A Mom For His Daughter. Jean C. Gordon
taken his first reluctant step yesterday toward an opportunity he would have jumped at in a New York minute two years ago. Marc wanted that excitement back. For too long, he’d been plodding through life placing one foot in front of the other.
He made his decision. He needed to get in the race again, call Fiona and let her know she could write up a consulting contract for La Table Frais. His partners would probably celebrate his taking the initiative to make the decision, rather than waiting for their approval.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he thumbed to the Cornell Research Farm’s number on his phone, picturing Fiona, her coppery curls, wide-set hazel eyes and vivacious mannerisms. She was a stunning woman, and the first woman he’d noticed since Cate had died.
If he were honest with himself, that scared him. He closed his eyes. His main focus still had to be Stella, but to be what his daughter needed, maybe he needed something for himself.
He didn’t have to throw himself into the new restaurant 24/7 as he had with his work in New York. And having an adult relationship, a nonpressure business relationship that had nothing to do with his daughter, might give him a balance between family and work.
* * *
Fiona adjusted and readjusted the blinds on the small window in her work cubicle to block the glare from the afternoon sun and checked her email—again. Nothing from Marc Delacroix. She knew he’d received the copy of her presentation she’d sent him. She had the return receipt email. Had he shared it with his partners? It wasn’t a make-or-break situation, but getting Marc and his partners in New York City involved in her new program would be a great start toward making the program—and her job—secure.
She minimized her email. Marc had seemed interested in what she’d presented. Although he hadn’t taken many notes and had asked only a few questions, he’d been intent on the presentation, focused on her.
She pictured Marc, his dark, thickly lashed eyes, the all-masculine planes of his face. Claire hadn’t been exaggerating with her clichéd tall, dark and handsome description of her twin. In fact, she may have been underplaying his attractiveness.
Fiona blinked away the picture. This was work. Although from the glowing report Claire had given of her brother’s experience, his business connections in New York City and his personal attributes, Fiona couldn’t help but think there was more behind Claire’s push to get them together than simply business. Especially given Claire’s emphasis on how much she thought Marc and Fiona had in common—essentially their dedication to their work and interest in promoting locally produced food. Neither was anything to build a personal relationship on.
Fiona put a halt to the odd direction her thoughts had taken. If Claire knew more about her, she wouldn’t have given a thought to putting her and Marc together. But they had only met recently, new coworkers.
Fiona rubbed the side of the mouse. She was trying to put the unhappy parts of her past behind her by taking the position here, near Ticonderoga. The place where she’d had an intact family—at least for a while. The only place she remembered being truly happy. She hoped to find the peace she’d been searching for most of her life, and closure for her younger sister Mairi’s senseless death. She refused to believe all her efforts to hold her family together had been in vain, despite the fact that the sister she’d mostly raised had turned to drugs as their mother had.
Fiona’s desk phone rang.
“Hey, Fiona, you have a delivery you need to sign for,” the staffer at the front desk said.
“I’ll be right out.” As she walked to the front desk, Fiona searched her memory for anything she’d ordered that she’d have to sign for and came up blank.
“I’m Fiona Bryce. You have something for me?”
“Fiona C. Bryce?” the deliverer asked.
“Yes.” How many Fiona Bryces could there be here? “Do you need ID?” She tapped her employer badge hanging from the lanyard around her neck.
The man glanced at it. “That’s fine. Please sign here.” He handed her a clipboard and pointed to a line.
Fiona signed and accepted the cardboard envelope. The return address was the attorney in Glens Falls she’d hired to help her settle Mairi’s estate, what little there had been of it anyway. Her heart thumped. That had all been taken care of nearly two years ago. She hadn’t thought to give him her new address or phone number. He must have tracked her online to the Willsboro farm.
On her way back to her cubicle, Fiona tore open the cardboard. Settling in the chair behind her desk, she pulled out the attorney’s letter and read it.
“...the new owners of the cabin where your sister died were refinishing a desk there as part of renovations to rent it and found the enclosed stamped envelope addressed to you caught behind one of the drawers. They knew about your sister, so they passed the letter on to the local authorities. The chief of police, my brother-in-law, forwarded it to me, thinking I’d have your address. All I could find was the address of your business.”
Fiona’s heart slammed against her chest as she reached inside the cardboard mailer and withdrew a white business envelope with her name and the address of the USDA experimental farm in Guam where she’d been working when Mairi died. It was in Mairi’s handwriting, scribbled but definitely Mairi’s. Fiona drew deep inside herself for strength that was beyond her own.
Dear Lord, be with me now.
She carefully slid her finger under the flap and ripped through it with a sharp jerk. Closing her eyes and doing her best to take a cleansing breath, she unfolded the pages. The letter was dated the day Mairi had died.
I’m sorry I failed you, the letter read in the same scribbled handwriting as the envelope. I’m weak like Mom. I tried to call and tell you, but I couldn’t do it. I tried to take care of her like you would, but I couldn’t.
Fiona unsuccessfully tried to blink away her tears. Take care of who? She refocused on the sheet.
I love you. She’s safe with the people at Precious in His Sight. I couldn’t wait until you came back. Find her. I have to go now. I’m going to put this out in the mailbox. Mairi.
Fiona choked, her mind flooding with questions. I have to go? Did that mean Mairi had OD’d on purpose because of whatever her letter was talking about? Either before she’d written the letter or right after, and become disoriented or passed out before she could mail it? Or had she decided not to send it? Struggling to draw a breath, Fiona shuffled to the next sheet and dropped it as if it were a burning ember, her gazed fixed on the words “Fiona Elsbeth Collins, born...”
A baby? Her breath left her lungs in a sudden rush. Hand shaking, Fiona picked up the birth certificate and read the remainder of the information. Mother: Mairi A. Collins. Father: Unknown. Date of Birth: March 3. Place of birth: Town of Ticonderoga. Mairi had a baby.
Fiona muffled her sobs. She might never know all that happened with Mairi, why her baby was born in Ticonderoga rather than in the central New York village where she had worked as a nurse. Why Mairi had never sent this letter. But there was a precious piece of Mairi remaining in the world—a three-year-old niece. Maybe this was God’s path to closure on her sister’s death. The opportunity to make up for not being able to keep her family together, for her failing Mairi. All she had to do was find the little girl.
* * *
Marc pushed open the door to the church hall, still debating whether tonight was a good idea. But Claire had sounded desperate, texting that several members of the Twenty-/Thirtysomethings group had bailed on her. The group was supposed to be spending its usual Thursday night meeting time helping set up for the winter bazaar and book sale Saturday.
He’d been resisting his sister’s urging to join what had been the Singles group at church, but was now made up of a mix of marrieds and singles. Marc wasn’t looking to meet anyone for a romantic relationship—which his attraction to Fiona contradicted. From the disastrous months following Cate’s death, he knew juggling work and being a single