The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (9 page)

“Mm...
eventually
. I’m still waiting for that day. Haven’t seen much sign of it.”

The waiter returned, and this time we didn’t send him away. We picked up our menus and ordered the first thing that looked appetizing. I ordered the trout and Nadia ordered chicken.

The conversation took a lighter turn after that, and we spent the next portion of the evening comparing notes about our favorite foods, movies, and music.

Lingering over dessert and coffee, we shared stories from our childhoods and talked about our first crushes. Nadia told me about how she and her mother were homeless for a while. Then she described her mother’s illness, and how the final weeks had been painful and difficult.

Before we knew it, the restaurant was closing down, and it was time to leave. But I didn’t want to.

I
T WASN
’
T EASY
saying good-bye to Nadia after dinner. I stood on the sidewalk and watched her walk away from me, toward the subway. I wondered if that’s what
I
looked like from behind when I walked at a brisk pace in heels. It was an unusual vantage point, to see yourself from such an angle.

But she wasn’t actually me, I reminded myself. She just
looked
like me. We were not the same person. We were two unique individuals with very different life experiences.

When I arrived home, Rick was lying on the sofa, his tie loose about his neck, his legs crossed at the ankles. There was a baseball game on the large flat screen television, but Rick was texting on his phone. He glanced up and set it on the coffee table when I locked the door behind me.

“How did it go?” he asked, sitting up. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

I shrugged out of my blazer and draped it over the back of one of the kitchen stools, then poured myself a glass of ice water from the spout on the fridge.

“It was unbelievable,” I told him. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I just had dinner with a twin sister I never knew I had, yet I feel like I’ve known her all my life.”

“So it wasn’t awkward or anything?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Well, maybe there were a few awkward moments, because she’s had a hard life, and I feel kind of guilty about that.”

I moved into the living room and sat down beside him.

“Why?” he asked, massaging my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

I sipped my water. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like I was the lucky one – lucky to be adopted into such an amazing family. When I was growing up, I never felt deprived. If I sensed something was missing, it had to be on a subconscious level, because I had such abundance in my life. But Nadia was born with a heart defect, so she wasn’t adopted until she was four. She has no memory of the first four years of her life, which she spent in foster homes. Later, her dad was an alcoholic, and abusive. He left when she was nine.”

“Geez, that is rough,” Rick said.

“Yeah. But it gets worse. He stopped paying child support, so she and her mother got evicted from their apartment and had to live in their car for a while. They drove out here to live with Nadia’s grandparents, but that didn’t work out too well either. They ended up on the street again, living out of their car until her mother met some guy who let them live at his place. Nadia said he was really nice but not very handsome, and that her mother was just using him for a place to live.”

Rick continued to knead my shoulders. “She should write a novel.”

“Tell me about it. So you can see why I would feel guilty.” I closed my eyes and tried to relax while he used the pads of his thumbs to rub in circular motions down the length of my back.

“But it’s more than that,” I continued. “When I imagine her in any of those situations, alone and frightened, I feel a pain in my gut, and it makes me want to double over in agony. How could this have been happening to her while I was living a perfect life, not far away? I wish I had a time machine, so I could go back and tell my parents that she was out there in the world, and in trouble. They would have rescued her, without a doubt. I hate that we didn’t know. It makes me want to sue the crap out of someone.”

“Too bad the agency went bankrupt,” he said.

“Yeah.”

His hands moved up to my shoulders. “So where do you go from here?”

“I’ll ask my parents to come for a visit,” I replied, “and start making up for lost time.”

I believed, in that moment, with every fibre of my being, that it was right thing to do. It may surprise you to learn that I still believe it today, despite what happened later.

Nadia

H
AVE YOU EVER
wondered how many degrees of loneliness there are? I’m sure you must understand what I’m talking about. Surely everyone has experienced
some
form of loneliness in their life, whether it’s temporary and fleeting, or painful and on-going.

Maybe your husband went on a business trip, and you felt lonely in your empty bed. Or maybe your best friend moved away and you were devastated; you missed her terribly, and you were certain your loneliness would never go away.

I’ve experienced varying degrees and intensities of loneliness in my life. Much of it takes me back to my childhood, when my parents argued and my father left, and I never saw him again. I spent a lot of time alone when my mother worked long hours, and I was never sure that she wouldn’t leave some day, too. I felt very much alone in those situations, and I became accustomed to it, because it was ever-present.

It goes without saying that no child should ever be without a loving family, but sometimes it simply can’t be helped. We can’t all grow up in a perfect world. Sometimes a child has to learn how to be independent, self-sufficient, and tough – on the inside and out. I believe I learned that early on, but in the process, I learned other things, too, like how to keep people at a distance. How to keep from caring too much and to rely only on myself.

These were things I would eventually have to
un
learn. But first, I had to hit rock bottom, and experience loneliness from a whole new perspective.

As I rode the subway to meet Diana’s family and potential future husband for the first time, I marveled at the fact that I was not nervous. To the contrary, I felt hopeful and excited, which is a far cry from my initial reaction when I opened and read Diana’s letter at my desk on that fateful rainy day.

My first reaction had been anger. I was jealous of the life that had been handed to her and not to me. But our dinner together had somehow wiped that away. By the end of that night, my animosity vanished, for I experienced something profound – something I’d never experienced before. I’m not even sure how to explain it.

My mother, on her deathbed, told me she loved me, and I believe with all my heart that she did. In spite of all her failings, I knew she tried her best, and I loved her for sticking around all those years.

My first meeting with Diana, however, introduced me to something new. What I felt for my twin – in the first instant when we embraced – was a connection few people in the world can ever truly comprehend. It was a different kind of love. Though we had spent our lives apart and were virtual strangers, by the end of the evening, my eyes were wide open, and I realized that she was the missing link to
everything
. She was the answer to all my questions about my purpose in the world. Suddenly I had a true sense of self. I knew exactly who I was.

Diana was everything I ever wanted to be, but never believed I
could
be – because I wasn’t smart enough, lucky enough, or pretty enough. When I met her and saw myself in her, I began to feel inspired.

This is what I am capable of
. That’s what I told myself. I admired her confidence and all the outer details that were so damn impressive.

I went home that night, amazed by the fact that we were so much the same. The only difference was our financial circumstances and our life experiences, but weren’t those things external? That had nothing to do with my genetics. Or my soul. The past was finished now. The future was mine to make of it whatever I wanted.

Diana may have benefited from a higher education and social connections, but
my
experience had taught me how to be tough, and how to survive. Mine was not a cushy life, so at least in that department, I was ahead of her. I knew a certain breed of hardship that she knew nothing about.

Please don’t think I was riding high or feeling arrogant because Diana’s family was rich and powerful, and I considered them to be my free ticket to the easy life. That was the last thing on my mind when I rode the elevator up to her condo on the twenty-seventh floor.

What mattered to me most was that I would meet her family, people who would become my family as well. Diana had made it clear that her parents wanted to get to know me. They loved
her
, and I would share in that love.

This meant I would no longer be alone. I had lost both my parents and I had no siblings, but now I would be part of a family. A real one.

As the elevator doors opened and I stepped off, I paused briefly in the corridor, because my heart was overflowing with gratitude. My eyes filled with moisture.

What an incredible turn of luck this was. It was like a second chance at life. I prayed that it would hold, and nothing would happen to screw it up.

W
HEN
I
RAISED
my fist to knock on Diana’s door – that’s when the nerves kicked in.

What if they didn’t like me? What if Diana had glossed over the truth – that her family was, in actuality, a tight band of hoity-toity snobs, and as soon as they discovered my parents were blue-collar workers, they would be horrified and concerned for their high-class daughter’s welfare.

I paused and took a deep breath. Then I knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and I found myself standing in front of a mirror. A mirror that smiled back at me.

Most of my anxiety drained away, and I felt a burst of euphoria. I hate to use the word infatuated, but that is the only one that comes to mind. It’s a fairly accurate description of my emotions in that moment.

My twin. The other half of me. And she was so beautiful.

Was this real?

Perhaps the best part was that she stared back at me with matched joy and fascination, as if she had been counting the minutes until we could see each other again. Her eyes glistened, and I could have wept.

“Hi,” she said almost breathlessly, and it seemed private, meant only for me. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave me a quick hug in the entrance hall.

Thank goodness I’d texted her earlier about what I should wear. She told me she was wearing jeans, so I wore jeans as well. I made an effort to class up my appearance with a pale blue blouse that looked like silk, but was actually a very nice synthetic.

As I entered the apartment, I was overwhelmed by the spectacular view of the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the sleek contemporary décor, but then Diana’s parents stepped into view from the kitchen.

Her mother, Sandra, was slim and blonde with blue eyes and high cheekbones, and her father, Gerald, was even more attractive in person than he was in pictures and on television. He, too, was slim and fit. His hair was thick and dark with a distinguished hint of gray. They were an attractive couple, and when they greeted me, it was with genuine warmth and openness.

“We’re so happy to meet you,” Mrs. Moore said, holding out her hand to shake mine.

I was relieved she didn’t move to hug me, because that would have been too much too soon. A handshake was a good choice.

The senator held out his hand also. “Hi Nadia,” he said, “I’m Gerry.”

His casual hello eased my mind about the hoity-toity snob issue, and I felt my shoulders relax.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Come on in.” Diana led me into the living room, and again, I was distracted by the view. “What can I get you to drink? How about a Bud Light?”

I glanced at Mrs. Moore, who was holding a glass of white wine.

“I’ll have what your mom’s having,” I replied.

“Sure.” Without missing a beat, Diana went into the kitchen.

“Let’s all have a seat,” Mrs. Moore suggested, gesturing to the black leather sofa and facing chairs.

We all sat down, and the conversation flowed naturally, which taught me a thing or two about high-level social skills. I was proud of myself for catching on as quickly as I did.

“This is quite something, isn’t it?” Mrs. Moore said. “We couldn’t believe it when Diana told us about you. I’m still in shock. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for the two of you to learn about each other, and then make contact.”

“It was definitely a shocker,” I replied. “It took me a while to absorb everything.”

Diana arrived with my glass of wine. I took it out of her hands, and gulped a mouthful.

“Nadia was at work when she read my letter,” Diana explained. She sat down and touched my arm, looked me in the eye. “I should probably send an apology to your boss, because I doubt you were at the top of your game for the rest of the day.”