Maisie chose turkey for her mother and peanut butter for herself. Nora started to protest about the second half of the turkey sandwich, then caught her daughter's expression and stopped. She ate slowly, with the careful concentration of someone whose appetite had become tangled with worry.
Arthur sat across from them, not eating much himself.
Nora noticed.
“If you're going to lecture anyone about lunch, you should have some.”
He looked down at his sandwich, surprised into a brief smile.
“Fair.”
Maisie watched him take a bite. She had not decided whether she liked him. She did like that her mother had made him do something.
June took out a notebook.
“We can stop for today,” she said. “Nothing in these papers requires an answer this afternoon.”
Nora wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“I want copies.”
“Of course.”
“And I want to call my mother before anything else happens.”
Arthur nodded.
“Would you rather I left?”
Nora considered him.
“I would rather you stayed quiet for a few minutes.”
He folded his hands.
She called Grace on speaker because there were too many things to hold alone now. Grace answered with the television loud in the background and immediately asked whether Nora had received the birthday card.
“Yes, Mom.”
“I put it in the mail Tuesday. The woman said it should be there by Thursday, but you know what should means at the post office.”
“It came.”
“You sound tired.”
Nora closed her eyes briefly.
“I'm at the library with Maisie.”
“Everything all right?”
“I don't know.”
The television went quiet.
“Tell me.”
Nora looked at the photograph of Evelyn.
“There's a man here. Arthur Whitcomb.”
On the other end, Grace drew in a breath.
Not a gasp. Something smaller and more troubling because it sounded recognized.
“Mom?”
“I haven't heard that name in years.”
Arthur's fingers tightened.
“You know him?” Nora asked.
“No. I knew of the family. Everyone did then.”
“He says he may be my birth father.”
Grace said nothing.
“Mom.”
“I was told your birth parents couldn't keep you.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet them?”
“No.”
“Did you meet his mother?”
A longer silence.
“Once.”
Nora leaned back in the chair.
“What did she say?”
“She said she was helping a young couple. She said they wanted privacy. The lawyer handled the papers. Your father and I had been waiting so long, Nora. We asked questions. We thought we asked enough.”
Grace's voice shook on the last word.
Nora stared at the table.
“Did you know she was his mother?”
“No. She used her first name. Miriam. I knew the Whitcomb name because the clinic wing had it on the wall. I didn't connect them until later.”
“How much later?”
“Years. After we moved. Somebody sent a newspaper clipping about your birth town. There was her photograph.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Grace began to cry.
“Because I didn't know if it meant anything. Because I was afraid if I went looking, someone would say there had been a mistake and you weren't mine.”
Nora looked at Arthur.
His face had gone still with an anger he was making no attempt to give anyone else.
“Was it a mistake?” Nora asked.
“I don't know.”
“You never wondered?”
“I wondered. Wondering isn't the same as being brave enough to ask.”
Maisie looked down at her hands. Adults, she was discovering, could keep a sentence inside themselves for so long it became part of how they breathed.
Nora spoke carefully.
“I need all the papers you have.”
“I have them. In the blue folder.”
“Can you bring them?”
“I'll find a bus.”
Arthur lifted a hand slightly, asking permission to speak. Nora looked at him, then nodded.
“Mrs. Parker, I can arrange transportation. Through June, if you'd prefer. You don't have to travel alone.”
Grace was quiet.
“Is this Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know,” she said.
He closed his eyes.
“I believe you.”
“I need you to understand that. We loved her. We didn't take somebody's baby knowing—”
“I believe you,” he repeated, more firmly.
Nora ended the call only after Grace promised to find the folder and wait for June to telephone. Then she sat without moving while Maisie finished the last apple slice.
“My father was a good man,” Nora said.
Arthur looked at her.
“Daniel Parker. He wasn't a placeholder.”
“No.”
“He taught me to drive. He stayed up when I had a fever. He made terrible pancakes shaped like states that didn't exist.”