The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (7 page)

If you are willing to meet me, I would love to arrange a time and place.

If not, I will understand and respect your wishes. It’s a lot to take in. I’ve written my email address on the back of this letter, and I hope you will reply. If you would prefer to send a letter by regular mail, I work at Berkley, Davidson, Simon and Jones, and that address is also on the back of this letter.

Hoping to hear from you,

Diana Moore

I blinked a few times and cocked my head to the side.
What the hell?

Quickly, I flipped the page over and read the woman’s email address, and the address of the firm where she worked.

She was a lawyer? I felt instantly intimidated and angry at the same time, though I couldn’t explain why I should feel angry. She was contacting me because she believed we might be twins.

Twins!
No, it couldn’t be true. I had no family. I was raised as an only child, my birth mother was long dead, and Mom told me very early on that I had no biological brothers or sisters. She assured me of that.

How the hell did this woman know my name? Had she hired a private investigator or something?

She said she sent a friend here. When had that happened? I glanced around the empty vestibule and felt uncomfortably violated, to think that someone had been in here to scout me out and evaluate me.

I threw the letter down on the desk and stared at it while my heart thundered in my ears.

One of the partners walked in at that moment. He stuck the point of his folded wet umbrella into the giant ceramic vase that stood by the door and said, “Good morning.”

I sat up straighter and tried to shake myself out of my shocked state. “Good morning,” I replied.

He passed by and opened the glass door that led to the inner offices and boardroom. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I slouched back down in my seat, stared at the letter for a few seconds more, then rolled my chair forward to Google Diana Moore.

A
T FIRST
,
IT
made me sick and infuriated that this well-respected, rich and accomplished woman existed on the planet with
my face
, and that she had been adopted as a newborn baby by a freaking future candidate for the President of the United States!

I’d always known I’d been dealt a lousy hand with my congenital heart defect and a dead mother on my birthday – followed by a childhood with an abusive, alcoholic father and a mother who chain smoked and couldn’t hold down a job – but how much worse could it get? Now I had to accept the fact that I’d had a sister, but she had been removed from my life at birth because she was perfect, and I was not.

I hated Senator Moore and his wife in that moment, because clearly they had money. They could have taken both of us. How could any decent human being separate two orphaned twins at birth, and never tell them the other existed?

Senator Moore wouldn’t be getting
my
vote at the polls any time soon. That was for damn sure.

I rested my elbow on the desk and cupped my forehead in a hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with this information? Friend her on Facebook and say, “Oh Joy! I can’t wait to meet you! We’re going to be the best sisters ever!”

No. That was
not
happening.

A sudden urge to shove my dream of being a lawyer up someone’s big fat ass overwhelmed me. I wanted to stand up right now, walk into my boss’s office, quit my job, and go back east, as far as possible from Ms. Diana Moore. Maybe I could be a stockbroker instead.

But that would never happen. I was terrible at math.

I lifted my head and looked at my computer screen. Diana’s face stared back at me, mockingly. I was staring at a family photograph, where they all stood together on a dock next to their yacht – which evidently, they sailed up the coast every summer to race around in circles and win trophies. The picture must have been taken a number of years ago because the article said Diana had just been accepted to UCLA.

I noticed that she had a pretty sister with blonde hair, and a brother, Adam, who was African American. According to the article, all three children were adopted.

I wondered what my life might have been like if they’d taken me home with them, too. Would I be a lawyer today? Would I be living in the Hamptons and going to cocktail parties at the White House?

What a crock!
And what an unbelievable confirmation of the fact that I was the unluckiest person alive.

I reached for Ms. Moore’s letter, crumpled it up in a ball, and pitched it into the trash can under my desk. “Screw all of you,” I said. Then I called the office manager to tell her I was taking my break. I picked up my purse and went downstairs for a smoke.

Ten minutes later, I practically leaped off the elevator and ran the full length of the carpeted hall in my leggings and high heels, in a mad rush to return to my desk. When I pushed through the door, Ida, the office manager, looked up at me with surprise.

“Good Lord, is there a gunman behind you or something?”

I stood for a moment, fighting to catch my breath. “No.”

While she rose from the reception chair and logged out of the computer, I moved around the desk and waited for her to vacate my post.

“Twelve o’clock lunch today?” she said.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I replied.

As soon as she was gone, I picked up the trash can and rifled through the contents to retrieve the crumpled-up letter from my twin.

Diana

O
N THE DAY
my letter was delivered to Perkins and McPhee, I checked my email every five minutes, waiting and hoping for a reply. Nothing happened all morning, then shortly after lunch, it appeared in my inbox, like a flash of light in a dark space.

Her name, Nadia Carmichael, sent my heart into a fast-beating frenzy.
Was I obsessed?
Maybe a little. Thank God I wasn’t in court that day, because I could barely focus on anything beyond my email.

I clicked on the message to open it. It was long, and I felt a rush of nervous excitement. What did my twin have to say? I prayed it wouldn’t turn out to be an explanation about why she didn’t want to meet me, because by now, I had crossed the point of no return. I simply could not exist without seeing this woman and speaking to her.

Leaning forward, with my hand still on the mouse, I began to read her message...

Hi Diana.

Needless to say, I was shocked when I opened your letter this morning, and it’s taken me a few hours to digest what you told me. I am sitting here at work, still feeling very distracted. I haven’t known what to do, or how to respond.

I should tell you that when I first read your letter, I was upset. It’s one thing to learn you have a twin who was stolen from your life, and all this time you never knew. It’s another thing to actually SEE your own face on another person. (I looked you up on the Internet. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

The thing that bothers me most in all is this (and I need to know the answer): Did your parents know about me? Did they separate us intentionally? If they did, I don’t think I could ever forgive them. Please tell me the truth.

If they chose not to take me, I do have some idea why. You probably don’t know this (I have no idea what you know about me), but I was born with a heart defect, so no one wanted to adopt me until later, when that problem was resolved. I was four years old when I was adopted, but I’m fine now, in case you’re wondering.

And yes, I was born in 1986. March 15. You?

I wish I could write more, but I’m at work and I have a ton of stuff to do. I think we should definitely meet, though. Do you realize that we work only a few blocks away from each other? It’s kind of freaky to think that we have been sharing the same sidewalks and didn’t even know it.

When would you like to meet? I am free most nights except Tuesdays and Thursdays when I go to night classes.

Nadia

I sat back in my chair and exhaled. None of this seemed real. It was like something out of a movie. My head was spinning. I could barely move.

At least her email wasn’t a rejection. I was worried when I read the first few paragraphs.

March 15, 1986. That was my birthday, too.

After a few deep breaths, I sat forward to read the email a second time, and felt badly that she had been upset by my letter, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no way to tell someone she could be a twin without causing her some shock and distress.

Eager to respond right away before she changed her mind about meeting me, I hit reply, but paused with my fingertips on the keyboard.

How should I address the question she asked me?
Did my parents know about her?

I had no answer to give, at least not yet. I’d told my sister Becky about the possibility that I might have a twin, but I’d asked her not to tell Mom and Dad until I made contact with Nadia myself and figured out if this was real.

Now that I knew there was a strong liklihood Nadia was a twin sister, I would have to talk to my parents and find out what they knew. But first, I would reply to Nadia’s email and set up a place to meet.

My hands trembled as I began to type.

Nadia emailed me back within five minutes and agreed to meet me for dinner that night, at a restaurant within easy walking distance for both of us.

There was still some vital information I had to unearth before I met her, however, so I picked up my cell phone and dialed my mother’s number in Washington.

“Hello?” she said, after the first ring.

Though I dreaded what I was about to ask her, the sound of her voice nevertheless eased the tension in my neck and shoulders. “Hi, Mom.”

I swiveled around to look out the window.

“Hey,” she said, “I don’t usually hear from you in the afternoons. Is everything all right?”

Leave it to my mom to sense a tremor in my world. She knew me better than anyone. “Funny you should ask,” I replied. “Some weird stuff’s been happening, and I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” she suggested, and I could just picture her sitting down on the upholstered chair by the fireplace, ready to listen to every detail.

“
W
HAT
’
LL YOU HAVE
?” the bartender asked me as soon as I sat down. I’d arrived at the restaurant early and did a quick walk-through, searching for an exact replica of myself seated at one of the tables, but there was no such person, so I decided to wait at the bar.

“Pinot Grigio, please,” I replied.

While he poured my wine, I dug into my purse for a compact and checked my lipstick and teeth, just to make sure I didn’t have a poppy seed stuck somewhere, then clicked the mirror shut and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

Part of me still felt like this was a strange dream, and my mysterious double was going to stand me up because she didn’t actually exist.

As I sat there waiting, I couldn’t keep my thoughts still. Questions came at me, like ping pong balls, from all angles.
What would it feel like to look at her? Would I pass out from the shock of it? Did she have the same sense of humor as I did? What movies did she like? Did she hate raw onions, and was she unable to sleep at night if her feet were cold?

The bartender slid the glass of white wine toward me. I immediately picked it up and took a sip.

The door opened and three men in dark suits walked in. I tried not to stare at everyone who entered. Feeling impatient, I drummed my fingers on the bar.

After a few minutes, I checked the time on my cell phone. It was still early. Not yet six o’clock. Nadia wasn’t late – at least not yet. I really needed to try and relax.

The door opened again, and this time a woman walked in. Her long, dark, wavy hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she wore pointy-toed black pumps and leggings with a fitted gray blazer, and a bright red scarf to match her lipstick. She paused just inside to remove her sunglasses. As she dropped them into her oversized purse, and glanced around the bar, I knew in an instant that it was her.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

In the space of a single heartbeat, our eyes met, and my stomach did a somersault.