Yesterday, she’d stumbled across a recentarticle from a New Hampshire newspaper. The report announced plansfor a twenty-fifth high school reunion. With the article was apicture of the celebrating class on the first day of their senioryear. Maggie glanced over the eager, teenage faces in the photo andfroze when her gaze fell on one of the women.
If she hadn’t known better, she would havesworn she was staring at a photo of herself. The names listed belowthe teens revealed she was instead looking at a picture of MindyShea. Maggie searched the internet for more about Mindy Shea, butthere’d been nothing beyond that photo. So, she’d started lookingfor Sheas in the newspaper’s distribution area and came across aMarsha Shea. She’d uncovered this address for Marsha in Ossipee,New Hampshire.
Shea.It could be her mother’s lastname and possiblyhers. She could have a last name beyondthe Doe given to her at birth.
She probably should have called Marshabefore showing up on her doorstep. It would have been the sensible,polite thing to do, but something more than her car had driven herhere. If she’d called and been told to stay away, she didn’t knowif she would have been able to. She wanted some answers tosomethingin her life, and Marsha may have them.
This may have been the first impulsive thingshe’d ever done, and she didn’t care if it blew up in her face.Nothing could be worse than these last couple of weeks. She’dplayed it safe for more years than she could count, afraid ofgetting her heart trampled, but playing it safe hadn’t kept herprotected from loss. Plus, she’d decided that playing it safe wasboring.
“Strap on your helmet. It’s time to startliving, Maggie,” she said aloud.
Shutting the car off, she opened the doorand climbed out. The crispness of the air robbed her breath fromher, and she pulled her coat closer as she walked toward thetrailer. Most of the bushes and plants surrounding the sun porchdidn’t have leaves, but they were all neatly trimmed.
A fenced-in area blocked off a patch of landto the left of the trailer. Maggie suspected it became a garden inthe spring. Behind the garden was a chicken coop, with a dozen orso chickens huddled together for warmth. Surrounded by woods,Maggie couldn’t see any neighbors nearby.
Snow still covered the lawn, but the slatewalkway was clear beneath her feet. Maggie pushed her anxiety asideas she climbed the steps to the sunporch and rang the bell besidethe storm door. The inner door of the trailer opened, and a womanemerged. The woman took one step before freezing.
“Mindy,” the woman breathed and staggeredtoward Maggie.
A stab of guilt pierced her. “No, my name isMagdalene. I’m Maggie.”
The woman gawked at her before shaking herhead. “You look… like… like… a ghost.” The woman’s eyes continuedto survey Maggie as she pushed open the storm door. “Can I help youwith something?”
“I… uh… I think I might be yourgranddaughter.”
Tears spilled down Marsha’s unlined cheeks.Maggie guessed her to be around sixty, yet she barely looked olderthan forty-five. Her auburn hair had streaks of white runningthrough it, but it remained more red than gray. Unlike Maggie’seyes, and those of her mother, Marsha’s were the color of the sky,but there were more similarities in their looks than there weredifferences.
It hit her that her mother might have alsochosen to name her Magdalene to continue the M name tradition.
“Looking at you, honey, I think you may betoo,” Marsha said, and before Maggie knew what the woman intended,she found herself clasped against a pair of ample breasts as Marshaheld her close and sobbed.
CHAPTER 45
Maggie perched on the edge of the green sofaas she took in the trailer. It was small, but warm and homey likeher apartment had been before boxes filled it. Pictures lined thewall across from her. They revealed the progression of her mother’slife from a baby, to a pigtailed six-year-old, to a beautiful teendressed as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Then, Maggie realized a lotof the photos were of her mother dressed as some character in oneplay or another over the years.
Her mother had been so beautiful and happy.So completely different than the woman who sat in the institutenow.
Glass figurines of dragons, fairies,unicorns, and other mythical creatures filled the curio cabinetacross from her. A basket of yarn and a half-completed blanket layon the seat of the green recliner across from her. It was whatshe’d always pictured a grandmother’s home to be like—those fewtimes she’d allowed herself to dream of such a thing as achild.
A small orange cat leapt into her lap andpurred when Maggie ran her hand over its back. A dalmatian slept onthe floor by the stove and, judging by the scent filling the home,chocolate chip cookies were baking in the oven.
Maggie didn’t know what she’d expected tofind here, but it hadn’t been this. She’d assumed her mother hadfled a horrendous home life and that was why no one had reportedher missing. She didn’t see any signs of misery here. Instead, shesaw pictures of a loved girl whose mother stood hugging her in morethan a couple of the photos.
“Here you go, hon.”
Maggie blinked and tore her attention awayfrom the pictures. She accepted the mug of steaming,vanilla-scented coffee Marsha handed her. “Thank you.”
Marsha settled onto the recliner and set hercoffee down on the table beside her. Folding her hands, Marshatwisted them in her lap as she leaned forward. “Your mother, isshe… is she…?”
“She’s alive,” Maggie said.
“Oh, thank God,” Marsha breathed and droppedher head into her hands.
Maggie couldn’t give this woman any falsehope. “She’s not well.”
Marsha lifted her head and folded her handsin her lap again. “Is she dying? Did she send you because she needsa kidney transplant or something? I’ll do it. I’ll give it if Ican.”
Maggie almost choked on her tears. Why hadher mother left this place? This woman? Was Maggie missingsomething here? But she didn’t sense anything cruel or manipulativeabout Marsha. All she sensed was a woman desperate to hear aboutthe daughter she hadn’t seen in twenty-five years.
