That Chesapeake Summer (Chesapeake Diaries Book 9) Read online

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Sis followed Jamie to the front door. “But you know that your mother could be . . . well, I suppose ‘self-centered’ might serve as well as any other word. This wasn’t about you and how you felt, honey. For Lainey, it was about her and how she felt. I’m sorry, but that’s as much truth as anything else.”

  “Truth,” Jamie repeated. “Mom always told me that the truth was what mattered. That even if it was hard, you always had to tell the truth. I guess this was a case of ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ ” Jamie opened the front door and took a step out onto the porch, and Sis followed. “Ironic, isn’t it, that I’ve built my career based on truth—truth at any cost—and it turns out that my whole life has been a lie.” Halfway to the car, she turned and asked, “Did she ever look for me? My birth mother? Did she ever contact them?”

  Sis shook her head. “I don’t know. Lainey never told me if she had.”

  Jamie acknowledged the response with a nod. She followed the walkway to the car and got in. She wanted to sit there for a while and try to think it all through, but she knew her aunt would be worried if she sat for too much longer. She started the engine, turned around in the driveway, and waved to Sis as she drove off.

  She returned to the house she’d grown up in and studied it as if she’d never seen it before. “House of secrets,” she whispered. “House of lies.”

  She unlocked the back door and went inside. She tossed her bag on the kitchen table and went into the front hall. “Okay, you two. I know,” she said aloud to the empty house. “I know now. So we don’t have to pretend anymore, all right?”

  Her hands on her hips, she tried to call up her parents. “You should have told me, okay? It might have hurt—it would have hurt like hell—but at least I’d have been able to talk to you about it. This way—your way—you left me with so many questions I’ll never get to ask and you’ll never be able to answer. What am I supposed to do?”

  She started up the stairs to the second floor, still talking. “You were right to want to tell me, Dad. I wish you’d just gone ahead and done it. And Mom, you didn’t do me a favor by not telling me. You might have protected yourself, but you did me a terrible disservice.”

  In her parents’ bedroom, she sat on the side of the bed. “Did you know anything about her, this girl who gave birth to me? What about her family medical history? Did you wonder how she felt about giving away her baby?”

  Jamie waited in the quiet room, her head tilted, almost as if expecting a voice from beyond that would reassure her and answer all her questions. But after a moment she rose and went into her room across the hall. She sat at her old desk and opened her laptop, turned it on, went to her favorite search engine, and began to type:

  Curtis L. Enright, Attorney-at-Law, St. Dennis, Maryland.

  Chapter 3

  JAMIE sat up half the night making a written list of all the reasons she should not place the call, a list she tore up and tossed into the trash over coffee in the morning. Even as she touched the keypad on her phone, she was questioning the wisdom of ignoring her own good advice to sleep on it a few more days.

  “Enright and Enright. How may I help you?”

  “I was . . . ah . . . wondering if I might speak with Mr. Enright.” Jamie forced the words. “Mr. Curtis Enright.”

  There was a pause before the woman responded. “I’m sorry, but Curtis Enright is retired. Would you care to speak with either Jesse Enright or Sophia Enright?”

  “Ah . . . no. No, thank you. I was hoping . . .” Jamie bit her bottom lip. Just what had she been hoping?

  “May I ask what this is in reference to?” the woman on the other end of the line asked gently.

  “I was hoping to . . . to touch base with him. He was a friend of my father’s—he went to law school with my dad—and I just thought . . .” Jamie heard her own voice begin to fade away. She should have thought this out more clearly before making the call.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and my mother passed away recently, and I thought perhaps he’d like to know that.” There. That sounded reasonable enough.

  “And your father was . . . ?”

  “Herb Valentine.”

  Another pause, almost imperceptible. “Oh, of course. I recognize the name. Your father passed some time ago, if I recall correctly?”

  “Yes, it’s been almost ten years.”

  “Why not leave your number, and I’ll contact Mr. Enright and give him the message. He may wish to personally offer his condolences.”

  Jamie repeated the number of her cell twice.

  “I’ll be sure to pass this along as soon as I speak with him,” the woman assured her. “In the meantime, please accept the firm’s sympathy.”

  “Thank you, and—”

  The call disconnected before she could finish her thought.

  Jamie wondered when or if Curtis Enright would return her call, and if he did, what exactly would she say to him? She figured she had plenty of time to think of something while she packed up kitchen items to be donated to a thrift shop that supported a local shelter for battered women. She had just finished wrapping a shelf full of unmatched glasses when her phone rang. Expecting Sis to be calling right about then to check on her state of mind, Jamie tucked the phone under her chin and reached for paper to wrap around a blender she’d found in a bottom cupboard. “Hello?”

  “This is Curtis Enright.” The man sounded old and just a little gruff. “I was returning a call from Jamie Valentine.”

  “Oh. Mr. Enright. This is Jamie Valentine.” She set the blender on the table. “Thank you for returning my call.”

  “Do I understand correctly that your mother recently passed away?”

  “Yes. Four weeks ago.” Her heart began to pound.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” His tone softened. “I was fond of Lainey. She was a lovely woman.”

  “Yes, she was. Thank you.” Jamie paused, wondering how to keep the conversation going long enough to find an opening to ask the questions that were on the tip of her tongue and fighting to tumble out.

  “Had she been ill?”

  “No. It was very sudden, very unexpected. She had a heart attack.”

  “May I offer my condolences? I knew your father for many years. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, thank you. He was. And I was aware of your friendship, Mr. Enright. I called because I thought perhaps you’d like to know . . .”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  Jamie took a deep breath before adding: “. . . and because I found a letter that you’d written to them.”

  “A letter? From me?”

  “A letter you wrote many years ago. Thirty-six years ago, actually.”

  The silence that followed was so long and so complete, Jamie thought he’d hung up.

  Finally, he said, “Ah, so that’s what this is really about.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Another silence.

  “There’s nothing I can tell you that your parents haven’t already.”

  “That’s the thing, Mr. Enright. My parents never told me anything.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, they never told me anything.”

  And yet another silence.

  “Mr. Enright?” Jamie wondered if the man was still on the line.

  “Yes, yes. I’m here. I just . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m . . . well, surprised, certainly. Beyond that, I hardly know what to say.”

  “Neither did my aunt when I showed her the letter you sent them after my adoption was finalized.”

  “Jamie, I’m very sorry, I truly am, but if you’re calling to ask me any questions about your birth parents . . .”

  “Actually, yes, I was.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. I have an obligatio
n of confidentiality to my client not to reveal the details of your birth, and I am bound by that.”

  “Your client being my birth mother?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I respect your position, Mr. Enright. But surely you can understand that there is certain information I should be privy to. Medical history, for example.”

  “I do understand your concern, but I’m sorry. There is nothing I can tell you.”

  “So I have no way of knowing if I carry the gene for heart disease or cancer or—”

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to tell you that I know of no such illnesses in the family. And I believe that in Pennsylvania, the law does permit adopted persons access to their medical history as long as any confidential information is redacted, so you could find out that sort of information on your own.”

  “So you did know her family? My birth mother . . .”

  Curtis Enright sighed heavily.

  “Yes. I know the family. And I know her. St. Dennis is a very small town, Miss Valentine.” The switch from the more familiar Jamie wasn’t lost on her. Nor was the fact that he used the present tense rather than the past. I know her.

  “Your letter mentioned an attorney named Parsons . . .”

  “Scott, yes.”

  “May I ask who he is and what his involvement was?” she pressed.

  “Scott Parsons was the attorney who handled the paperwork at the local level.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The adoption was finalized in Pennsylvania. I’m not a member of the bar in that state.”

  “So he was the attorney who actually handled the legal proceedings.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he also a friend of my father’s from law school?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Was?”

  “Scott passed away about eight years ago.”

  Jamie made a mental note to see if the firm was still in existence. “The birth certificate said Lehigh County,” she said.

  “Correct.”

  “So this was a private adoption?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what your involvement was, Mr. Enright.”

  “I’ve represented the birth mother’s family on many occasions over the years. This was one of them. As much as I’d like to help you, I’m afraid I can’t give you any information other than that which we’ve already discussed, and all of that is public record except for the fact that I facilitated the adoption. I knew the expectant mother, I knew your parents wanted to adopt an infant, both Herb and I knew Scott. It was a matter of putting the pieces together.”

  “I understand the position I’ve put you in, Mr. Enright, and I apologize, but please try to understand my shock at learning that I am not Herb and Lainey’s natural child. When I discovered that letter last night—”

  “You just found out yesterday?”

  “Yes.” Unwanted tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and her voice tightened. “My aunt said that my father wanted to tell me long ago, but my mother always had a reason why the time wasn’t right. I was very close to my parents, Mr. Enright, so I’m sure you can appreciate how devastating this news has been.”

  “Please don’t think I’m not sympathetic to your situation, but I can’t give you what you’re looking for.” His voice dropped slightly, and his sincerity was evident. “I truly am sorry.”

  “If I could just ask you one more question . . .”

  “I’ll answer if I can.”

  “Has my birth mother ever expressed any interest in finding me? Has she ever asked about me?”

  “Actually, Miss Valentine, she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.”

  “And my birth father?”

  “I know nothing about him. He wasn’t involved in any way.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Enright.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be of any more assistance,” he said. “Thank you for letting me know about your mother’s passing. Again, you have my condolences.”

  Jamie held on to the phone long after the connection had been broken, trying to process the information. Finally, she hit “end” and put the phone down on the table in front of her. What had she learned from her conversation with Curtis Enright? Other than the fact that he was a man who valued his commitments.

  I know the family. And I know her.

  Not I knew her but I know her. To Jamie’s mind, that suggested that she was most likely in or around St. Dennis.

  Actually, Miss Valentine, she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.

  Not I wouldn’t know but she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all. Didn’t that seem to imply that Curtis Enright had seen her and spoken with her, though never about the baby she’d given up? Again, the woman was likely to live in close proximity to St. Dennis.

  And she’d learned that her birth father was unknown even to the man who helped to arrange her adoption.

  Jamie tapped her pen on the notebook. To her mind, the chances that her birth mother was alive and living in St. Dennis seemed pretty good.

  Jamie couldn’t help but think about the sixteen-year-old girl who’d given birth to her, the girl who’d had choices made for her that she may or may not have made for herself. Choices that changed the course of both their lives forever. Did she ever think of me, worry about what kind of home I was raised in, what my parents were like? Did she wonder about what kind of life I had and whether or not I was alive? Healthy? Happy? Where I live or who I am? What kind of person I grew up to be?

  Jamie couldn’t help think the fact that she’d never mentioned her baby to her parents’ lawyer—the same lawyer who had facilitated the adoption—didn’t necessarily mean that she never thought about her lost child.

  And what kind of life did she have? What kind of person did she grow up to be? Was she happy? Did she marry? Have other children? The thought that Jamie might have siblings somewhere out there in the world—even half siblings—stopped her in her tracks. If so, did they know about her, or was she someone’s deepest, darkest secret?

  Jamie knew in her heart that she’d ended up where and who she was supposed to be: Herb and Lainey Valentine’s daughter. The shock of the truth had caused deep anger, but her love for her parents trumped every other emotion. She might still be angry at having the truth withheld from her for so long, and she’d always wish she’d had a chance to discuss it with her parents, but she never doubted their love for her or her for them. Nothing could ever change that. No one would ever take their places. But the truth had opened a tiny hole inside her, and as much as she loved Lainey, she could not ignore that there was a piece of her that was unknown, a piece of herself missing from her life. The decision to find that missing piece was easy after that.

  THE EVENING AIR had the sweet smell of late spring easing into early summer. Jamie sat on the back porch, her iPad in her hand. She’d found sites on the Internet where birth parents searching for their lost children could go to reconnect, sites where adoptees such as herself could go to search for their birth parents. She’d checked out several as she scrolled from page to page. This was a whole new world to her, so much to learn. She wanted to proceed one step at a time, because she knew that starting on this journey, she would follow through to the end, wherever that might lead her, even if the end were to be a dead one.

  She was born in Pennsylvania, that much she knew. Was Pennsylvania a state that permitted access to adoption records? Hadn’t Curtis Enright mentioned that her records had been sealed? She knew from online conversations she’d been reading that the laws in several states had changed, in some cases opening all previously closed records. Had the law in Pennsylvania been modified since her birth thirty-six years ago?

  Though Jamie had graduated from law school, she knew not
hing about the adoption laws in her home state, so she had to do an online search of the commonwealth’s statutes. She was more than a little disappointed to learn that the law, while under discussion, had remained the same: Her records were still sealed. They could be accessed only if her birth parents had signed a form consenting to the release of identifying information. Had such a consent form been signed by either or both of her birth parents? If that were the case, would Curtis Enright have told her?

  She visited a few more sites before turning off the device. Unless she was prepared for the consequences, she dared not proceed beyond clicking on the link that led to the Orphans’ Court Division of the Lehigh County Court of Common Pleas and its adoption registry.

  Adoption records are sealed by statute, and the contents thereof cannot be released without a court order.

  Let it be, she could imagine her mother saying. Like the song. Just let it be. But unlike the song, there would be no answers unless Jamie pursued them.

  Even if she could somehow unseal her records and locate the woman who had given birth to her, there was no reason to think she’d want to see Jamie. She had read enough of the Pennsylvania statute to know that sealed records could be available only if the birth parent consented, but there was no guarantee that this unknown woman would agree. Jamie wasn’t sure she could handle further rejection on the heels of discovering that her parents had kept this secret all her life.

  She’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.

  Had this woman tried to forget Jamie’s very existence? Had she blocked out the fact that she once gave birth to a daughter and handed over that baby to strangers to raise as their own?

  And should Jamie somehow manage to learn her identity, what next? Should she try to find the woman? How would she react if Jamie contacted her? Would she welcome her long-lost daughter with tears and open arms, or would she accuse Jamie of trying to ruin her life? Certainly there was much more to consider than what Jamie wanted.