Thinking aloud, I say, “Margo and Anne will always be my sisters. I’ll always be Mom’s daughter—and Dad’s daughter, just like an adopted child is. Do I dream that there’s more? It’s a double-edged sword. I’d love to have a Dad who adores me unconditionally, but if there is one out there, where has he been all my life?”
“What about siblings?” she asks. “Would you want more of those?”
“Only if they’re you.”
Is neutering cats on Sundays an alternative to going to church?I text.
Did I ever go to church?
No.
Feral cat colony. Trap Neuter Return. Good deed. What did Tom say to Margo?
He knew her. Smiled.I think to tell him her news, then think again.When’ll you be back?
In Westerly? Tonight. I’m going bowling with the police chief.
Bowling? Seriously?
His favorite sport. I’ll let him crush me, then beg him to leave Tom alone. Is Margo staying?
She won’t say. She’s troubled.
About?
I’ll tell you later.
When?
Later.
When?
LATER.
Come on, Mal. Throw me a crumb.
Text me when you’re home.
We are on our way back to the house, Margo driving Dad in her rental and me following in my own car, when the skies open. That makes it a perfect afternoon to spend in the attic.
First, though, considering Jack is taking steps with the police, I have my own phone calls to make.
Chapter 18
You’ve reached the law offices of Aldiss, Schuster, and Finn. Our regular hours are Monday through Friday…
I’m not sure who Finn is, likely a big-name lateral who joined from another firm after Dad took the bench. But Paul is my interest here. I follow the prompts until I’m connected. And, finally, there is his voice. It always held kindness, and it warms me now. Naturally, since it’s Sunday, he’s out of the office, which brings another memory. The office was his second home. I remember Mom saying that with a kind of sadness. She wanted a fuller life for him. Perhaps he has it now?
I consider leaving a message but hold off.
His home number is on the list by the kitchen phone. That list has been there for twenty years—no,longer,since it’s in Mom’s handwriting. Anne has crossed out some numbers and added others, but Paul’s is still there near the top. It leads me to voicemail as well, which leaves his cell. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have had one, and there’s no other Paul number on the list. If I ask Dad or Anne,they’ll come back with more questions than I want. Even leaving a message is a risk, lest Paul ask Dad or Anne why I’ve called. But what’s my alternative?
“Hi Paul,” I say brightly, “it’s Mallory Aldiss. I’m in Bay Bluff—yup, back after all this time visiting with Dad and Anne—and a ton of memories. You were always part of our life here. I’d love to touch base.” I give him my cell number, add what I hope is nonchalant encouragement, and disconnect.
Next up is Shelly Markham. She isn’t on the list by the phone, so I open the drawer where Mom always kept the town directory. Unfortunately, the one here is for the current year, and there’s no Shelly Markham in it… because she’s in Florida.
I Google her name on my phone, but nothing comes up.
