Page 29 of Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn
The question gave her pause. Was she ready for answers that might change everything? But then she thought about Carol’s warmth, about the way she’d felt at home here from the moment she’d arrived, about the growing certainty that she was exactly where she needed to be.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I came here for answers. I need to know the truth.”
Brady smiled, and she felt a rush of gratitude for his steady presence, his willingness to help her navigate this uncertain territory. “Then we’ll find them. Meet me down here at midnight?”
“Midnight,” she agreed.
As they said goodbye for now and she headed upstairs, Lila felt a mixture of anticipation and terror. In a couple of hours, she might finally have the answers she’d come to Pine Ridge to find.
Lila lay in bed watching the red numbers on her alarm clock creep toward midnight. Every sound in the inn seemed amplified—the settling of old wood, the whisper of wind againsther window, the distant hum of the heating system. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the minutes ticked by.
At 11:58, she slipped out of bed and pulled on leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. The hallway was dark and quiet, but she could see a sliver of light under Sarah’s door. Everyone else seemed to be asleep.
She crept down the stairs, trying to avoid the steps she’d noticed creaked during her earlier trips up and down. The lobby was lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace, casting everything in a warm orange glow.
Brady was already there, sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire. He looked up as she approached, his expression both serious and reassuring.
“Ready?” he whispered.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
They made their way to the small office behind the front desk, Brady producing a key from his pocket.
Brady flipped on the light, shutting the door behind them. The storage space was cramped but organized, with metal shelving lined with banker’s boxes labeled with years and categories.
“Here,” he said quietly, pointing to a section of boxes marked with years from the late 1980s through the mid-1990s. “Guest registrations are separate from financial records.”
They carefully lifted down the box marked “Guest Records 1990–1992” and carried it over to a table. Inside the box, manila folders were organized chronologically, each containing registration forms, correspondence, and notes about individual guests. Lila’s hands trembled slightly as she began flipping through them.
“December 1991,” she murmured, searching through the folders. “October, November ... wait.”
She paused, staring at the filing tabs. November 1991 was there, but the next folder was February 1992.
“Brady,” she whispered, her voice tight with disappointment. “December 1991 is missing.”
He leaned over her shoulder to look at the files. “That’s unusual. Tom is incredibly methodical about record-keeping.”
They searched through the entire box, checking to see if the December folder had been misfiled elsewhere. But there was no trace of any records from December 1991.
“It’s not here,” Lila said, sinking back in the office chair. “The one month I need, and it’s completely gone.”
Lila felt tears pricking her eyes as frustration and uncertainty mixed together. She’d been so close to finding concrete evidence, only to hit another dead end.
“What do I do now?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “I feel like I’m trying to catch a shadow.”
Brady reached over and took her hand. “You could ask Carol. Tell her why you’re here and what you suspect. Maybe it’s time for an honest conversation.”
“What if I’m wrong? Or what if she doesn’t want to know me? She did seal the adoption. What if I ruin whatever connection we’ve built this week?”
“Or what if,” Brady said softly, “she’s been hoping for thirty-four years that you’d find your way back to her?”
The possibility made Lila’s chest tighten with a mixture of hope and terror. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I think Carol Brennan has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever known. And I think if she gave up a child once, it was because she thought it was best for that child, not because she didn’t love them. Look, Lila, I wouldn’t encourage you to do this if I thought it was a bad idea. Carol means a lot to me too.”
Lila wiped tears from her cheeks, feeling something shift inside her. “I’m supposed to leave tomorrow,” she said. “I was planning to spend Christmas at home.”
“So stay. Christmas kind of seems like the perfect time for this conversation, don’t you think? Besides, no one should be alone on Christmas or their birthday, and definitely not when they fall on the same day.”
