Page 42

Caleb

I ’m going down the ladder in the barn when I hear a truck door slam. Looking over at the open door, I see her running inside.

Her blond hair is flying in the wind. “Hey,” I say when I get to the last step and turn toward her, “this is a surprise.”

“I know,” she warbles, and I see tears running down her face.

“What happened?”

“I found him,” she says between sobs. “I found my father.”

“What?” I ask. “I left you two hours ago, and you were going to start working for the day.”

“I know, but you know yesterday, when I came home from the bakery and Ms. Maddie told me she thought they moved to Jefferson County?” I nod as she continues.

“So this morning, I went online and searched up their alumni and just wrote on the message board, asking if anyone from the graduating class had their yearbook and if I could ask them something.”

“Okay.”

“Well, one girl messaged me back maybe ten minutes later.” She puts her hand on my chest. “And I asked her if she could send me a picture of Sonia and Fiona Dyson,” she explains, and she takes a deep breath in, “and she wrote his initials in her yearbook.”

“Who did?” I ask as she takes a second to catch her breath.

“Fiona,” she says, “my mother is definitely Fiona.”

“How do you know for sure?” I rub my hands up and down her arms. She holds out her phone, and I look down to see Fiona Dyson, her yearbook quote next to her name, “Nothing is what it seems to be. Love will prevail all, or that is what you keep telling me. C.B.”

“The girl who sent me the picture,” she adds while I stare at the picture, “said there was some gossip about the two of them running away with each other. But she wasn’t sure.”

“Does she know him?” I ask her and she shakes her head.

“He was a year older than Fiona, but like she said, no one really saw them together. She came to town in the twelfth grade and didn’t really have a friend group she hung out with and then the next year everyone went off to college. She said she pretty much stayed to herself.”

“Baby, do you know how many C.B.’s there are?”

“I know. I called the forensic genealogist and gave him the initials, and he thinks his last name is probably Boston. My great-grandmother married an Edward Boston and they had a couple of kids so…” She closes her eyes. “I’m so freaking close.”

“You are so very close, baby.” She smiles at me. “Are you going to call Fiona now?”

“No, I called Sonia. For sure she will tell her, if she wanted to get in touch with me, she would have.”

I breathe a sigh of relief not to have to watch her live through that again. “Are you still okay with going to meet my parents this weekend?”

“Yes,” she almost shrieks, “of course I am. I’m a little nervous but…”

“What are you nervous about?” I laugh.

“I’m sleeping with their son.”

“I’m almost thirty.” I try not to laugh. “I think they are going to be okay with me sleeping with you.”

“You say that now.” She leans up and kisses my lips. “I’m going to head back home and try to work,” she says, but then her phone rings, and she looks down. “It’s him.”

“Baby, there are so many hims in your life, you are going to have to be more specific.”

“It’s Brendan.” I raise my eyebrows. “The genealogist.” She presses the green button and then presses the speaker button. “Hey, Brendan.” I listen to her fake voice. “This is a surprise.”

“I’ve been doing a bit of digging around,” he says, “since you called me, and I think I found your birth father. His name is Carl Boston.” She goes almost lax in my arms. “The ages add up, and from the information I found online, he’s got his own business in woodworking.

I’ve sent his information to you. Let me know if you need anything else. ”

“I will, Brendan,” she replies. “Thank you so, so much for all your help.” She disconnects.

“Could this be it?” she mumbles as she opens an email. “Carl Boston,” she says his name again. “CB Woods.”

I look up, my brain going through all the names I know in the area and gasp. “He did your library cabinets,” I whisper, and her eyes go even bigger.

“What?” she asks me as I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up the emails I had going back and forth with him.

“Carl Boston.” I turn my phone to her so she can see the invoice. “Wow.” I shake my head. “What a small world.” I look back at her. “What are you going to do? Will you call him?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I have to, but then again I’m not sure I’m ready for the other side. He might not want anything to do with me.”

“I’ll call him,” I tell her. “I’ve been talking to him about other jobs, so it won’t be…” I trail off. “I have no idea. What if he didn’t know?”

“Oh my God,” she says, putting her hand to her mouth, “what if she never told him?”

“Only one way to find out,” I declare, and she nods as I start to dial the number. “I’m so nervous,” I admit. She rolls her eyes and stops when he answers the phone after one ring.

“Hey, Caleb,” he answers right away, “how’re you doing?”

“Hey, Carl,” I reply, “I’m good.” I close my eyes. “Listen, I’m calling, and it’s going to be really strange, but I have a couple of questions to ask you.”

“This sounds serious.” He laughs. “If you are calling to ask me to build you one of those sex contraptions where you tie a woman up, I’m going to have to say you are not going to get it from me.”

I look at Sierra, who rolls her lips and tries not to laugh out loud. “Nope,” I say, “definitely not calling for that.”

“Then nothing can be strange,” he replies. “Whatcha got for me?”

“I was…” I try to think about how to word this, but there aren’t really very many ways to do this, so I shoot straight. “I’m wondering if you ever dated a Fiona Dyson?” I ask and you can hear the silence through the phone and it’s deafening.

“What is this about?” he quickly says, his voice going tight, the humor now gone.

“I know this is going to come out of left field, but my girlfriend, her name is Sierra.”

“Okay,” he responds, and I can tell he’s not following.

I look at the phone, and before I say anything else, Sierra starts. “Hi,” she says softly, “I’m Sierra.” Her voice is a whisper. “I’m searching for my birth parents who gave me up for adoption twenty-five years ago.”

“I’m sorry, come again?” he says.

“Twenty-five years ago, I was left at a fire station. I’ve been tracking my DNA, and well, I traced it back to either Fiona or Sonia Dyson.”

“You were left at a fire station,” he repeats the words, and it feels like each word stabs him in the heart. “I thought you were…” His voice trails off. “I had no idea.”

“I don’t want anything from either of you,” she explains. “I just want to know where I come from.”

“Your mother,” he says and his voice quivers, “was the love of my life.” I can feel it soar through him, whatever happened between the two of them, he never moved on. “The two of you were the loves of my life.” You can hear the anguish in his voice. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m…” She trails off, and I cut into the conversation.

“You built her the shelves for the library.” The gasp that comes out of him fills the phone.

“Is the delivery address on the bill?” he snaps out.

“It is,” I confirm to him.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up, and I look over at Sierra, whose eyes go big.

“Where is he even located?” she asks.

“About forty minutes from here,” I tell her, and she puts her hand on her stomach. “Do you think he’s coming to my house?”

“I have no idea,” I tell her, “but we should go just in case he does.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“You think I’m going to let this man come into your house without me being there?” I shake my head and walk out of the barn with her. “Keys.” I hold out my hand for her keys.

“What about your truck?” she asks as I open the passenger door to her car.

“We’ll come back and get it later,” I tell her as she gets into the car, and I walk around to the driver’s side.

We don’t say a word to each other as I drive back to her house.

We walk in, and she goes straight to the couch and collapses on it.

“Maybe he’s not coming here.” She looks at me.

“Maybe he just wanted to google my house and see where I live.” I don’t say anything because I know this is her nervous energy coming out of her.

“Maybe he just wanted to get off the phone with you, and now you’re blocked, and you are going to have to get a new wood person. ”

“Sierra,” I say, but instead of saying anything more, I walk into the kitchen and take the bottle of whiskey Autumn gave her when she came to visit last week. I pour her a shot, turning back and heading to the library room and handing it to her. “Here.”

“It’s not even noon,” she retorts, and I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah, good call,” she concedes, taking it and downing the shot and then hissing and trying to cover her cough. “Smooth,” she pants out. “So gross, I never want to do that again.”

“Noted. Should I call him, and ask him where he is?”

“No,” she snaps. “What if he was just wanting to get off the phone?”

“What if,” I say when the sound of a car door shuts, and I look over at her. “Should I go and check?”

“No,” she whispers, her eyes going to me and then to the door, “that would be creepy. What if it’s my neighbor?”

She is about to say something else when the doorbell rings, followed by a frantic knocking. “I don’t think it’s your neighbor.”