Family Found

She waved away his apology. “It’s all right.”

But Mitch felt an urgent need to make amends, his own experience a painful reminder. “No. I was talking about a father’s responsibility, not being adopted. A man ought to stand by his kid, no matter what. What sort of guy deserts his kid when he’s sick?”

“The kind I married,” she answered quietly.

Mitch realized he didn’t have a spare inch left to cram any more of his foot into his mouth. He’d gone from bad to worse, then worse again. “You know, I was just thinking this might be a good time to do some of the legwork. You want to tag along?”

“Tossing me a bone, Tucker?”

“You up for catching it?”

Her smile was sad but accepting. “I opened this can of worms.”

“And I poked the jagged edge of the tin into your feelings. So why don’t we put a bandage on the morning and get the hell out of here?”

“You’ve got a way with words, Tucker.”

“Does that mean yes?”

The sadness hadn’t left her eyes, but a sliver of light penetrated the darkness. “I suppose so. Good to see you finally admit it.”

He skirted the desk, crossed to the front door and opened it for Laura. “Admit what?”

Faint slyness edged the beginning of a smile. “That you need my help.”

LAURA WASN’T SURE what she had expected. But the musty corridors of a genealogical library were a surprise. Floor after floor of books and records held a wealth of secrets.

Mitch quickly decided he needed the help of a librarian, rather than dig through hundreds of rolls of microfilm on his own.

“We need to see the birth records for March 1970,” he was telling the woman.

“Harris County?” she asked.

“To start with.” He lowered his voice a bit. “And then Galveston County.”

Laura hid a triumphant smile as they followed the librarian to the section of the library with birth records. The helpful woman then explained how they were divided and how to find certain years.

“Are you tracing your family history?” the librarian asked.

“Actually, we’re—” Laura began.

“Yes, we’re working on our genealogy,” Mitch interrupted. “I appreciate your help. After we find my sister’s records, I’d hate to be searching all over the building for Grandma Tucker’s birth certificate.”

The graying librarian laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, before moving away.

“Why did you cut me off?” Laura demanded in a quiet voice.

“Because telling people you’re searching for your birth parents closes more doors than it opens. It’s safer to stick to the story that you’re researching family roots.”

Slightly deflated, Laura studied his face. “You mean people won’t want to help if they know the truth?”

“This isn’t a black-and-white issue, Laura. A lot of people believe that digging up the truth only opens buried pain and problems. They feel the birth parents have a right to their privacy.” He held up one hand, anticipating her protest. “Some are even sympathetic to the reasons for a search like yours, yet at the same time are hesitant to cross certain lines. And most of them have heard stories similar to yours that have turned out to be ruses, so they’re cynical. While some legislators advocate opening all the records, some are equally insistent they remain sealed.”

“But the librarian—”

“May or may not be influenced by the debate. Why send up an unnecessary flag, though? In investigative work, it’s always best to be low-key.”

“No shoot-outs unless absolutely necessary?” she questioned dryly.

“Right, Watson.”

She smiled. “As in your trusted assistant?”

He pointed in the direction of an oversize cabinet. “There’s March 1970. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

Laura felt her smile draining away. “You want me to dig through the entire cabinet?”

“You said you wanted to help.”

“I do, but—”

“Then start digging.”

MANY HOURS LATER, Mitch glanced at the interior of Laura’s home. It was a modest, middle-income home. And much like her it didn’t reveal a lot. It could be anyone’s home, in Anywhere, America. It was light and airy, but with no individuality. It was so lacking in the personal bits and pieces that revealed the owner’s personality that the living room could be one in a model house.

He had expected her to be tired of his company after a day spent digging through records and tracing old addresses. But she had insisted on bringing him to meet Alex.

An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. I’m Leona Plummer. I care for the baby.”

He rose, extending his hand. “Ma’am.”

She accepted his handshake, a faint light of approval entering her stern expression. “Mrs. Kelly would like you to come to the nursery to meet young Alex.”

He followed, wondering at the austere woman. She seemed an unlikely choice for a baby-sitter. But then, nothing about Laura Kelly had met his expectations.

Entering the nursery, Mitch was struck by the burst of colors. Beautifully hand-painted murals covered the walls. A herd of cuddly stuffed animals populated the room, along with colorful blocks and an impressive collection of children’s books. Unlike the bland living room, the nursery screamed with character.

Laura turned with the baby in her arms. Mitch had steeled himself for a sick child, expecting to see the ravages of disease.

He hadn’t expected bright blue eyes, ones that matched his mother’s. Or chubby arms and legs that waved in obvious delight.

Alex squealed just then. “’Lo!”

“That means hello,” Laura explained, smoothing the soft hair from the baby’s face, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

Surprised yet mesmerized by the transformation in Laura, Mitch stepped farther into the room.

“Hello, little guy,” Mitch greeted him awkwardly. Then he directed his attention to Laura. “He’s looking good.”