The nurses represented a potential source of new information. If she could locate where they were now, she could ask them questions.
She typedLois Simpson nurse Atlanta, Georgiainto Google.
The very first link that popped up readLois Simpson Obituary—Milledgeville, Georgia | Legacy.com.
A sense of gravity settled over her as she followed the link and read the obituary. Lois had passed away two years before, at the age of eighty-six. Thus, she would have been sixty when Leah was born. The obituary mentioned that she’d worked as a nurse at Emory University Hospital and Magnolia Avenue Hospital for a combined total of thirty years. Lois, a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, had been famous for her homemade lemon pound cake and singing in her church’s choir.
Leah would not be able to contact Lois.
She began again with the name Bonnie O’Reilly.
Several hits came up—websites, more obits, images. She scrolled through them, clicked on a few. It didn’t take long to determine that none of these Bonnie O’Reillys were the one she sought. She visited the most prominent social media sites without luck. Returning to Google, she combed through four more pages of results.
She hadn’t found an obituary for a Bonnie O’Reilly who’d been a nurse in Atlanta, which meant Bonnie might still be living. If so, Bonnie was not, apparently, posting about her life for the world to see. Nor could Leah find any articles that mentioned her.
When Leah ran a search for Tracy Segura, she instantly came upon a Facebook profile that listed Magnolia Avenue Hospital under the “Work and Education” heading. A thin woman with strawberry blond hair, Tracy must have been in her early twenties when Leah was born, because she looked no older than fifty now.
Leah shook out her fingers, then composed a Facebook DM to Tracy. She explained that she’d been born at Magnolia Avenue and asked if Tracy would be willing to answer a few questions.
Finally, she entered Joyce Caffarella into the search engine. The third result appeared promising.
Joyce Caffarella—RN—St. Joseph’s | LinkedIn.Joyce’s LinkedIn profile provided a treasure trove of information. Her picture revealed a stout woman with a broad smile. Mousse and hair spray pushed her short platinum hair high. According to her page, she’d started at a pediatrician’s office, accomplished a brief stint as a surgical nurse, then moved to Magnolia Avenue for six years. Since then, she’d been working at a hospital in Peachtree City.
Leah sent her a private message identical to the one she’d sent Tracy.
Just how long, she wondered, should she expect it to take before she heard back?
Somebody gave you a gift,” Dylan called out to her the next day when Leah returned home from a hike.
“Hmm?”
She found him at the dining room table, his attention on his phone, laying waste to a box of Cheez-Its. Near his elbow sat a small gift wrapped in ivory paper and tied with an orange satin bow.
“Where did this come from?”
“Dunno. I saw it sitting on the front door mat when I got home from Braxton’s.”
“No packaging? No address?”
“Just that little card.”
She picked it up. The miniature card affixed to the bow simply readLeah.
Dylan slanted a mocking look at her. “You should probably be really careful with that. You don’t know where it came from, and it might be filled with explosives. Or poison. Explosives and poison are dangerous.”
“Quite right! I encourage you to be cautious of unidentified packages. Also, be wary of underage drinking and speeding and twerking. Never engage in any of that.”
He snorted and returned to his phone and food.
Leah slipped off the bow and raised the lid. Within, a gold necklace glimmered against a backdrop of velvet. A smattering of tiny stars and dots engraved its oval charm.
Wonder moved through her like flour through a sifter. The necklace was delicate. Classy.
She pulled the velvet backing from the bottom of the box. Beneath, she found a single piece of stationery marked with the name of a jewelry store.
The necklace shows the brightest stars in the sky on the night you were born. Some things might have gone wrong on that day, but you weren’t one of them.
-Sebastian
