Page 6 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

G uilt. That had to be what made Lacey almost hang up when the automated phone system at Holmes Regional Medical Center started to play annoying “hold” music.

And if she felt guilt for making this call—what would she feel if she got what she wanted and did something with the information? More guilt.

But also, a weird sense of rightness and peace.

Lacey sighed and leaned back, the phone pressed to her ear, since she didn’t dare risk putting the call on speaker. She’d hidden herself in the small office on the main floor, tucked between the laundry room and Tessa’s bedroom.

At the thought of Tessa, she shivered a bit, certain that her friend, boss, and mentor would not be happy if she knew what Lacey was doing.

With her laptop open to the website of a florist for the Bat Mitzvah she was currently planning for Tessa Wylie Events, Lacey glanced around the space that still felt like “Uncle Eli’s office.

” He’d used the small Ikea desk for his own paperwork and put a drafting table under the window for his architecture business.

But he’d gone back to Atlanta, so Lacey and Tessa moved their budding event planning business from the dining room table to this more private space.

She sure hoped it was private because what she was doing was…top secret.

“We appreciate your patience,” a recorded voice lilted in her ear. “Holmes Regional Medical Center has been Brevard County’s largest…”

She inched the phone away so she didn’t have to hear the hospital commercial and willed her call to go through to the medical records department.

She tapped her nails against the desk, eyes unfocused on the screen in front of her, listening to the promise that her call would be picked up by the first available operator.

Was this wrong? For some reason, she remembered Grandma Maggie talking to her about her conscience when she was about Nolie’s age.

“When your conscience tells you it hurts, then you might be hurting someone else.”

Was that her conscience speaking that made her chest hurt? Was she hurting Tessa by trying to find out… something ? A name. A city. The identity of a baby who, twenty-five years ago, had been given up for adoption by Tessa Wylie.

Tessa had said she didn’t want to intrude on this person’s life, but Lacey had seen a longing in her friend’s eyes and knew that she had to do…

This.

Lacey shifted on an uncomfortable faux leather office chair, blowing out a breath.

It started when Lacey had guessed that Tessa had had a baby, which didn’t take any extraordinary powers of deduction or special mind-reading sorcery.

They’d gotten very close in the last two months, and Lacey could see the way Tessa reacted anytime someone commented what a great mother she would have been.

She joked about ships that sailed, and flicked her fingers as if the very idea of motherhood was preposterous. But Lacey sensed she was hiding an old pain. Couldn’t anyone else?

Apparently not, and Tessa had told her that no one knew except her late father. Not her mother, not her twin sister.

The secret had been burning a hole in Lacey ever since that late afternoon at the wine bar when, in a completely off-guard and candid moment, Tessa admitted that she’d had a baby. When she did, she told Lacey everything she knew about the child…

He was seven pounds and ten ounces, nineteen inches long, and born at seven sixteen p.m. on February 19, 2000, in Holmes Regional Medical Center in Melbourne, Florida.

For some reason, Lacey had committed the confession to memory.

Well, for this reason. So she could…pry.

No, no, no . She was helping , not prying.

It was obvious Tessa would love to know her son, but she was terrified of ruining his life, not hers.

If Lacey could just find out something about him, maybe the kid wouldn’t care that he was the result of a fling when Tessa worked as a waitress on a Carnival Cruise ship.

He wouldn’t care that his biological mother didn’t get the father’s last name, and hadn’t realized she was pregnant until she was fairly far along. Would he care that she didn’t tell anyone but her father, Artie, who had helped arrange the adoption?

Lacey didn’t know. But Tessa had made Lacey promise to keep her secret. Well, to be technical and accurate, Lacey reminded her pesky conscience, she’d promised not to tell Vivien or Kate, specifically.

She hadn’t promised she wouldn’t look the boy up to find out who, where, and what he was now.

Which was all she was doing by hiding in this office making secret calls while Tessa took her morning run on the beach and showered.

Lacey swallowed hard as the hold music cut off with a faint click.

“Medical Records, this is Mrs. Carmichael.”

Okay, here we go.

Lacey forced a bright, casual tone. “Hi, Mrs. Carmichael. Thanks for taking my call. I was hoping you could help me track down some birth records. It’s for my brother—he’s been trying to piece together some family medical history, and we only have a few details.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a skeptical, “All right, but birth records are confidential and not given by phone. But I’ll check and see what I can tell you.”

“That would be awesome.”

“Was he adopted?”

She swallowed. “Uh, yes, he was.”

“Then you’d need to be able to match the records we have on file before I can tell you anything, and I can’t tell you much, hon.”

“What would I have to match?”

“His actual birthdate, time of birth, and some vital statistics. I’ll need the patient’s last four digits of her social security—that’s the biological mother—but even then, I cannot tell you anything medical or share any personal information on file. I’m sorry, but that’s the law.”

“I understand.” As her mind whirred, she touched the computer screen, remembering that Tessa had to use the last four digits of her social security number when she had Lacey apply for a business credit card.

She clicked a few buttons and found them in an instant. “I can provide everything you asked for,” she said.

Mrs. Carmichael sighed. “All right, give me the details, and I’ll see what I can find.”

Lacey inhaled. “He was born on February 19, 2000, at seven-sixteen p.m., and was seven pounds and ten ounces, nineteen inches long. And the last four digits of the biological mother’s social are…

” She threw a look at the door she hadn’t locked and prayed Tessa didn’t walk in as she read the numbers to Mrs. Carmichael.

“All right, hon,” she finally said. “You sit tight for a minute and let’s do some looking.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She tried not to sound breathless but listened to the sound of clacking keys in the background. For…ever.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Well, that was a busy night at Holmes,” the woman said on a chuckle. “But only one boy was born.”

“Oh.” Lacey’s heart pounded. “Do you have a name?”

She heard another sigh on the other end. “Now, I can’t give you adoptive parents’ names. But that would be your family, I suppose, since it’s your brother.”

“Yes, yes. Can you confirm that? Just so I know you have the right child?”

“If I can find…” A pause. Then, almost as if speaking to herself, Mrs. Carmichael muttered, “Matteo…”

Did she say Matteo? Was that his first name or last?

“I can only tell you this, ma’am,” Mrs. Carmichael said.

“This baby was quite healthy. If you’re looking for medical records, he had the proper shots, had a perfect Apgar score, and didn’t have a single medical report filed while he was in Holmes.

I can give you the delivery doctor’s—no, no, I can’t.

He’s retired. I have a pediatrician’s name, but that’s all.

No guarantee she’s still working twenty-five years later. ”

“That’s fine, it will help.”

“It’s Dr. Martha Elias in Satellite Beach, Florida.”

She scribbled furiously. “That’s great, thank you. Anything else? Anything at all?”

“No, ma’am. That was a closed adoption and I can’t even give you the agency that handled it.”

“Of course not,” Lacey said, her voice a little breathless. “Thank you for your time.”

She hung up and stared at the computer screen. Now what?

She stood, not surprised her legs were shaking, then opened the door and peeked into the hall. Tessa’s bedroom door was closed, with the sound of the shower running audible from the en suite.

Tessa loved a long shower and she’d wash her hair after running, so…there was time.

Think, Lacey, think. Would the family still live in the same town as the pediatrician? Twenty-five years later? Probably not, but it was all she had.

Back at the laptop, she typed, Matteo Satellite Beach.

If this didn’t work, she could cross-reference public records and?—

Roman Matteo, Star Athlete from Satellite High, Signs Multimillion-Dollar Contract with Jacksonville Jaguars.

She stared at the headline at the top of the search results that popped up immediately, then scanned down. More about this football player named Roman Matteo from a small town on the east coast of Florida. Much more. Local news, sports news, national news.

She had said Matteo, right?

Lacey clicked on the first one and zeroed right in on the picture of one very happy young man holding up a football jersey with a number 14 on it, smiling and looking right into the camera with…the most distinct amber eyes.

Tessa’s eyes.

“Holy jackpot, Batman. That was easy.”

But was it too easy?

She clicked on another story and another, trying to find more pictures.

The “signed with Jags” news story was everywhere, but then she found a feature story in Florida Today , which must be the local newspaper, and scanned every word.

Faith and Bob Matteo call Roman the light of their life, the son…

All of the blood in her veins froze.

…the son they adopted.

Taking a steadying breath, she continued to read, seeing that he was twenty-two…three years ago. Which meant he was twenty-five now.

This had to be him.