Virginia McCullough - Girl In The Spotlight

From there, the words flowed more easily. He described the afternoon and the shock he’d experienced when he saw the skater up close and was struck by the shape of her face. “She has dark hair and skin like mine, common enough, but her smile, and especially the shape of her face, are all you. Or could be.”

“But that’s probably coincidence, isn’t it?” she asked, sighing. “I mean, more likely than not, it’s a chance resemblance. Right?”

“Of course.” He deliberately lowered his voice to mask the jumble of emotions swirling in his gut. “But I’m not done.” He paused, almost afraid to say the words. “Today’s her birthday.”

“Today? That skater turned eighteen today?”

From the strength of her voice alone, Miles knew he’d planted the conversation on firmer ground. “That’s what the announcers discussed—this competition was a big deal so they went on at length about what a great present the medal was on such an important birthday.”

“Wow. I don’t follow skating,” Lark said, rushing the words. “You know, except when the Internationals are on TV. Then I tune in like everyone else. I would have missed this entirely.”

He was almost afraid to go on, but it was the detail that made the others fit like puzzle pieces. “There’s more. One other thing—something big.”

“What?”

“Perrie Lynn is adopted.”

He waited out the seconds of silence.

“How do you know that?” she whispered.

“The announcers said so, Lark.”

“They discussed something so private? On TV?”

Miles chuckled. “Well, according to Brooke, this is not a secret. You see, her parents, the Olsons, are classic blond, blue-eyed Scandinavians. Apparently, she’s always known she was adopted.” He paused, calling up his grandmother’s face. “I can’t even describe how much she resembles the early photos of my mother, but especially my grandmother.”

“Oh, Miles, it’s still so hard to believe. I’m afraid to hope it’s true.”

He heard the longing in her soft voice. An eighteen-year-old memory of her fighting off tears—and failing—slipped into his mind. “I know. But to tell you the truth, Lark, it really was the widow’s peak and her pretty smile that made me think of you.”

Silence.

“But it still might not be true.”

Her skepticism sounded forced. “You sound like me. Like you’re putting the brakes on your thoughts. You don’t want to let hope run away with you.”

“Yes,” she said, “not that I know what to do with the information. I mean, I’ve been thinking about her all day, and I filled up time with Christmas shopping. Just now I was out on a...well, out for dinner with friends, but for a couple of hours before I left the house I picked up the phone half a dozen times wanting to beg off, make some excuse not to leave the house.”

“I understand. It was on my mind, too. I was listening to Brooke talk with half my attention. Until the camera zoomed in on Perrie Lynn’s face and the commentators bantered about all these details of her life.”

“It seems so unlikely.”

He held back, not wanting to reveal exactly how convinced he was that Perrie Lynn was their child. He also suspected this birthday was more complicated for Lark than it was for him. “All that aside, I want to find out for sure, even though I don’t have a plan in place. Obviously, we’ll act in a way that won’t intrude on this girl’s life. If it’s all a big coincidence, then that will be that.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Can you meet me for breakfast, maybe tomorrow morning?” he asked. “I leave for Richmond on a late afternoon flight, but I’d like to see you first. We should talk about what to do next.”

“Yes, talk. We need to...take the next step, whatever...” She let out a frustrated groan. “Listen to me. I’m a writer, but I can’t string words together in a complete sentence. Tomorrow morning? Let me check.”

The line went quiet. The seconds ticked by.

“Yes, yes, that’s good. I was double-checking my calendar. I have a phone interview scheduled in the afternoon. I write articles about health. I’m talking to a doctor about a new drug for...” She sighed. “Now I’m babbling. None of that matters. Tomorrow morning is fine.”

What a relief. He hadn’t wanted to leave town without seeing her face-to-face. He suggested meeting at eight o’clock at Hugo’s, a café just east of Green Bay, not too far for either of them.

“Hugo’s it is,” she said.

Silence.

He cleared his throat. “Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait! One more thing, Miles.”

“What is it?”

“You have a strong hunch about this, don’t you?”

The unexpected question threw him, but not for long. “Yes, I do.”

“Me, too.” She ended the call.

He stared at the phone, amused by the abrupt end to their conversation. At least it saved them from an awkward goodbye. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his folded arms. The oak table felt cold under his hands, but he welcomed it. He needed to cool the heat of the moment. Lark had your child. Yet a simple matter of setting up a meeting was stiff and strange.

Would it have been easier to talk with her if they’d been in love back then, or at least infatuated? Maybe they were awkward with each other because they’d shared so little. Back in college, they’d spent a few carefree nights listening to bands at a local pub. Their handful of dates had been more like hanging out. They’d spent a couple of chilly spring Sundays in his room in an apartment he shared with a couple of guys. Studying. Obviously doing more than that.

With all he’d said, he’d failed to mention another clue. Perrie Lynn had grown up in Minnesota. Where he and Lark had given up their baby. And, at the time, without even one other person in their lives aware of what they’d done.

* * *

SO AWKWARD. SHE hadn’t helped by more or less hanging up on him to end the call. But what was the protocol in situations like this? The etiquette? Silly question. She snickered to herself. Had she really used the words protocol and etiquette, as if this was a case of choosing the correct way to interact with Miles? The facts spoke for themselves. When they’d left the hospital, Miles had driven her back to her studio apartment in St. Paul and looked after her for a couple of days. Since then she’d seen him exactly twice, the first time two weeks after they’d given up their baby.

Miles had come home for the holiday break, too, and asked her to have dinner with him. She’d agreed to meet him at a local pub. He was just checking in, he’d said, concerned by the way he’d left her in her apartment after they’d turned over their baby girl.

She remembered their evening well, but not happily. They’d struggled to make conversation. She’d held back her tears, tried to be strong, but failed. As much as he’d shown concern for her, his relief bled through. He was free and clear. When they’d left the pub and walked to their cars, she’d told him her plan was to try her best to put what happened between them behind her. First, she didn’t want him worrying about her, but second, she didn’t want him to contact her ever again. Miles had started to respond, but apparently had nothing meaningful to say. He’d nodded tersely and they parted ways.

Sitting at her desk, Lark took a deep breath, hoping to chase away gathering hope mixed with fear. Yet she wanted—needed—to savor this moment, just in case it all turned out to be true. She opened her laptop and within seconds was staring at an image of Perrie Lynn Olson in a red sequined skating costume. She was exactly as Miles had described, right down to the same pronounced widow’s peak Lark saw in the mirror every day. The girl’s warm skin tone and her rich brown eyes reminded her of Miles—the Miles of years ago when he was twenty and she was nineteen. Not much older than their daughter was now.