room has a good view, and he has his space, small as it is, fixed up exactly the way he wants it—and it’s that way at his dad’s, too.”

He recognized something in her voice. The same wistfulness that came over him from time to time. Lark, too, had been forced to accept a family arrangement that bore no resemblance to the one she’d imagined on the day she’d married this Lyle guy. Miles well understood the back-and-forth shuffle common for divorced parents—if they were lucky and managed to work out an arrangement with their ex.

“Brooke’s life is like your son’s. She has a set of things in her room in my house, more stuff at her mother’s and a few belongings she carries from one place to the other in her backpack.”

Wanting to change the subject, he pointed to piles of files, clippings and a laptop. “So, what are you working on now?”

“A series on various types of migraines.” She tapped three file folders in turn. “Plus, I’m a contributing editor for an online monthly for parents of kids with disabilities.” She picked up a file from another stack. “Research abstracts. Seems like almost everything I do these days circles back to autism.”

Her expression darkened.

“What is it?”

“I see—or rather hear and read about—so much pain,” she said, wincing. “Parents hurting because their kids struggle. They’re constantly hoping for an autism breakthrough. Something that gives their kids a chance at a so-called normal life. I’ve been so lucky with Evan. It makes all the hard times as a parent pale in comparison to what other people go through.”

She tapped her temple. “It just occurred to me that if Perrie Lynn is the one, then we truly are among the luckiest people I know.”

“Because we’re pretty sure she’s okay? Is that what you’re saying?” He extended his hands toward her. “Well, better than okay—she has dreams, a passion.”

Nodding, she added, “And she’s pursuing those dreams and making them come true. I’ve so hoped she was happy and healthy.” She cast a pointed look his way. “I imagine you’ve had the same thought.”

No, he hadn’t. He’d assumed everything was fine. He didn’t know how to explain that detachment or his lack of worry. Sometimes, what he and Lark had been through barely seemed real. But he wasn’t going to admit to that now. Instead, he smiled and nodded.

He turned to the window. “Not much separates you from the park. Some maples and birches, and a few rows of cedars.”

She moved to his side. “I love those trees. They frame my view. And for about eight months of the year I walk the beach almost every day. I head over to the stony beach way beyond the downtown park. Even when tourist season peaks in the summer few people venture that far. Fall is the best season of all.”

“The water is a little rough today. And it looks cold.”

She grinned. “But you should see it when the moon is out on a still, clear night. No wonder someone thought to name this town Two Moon Bay. The moon is reflected so perfectly it’s easy to believe you could swim out and lift it right out of the water.”

“And take a bite out of it, too, I imagine.”

“Right you are. And it’s not cheese. I like to think of it as a big sugar cookie.”

Miles grinned. He was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off her. When Lark had come to mind these past few years, he’d thought of her as taller. But the top of her head reached just above his shoulder. Her hair matched his memory, though. Thick and wavy, it brushed her shoulders. His mother used the word extravagant to describe hair like Lark’s. Her delicate features were a stark contrast to his sharply angled face.

“This is what I propose,” Lark said, backing away from the window and resting her hip on the corner of her desk. “Let’s start by investigating the adoption and disclosure laws in Michigan. I can check back with the adoption agency in Minnesota to see how this works across state agencies.”

“According to what Brooke told me, and that came by way of her babysitter, Mamie, Perrie Lynn and her mother are in Ann Arbor only to work with a specific coach,” Miles explained. “Her father stayed in Minneapolis, where he runs a business. Their home is still there.”

“Are you sure about that? The website mentioned Michigan.”

“I know, but apparently, uprooting part of the family isn’t unusual for these skaters. They accept that they’ll be living in two places for a time. The commentators talked about it yesterday. Perrie Lynn and her mother made the move by themselves and her dad visits and goes to the competitions.”

“I get it. That happens in gymnastics, as well.” Lark laughed. “Your little Brooke is becoming a walking encyclopedia of figure skating. Mamie must be quite a babysitter.”

“She is, and Brooke likes her a lot. By the way, from what the commentators said, Perrie Lynn’s new coach is the main reason for her fast rise in the standings.” Miles paused and searched his memory. “I caught his name. I think, no, I’m sure it’s Declan Rivers. He’s coached a few International medalists and world champions.”

“You picked up a lot of information in one afternoon,” Lark said, grinning.

“Hey, I’m on a first-name basis with Katie and Allen, the commentators. They fed me all kinds of random facts.”

“Okay, then,” she said, “let’s start with what we know and see if we can figure out a way to reach her.”

“No, at the most, we could reach her parents,” he said, enunciating each word. He needed confirmation they were of one mind on this.

Lark’s hand flew up in a defensive gesture. “Yes, of course. I meant to say her parents.”

He chose to believe her.

“Perrie Lynn’s father is Eric and her mother is Maxine,” he said. “The website provided that information.”

“I can only imagine how many Eric Olsons are listed in the Minneapolis phone book,” she said, “but maybe not so many Maxines. And we could see if she has a Facebook page and send her a message.”

He held up his hand. “Wait. You’re suggesting we get in touch through a Facebook page?”

“Well, she’s more likely to be active on Facebook than Eric, and we can’t message Perrie Lynn on her page—and she has one. I checked. Besides, Maxine and Eric might restrict Perrie Lynn’s access. She’s a public person now, and I’d be surprised if the Olsons let her manage it by herself.”

Miles shook his head, amazed he was even having this conversation. “Listen to us talking about Maxine and Eric, as if we know them.”

“You’re right.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest.

“And you’re nervous. Are you afraid?”

“Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped. “What if we send a message and Maxine doesn’t reply? What if they message back and tell us they aren’t the right people in the first place? That they aren’t even her adoptive parents.”

“Her parents,” Miles warned. “Once people adopt children, they’re parents, no qualifiers.”

She waved him off. “I know, I know. You don’t need to lecture me.”

“Okay, but it seems as if you’re thinking of yourself as Perrie Lynn’s mother, I mean, now that she’s turned eighteen.” He’d raised his voice, startling Lark, but he had to make the point. “Even if we find her, we’ll always be on the edges of her life.”

He drew back slightly in response to the flicker of anger in her eyes.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

Forcing himself to lower his voice, he said, “C’mon. You’re jumping way ahead of yourself.”

She hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’ve been jumping ahead of myself for eighteen years. This is the first time I can take a step, a real step, other than listing myself with the agency. Besides, like you said, her parents don’t call every shot now that she’s of age.”

She stalked away, disappearing through the small dining room and into the kitchen. Out of his sight.

There it was again, her expectations. He and Lark weren’t on the same page. Maybe they weren’t reading from the same book.

Not knowing if he should go after her or leave her alone, he stared out the window, allowing indecision to take over.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coming back into the room a few minutes later.

“Are you okay?”

“As okay as I’m going to be.” She flopped down on her desk chair and turned it sideways so she wasn’t facing him. “You’re right. I know perfectly well that she’ll never be my daughter in the same way Evan is my son. Never. That train left the station the minute I let that nurse, the one with the bright red hair and freckles all over her face and arms, carry my baby out the door.”

“What? Freckles? Red hair? What do you mean?”

She swiveled the chair, facing him. “I remember the moment like it was yesterday.” She tapped her forehead. “It’s all like a photograph stored up here. Every detail sharp and distinct.” She splayed her fingers across her heart. “And the feelings, too.”

Her face reddened as she spoke.

“Of course I remember the nurse’s hair and her freckles. And our baby’s scent, her tiny hands and the shape of her face—my face, a miniature heart.”

He looked away. A memory formed for him, too. Young and stupid, with no idea the moment would be imprinted on him with such power, he’d stood behind her, hands squeezing her shoulders. He remembered, but Lark was right, the frozen moment in time was different for him.

“And you, Miles? You gripped my shoulders harder when the nurse left with our baby and closed the door behind her. You kept me standing when my knees buckled. I fell back and covered my eyes and sobbed. It was only minutes, but it felt like hours.”

“I remember.” His mental image lacked something, though. Intensity. Reality. Something. “But it feels distant, as if it happened in another life,” he admitted. He’d never given a thought to the nurse. No trace of her remained in his memory. Even the baby who carried another generation of his genes had become more of an abstraction as the years passed, reawakened only with Brooke’s birth. Then, when he was home alone after holding his new baby girl for the first time, memories of Lark and the hospital came back, but in an unwelcome flashback that taunted him until he managed to push away the images.

Making no attempt to fill the silence, he turned to the window, watching the gray water, chaotic with spray scattering every which way in the wind. Suddenly, he had an idea for moving out of the past and going forward. A safe, nonthreatening way to reach the Olsons. Facebook messages were out of the question, almost certain to alarm Eric and Maxine.

“So, should we try to contact Maxine?” Lark’s voice was calm again, if not pleasant. “You know, through Facebook.”

He shook his head. “No. Definitely not. Something tells me that would scare the Olsons. Make them uneasy, as if we’re threatening to them in some way. Put yourself in their position. Imagine Maxine seeing a message out of the blue from strangers claiming to be their daughter’s birth parents.”

Lark shrugged. “No matter what we do, it will seem like it’s out of the blue.”

“True. But hear me out. What if we were to contact the coach? We could explain the situation, assure him we have no intention of disrupting anyone’s life, least of all Perrie Lynn’s.” The idea grew in appeal, mainly because it was so safe. “Reaching out to the coach first is a way to demonstrate that we’re responsible people. We only want to find out if we’re Perrie Lynn’s birth parents. If we are, we can go from there. If not, we’ll disappear, no harm done.”

Lark turned away and propped her elbows on her desk, holding her head in her hands. His heart raced. Apparently, she hated his idea, but even worse, he’d upset her—again.

“Lark? It’s okay. We’ll come up—”

“No, no.” She lifted her head, facing him with tears welling in her eyes. “It’s a great idea. Reasonable and sensible.”

“Then why are you angry?”

She cupped her cheeks in her palms. “I’m just furious with myself for not considering the ramifications. Reaching out through Facebook with something this important? I’m a mother. I should know better. Of course we’d scare Maxine and Eric.”

“So, you’re okay with the coach idea?”

She nodded, smiling now. “I was so careful and systematic years ago when I contacted the adoption agency. I saw it as a long-term quest and knew it could take years to make contact after our baby’s eighteenth birthday. I made myself accept that it might never happen. But now I can’t seem to think straight.”

He took a tentative step toward her, wanting to reach out, touch her shoulder, but he held back. “It’s okay. I understand. Whatever we do, I don’t want to upset you, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about me. These are difficult decisions.” She held out her hand, letting him see it tremble. “My feelings are simmering on the surface, ready to boil over. Talking about all these details—past, present and even future—skewed my thinking.”

“Well, how about this? I’ll call Declan Rivers and explain the situation. I’ll provide our phone numbers and websites and all that, so he can start checking us out.” He grew calmer as he thought out the next steps. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll give him the name of my attorney, the one I used for my divorce and still use for some business issues. I’ll fill in the basic facts. We can let Declan Rivers contact Eric and Maxine—or at least advise us the best way to go about it.”

“What if Declan doesn’t return your call? What then?”

“We’ll cross that bridge, you know, later. But I think he’ll respond.”

“Okay,” she said with a slow nod, “go ahead and make the call.”

“One thing, though. If they take us seriously, we shouldn’t be surprised if we hear from their attorney,” Miles added. “Be prepared for a DNA test and background checks.”

Another nod. “I’m fine with whatever they want.”

He glanced at his watch. “I need to go. Pack for my trip and all that.”

She stood and shooed him toward the door. “Go, go. I’ve got an interview to prepare for, anyway. First, though, I’ll research the coach. I’ll text you his phone number or email address, or whatever I can find.”

Miles retrieved his coat from the couch. “We have a plan, huh?”

“We do,” she said, frowning. “But in spite of the way I’m talking, be prepared. Coincidences and resemblances aside, it’s quite possible Perrie Lynn isn’t our child after all.”

“I’m trying to stay reasonable,” he said slipping into his coat, “but if she isn’t, that only means our daughter is out there somewhere.”

“Oh, Miles. Then you’ll contact the adoption agency, so we can both be found? If she looks for us, that is?”

“Yes. What’s happened in these last twenty-four hours has changed everything for me.”

Lark moved in front of him and opened the door. “Safe travels and all that.”

He said a quick goodbye. One way or another, they’d talk again soon.

CHAPTER FIVE

A WOMAN ANSWERED Declan Rivers’s phone and in a girlish voice identified herself as Tricia. No last name. But in a stiff, formal tone, she responded to Miles’s request to speak to the coach by informing him that Mr. Rivers was unavailable at this time. She, however, was Mr. Rivers’s assistant, and would be glad to help. “And what’s the nature of your call?” she asked.

“It’s a personal matter,” Miles said.

“I see,” Tricia said. “Could you be more specific?”

“Uh, well, it concerns one of his skaters, Perrie Lynn Olson.”

“And whom do you represent?”

Represent? She had the wrong impression. “I’m not with a media organization, if that’s what you mean.”

Was that a sigh he heard on the other end of the phone?

“As I said, this is a personal matter.” Miles suggested that he could call later at a time convenient for the coach.

“No need,” she said in a flat, almost dry tone. “How can Declan reach you? He’ll get back to you.”

And so he had, late that night when Miles was sitting in a reading chair with his feet propped up on the hotel desk. For the better part of an hour he’d been pretending to focus on pages of the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Mostly, though, he stared at his phone and willed it to ring. He’d already responded to two texts from Lark, in which she admitted feeling restless and impatient.

He jumped when his phone buzzed, the adrenaline rush swift and strong.

“Declan Rivers here, returning your call,” the deep male voice said abruptly, “but I must warn you I’ve returned a few calls today already.”

“I understand,” Miles replied with a quick laugh, although he didn’t feel all that good-humored. “I’ll keep this brief. I’m calling to discuss a matter related to Perrie Lynn Olson.”

“Yes, yes,” Declan said brusquely, “I see that in the notes.”

Miles ate up a couple of seconds considering his next move, but finally got to the point. “I won’t waste your time. I believe there’s a good chance I’m Perrie Lynn’s biological father. And I’m in touch with the woman who would be her birth mother.” Without pausing, Miles added, “Please understand, we have no desire to alarm Perrie Lynn or disrupt her or her parents in any way. We mean that. We only want to learn the truth.”

“Okay, then, why do you think you’re her parents? You and quite a few other people, by the way.” Declan’s tone wasn’t exactly rude, but it fell short of friendly. “And did this sudden realization come after you saw her skate this weekend?”

Mild sarcasm had seeped into the coach’s tone, but Miles didn’t let it divert him from briefly explaining how he became aware of Perrie Lynn. He recounted his conversations with Lark, and her earlier contact with the adoption agency and the Minnesota registry. “In other words, if our child, whoever she is, wants to find her birth parents now that she’s eighteen, the information is available.”

“So why did you call me?”

Miles took a deep breath. “Ms. McGee—Lark—and I agreed it was best not to approach the family. We want to be discreet, and we’d never intrude. It could all be a case of mistaken assumptions. Frankly, we’re parents, too, and social media seemed way too risky.”

“Funny you should say that.” Declan scoffed. “Just today, Mrs. Olson has received more than a couple of dozen legitimate Facebook messages. And then there are all the random ones that regularly come around, like the person last week who claimed Perrie Lynn is an alien from the Pleiades on a mission to save humanity. You see, theoretically, it’s Perrie Lynn’s page, but Maxine—Mrs. Olson—monitors it and deletes anything that’s not legit.”

“I understand the problems with kids and social media. And it starts so young.” Miles rubbed his forehead. He already worried about keeping Brooke safe from internet trolls and predators. He could only imagine what having a teenager newly in the public eye must be like.

“Maxine would be happy to shut the page down,” Declan said. “Naturally, given recent press coverage of Perrie Lynn, Eric and Maxine are worried about stalkers—internet and otherwise. That’s a factor for all athletes in the spotlight.”

“No parent should have to worry about that, Mr. Rivers. For what it’s worth, Lark and I will follow the family’s lead. Whatever they want. Under no circumstances would we do anything to harm Perrie Lynn or the Olsons. That’s the last thing on our minds.”

As if to fortify his words, he filled in some information about Lark and her work and then his own. “I’m a professional speaker with a consulting practice. When I called earlier, I was home in Green Bay, Wisconsin, but now I’m on a consulting job in Richmond, Virginia. And by the way, we’d be happy to channel all communications through an attorney if that’s what you prefer.”

“Are you and Ms. McGee married?”

Miles had to quickly switch gears. He didn’t welcome the need to explain. “No, we married other people, but we’re both divorced now. Lark has a son and I have a daughter. We haven’t been in touch for eighteen years. At this point, all we want is to make ourselves easy to find if our child wants to locate us, even if it’s just to satisfy her curiosity. Believe me, we understand that physical resemblance and the birthday could be a coincidence.”

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