The Wrong Girl

53

“No, I’ve never seen that, either.” Carlyn Beerman was staring at the bracelet Tuck dangled between them. They sat side by side on a flowery couch, Jane in the wing chair. “It has your name on it? Tucker? And you say it was with you? When you were-given up?”

Crackling logs in a redbrick fireplace turned the scene fairy-tale perfect, but Jane knew what Tuck had just revealed was hardly the stuff of happy endings. Carlyn’s delighted greeting of Tuck, and her instant welcome to the sunlight-filled cottage, brought tears to Jane’s eyes.

She should have stayed out of it. Why was she always so compelled to help?

“Yes. The bracelet and note were attached to my blanket. That’s what my…” Tuck paused, and Jane could almost hear her selecting words. “… adoptive mother told me.”

Jane cradled her hot tea-chamomile, in a chunky earthenware mug-wishing she could be anywhere but a chintz chair in the Connecticut countryside hearing someone’s dreams get crushed. Carlyn had first been bewildered by the note Tuck described, and now the bracelet provided the coup de grace.

“I see.” Carlyn didn’t reach for the bracelet, kept her hands folded in her lap. “You’re sure.”

Tuck slid it back into the velvet drawstring bag. Tied the braided cord. Zipped it into her tote. Case closed. “I’m sure.”

Strange, watching the two of them, identical profiles, really, each with exactly the same arched eyebrows. Even the way they crossed their legs seemed similar, though Carlyn was all soft edges in a filmy lavender scarf and a crinkly ankle-length skirt, and Tuck her opposite in tight jeans tucked into sleek black boots. Carlyn’s graying hair, short and spiky, might have once been as dark as Tuck’s, even though Tuck’s was now that funny auburn. They certainly looked related. On the other hand, Jane hadn’t resembled her own mother at all.

“So that’s why we’re here, Carlyn.” Tuck’s voice wavered only a little. “The bracelet. And the note. I’m sorry to just show up. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because it seemed so-I don’t know.”

“You’re sure.”

Tuck nodded.

Carlyn dabbed under her eyes with a shredded Kleenex, then tucked the tissue into the ribbed wristband of her cornflower blue sweater. “How could that happen? It seemed right, when we met, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Tuck said. “I don’t know what’s right. Or how anything… seems. All I know is, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

The fire popped, a glowing ember hitting the woven metal fireplace screen. No one moved. Wishing she was invisible, or better yet, not there at all, Jane watched the two women, one younger, one twenty years older, who had been promised a miracle, then bitterly disappointed. Was there anything she should say? Or do?

Tuck broke the silence.

“But, actually, the reason I brought Jane is, I’m enraged. Aren’t you? Carlyn? I waited all my life for this. Then they called, and I came to meet you, and it was terrifying and then wonderful, and now, I mean, these are people’s lives they’re messing with. How could they-” Tuck’s voice caught. She gulped, and tried again. “How can they do this?”

Carlyn reached over, touched Tuck’s knee, then took her hand away. “Why do people do what they do? I was in love with a professor who never cared about me. I was eighteen. Eighteen! I had to give up my own child. I never wanted to. Now I’m almost fifty. For years, I battled regret. And anger. But you know? That’s destructive. It steals your soul, honey. Incredibly disappointed? Yes. Disheartened? Yes. But enraged? After all this time? I’ll have to-”

“Listen, Carlyn.” Tuck kept talking. “Jane’s a reporter for the Boston Register newspaper. I don’t work there anymore, remember?”

“Of course, honey, but-”

“And I think if something went wrong with us-if the agency sent me to you incorrectly…”

Tuck paused, and an ember popped, filling the silence.

“I see. That it could have happened to other people, too.” Carlyn finished Tuck’s sentence, then turned to Jane, frowning. “Is that what you’re suggesting? Jane? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Jane took a sip of tea, then set her mug on a raffia coaster. Shook her head. “I haven’t,” she said. “And it would be very difficult to find out. Some adoptions are ‘open,’ those wouldn’t be the problem. It’s the sealed ones, like yours and Tuck’s, that’d be in question. But those closed adoptions are confidential, and private, and protected. We could never have access to those cases, unless someone complained. And even then it would have to be a public complaint, since if they simply contacted the Brannigan, no one but those involved would ever know. It would be in the agency’s best interest to keep it quiet.”

“Lawsuits, maybe?” Carlyn asked.

Jane held out both palms, agreeing. “Possibly. We can check. If you like. Of course, I’d predict if there were lawsuits, they’d be gagged by confidentiality agreements, maybe even completely sealed.”

“But what they did is unacceptable.” Tuck crossed her arms over her chest, matched Carlyn’s frown. “We have to pursue it.”

“Or not.” Jane knew Tuck was hurting, but it should also be Carlyn’s decision.

“Action is always more effective than anger.” Carlyn stood, brushing down her skirt with the palms of both hands. “And I think… we’re required to look into it. Not simply for our sake. For everyone’s. Let me show you something.”

Reaching under the coffee table, Carlyn pulled out a black portfolio, unzipped three sides. When she placed the folder flat on the table, Jane saw it was filled with papers, what looked like documents, and clippings. Carlyn selected a newspaper clipping attached to a pink piece of typing paper.

Jane recognized the typeface of the Register. And the tiny font size of the death notices.

Carlyn pointed one finger at a clipping. “The death notice of Lillian Finch. She’s the one who called me about Audrey. Last Sunday, she died.”

Jane nodded along with Tuck. “Yes, we know of her. I guess the police must still be investigating the cause of-or, wait. Is there something else about it?”

Carlyn didn’t answer, but selected another clipping. “This is the death notice of Niall Brannigan. He was there when I dropped you-I mean, Audrey Rose-off that morning. He died on Monday night, apparently. His funeral is today, according to the-Honey, are you okay?”

Tuck was lowering herself to the couch, clutching the flowery armrest for balance. Jane sank back into the armchair, wondering if her face had turned as ashen as Tuck’s.

“Niall-,” Tuck whispered.

“Brannigan?” Jane heard the hollow sound of her own voice. Two people from the same agency, dead, in a matter of days? The two people connected to Tuck’s case. “Died? Of what? Tuck, did Ella Gavin tell you that?”

“Ella Gavin?” Carlyn looked up from her documents.

Jane could not read her expression.

“Ella? Gavin?” Carlyn closed the folder. “You know who Ella Gavin is?”