Page 58 of Lovers at Seaside
“Every October fifteenth I remember our call. At least now I only allow myself to dissect every word we said on thatoneday. For years I went over it in my headeveryday, wondering what I’d said that made her not want to come back.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t anything you said,” Parker reassured her.
“Did you try to have the call traced?” Grayson asked. “To track her down?”
Sarah shook her head. “If I had done that, Abe would have been notified because her case had never been resolved, and then there would be no chance of her returning. I still have hope.” She turned to Parker again. “When I saw you standing on my porch, my mind reached for Miriam. That happens a lot. I search the face of every blond-haired, blue-eyed woman, wondering if that’s what my daughter might have looked like at that age.”
She reached for a frame on the table beside her and showed it to Parker. “This was taken a few weeks before she went missing.”
Parker took in the girl’s straight honey-colored hair and vacant blue eyes. She looked sad despite her smile. Parker saw a hint of that vacancy in Sarah’s eyes, like the missing pieces of their lives reflecting back at the world—a look Parker recognized all too well, having seen it in her own reflection for so many years.
GRAYSON HAD LEARNED many things from his father, but perhaps the most important lesson was when to hold his tongue. He applied that lesson now, sitting on the front stoop of Matt’s home, waiting for him to arrive, as Parker paced the yard, rehashing their visit with Sarah. She’d been taking apart every sentence, every facial expression, every unspoken emotion, for a half hour.
“Do you think she had the same thoughts we did after the call when Miriam never showed up? That it wasn’t really her daughter after all? Or if it was, maybe something had happened to her? I couldn’t live like that, without knowing the answers.”
He forced himself not to move from the step, because if he held her in his arms, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from saying what had been eating at him since he saw the picture of Miriam.
“She has no choice,” he finally answered.
“Not now she doesn’t. But back then? She could have donesomething.”
“She was afraid of Abe finding out. Besides, it was 1989. How advanced was technology back then?”
“I don’t know. I was only a year old.” Her eyes filled with sadness.
He could take her angst, but he was no match for her sad baby blues. Unable to stay away, he pushed from the stoop. Taking her in his arms, he gazed into her eyes, loving her so much he ached.
“She did what she felt was right, sweetheart. I know you want to help her, and I’m sure you’re wondering how you can help track down her daughter, but you’ve done all that you can. You’ve given her back something she went years without.”
“Yeah, a diary full of bad feelings.” She touched her forehead to his chest. “Did I make a mistake? Should I have left well enough alone? Do you think she’ll be okay, or do you think she’s falling apart right this very second because of the diary?”
He lifted her face again, unable to concentrate on her questions as love for his caring, thoughtful girlfriend obliterated every other thought. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“You’re not answering my questions.”
He cocked a brow, having already answered the same questions at least four times since she’d begun analyzing their visit.
She sighed.
“We’ve gone through this, sweetheart. She’s doing whatever it is she needs to do to deal with having the diary after all these years.” But he wondered if there was something elseshecould do, and decided to feel her out. “Did Miriam’s picture look familiar to you? Did the timing of her call and the fact that she never showed up ring any bells?”
“What do you mean?”
Was it possible he’d seen only what he wanted to see, and he was barking up the wrong tree?
“Her daughter called days before the San Francisco earthquake.”
“You think she…” She swallowed hard.
He shrugged. The picture of Miriam flashed in his mind again, so similar to the picture Bert had taken of Parker at eighteen.
“Oh no. I hope not,” she said. “That would be terrible.”
“Baby, the picture she showed us? Don’t you think it looked similar to the one Bert took of you?”
“What? No. She…” She stepped away and paced. “What are you saying?”
“I’m notsayinganything. I’m thinking out loud.”
