Page 3 of More Than A Fixer-Upper (Hope Runs Deep #13)

Rosalie

Three Months Later

It’s been three months since I lose my job. The kids are supposed to go back to school next week. I’m scouring Indeed for anything teaching positions, retail, food service. At this point, I’ll take just about anything.

There’s a knock at the door. I hear Winnie yell that she’s got it, so I stay focused on the job listings.

“Mom, I think you might need to broaden your horizons,” Drew says, standing behind me, crunching on an apple.

“Broaden them how? Should I be looking at truck driving? Can you see me behind the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler?” I chuckle.

“You can hardly reverse in our Malibu. A truck would be a disaster.” I scoff at his reply but nod reluctantly. He’s not wrong.

“Um, Mom…” Winnie sits down, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, avoiding eye contact. That’s her tell she’s nervous. My radar goes up. “There’s a lawyer at the door. He wants to talk to you.”

“What did you do?” Drew’s eyes widen as he cranes his neck toward the living room.

“Nothing.” I sigh, brushing cookie crumbs off my shirt as I stand. “Stay put,” I instruct, knowing full well they’ll be watching from the doorway.

I steel myself for a fight. Maybe Randall or his parents are suing me. As I open the door, I see a tall older man. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth suggest he smiles often. His dark hair is peppered with white, and something about him feels familiar like a family friend I can’t quite place.

“Miss Rosalie Potter?” he asks. I nod.

“I’m Gerald Marks.”

“My daughter said you’re a lawyer. What can I do for you?

” I swallow hard, bracing for bad news. I saw Randall’s mother about a month ago she tried to take pictures of the kids.

I told her, politely but firmly, to leave us alone.

What I wanted to say was: if you didn’t want them at birth, stay the hell away now.

“May I come in so we can chat? I have some news, and it might be overwhelming.” Drew appears beside me.

“Are you suing us? Did my sperm donor or his parents send you?” Drew’s tone is sharp, his fists clenched. I want to reprimand him he knows better than to speak like that, even to people who’ve hurt us.

“Drew, manners,” I say, then turn to Mr. Marks. “Please, come in.”

“Mr. Drew Potter, it’s a pleasure. It’s nice to see a teenager so protective of his mother.” Mr. Marks smiles even brighter. “Ah, Miss Winnie Potterthe reason for my visit.”

“What did I do?” Winnie’s voice trembles.

“You did one of those DNA tests. My client did one as well. About three months before she passed, we found you, your brother, and your mother.”

“I’m confused. Are you saying you know who my mother is?” I ask, settling onto the couch.

Our living room is a patchwork of yard sale and thrift store finds.

A couch, two recliners, and a coffee table that’s seen better days.

No TV, but the kids have tablets for reading, homework, and movies.

I use my phone for everything and still have the old laptop from community college after the kids were born.

“I’m afraid your mother is no longer with us. She died about twenty years ago in a car accident.” Winnie grabs my hand, and I smile at her.

“My client was your grandmother.”

“She was alive until three months ago? Why didn’t she come looking for me?” I ask, though I know he probably doesn’t have the answer.

“Rosa didn’t know about you. LeAnn your mother left home at eighteen, chasing dreams of the big city and her name in lights.

She fell in with people who took advantage of her.

Rosa last heard from LeeAnn when she was living in Texas with friends, thirty-three years ago.

Then came the call LeeAnn was killed on her way to visit her mother. ”

I don’t realize I’m crying until Winnie wipes my cheeks. Mr. Marks pulls out a photo and hands it to me. I gasp. The brown eyes staring back are mine. I look just like my mother and my grandmother.

“You three could’ve been triplets,” Drew says, astonished.

“They could’ve been,” Mr. Marks agrees. “I have more pictures for you. I don’t know who your father is, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, taking the photos. Winnie and Drew lean in, studying each one.

“Thank you for bringing these and telling me about my mother and grandmother. I’m assuming my grandfather is gone too?” I stand, motioning toward the door, but Mr. Marks raises a hand.

“There’s more,” he says.

What else could there be?