started to go inside but decided to steal a moment—just one, quiet, uneventful moment—and enjoy the twilight. She wrapped an arm around the porch post and stared into the distance. This was exactly the kind of night her father and she would have spent together. They’d have worked on their separate projects most of the day, come together for dinner, and then carried a final cup of coffee out on the porch to sit, talk, just be together.
Her throat closed up. Oh, Daddy, how could you do this? Instantly her mind jumped to thoughts she didn’t want to have and taunted her with them. Are you sure he’s your father? How do you know? You don’t even know his real name. How can you be sure of anything anymore? The emotional pain that swept from head to toe couldn’t have hurt more if she was being physically tortured.
She had lived her entire life believing she was Sophia Joy Clarkston. Sophie—the person who loved strawberries and thick cream. Who loved walking barefoot in sand. Who loved the change of colors in the fall, the smell of lilacs in spring and the scent of pine at Christmas. The same Sophie who loved to mold and create objects, animals and people out of a shapeless lump of clay. The Sophie who cherished the opportunities to sit on a porch swing or lie in the grass and count the stars.
If she wasn’t really Sophia Joy Clarkston, then who was she? And did everything she remembered, everything she’d done, everything she’d ever believed she was, now suddenly change because she wasn’t the person she’d thought she was?
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Oh, Dad! What were you thinking? Why didn’t you talk to me…trust me?
Over the years, she’d met many older people at the craft fairs that wished they could live their lives over. Start fresh with a clean slate. But Sophie wondered, if they were given that option, if everything they thought they were was gone and they had nothing—no family, no expectations, no memories—would they want their life erased as simply as chalk off a blackboard? She didn’t. At least she knew that much about herself—no matter who or what her real name would turn out to be.
A sudden chill skittered along her nerve endings. Sophie hugged herself and quietly scanned the trees. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No lurking figures in the bushes. No threatening shadows. Her ears strained to listen for any unusual or stealth-like sounds. All she heard was the cacophony of crickets and frogs mingling with the normal rustling of nocturnal animals coming awake and moving around in the brush.
Still. She scanned her surroundings again—slowly, searching, lingering on every leaf, bush and stone. She found nothing threatening. Nothing scary. So why did her instincts tell her she was being watched? She didn’t have the answer but she trusted her instincts.
She hurried inside and threw the dead bolt behind her. She locked each window in the house for good measure.
She had just finished dressing after her shower and was towel drying her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Cain. A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. Although he’d promised to bring her car out to her in the morning, from the way he sped out of here she’d had the feeling he would be back. She tossed the towel in the hamper, took one quick look at her reflection in the mirror, smoothed her hair and hurried toward the front door. She opened it just as Cain lifted his hand to knock again.
“You didn’t check.” He frowned.
“What?” Sophie blinked hard.
Cain slipped past her with Holly close behind and they both turned to face her. “You didn’t look out the window to see who was here. You just opened the door.”
“Oh, come on…” Sophie shut the door.
“I don’t side with my brother often.” Holly sat down on the nearest chair. “But this time he’s right, kiddo. You should have checked before you opened the door. You didn’t know for sure it was us.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re saying if the robber comes back, he’s going to knock on the door and announce himself first. Who is crazier, you or me?”
Both Garrisons crossed their arms and stared at her in silence.
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