be surprised that Shari knew about her past—it would have been the first thing to pop during an investigation. But still, it was humiliating. And something she was never going to be able to put behind her, she thought grimly.
“They know?” she asked.
“Your grandfather does. I don’t know if he’s told anyone else.”
“We don’t know he’s my grandfather.”
Shari hesitated, then pulled a photograph out of her tote. It was black-and-white and obviously taken at a professional shoot years and years ago. The woman in the picture was about Callie’s age and looked enough like her that they could have been sisters. Their eyes had the same shape, as did their mouths and the slope of their shoulders.
“Your paternal grandmother,” Shari said. “She’s no longer with us, but when Alberto sent me this, I just knew I’d found you.” She nodded at the picture. “You can keep that.”
Callie touched the picture gingerly—half afraid of claiming it or the woman in the photograph. How could this be happening? She was twenty-six and she knew nothing about her father or his family. To have them show up now made no sense. She should get up and walk away. Even if someone was looking for her, she didn’t want to be found.
Before she could bolt, she wrestled with the fact that she might have family. For so long, it had just been a word, a concept that described other people’s lives, but not hers. If she wasn’t alone...
No! She was the only person she could depend on. She didn’t need anyone else, and even if she did, she knew the danger of hoping, of believing, of trusting. Yes, her mother had always been there for her, but no one else.
Indecision tugged at her. She thought of her small rented room and her meager savings account. The possibility of a trust fund was a real lure. Even a few thousand dollars would mean finishing college and helping her with her condo fund. As for belonging, what were the odds? She would do better to take whatever money there was and disappear. Getting involved would only mean breaking someone’s heart. She should know.
She drew in a breath as she surrendered to the inevitable.
“Where do I take the DNA test?”
Shari grinned and pulled a long, narrow plastic bag out of her tote. “Right here.” She waved the bag. “Like I said, technology is rad. Ready?”
No. No, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t anything but scared and nauseous and fighting hope with every fiber of her being. But she wouldn’t show any of that. Instead she squared her shoulders and leaned forward. “I’m ready. Let’s do this and find out who I am.”
* * *
Delaney drove the handful of miles between her small condo and her father’s house. As she got closer to the house where she’d grown up, the streets became more and more familiar. She could point to restaurants, corner stores and the school and remember specific events. The park where she’d played softball. The movie theater where a boy had first held her hand. The deli where she and her dad had gone every Wednesday night to get takeout. Much of Seattle was changing but her old neighborhood had thus far been spared. She knew gentrification was coming but hoped it would hold off for a while. It was nice to know that some things didn’t change.
As she pulled onto her street, she slowed. Between the two stop signs there were about thirty homes. When she’d been a kid, she’d known the names of every family, had hung out at most of their houses. Her mother had died during childbirth so Delaney had never known her but that didn’t mean she’d grown up without maternal influence. Instead she’d had about thirty moms all looking out for her. Screwing up and getting away with it hadn’t been an option. There were too many watchful, caring sets of eyes.
She parked in front of her father’s house, her BMW out of place in the working-class neighborhood. For the thousandth time Delaney thought she should sell it and replace it with something more...ordinary. The four-wheel-drive sedan was a reminder of her old life. She’d been so proud when she’d bought it with her own money. Tim had wanted her to get something sensible—like a small SUV. That was a car for a growing family. They’d compromised, with her promising to sell the BMW when they got married and started having kids. Something that had never happened, she thought, stepping out of the car.
A minivan pulled up next to her. Delaney smiled when she recognized her friend.
“Hey, you,” she called, stepping close to the vehicle.
Chelsea, a pretty brunette with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, grinned at her. “You here to see your dad?”
“I am. How’s it going with you?”
“Busy!” She nodded at the infant and toddler, both in their car seats behind her. “We have a doctor’s appointment and I’m running late. I can’t remember the last time I showered and the in-laws are coming over tonight. It’s card night.” She sighed. “We have to get together and catch up. Say yes like you mean it.”
“I do mean it,” Delaney told her.
Chelsea rolled up her window and waved as she headed down the street.
Delaney watched her go. A few years ago, she had assumed she would be living a life just like Chelsea’s herself. Married with a couple of kids, in-laws dropping by on a regular basis. Tim had talked about it all the time—what they would name their kids, what kind of tent camper they would buy and where they would drive to on their vacations. His dreams had all been the kind most people could relate to—getting married, having a family, putting his kids through college and living in the same house until he was too old to manage the stairs.
She’d wanted those dreams, too. Had told herself she would be happy when it finally happened. Only she’d been the one to take a different path from everyone she knew. First getting her college degree in finance, then taking a job at Boeing. She’d moved up in the company, had moved away from the neighborhood—only a few miles, but still a world away. She’d been the one to buy a condo on her own, and the BMW. Her dreams had been bigger than Tim’s. Now, nearly eighteen months after his death, she wondered if he’d realized that and, if he had, what he’d thought about it.
She circled her car and opened the passenger door. The tiny kitten was asleep in the cardboard carrier the veterinary office had given her. The vet had guessed the kitten to be nine or ten weeks old. Weaned, but still a baby. Underweight, female and uninjured. His guess had been that she’d been abandoned. The staff had fed her after they’d checked her out and now she was sleeping off her feast.
“You’re going to need a name,” Delaney murmured. Picking one out would be fun for Keira, and a distraction from the pain of her recovery. She might not have any serious injuries, but she was going to be sore for a while.
Delaney carried the sleeping kitten up to the front door. The house had been built back in the 1940s, but modernized over the years. A ramp led from the driveway to the front door. Delaney took the stairs, then glanced at the specially modified van parked by the ramp. Her dad had come a long way, she thought, grateful for his recovery. She knocked once, then let herself in the unlocked front door.
“Hi,” she called. “It’s me.”
“Hi, pumpkin,” her dad called. “We’re back here.”
Back here meant the kitchen, Delaney thought with a smile. Because that was where everyone always was in
