My gaze ping-pongs between theirs, settling on Mr. Blanchard’s. For the first time since sitting across from the magnate, I notice the similarities in the shade of our eyes.
He offers a sad, knowing smile.
I can only blink in shock.
“I was forced to give up my beautiful, perfect baby boy the minute I gave birth to him, only allowed to kiss him once.” My bewildered eyes shift to Mrs. Blanchard, the woman proclaiming to be my grandmother. “I wasn’t even permitted to nurse my baby. Heck, I didn’t even have time to find out the color of his eyes?—”
“Green, like mine,” I say.
“And like yours,” Mrs. Blanchard says to her husband.
“My mom had hazel-green eyes.” I’m not sure why I feel compelled to share that.
Mr. Blanchard slides an arm around Mrs. Blanchard’s shoulder.
Of all the possible scenarios that played in my head explaining the reason this man wanted to see me, this one wasn’t anywhere near the list.
“The separation between mother and child was quick.” Mrs. Blanchard lets out a heavy sigh. “Cruel. Merciless.”
“Why weren’t you able to hold Dad in your arms?”
“The adoption agency stated if the baby and I formed a bond, it would be more difficult for everyone involved. I wasn’t supposed to name him, but I did.” She lifts a defiant chin. “It was my only act of rebellion. I picked Dwight for your daddy––a strong name, deeply rooted in the south. A president’s name, too.” She pauses. “Darren isn’t a president’s name, but his adoptive family selected a good name for my son.”
A tear runs down Mrs. Blanchard’s face, messing up her makeup. She rummages through her handbag to pull out a tissue.
My heart wrenches in my chest. “Dad was a good man,” I say. “A hard-working man. A God loving one, too. He was also an amazing father and husband.”
“Hear that, Lore,” Mr. Blanchard says, “our boy turned out great.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less. After all, he comes from good stock.”
They smile at each other.
“The blanket was a gamble.” Mrs. Blanchard wipes her tears away. “While my parents were ironing out last minute details with one adoption agent, I begged the one who had taken my son to wrap your daddy in a blanket I crocheted for him while singing and talking to him when he was still in my belly. I wanted him to know he was loved––” Her voice catches. “She told me she’d do her best, but couldn’t promise the blanket wouldn’t get lost.”
“It didn’t get lost,” I say.
“My heart shattered into pieces when Warren showed me thePeoplemagazine article. What were the odds? I wasn’t the best at crochet or knitting and I made a few mistakes, but since I was doing this on the sly because I didn’t want my parents to know, I didn’t have time to make it perfect. I couldn’t believe it. All those years later and my baby boy kept a piece of me. A piece of us.” She waves a finger between her and her husband. “Then, I dissolved into tears, my heart breaking for a whole other reason. My baby boy was dead. Then, another realization hit me and my sadness morphed to elation… I knew, with certainty that pierced my heart, we’d found the grandson we never knew existed.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say.
“It’s true, Rhett, we’re your biological grandparents,” Mr. Blanchard says.
“You’re… Dad’s parents?” Even though Mr. Blanchard and Mrs. Blanchard just said as much, I can’t wrap my head around the shocker.
“We are, son.” He nods. “We are.”
“Why’d you give up your child for adoption?” I say, my tone accusatory. “I’m sorry, that came out the wrong way.”
“It’s a legitimate question, Rhett.” Mrs. Blanchard offers a warm smile.
“You don’t have to answer the question,” I say.
“I want you to know where you come from.” She inhales a deep breath, filling her lungs with air, as if she needed an anchor. “As the only daughter of a Texan oil and gas heir, I was destined to marry up in rank, not down. Old money and all, going back several generations.”
Holy shit.
“It was drilled into me since I was a little girl.”
