They each unwrapped a bar, taking large bites. “What are you going to make?” she asked and took another big bite of granola bar.
“Pancakes,” he managed around his own second mouthful. “I’ll cook and you can share with me why writing the article for this book is so important.”
“Okay. Point me to the right cupboards and I’ll gather some plates and forks.” He opened the correct cabinet for her and pointed to the drawer with the silverware.
Diesel found a skillet in the cupboard next to the stove, mixed some batter that only needed to have water added. After setting their places, she resumed her seat and sipped her coffee.
“As I mentioned before, I was left on the doorstep of a church in Washington State. I grew up in an orphanage nearby.”
“I remember.”
“I had absolutely no notion of who my family was or where I’d come from. Still don’t. When I left to go to college in Missouri, I kept in touch with one of the ladies who ran the orphanage, Miss Hester. When she passed away last year, an envelope was sent to me with a note indicating Miss Hester had saved the contents for me.
“It was mostly pictures of me growing up. I’d seen most of them before, but there was one of me as a baby that I hadn’t. On the back of the picture was written,abandoned babyand the date.”
“Was it a different date than you thought?” he asked. “It would be cool to find out you were younger, right?”
She smiled. “No. The date was right. I’m twenty-six, there’s no getting around that.”
“You’re a young thing. I’m thirty, in case you wanted to know. But keep going, sorry to interrupt.” He flipped the last pancake on the plate and turned the heat off the skillet. He grabbed some butter and syrup along with the plate of pancakes.
“The picture itself was of a baby in an oval woven basket. But there was also a blanket with three initials, JEM, on one corner.”
“JEM? Juliana, middle initial that starts with E and last name Masters?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Elizabeth. What’s yours?”
He pushed out a long sigh. “All of us boys have our father’s name as our middle name.”
“And what’s your father’s name?”
“Zebulon.”
She smiled, ate a few bites of buttermilk pancake and said, “These are great.”
“Thanks. So you want to go back and find the blanket, hoping it will lead you to information about your missing family.”
“Well, yes. But also shown in the picture was what looked like a small book or maybe even a journal. That’s what I’m truly after.”
“Why wouldn’t they have given it to you?”
“The orphanage was what they liked to think of as forward thinking. They operated under the idea that however children ended up there, we were better off and should look to make our own futures and not dwell on the past. There is always the possibility it was a small bible or something from the orphanage, but I want to check it out regardless.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to go back.”
“The article will pay enough to fund a trip so I can go back for a few weeks to look around and research. I’d love to find out if I have any family. I’d understand about them leaving me at an orphanage if they hadn’t been able to care for me. I didn’t have a bad upbringing.”
Diesel almost told her about his cousin Stella, who had a similar story of life in an orphanage, albeit a galaxy away. He actually started out with the words, “My cousin Stella…” but didn’t finish his sentence, because how would he explain that Stella came from Alpha-Prime, a planet in another galaxy, without making up a story—lie—he’d have to remember?
Instead, he shoveled a pile of butter- and syrup-laden pancake in his mouth. How horrible for him would it be for Juliana to discover a long-lost family in Washington State, and promptly leave Arkansas forever? Diesel considered their newly entwined relationship.
After he swallowed the big mouthful, he said, “Maybe I could go with you, whenever you travel back to the northwest.”
“Why?”
