Descension (6 page)

Layla stared at the picture for a long time, studying every detail—the timeless clothes and carefree hair that looked nothing like other wedding photos she’d seen from the outrageous eighties. The Grecian wedding gown could have been purchased yesterday or a thousand years ago, and the man wore the ever stylish combination of kaki and white.

When Layla’s eyes roamed back to the letter, it felt like someone else turned her head. Like a dream, she had no control or influence over herself or her surroundings.

Beautiful, aren’t they?

Yes, the two in the photograph were the most beautiful people Layla had ever seen, which made it harder to believe.

And so clearly in love.

That hadn’t escaped Layla’s attention either. Chris and Sarah looked like poster children for happiness and love.

Your dad told me not to show that picture to anyone, and he wanted you to be very cautious about whom you show it to when and if you search for your family. So the best advice I can give you about the photo is use your instincts, because they’re usually spot on. If it feels fishy, swim away.

The only other clue I can give you is the oddest of them all.

“More mysteries,” Layla sighed.

Perhaps it will turn out to be the most useful.

Layla’s eyes narrowed as her interest spiked.

Your dad told me he and your mom enjoyed visiting Cannon Beach, a coastal town west of Portland. From the pictures I’ve seen, it’s a cute community with great ocean views, so you’d like it. I hope we get to go there together. Anyway, he said to tell you that if you ever make it there, a place called
Cinnia’s Cannon Café
has really good coffee, the best coffee.

Coffee? Out of everything her…
dad
could have told her, could have given his advice on, he tells her where to get a good cup of coffee? Well, she did like coffee, a lot, but that wasn’t the point, damn it. She could make her own damn coffee.

Rationality failed her.

So there you go. I know this is a pitiful attempt at an apology, and an even worse attempt at an explanation. Hopefully I’ll be able to tell you this in person. I hate to think of you finding out this way.

Please forgive me. Forgive me for the lie you’ve been living, and forgive your birth family, too. I know they love you. You were put in my care as a last resort, and I’m so glad you were. I know that’s selfish of me, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I would have lost myself years ago if you weren’t blessing me with your hugs and kisses and smiles. They mean everything to me. So whatever you decide to do, be happy. You deserve it, because you’ve made me the happiest woman in the world. I wasn’t the one who gave you life, but you’re the one who gave me life, and I sincerely hope I’ve been the mother you deserve, regardless of my dishonesty.

I love you so much, my dearest Layla, and I’ll miss you like crazy when I’m gone.

Love forever and always,

Mom

p.s. Good luck with your

search. I know you

can do whatever you

set your mind on.

Layla stared at the last sentence for several seconds, watching the words blur as tears swamped her vision and grief squeezed her heart. Then she moved the letter out of the way, laid her cheek against the cool table top, and cried. She didn’t stifle her sobs, gasps and tears. She didn’t even blow her nose. For too long she’d held it all in. The dam had burst.

She stayed that way for hours. Sometimes the sobs would turn to whimpers and the rivers of tears would dwindle into trickling streams, and sometimes her chest heaved with emotion, making it hard to breathe. By five o’clock her eyes were dry, albeit swollen and burning, and oxygen was making a steady journey to her lungs.

She peeled her face from the table’s Formica surface then slowly turned her head, careful not to upset the kink in her neck. Emotion and new found knowledge weighed heavily on her body and mind, so she lethargically rose to fix a fresh pot of coffee.

She’d have to read the letter again. There was no way around it. Disjointed information rolled in her head like marbles. She could barely make two plus two equal four, let alone add up the fact that she was adopted. It didn’t help that she was starving, so she made a sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and sat down, bravely picking up the letter.

She thoroughly read it six more times, and each time the tears flowed less and less. By the seventh, they hadn’t come at all.

The information was clear in her mind, but there were too many missing pieces to draw conclusions. Why did her birth parents hide? What, exactly, had led to her diminished safety? Where did her father go? Was he still alive? If so, why didn’t he come back? So many unanswered questions, so many mixed emotions.

Layla picked up the photograph and reexamined it, viewing it differently, with believing eyes the exact same color as her father’s. Now that she’d properly absorbed the letter’s disclosure and accepted it as true, she could clearly see the resemblances between herself and them.

She had her father’s jet black hair, emerald green eyes, and tan skin, and her eyelashes were as thick and black as his but as long as her mom’s. She also inherited her dad’s wide set mouth, but aside from that and her coloring, she looked just like her mom. Plump and curvy lips, corkscrew spirals, unusually round eyes, a small nose, a slender jaw that led to high cheek bones, and a short and petite frame. Layla wondered, though, who passed along full breasts and curvy hips, because her mom wasn’t nearly as shapely as her. Nonetheless, it was obvious these two strangers were her parents.

So what was she supposed to do about it? Go on a wild goose chase halfway across the country? What did she have to go on? Six fake names, the broad location of Portland, a photograph she wasn’t supposed to flash around, and a recommendation for good coffee.

And what if, by some miracle, she succeeded? What did she expect to find? Her mom was dead. And her dad, well, if he wasn’t dead, he was probably a deadbeat. Safety be damned; Layla couldn’t imagine one scenario that would justify a father willingly leaving his newborn with no plans to return.

Her safety—another vague and aggravating issue. It seemed she could be in danger if she tried to find her long lost family. Apparently she’d been skirting danger her entire life. If the threat was real. Katherine claimed the adoption was a last resort, necessary for Layla’s safety, but there wasn’t any proof. Furthermore, Layla had no idea if
anyone
in her biological family still lived. Her grandparents would probably be around sixty years old. If death hadn’t already claimed them, they were likely beset with health problems.

Grandparents… she’d always wanted grandparents.

No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t imagine herself with the extended family she’d always wanted. It would be one thing to go to Oregon to see what she might find, but to go hoping for a miracle—that would be begging for disappointment. The clues were too cryptic.

Layla thought her head might explode. Maybe she needed to sleep on everything. Maybe tomorrow would bring the rationality eluding her tonight.

She took a shower, letting the hot water soothe her achy neck, but it didn’t wash away her thoughts—thoughts of Oregon and the ocean; a good cup of coffee in the coastal town of Cannon Beach; a grandma and grandpa; maybe even aunts, uncles and cousins.

Layla shook her head under the spray, trying to dispel the castles in the sky.

She lay in bed looking at her parents’ faces by moonlight for hours that night, memorizing every detail. When exhaustion finally defeated her brain, she dreamed vividly.

Relaxed and peaceful, she stood barefoot on smooth rocks, facing a choppy, gray ocean and stormy skies, watching seagulls swoop and waves crash. Stones clacked behind her, and she tensed and twirled, finding the stunning faces of her birth parents. They smiled as their eyes widened, and for a moment, Layla was blinded by their beauty and the bright, golden haze swirling around their bodies. They each had an arm extended, and when Layla looked down, she found them holding out steaming cups of coffee.

Layla jolted awake, and it took her a moment to remember what she’d been dreaming about. Once the vision reformed, all she could think was, “How weird?”

Layla awoke Tuesday feeling groggy and scatterbrained, but after an apple and two cups of coffee, which she drank while staring at her parents’ wedding photo, she found the energy to wash up and make a few phone calls.

Every move she’d made since waking up, she’d made while thinking about her mom’s letter. The facts were straight in her head, and her options were clear, but which to choose was not.

She could disregard what she’d read and continue her life as it was, with a few financial changes, or she could go to Oregon armed with nothing but vague clues. If she was honest with herself, going to Oregon was exactly what she wanted, but she was hesitant to open herself up to more disappointment. What she needed was an outsider’s perspective, so she invited Travis and Phyllis over.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived, Phyllis with homemade bruschetta and Travis with orange juice and champagne.

“What’s that for?” Layla asked, pointing out the beverages.

“Mimosas,” Travis answered, “to celebrate my first official invite to your house.”

“I’ve invited you before,” Layla countered, pulling dishes from the cabinet. “Haven’t I?”

“No,” Travis replied. “Unless ya count your birthday, when I pretty much invited myself.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Travis insisted, bracing himself to pop the cork on the champagne. “So what’s the occasion?”

“I met with my mom’s lawyer yesterday.”

“Oh yeah. How’d it go?”

“I’ll show you,” Layla offered, carrying the plates to the table. “Let’s sit.”

Phyllis passed out bruschetta as Travis mixed mimosas, and Layla fidgeted with Katherine’s letter, bracing herself to let it go.

“What’s that?” Travis asked.

“A letter from my mom,” Layla answered. “I want you guys to read it and tell me what you think.”

Travis and Phyllis froze, raising incredulous eyebrows.

“Are ya sure?” Phyllis asked. “You’re such a private person.”

“I’m sure,” Layla answered, handing over the letter, “but I want you both to finish before saying anything.”

Travis and Phyllis looked at each other. Then Travis shrugged and placed the letter between them.

Layla sipped her drink as she watched their expressions, guessing where they were in the plethora of information. When they finally met her stare with sympathetic gazes, neither of them spoke, so she broke the silence.

“Crazy, right?”

Travis nodded, mouth still hanging open, but Phyllis had more tact. “How are ya, honey, really?”

If the question had been asked after the first time Layla read the letter, she would have answered with a sob, but now that everything had soaked in, she was coming to terms with it. Sort of. “I’m okay,” she answered, and Phyllis narrowed her eyes. “Really,” Layla pressed, “I am. Yesterday was rough. I kind of had a break down the first time I read it.”

“Good,” Phyllis approved, patting Layla’s hand. “Sometimes all it takes to deal with somethin’ is a good cry.”

“Maybe. You okay, Trav?”

He hadn’t moved an inch. “Uh… yeah,” he replied, shaking his head. “Man, Layla, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it. That must’ve been hell for ya to read.”

“Yeah, but the seventh time was easier.”

“Ya did this to yourself seven times?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a masochist, Layla.”

“You’re one to talk, Trav.”

Travis shrugged because he couldn’t argue. “So how do ya feel?”

“I’ve gone through every emotion in the book,” Layla answered, thumbing the pages of the letter. “I’m sad, confused, amazed, among other things.” She didn’t tell them she was hurt, because she wasn’t sure she had a right to be, and she didn’t tell them she was hopeful, because she was too damn hopeful.

Travis got to his feet and moved behind her, wrapping skinny arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, sugar. Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Layla replied, “because I need an outsider’s perspective. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m adopted, but what to do next is what I can’t wrap my mind around.”

“Do ya know your options?” Travis asked, taking the chair next to her.

“For the most part.”

“Are ya leanin’ toward one in particular?” Phyllis asked.

“Yes,” Layla whispered, “but I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

“Ya wanna go to Oregon, don’t you?” Phyllis concluded.

“Yes,” Layla confirmed, “but I’m scared. What if I drag my butt all the way there, turn my world upside down, and there’s nothing there to find?”

“But what if there is?” Phyllis countered. “Life’s nothin’ if ya don't take chances.”