Page 30 of Close Match

As you have Elle’s journal, your memory of what occurred so many years ago is a great deal stronger than mine. I don’t know if you have a picture of your mother from that time; it would help me to recall the past fully. Unfortunately, it was a long time ago, Lynn. Many years have passed. And I’ll be terribly embarrassed if I’m sharing memories of the wrong one.

I hope this finds you well. I look forward to hearing from you.

Rhett Parrish

My hands are shaking as Bristol scrolls through the email that dinged my phone, prompting me to race down to her office. “What do you think? Is it unreasonable to send him a picture of Mom from back then?”

Bristol is thoughtful. “I don’t think so. He’s cautious, Linnie. You laid out a lot in that initial email. This is a simple request to make certain you’re not some sicko. Frankly, he could have asked to have seen Mom’s journal, and it wouldn’t have been completely unreasonable.”

I was thinking the same thing. “Do you have access to the family cloud drive from here?” Years ago, Mom paid a small fortune to have all of her photos and our childhood photos digitally scanned.

She nods. “You know what I wonder…” Her voice trails off.

My lips fall open. “Do you think Mom has a picture of him?”

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of it.” Bristol looks irritated as hell. “We could have gone the normal route and hired an investigator if we’d just thought of that.”

“But just think, we know it’s likely both our fathers hate cilantro,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“There is that. Now, what week was it?”

“Somewhere around November twelfth. She was doing a traveling production ofAnything Goes, remember?” I give her a wry smile.

“Since you’re named after one of the characters, it’s kind of hard to forget that. Better than being named after the place you were conceived,” she tacks on as her fingers fly across the keyboard.

“I don’t know. I’ve always kind of liked your… Bris, what is it?” Panicked, I surge to my feet and race around her desk.

“Linnie.” Shaken eyes raise to meet mine. “I think I might have the perfect picture for you to send to him.” Turning her monitor slightly, I see a picture of a dark-haired man with his arm wrapped around Mom. Ignoring the shaft of pain, seeing her so young, vital, and alive does to me, I focus solely on the man. Despite the red eye cameras in that day and age caused more often than not, because Bristol zoomed in I can see the edge of green eyes. Eyes that match my own.

Bristol’s arm wraps around me. I whisper, “Do you think we should send him a picture of me as well? Maybe not a professional shot, but one that shows him I’m who I say I am?”

“Maybe once he responds to your next email accepting that he’s your father? Let’s play it by ear.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, I sit down behind Bristol’s massive desk and pull up a new message. Attaching the picture, I write a simple email.

Dear Rhett…

Nineteen

Montague

…Ithink you’ll recognize the man in the picture.

Mom cataloged all of her and my childhood photos not too long ago. We had these on our family cloud drive. I don’t know why I didn’t think to go through there first. But then, you likely would have been contacted through an investigative agency instead of by me directly.

And yes, you’re right. Mom really didn’t understand technology all that well. She did have a fantastic rapport with people. It’s something that made her a legend in the business.

Best,

Lynn

Even I’m shaken by the image of Ev, one that doesn’t look at all different from when I met him. “That was about seven years before I met you both,” he murmurs. “I was about to turn thirty. I thought I was on top of the world because of the business.” Pulling my mother close, he kisses the top of her head. “Then I walked into a hotel in New York and acted like a bumbling idiot to the most beautiful woman I ever met, and my life changed forever.”

Mom shakes him. “Ev, honey, stop thinking this is a bad thing. This could be the miracle we’ve been hoping for.”

He cups her face. “We were never able to have a baby. Why? Was I already sick?”

Mom’s face twists in agony. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. We had Monty and each other. That’s all we ever needed.”