Page 38 of PenPal Hero

“Knock it off!” Holt caught up to them as they rounded the first corner of Zayden’s wrap-around porch. “I’ve got her fooled, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

A chuckle escaped Bonnie despite her frustration. Hearing her dearest friends in the world bicker was exactly what she’d needed to make her feel normal again. It also made her miss her brothers again. Alice was right. Bonnie needed to call Jackson soon. And her parents. It was time to smooth things over with her family.

When the four friends reached the back porch, Zayden hurried ahead of them to check the meat on the grill. It was puffing smoke at the far end of the porch and filling the air with the delicious scent of grilling meat.

A scattering of wicker furniture with comfy blue cushions overlooked the yard. Pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. Zayden’s plan was to have a herd of cattle grazing there soon. He was still saving money for that.

Bonnie’s feet ground to a halt by the back door. “Mind if I head inside for a pit stop?”

Zayden nodded. “Powder room is under the stairs.”

“Thanks.” She added in a warning voice, “Talk about me all you want while I’m gone, because when I get back, I’m changing the subject.” Without waiting for anyone to answer, she opened the screen door and headed inside.

Though she ended up in the half bathroom beneath the stairs, she didn’t actually need to use the facilities. Instead, she perched on the toilet seat and pulled out her cell phone again. Opening the message from her birth parents, she clicked on the sound file.

A lilting lullaby filled the small room. It was louder than she’d anticipated. She hastily turned the sound down, but there was no mistaking the woman’s airy voice. Bonnie recognized it, because she’d heard it before — singing the same song to her when she was small.

She closed her eyes while she listened, ignoring the dampness of tears on her cheeks. While the woman sang, Bonnie visualized white curtains in a nursery. They were rippling in the breeze from an open window. The scent of cookies wafted through the air.

A tortured sob escaped her that she fought to muffle. Then another sob came, and another one.

“Bonnie?” Holt knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

She was weeping too hard to answer. Instead, she stood and opened the door. The music file was still playing. She laid her phone on the vanity and stumbled into his arms.

“No,” she quavered, burying her face against his chest. “I’m not okay.”

“It’s okay not to be okay.” His voice was rough with understanding as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “I’ve got you, babe.”

They stood there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to the music until the last note faded.

“That was my mother.” Bonnie’s voice was muffled against his shirt. “My birth mother. She used to sing that song to me when I was little.”

Holt rubbed one large hand in a circle against her back. “Uh…you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

So she did. She told him everything, from the accidental text message to the response she’d received from it. “It’s them, Holt. This song proves it. It’s my mom’s voice. I…remember her.”

He drew a heavy breath and didn’t immediately answer.

Alarm swept through her at the strange look on his face. “Please tell me you believe me.”

“I do,” he said carefully. “I believe you heard this woman’s voice, probably from the time you were…” He stopped and sighed.

“A baby?” She leaned back in his arms to scan his features. “That’s what you were about to say, wasn’t it?”

He drew another heavy breath. “Not necessarily. It’s difficult to decide what to believe and not believe these days, but I’m just not swallowing the whole miraculous reappearance of your birth parents. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

All she could do was stare. “Why not?”

“Because the song sounds like a professional recording.”

Professional? Her brain latched onto the word. Now that he mentioned it, though… She winced, not wanting to go there inside her head. “What exactly are you saying?” Acute disappointment swept through her.

His arms tightened protectively around her. “I’m saying that if someone was doing a casual recording at home, there’d be some background noises. Simple things like inhaling and exhaling. Maybe the rustle of clothing. Normal, everyday sounds. This file,” he pointed at her phone. “I’m sorry, but my gut says it’s too clean.”

She frantically searched her memories, longing to give credence to the music and the feelings it had evoked in her. However, she struggled to remember her mother’s arms. Or face. Or the bottle she must have been holding to her baby’s mouth. Bonnie honestly couldn’t remember a blessed thing beyond the voice and music.

“Why can’t I remember her face?” Her voice grew wistful and pleading. “Her touch?” Every cell in her body longed to remember her birth mother.

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