She says nothing, and her gaze finds mine with natural curiosity, and my heart sinks.
This woman can’t be my mother. She must be in her sixties and life hasn’t been kind to her. Her face is lined and weathered by the sun. Her hair gray and tied in a ponytail behind her. She is wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans tucked into cowboy boots, and yet she has a kind twinkle in her eyes that puts my mind at ease.
“Are you, um, Sarah?”
I hesitate, searching her expression for any sign of resemblance to the photograph—to me even, and she stares a little closer.
“Why, what do we have here?”
She doesn’t appear too concerned about the company I’m keeping and peers at me more closely.
“I’m, um, Alice…” I glance at Simeon because I’m a Ravera now, and he steps forward, fixing her with a polite smile.
“This is my wife, Alice, formerly known as Alice Zaferelli, her mom was Sarah Goldsworthy.”
If the names mean anything to this woman, you wouldn’t know it as she shakes her head. “Should I know you?”
My heart sinks.
It’s not her.
“May I ask your name?” Simeon asks politely, and I love that about him. He is a well-mannered criminal when it counts, and I would hate to come in here all guns blazing in our quest for answers.
“Annie–”
“It’s okay, Minnie.”
A soft voice wafts from the doorway, and my heart goes into freefall as I stare at a woman who can only be one thing. My mother.
She stares at me with tears running down her face, wiping them away, never breaking eye contact for a second.
“Alice.”
She whispers my name as if she’s afraid, and I stand rooted to the spot, not truly accepting she is here at all.
There is silence as every person here watches the scene, and she takes a small step toward me, and her voice shakes as she whispers, “I can’t believe you are here.”
Fear is evident in her eyes as she flicks them nervously around her, noting the cars and the company I keep.
“It’s, um, okay.”
I attempt to reassure her. “We haven’t come to cause trouble.”
Her shoulders relax and she nods toward the interior.
“Please come inside. We need to talk.”
Understatement of the century runs through my mind, and before she turns to lead the way, she smiles at the woman watching with interest.
“Thanks, Minnie. I don’t suppose you could bring some lemonade and offer some to, well–” She glances around at the silent centurions. “Everybody.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
I note with amusement that Minnie storms over to the guard who disarmed her and attempts to retrieve her gun.
He shakes his head.
“I will return it when we leave.”
