Читать книгу In Search Of Her Own - Carole Page Gift - Страница 11

Wednesday, May 6

I keep thinking about what Phillip said last night about my motives. What if I’m not being honest with myself? What if I’m just using my spiritual concerns about my son as an excuse to indulge my maternal yearnings?

What if I find my son and all I care about is getting him back? Am I opening a Pandora’s box? Am I just inviting more heartache? Maybe Phillip’s right. Maybe I should just trust my child to God and get on with my life.

But what life?

How can I go on with my life when such a big part of me is missing? When I walked away from my son six years ago, I thought that was as bad as it got; everything after that would be easier, and the pain would lessen with time. Instead, the emotional wound has festered and spread, infecting even the healthy parts of my life. I don’t know how I could have survived these years without God’s strength and comfort.

But now new concerns taunt me. What realities will I have to deal with when I find my child? What sort of life did I release him into six years ago? In my mind I’ve concocted a perfect world for my boy—loving parents, a happy home, a future any child would envy. I’ve consoled myself with the fantasy of an ideal life for my son. If I can’t have him, at least he has the best of all possible worlds with his adoptive family.

But does he?

Surely reality can never match my dreams.

Will I be able to accept a less-than-perfect situation for my child? If the life he’s living now is less than what I could have provided, then what was my sacrifice for?

Dear God, I’m so afraid of what I’ll find, of how I’ll feel. What if this all blows up in my face and my life is more messed up after I find him than it is now?

What if I find him and I can’t let go? Will I become one of those crazy, obsessed women who won’t stop until they’ve destroyed their child’s life?

To be honest, I don’t know what my motives are Yes, I want to be sure someone tells my boy about God I want someone to be there to answer his questions and point him to faith in Christ. I admit, I would give my life to be that person. But I know how improbable that hope is. So I will be satisfied just to know that someone will be there to help him find the answers.

It’s still not real to me what I’m doing. Looking for my son. Starting the process in motion. My baby’ Only not a baby now. A little boy. Six already. Will I know him? What will he look like? Will I feel that connection I felt when he was in the womb and we played our silly little bumping games?

The questions bombard my mind. Will I be able to transfer the love I feel for this fanciful child of my imagination to my real flesh-andblood son? Or will he be a stranger to me? Surely I will feel a mother’s love for him. If only he could feel a son’s love for me!

When I let myself think about it—all the possibilities—my excitement bubbles up and spills over and colors everything I do, every waking hour. No matter how many doubts and anxieties—and yes, at times, stark terror!—I feel, still, my overriding emotion is pure joy. To think that I may actually, on this earth in this lifetime, lay eyes again on my child. Perhaps even hear the sound of his voice. I can ask for no greater gift.

But for now I must play this waiting game, waiting for Phillip to call with news, waiting, praying How long will it take? Dear God, please don’t make me wait too long!

* * *

The following Tuesday Phillip telephoned Victoria and said, “I have some information. When can I see you?”

Her pulse quickened. This was the call she’d been rehearsing in her mind for days “You found my son?”

“I’d rather discuss it with you in person. Are you free now?”

“Yes, of course. I’m just grading final exams.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Victoria found waiting for Phillip an excruciating exercise in patience. She touched up her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. She straightened her tiny living room, replacing the stack of test papers on the coffee table with a bowl of fresh fruit. She returned several partially read books to the large oak bookcase. As she busied herself with incidentals, she sensed she was running purely on nervous energy.

When Phillip finally arrived, Victoria greeted him with clammy, trembling hands Her mouth was dry; her throat ached. “I haven’t felt so anxious since my student teaching days,” she told him as he took the velvet wing chair she offered. “I feel almost as if you’re giving me back my son.”

“Not so fast,” said Phillip. “I told you before, a search like this is likely to have its ups and downs.”

Victoria sat on the sofa across from Phillip. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “What are you trying to say, Phillip? Is it bad news?”

The tendons in his neck tightened, his eyes took on a shadowed, thoughtful expression.

“Please, Phillip, tell me. I’ve got to know “

He sat back, his muscular frame filling the lime green chair “Your son was adopted by a couple in their mid-twenties named Frank and Julia Goodwin.”

She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “You already know their names—the couple who adopted him? Oh, Phillip, I think I’m going to cry. Tell me all you know about them.”

“Not a great deal, I’m afraid. They lived in a small town in Oregon, not far from where your baby was born.”

“Lived? They aren’t there now?”

“No.” Phillip’s brow furrowed. “There was an accident, Victoria. Over six months ago.”

“An accident?” She sat forward, her muscles suddenly tense.

“A car crash,” said Phillip.

Her pulse quickened with alarm. “Oh, no! Phillip, don’t tell me—!”

His deep voice was somber, almost a monotone. “Frank and Julia Goodwin were both killed.”

Victoria’s breath caught. Dear God, she didn’t want to know, and had to know, but how could she cope? To find her child and have him immediately snatched away? She couldn’t stand it if—please, God, don’t let it be! “And my son?” she barely whispered.

“He survived,” said Phillip quickly. “He was injured, but my sources indicate that he recovered.”

Relief radiated through her body. She sank back, every muscle like jelly. “Where is my baby now?”

Phillip removed a slim notebook from his vest pocket. He thumbed through several pages. “Your son was released into the custody of his maternal grandparents—Julia’s parents—Maude and Sam Hewlett. They live in Middleton, a farming community north of San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?” Victoria repeated carefully. “That’s not far. Maybe half a day’s drive.”

“No, it’s not bad,” Phillip agreed. “The boy could have been in some remote city halfway around the world.”

“Middleton, you said? North of San Francisco? All right, wonderful. That’s where I’ll go to find my son.” Impulsively she added, “Would you like to go with me, Phillip?”

“Hold on,” he said, reaching over and touching her hand, a cautionary gesture. “There’s more, Victoria.”

“Bad news?” she asked with apprehension. She didn’t want to hear anything that would dampen her spirits. She knew now where her son lived. What more did she need to know?

“Not exactly bad news,” said Phillip. “It’s more puzzling than anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a colleague of mine from San Francisco check your son’s neighborhood and the local school system for some record of the boy. So far he hasn’t been able to uncover any evidence of your son’s existence.”

Victoria shook her head, baffled, “Wait a minute, you’re confusing me. No record of his existence? How can that be?”

“I don’t know. I’m just telling you what we’ve found.”

“My son is six years old now. He should be in first grade, or at least kindergarten.”

“I agree. But there’s no record that a Joshua Goodwin or a Joshua Hewlett was ever enrolled in any public or private school in the area.”

Victoria’s heart stopped in mid-beat. “Joshua, you say? That’s my son’s name?”

Phillip nodded.

“Joshua.” She repeated the name several times, marveling. “Joshua. It sounds strange and wonderful all at once.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. “I always wondered what he was called, my son, what name he answered to. Joshua. I like it. Don’t you, Phillip? It’s a good, strong name. A biblical name. If I recall correctly, it means ‘Jehovah is salvation.’“

Phillip sat forward and rubbed his hands together methodically, as if marking time until her emotional outburst subsided. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Unfortunately, Victoria, it’s a name we can’t trace past the accident that killed his parents.”

Victoria looked back in stunned silence, trying to make sense of Phillip’s words. “That can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Surely you’ve missed something, some clue. Have you checked with his grandparents?”

“No, not yet. That could be a ticklish situation, especially since we don’t want them to know Joshua’s natural mother is looking for him.”

“You think there could be trouble?”

“It’s happened before.”

“Have you talked to the Hewletts’ neighbors?” She tried to keep her voice under control, but couldn’t help hearing the nervous, urgent edge as she questioned Phillip.

“My colleague contacted every house on the block,” he replied. “No one has ever seen the youngster.”

Victoria’s voice rose with a shrill desperation. “But that’s impossible. Little boys play outside. They have friends. Surely someone has seen him.”

“No one,” said Phillip. “Everyone says the Hewletts are very private people. Not much is known about them. But all the neighbors agreed on one point. The Hewletts live alone.”

Victoria stood and walked to the window, hugging herself protectively. She felt a chill inside, like a clammy hand crushing her heart, making it hard to breathe. “Something’s wrong, Phillip. Something’s terribly wrong.”

He joined her at the window and placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “That’s the way I read it, too, Victoria.”

She turned to face him, tears wetting her cheeks. “I’m scared, Phillip.”

Impulsively he drew her into his arms and gently stroked her back, a friend offering comfort. He whispered against her hair, “It’ll be all right, Victoria. I promise.”

Hearing him say those words, she believed him, as if he truly could make everything right for her—this man of such strength, integrity and sensitivity. She wanted to stay in the warmth of his arms and savor his consolation; she had never felt so safe before. But as he held her she sensed the stirring of something more between them, not just comfort, but a physical attraction. It was the same delicious rush of adrenaline she had felt with Rick Lancer, only better, for she had always been on her guard with Rick. In Phillip’s arms she felt almost as if she were home where she belonged.

She lifted her face to his and for an instant she thought he might kiss her, but even as his lips parted, he released her and stepped back abruptly. “I’m sorry, Victoria. I didn’t mean to—I promise, that won’t happen again.”

She brushed back a stray lock of her burnished hair. She felt flustered, breathless.and disappointed. “Don’t apologize, Phillip, please. I’m sure you were just trying to calm a distraught client.” She laughed feebly. “I suppose it’s all part of the job description, isn’t it?”

“Not until today,” he murmured, smoothing his hair back and straightening his jacket.

It was obvious they both felt at a loss for words, so she said with forced lightness, “What are we going to do, Phillip?”

His brows arched quizzically. “Do?”

“About my case.”

“I knew that,” he said with a sheepish smile. When he spoke again he was all business. “I think we’ll have to confront the Hewletts and see what they have to say.”

“We?”

“I thought you might want to drive down the coast with me and meet them for yourself.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“We have no other leads. And frankly, I think the situation warrants a face-to-face meeting with your son’s grandparents.”

“When should we go?”

“I’m free next weekend.”

“All right That works out well for me, too. The school term is over. I’ll be finished with my duties at the university and have my grades turned in by then” She paused and searched Phillip’s eyes. “What will we say to the Hewletts?”

He shrugged. “Let’s see what happens when we get there “

She nodded, then patted Phillip’s arm in a gesture of camaraderie. As anxious as she felt about her son, she was grateful that God had sent her a man like Phillip, a man she sensed she could trust to help her with her quest. She gave him a pleased, slightly abashed smile and said, “I just realized you’ve been here an hour and I haven’t even offered you a cup of coffee “

He grinned and squeezed her hand, the warmth of his touch as pleasurable as a kiss “Thank you, my lady I thought you’d never ask.”