Page 21

adjunct grains grains used in small amounts to alter flavor or texture

THE HIGHWAY stretched ahead, heat waves shimmering off the asphalt in the July sun. The van's air conditioning struggled against the oppressive humidity. My cotton dress stuck to my back.

Cincinnati rose from the horizon like a mirage, its skyline reflecting off the Ohio River. I'd memorized Suzy's address in a modest neighborhood of post-war bungalows with neat lawns and mature oak trees. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pulled into the driveway.

The house stood silent, its windows dark behind drawn curtains. I pressed the doorbell, hearing its melodic chime echo inside, then knocked when no footsteps approached. The scent of roses drifted from a neighboring yard, sweet and cloying in the thick air.

My disappointment was acute when I realized no one was home.

I was fumbling in my purse for paper and pen when the sound of a car made me turn.

A silver Honda Civic pulled into the driveway, and a woman emerged.

She wore a navy flight attendant uniform with crisp edges.

Here silver-blond hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail.

"Can I help you?" The woman's voice carried the practiced politeness of someone accustomed to dealing with strangers, but her eyes were wary.

"I'm looking for Suzy Klooz," I said, my mouth suddenly dry. "I'm... my name is Bernadette Waters. I think you might have known my mother."

The woman's expression didn't change. "I'm Suzy. Who was your mother?"

"Ginger Waters. She worked at a bar in Lexington back in the nineties—"

"Ginger!" The woman's face transformed instantly, suspicion melting into delight. "Oh my God, little Ginger! How is she? I haven't seen her in forever!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. I steadied myself against the car door, feeling the metal warm beneath my palm. "She... she passed away. About five months ago."

Suzy's smile crumbled. "Oh, honey. Oh, I'm so sorry." She moved closer, her hand reaching out instinctively. "Please, come inside. You must have driven a long way."

The house's stunning interior was a testament to her success. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and lemon. Suzy poured iced tea from a crystal pitcher and urged me into a chair in her sun-drenched living room.

"I've thought about Ginger so many times over the years," Suzy said, settling into an armchair across from me.

"I tried to reach out a couple of times, sent letters to her old address, but she never responded.

" She paused, studying my face. "I knew she had.

.. emotional struggles when we worked together. I suspect that continued?"

I nodded, my throat tight. "Anxiety, depression. It was... it was hard for her. She depended on me to take care of things."

"She was lucky to have you," Suzy said gently. "Wait here—I have something for you."

She stood and disappeared into another room, then returned with a worn photo album. She flipped through carefully until she found what she was looking for. "Here," she said, pointing to a snapshot of two young women in waitress uniforms, arms linked, laughing at something outside the frame.

My breath caught. My mother looked impossibly young, her face unlined by the worry that would come later. Her smile was genuine, reaching her eyes in a way I rarely remembered seeing.

"And this one," Suzy continued, turning the page. "This was a group of us going out after work. We used to hit the bars downtown, blow off steam."

The photograph showed six or seven men and women clustered around a table, drinks raised in a toast. My mother sat in the center, radiant and carefree.

"I'm looking for my biological father," I said quietly. "I was hoping you might know who he was."

Her expression grew thoughtful. "I didn't even know Ginger was pregnant when she left Lexington.

Actually, I left first—got a job with the airline and moved here.

But I remember she had lots of boyfriends.

She was so pretty, you know? We used to give them nicknames.

" She laughed softly. "There was Church Man, because he was always talking about God.

And Motorcyle Man, because he rode an old Harley. "

"This man worked in the bourbon industry."

She paused, concentration creasing her brow. "Yeah, we called one of them Bourbon Man because he always ordered the same drink at the bar."

I leaned forward, my pulse quickening. "Do you remember his real name?"

"I'm sorry, honey. It's been so long." Suzy flipped more pages, then stopped. "Wait, I think... yes, here." She pointed to another group photo, this one slightly blurred. "I think this was Bourbon Man, but I can't be sure. The lighting was terrible that night."

The man in question stood at the edge of the group, his features indistinct but his build tall and lean. I stared at the out-of-focus figure, willing the image to become clearer.

"Here," Suzy said, carefully removing the photographs from their plastic sleeves. "Take these. They belong with you more than me."

I accepted the pictures with trembling hands, holding them as if they might dissolve. These fragments of my mother's lost happiness felt precious beyond measure, windows into a world I'd never known existed.