The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (5 page)

“But she comes home for the summers, doesn’t she?” he asked. “Last year you disappeared for two weeks with your family, and you didn’t even invite me.”

I sipped my wine. “You’d actually want to come?”

Every summer, my family sailed from Bar Harbor, Maine up to Nova Scotia for Chester Race Week. It was a Moore family tradition, and a few years ago, Becky met her birth mother in Chester. It was a mind-boggling coincidence – or maybe it was destiny – that they both ended up in the same small town at the same time. A few puzzle pieces fell into place, and ever since then, our family considered the summer sailboat race in Nova Scotia to be a sacred thing.

“But you don’t sail,” I said to Rick.

“I could learn,” he replied. “I’m a quick study and a strong swimmer.”

I laughed. “I certainly hope you wouldn’t end up doing the breast stroke in the chilly Atlantic. I’d never forgive myself.”

He scooped up some rice with his chopsticks and grinned at me. “So I can come? I think your dad and I would hit it off.”

Perhaps in that moment I might have suspected that Rick was into me because he thought my father could be the next president, but of course, that didn’t even enter my head. I was simply happy to know that my rich, gorgeous boyfriend wanted to meet and spend time with my family. It meant we were becoming more serious, and I couldn’t imagine a more desirable husband than Rick Fraser. Walking down the aisle to stand next to him and say ‘I do’ would be like hitting a home run, and I was a self-confident high achiever who believed I deserved nothing less.

Most importantly, I trusted him.

O
N A WARM
night in June of 2012, the telephone rang. It was my sister Becky calling from Nova Scotia where she had taken a summer job at the Chester Yacht Club.

“How are you?” she asked. “It’s so great to hear your voice.”

“It’s good to hear yours, too,” I replied as I moved into the living room and sat down on the black leather sofa.

From Rick’s condo on the twenty-seventh floor, the view of the sunset never failed to amaze me. Vivid splashes of red and orange lit up the sky and reflected off the tinted glass windows of neighboring skyscrapers.

“What’s up?” I asked. “How’s sailing school?”

My sister was teaching kids to sail in summer day camps, and working on her college thesis on the side.

“It’s a lot of fun,” she replied.

“And how’s Kate?”

Kate was the birth mother Becky had met a few years back. Since that life-changing event, she’d spent her summers in the vacant in-law suite in Kate’s home overlooking the water.

Naturally we were all overjoyed when Becky found her real mother because her adoption records had been sealed for years, and before that she had no idea if her birth mother was dead or alive.

Unlike me. At least I knew my birth mother was dead. She died in childbirth and I was an orphan. There was no hope I’d ever reconnect with her.

Was I envious of Becky’s good fortune?

Yes, most definitely. But above all things, I was happy for my sister because I loved her dearly. We were as close as true blood sisters could be.

“Kate’s great,” Becky replied. “She and Ryan are really happy together. They’re so easy to get along with, and Ryan lets me use his Jeep anytime. But enough about me. How’s your gorgeous man?” Becky asked. “You texted me that he wanted to sail up here with you in August. Are you two getting serious?” I recognized a note of teasing in her voice.

“Maybe,” I replied. “I don’t know. God, I can’t believe I found him.”

“You sound happy,” she said.

I nodded. “Yes. Everything is going really well.”

“I’m glad.” Becky paused. “But what about LA? The last time we talked you said you weren’t crazy about the idea of settling down there forever. Too much Botox.”

I chuckled. “It’s different from the east coast, that’s for sure. I love the weather here, but I really miss the snow. And I never imagined I’d ever raise my kids so far from Mom and Dad.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “Sometimes I feel torn between coming here for the summers to be with Kate, and going home to be with them.”

“But Dad’s busy in Washington,” I reminded her, hoping to ease any guilt she might be feeling. “It’s not like they have a lot of spare time to be full-time parents like they used to be. Not that we need that anyway. You and I are fully cooked. And I’m sure they want you to get to know Kate better. They’re not feeling rejected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I’m not worried about that,” she said. “Mom’s been really supportive, and she and Kate talk on the phone all the time. They’re getting to be good friends. How weird is that?”

“I’m sure they have lots to talk about,” I replied, imagining what two mothers of the same daughter might want to share with each other.

“So are you going to bring Rick up here for Race Week?” Becky asked, steering the conversation back to its original thread. “I’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, then we moved on to other things, like the hot guy Becky had met a few weeks ago at the yacht club. Apparently, he owned a winery in the Annapolis Valley. I was keen to hear more.

I
T
’
S STRANGE HOW
it didn’t even occur to me that the peculiar things that happened to me that summer resembled what had happened to Becky when she was reunited with her birth mother. The fact that they’d found each other at all still seems like a miracle to me, and I suppose I could say the same about my own bizarre experience that year.

“You like to get around, don’t you?” a client said to me one morning when I met him for the first time at the office. He wore blue coveralls, he reeked of fuel oil, and he desperately needed to scrub the grease out from under his fingernails.

I half chuckled, because I believed humor was usually the best method of diffusing a potentially awkward situation. “I beg your pardon?”

“I saw you last week when I went to talk to my wife’s lawyer. We chatted. Don’t you remember? You were sitting at the front desk.”

This made no sense to me. “At the front desk... I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What law firm?”

“Perkins and McPhee. They handle divorces, too. Last week you were there. Now you’re here. Wait a second. You’re not one of those corporate moles, are you? Are you working for
them
?”

Mr. Casey regarded me with suspicion as he took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing my desk. I moved around the desk to sit down. “I’ve been working here faithfully for two years,” I told him, “and I don’t work anywhere else. Are you sure you’re remembering correctly?”

I was familiar with the legal firm of Perkins and McPhee. They had a reputation as ambulance chasers, and did those cheesy television commercials, shouting into the camera liked used car salesmen.

He stared at me with a look of confusion. “I’m sure it was you... I think.”

I straightened some papers on my desk and decided that my client was muddled from all the stress of his messy divorce. “It was probably someone who looked like me,” I suggested. “So tell me, how can I help you, Mr. Maxwell? How long have you and your wife been separated?”

He frowned at me, then sat forward in his chair and uneasily began to answer my questions.

Three weeks later, I was on my way out of the courtroom when the security guard at the door said, “Are you a time traveler or something?”

Briefcase in hand, I stopped in my tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

I knew most of the security guards in the building, but this guy was new.

“Either you have a time machine,” he said, “or you’re freakin’ brilliant.”

I stared at him briefly, feeling slightly amused and shamelessly cocky after my impressive performance in court just moments before. “I don’t have a time machine,” I replied, “but I like to think I’m a teensy bit brilliant.” I smiled at him. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you
do
.” He seemed rather insistent, which knocked me off kilter a bit.

The last few stragglers began to file out of the courtroom, so I had to step aside to clear the door.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

He waited for a few more people to pass between us, then explained, “Last week you were here dropping something off to your boss. We talked outside for ten minutes while we had a smoke. You said you were answering phones for your boss, but taking night classes so you could apply to law school. Now here you are, all decked out in a fancy suit, handling somebody’s divorce. I hope you’re not like that guy in that movie. The one who pretended to be a pilot and a doctor after he faked all his diplomas.”

“
Catch Me If You Can
,” I replied, then I shook my head. “First of all, I don’t smoke, and I assure you, I’m not a fraud. I graduated from UCLA law school.”

He grimaced and scratched his temple. “Then you must have a double.”

For a long moment I stared at him as I recalled the bizarre conversation I’d had with my client, Mr. Casey, who thought I was a spy, working for his wife’s lawyer.

Something strange was happening here, and I began to wonder if there truly was a mysterious doppelgänger out there – someone who looked just like me and was also working in the legal profession.

Or maybe it was something else...

I went home that night, poured a glass of wine, and immediately called Becky before Rick got home. “I’m so glad you answered,” I said. “The weirdest thing happened today.”

“What was it?”

I sank onto the sofa and watched storm clouds shift and roll across the sky. “Get this. The security guard in the courtroom thought I was someone he talked to recently, and he said she was my double. It’s the second time someone said that to me this month. A few weeks ago, a client said he saw me working at another firm.”

“That
is
weird,” Becky replied. “Maybe this woman’s a psycho who saw you in the tabloids and had plastic surgery to look just like you.”

I laughed softly and shook my head. “Thanks, sis. That helps a lot.”

“I’m just kidding. Did the guard tell you the woman’s name?”

“No, he didn’t know it, but my client told me the name of the firm where she worked. I think she’s a receptionist. Today the guard told me she wanted to go to law school. I’m kind of creeped out. You know what they say? If you see your double, it’s supposed to be a bad omen.”

“An omen of death, actually,” Becky informed me. “The poet, Percy Shelly, drowned himself after he saw his double.”

“Not helpful,” I said.

Becky’s voice was playful. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. But that’s just old folklore. Don’t worry about it. What are you going to do?”

We were both quiet for a moment.

“I’m curious about her,” I said.

“I don’t blame you.” Becky paused. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

I lifted my feet and rested them on the tinted glass coffee table. “Yeah... probably. That I might have a twin?”

“Stranger things have happened,” she replied. “And it’s possible, because all three of us were adopted – you, me, and Adam.”

I inhaled deeply. “I wish I knew more about my birth family. All I know is that my mother died in childbirth, but she’d had no other children, so this person who looks like me would have to be a twin, not just a regular sister. But if I had a twin, wouldn’t Mom and Dad have adopted both of us? I can’t imagine they’d let us be separated.”

I couldn’t bear to think that my parents would do something like that. It didn’t seem possible.

“Maybe they didn’t know.”

“Maybe she’s just someone who
looks
like me,” I said, secretly hoping that was the case, because the idea of having a long-lost twin seemed too much to comprehend. How would a person deal with something like that? It would change everything. My life would never be the same. And what if my new sister turned out to be someone I didn’t want to invite into my life? What if she was a druggie or a leech?

“I’m probably being ridiculous,” I said, “imagining that this person is my missing twin. It’s like something out of an old movie.”

“How can you find out?” Becky asked. “Can you go to her firm and see her? If she’s the receptionist, she’ll be right there to greet you when you walk through the door.”

I took my feet off the coffee table and shifted my position on the leather sofa, which creaked when I moved. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I felt restless and uneasy.

“What if she
is
my exact double?” I asked. “How weird would that be, to look at a stranger and see your own mirror image? What would I say to her?”

“That’s a tough one,” Becky replied. “At least you’d be prepared, but if she’s never heard about you, she might have a heart attack when you walk through the door. Can you get someone else to go in and check? What about Rick? If he tells you she definitely is your identical twin, you can find out her name and maybe then you could call her, or send a letter. That would give her a chance to absorb everything and decide if she even wants to meet you.”