Presley recites her cell number and seconds later her phone pings with the text from Emma. “I’ll call you as soon as I confirm it with Stella.”
“That will look so great on my résumé.” Emma shoots out of her chair and gathers all their dinner plates.
“Leave those in the sink, honey,” Rita says. “I’ll get them later.”
Abigail stands to leave. “It was nice to see you again, Presley.”
“And you as well, Abigail.”
Rita waits until they’re gone. “Would you like a cup of tea? I took some of Emma’s specialty, lemon blueberry cheesecake bars, out of the freezer.”
“She bakes, too?” Presley says, shaking her head in amazement. “What doesn’t that kid do?”
“Emma’s pretty remarkable. Both my girls are special in different ways. You would think Abigail would have self-confidence issues from having an overbearing sister like Emma, but she’s sure of herself. She’s just quiet by nature.” Rita snickers. “I’d be willing to bet she was working calculus problems in her head during dinner.” She pushes back from the table. “How about that dessert?”
“I’d love some, as long as you let me help you clean up first.”
“If you insist,” Rita says. “I’ll get an apron for you.”
While the tea brews, they clear the table and load dishes in the dishwasher. Rita tells Presley about her job at the high school. “Before my divorce, I was a stay-at-home mom. When I moved back to town from Charlotte, I had to find a job to help pay the bills. Russell Freeman, the high school’s principal, is an old childhood friend. He offered me an administrative job in his office. It’s fine for now. I like being around the kids. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life.”
Presley laughs. “I’m sure you will in time.”
Working side-by-side with Rita feels natural to Presley, like they’ve known each other longer than a few days. Rita is her aunt, and Abigail and Emma are her cousins. Will they accept her into their family when she tells them Lucy is her birth mother? Is this even what she wants? She answers her own question with no hesitation. She’s never wanted anything more in her life.
“Let’s go to the living room. It’s my favorite room, but we hardly ever spend any time in there.” Rita places the teacups and dessert plates on a small acrylic tray and leads Presley down the hall to the living room.
Presley pauses in the doorway to admire the room, which is decorated in shades of gray on the walls and upholstery with accent colors in pinks and yellows. “I see why you like this room. It’s so feminine and happy.” She scrutinizes the family photographs in silver frames that clutter the baby grand piano. Emma and Abigail are pictured at various ages. There are several of Rita and Lucy from childhood with a third girl who must be their sister, Anna. She leans over to look at an image of a handsome young couple, not much older than Presley, in formal evening attire. The man is dashing, a James Dean lookalike. There’s something vaguely familiar about his wife, a beautiful redhead with pale gray eyes. Studying the photograph closer is like looking in a sepia-toned mirror. The woman can only be her grandmother.
“Are these your parents?” Presley asks.
Peering over her shoulder, Rita says, “Yes, Sam and Carolyn Townsend in their much-younger days. I would kill for my mother’s hair. Out of all her offspring, children and grandchildren, only Lucy’s son, Chris, got her auburn hair. Seems like such a waste on a man, but he carries it well. Did you meet Chris at the party?”
“No, I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’ve heard a lot about him from Lucy.”
“He was only there briefly with his father. He’s a good boy. And his father is a good man. I was sorry when he and Lucy ended their marriage.” Rita takes the photograph from Presley. “You look enough like my mother to be her twin. Presley, are you . . .? You are, aren’t you? You’re the child Lucy put up for adoption.”
Presley’s shoulders cave. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s a good chance I might be.”
Rita returns the photograph to the piano. “How did you find us? On 23andMe?”
“After my mom died, when I was going through her desk, I found your address on a torn envelope in my adoption file.” Suddenly light-headed, Presley says, “Can we sit down?”
“Yes, of course.”
Seated side-by-side on the sofa, Presley tells Rita about finding the envelope and making the split-second decision to come to Hope Springs. “I thought you were my birth mother at first. Lucy told me what happened to her in college and about giving her baby up for adoption. When I found out at the party that you and Lucy are sisters, I put two and two together and realized Lucy must be my birth mother.”
“What a small world,” Rita says, but she doesn’t seem all that surprised by the coincidence.
Another piece suddenly falls into place for Presley. “Or is it, Rita? You mentioned 23andMe. Lucy claims she never searched any ancestry websites. Is someone in your family on 23andMe?” Presley turns to Rita. “Are you on 23andMe?”
Rita looks away while she sips her tea. “My sister was in such a dark place. I would have done anything to help her find the child she put up for adoption.” She gets up and walks aimlessly around the room, fluffing pillows and straightening lampshades. “When my online search proved futile, I begged our parents to tell me everything they knew about the adoption. Back then, Lucy wanted nothing to do with the baby. She thought the less she knew, the easier it would be for her to forget about it. Fortunately, my parents were wise enough to realize Lucy would one day need to know more.
“They helped choose the adoptive parents. After much harassment, they gave me your parents’ names.
