What the Librarian Did (17 page)

It’s complicated
, she’d said. What did that mean? Mark wished he’d hung around to find out, except how could he trust anything Rachel said, anyway? Last night—Sunday night, after he’d blasted Trixie—he’d got on the Internet and sourced everything he could about his birth mother. Which wasn’t much. Most online references were about Rachel’s dad, who’d been some big shot in Hamilton City Council before he died.

Steeling his resolve, Mark pushed the doorbell. A chime rang in the house and set his heart pounding. The idea of approaching Rachel’s mother had come to him in the middle of a sleepless night. At seven this morning he’d rung her before he could chicken out. Maureen Robinson had cried when he told her who he was. Yes, she’d tell him everything he wanted to know.

So Mark had caught the afternoon bus to Hamilton, an hour and a half south, with the idea of taking another one the extra forty minutes home to Cambridge after he’d talked to Maureen. At least now he knew his parents weren’t the bad guys in this.

The door opened; a plump elderly woman in a mauve housedress stared at him. She lifted her hand to her mouth.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “I’m Mark.”

“Oh, my dear.” Dark eyes glistening with tears, she flung her arms around his waist. Tentatively, Mark returned her hug. She was way older then he expected, and her granny perm barely came up to his armpit.

“I wasn’t going to do that…embarrass you.” She released him, but brushed a hand quickly across his cheek. “Come in, Mark, come in. I have sausage rolls in the oven—I knew you’d be hungry. And a plate of queen cakes….” She bustled ahead of him. Mark had to lengthen his stride to keep up.

“Um, thanks for seeing me. It must be a shock.”

She paused and looked over her shoulder. “I prayed for this day…. Now, what would you like to drink? Tea, coffee…juice?” With one hand she opened a cupboard door, revealing cups and glasses; with the other she opened the oven. She reminded Mark of the quails at home, small and pear-shaped. Like her, they flurried.

“Juice, please. You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.”

Maureen reached for a glass. “You’re my grandson.” Pulling a tissue from a box on the bench, she dabbed at her eyes. “Ignore me, I’m…” Without finishing the sentence she waved the tissue helplessly.

“Yeah,” he said, a lump in his throat.

Mark waited until she’d finished serving the food—enough for a small army—before he spoke again. “I guess I’m here to find out a couple of things, but the main one is how I came to be adopted.”

“And Rachel wouldn’t tell you.” It was a statement, not a question. Maureen poured the juice and set it in front of him.

“She said it was complicated.”

Compressing her lips, Maureen pulled out a chair and sat. “No, Mark, it was very simple. We wanted her to keep
the baby, but she wouldn’t consider it.” His grandmother seemed to become aware of who she was talking to, and dropped her gaze in confusion. “I should have softened that—I’m sorry. This is taking awhile to sink in.”

Mark managed a smile. “It’s okay.”
Please know that I had no choice but to give you up.
So Rachel had lied to him. Only now did he realize he’d had hope that this could still turn out all right. His cell rang, a welcome distraction. “Excuse me.” Taking it out of his jacket, Mark frowned as he saw the caller ID.

Devin again. Switching it off, he put the phone back in his pocket. “No one important.” That betrayal hurt the most. Devin had been his friend, the only one who guessed how much finding his birth mother had meant to him. And he’d chosen Rachel.

Mark looked back at the woman who was his grandmother. After the enthusiasm of her phone call, he’d expected to feel some kind of connection, warmth. Instead he felt more alone than ever. “You were talking about Rachel.”

“She was always so compliant as a child, so good.” A fleeting smile lifted the downturned corners of Maureen’s mouth. “And then in her teens…well…you hear how kids change overnight, but until it happened to us…We didn’t even know she’d been sneaking out at night, so her pregnancy came as a shock. It hit my husband, Gerard, particularly hard. Your grandfather was a man of some standing in the community.” Her voice grew stronger. “But we never wavered, not once, in our decision to support Rachel even though the circumstances…”

Her gaze darted to Mark and shied away. She began to fidget with her wedding ring, deeply embedded in one fleshy finger. “But Rachel was determined to give you up
right from the start. She was almost hysterical about it…I begged her to reconsider, and her father absolutely forbade the adoption, but she told such lies to the social worker…such lies.”

Maureen’s hand crept to the gold crucifix around her neck. “I still struggle to forgive her for that. You’re sweating, Mark—it’s probably too hot in here with the oven.” She bustled to the window above the sink and opened it. Mark felt the breeze but it did nothing to cool him down.

“Anyway, you’re here now. And that’s all that matters. Eat up.” Returning to the table, Maureen pushed the towering plates of sausage rolls and dainty cakes toward him. “I only wish your grandfather were alive to meet you. He was a wonderful man, Mark. Let me show you some pictures.”

She left the room, and Mark stared at the food. A fly buzzed over the cakes, but they were still too hot to land on. The thought of eating anything made him nauseous, but he didn’t want to hurt Maureen’s feelings, so he hid a few in his rucksack.

His grandmother came back, hugging half a dozen photo albums to her ample bosom. “Here we are.” Mechanically, he flicked through the ones featuring his grandfather, pretending to be impressed by the faded articles Maureen had clipped from the paper over the years. His mind buzzed as fruitlessly as the fly while he tried to process what he’d heard into something other than rejection by his birth mother. With every word out of Maureen’s mouth he’d felt himself diminish. Until he felt transparent. It was the strangest sensation.

Rachel had wanted to get rid of him. Except judging by the holy pictures framed in the hall and the cross around her mother’s neck, he guessed her parents would never
have permitted an abortion. He should consider that lucky, but right now Mark wished he’d never been born, rather than having been so unwanted.

None of the behavior Maureen was describing sounded like the Rachel he knew; but then Mark was still having trouble believing she was his mother. And she’d waited a week to tell him…and lied about having to give him up.

With difficulty, he tuned in to Maureen’s prattle. “She didn’t even come to her father’s funeral, doesn’t visit, and all I have are conscience calls…once a week.”

Unable to bear any more, Mark stood. “I have to go, catch my bus back.”

Maureen closed the albums. “But you’ll come again?’

“I’m not sure.”
No. Never
. At the door he asked his final question. “Do you know anything about my father?”

“It pains me to tell you this, Mark, but he and his parents washed their hands of responsibility when Gerard refused to discuss an abortion.” She crossed herself.

When he’d finally got away Mark walked to the park across the road and stumbled down the path to the river. Had his parents known his history when they’d adopted him?
Let’s take
this
baby, he’s the most unwanted
. Mom would think like that, and Dad…Tears blinded Mark. Not wanting to be caught crying, he left the path and tramped through the tangle of bracken and undergrowth to the river’s edge. One arm around a willow trunk, he looked at the fast-flowing, olive-brown river.

There was a vacuum inside him and his old life wouldn’t fill it.

D
EVIN WASN’T GOING TO
quit school and run back to L.A. with his tail between his legs. Much as he wanted to. His old life was about taking the easy way out; his new one was about finishing things he’d started. Even when they were hard.

He just hadn’t expected anything to be this hard.

He’d hit enough terrible lows in his life to know he would survive another, but this was a first for love. A broken heart packed its own wallop, and telling himself the librarian wasn’t worth this much suffering didn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference.

Fortunately, he had good reason to be away for a few days immediately following his breakup with Rachel. Zander might have agreed to play nice, but he’d renege if left to his own devices. Devin refused to let him out of his sight until they’d made their agreement legal.

That meant accompanying him to Sydney, where his brother had commitments. Devin had expected to be back in New Zealand by Tuesday, but quibbles over the fine print kept him in Australia until Wednesday night. Although he accepted the face-saving reprieve with relief, he knew he couldn’t put off the real world forever.

And he was increasingly anxious to make contact with Mark. The kid hadn’t returned any of his phone calls—
hardly surprising given Devin’s boorish behavior at the spa. Behavior he’d regretted as soon as his anger subsided.

He’d wanted to hurt Rachel, but Devin hated acting like an asshole to any woman in front of Mark. Let alone the woman he’d soon discover was his birth mother. Still, Devin was surprised when he returned to class on Thursday to learn Mark hadn’t been at school this week, either.

His ego—always his strength and weakness—didn’t allow him to hesitate as he entered the library. But to his immense relief Trixie told him Rachel had taken a leave of absence. Devin quashed his immediate concern for her well-being. Whether she was or wasn’t okay didn’t matter anymore. He decided it was probably another way to postpone telling Mark the truth. “So where’s the kid?”

Trixie’s dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You mean you haven’t heard from him? He’s not returning my messages, either, but I figured he was punishing me. He said he was going home for a few days.”

She filled him in on Mark’s reaction to Rachel’s confession and his subsequent diatribe to Trixie about “disloyalty.”

So that was why Mark wasn’t returning his calls. Devin scowled, a look Trixie interpreted correctly, because she said, “He’ll get over it. It’s not as if Rachel blamed you or me…he just—”

“Feels like he hasn’t got a friend in the world.” What a goddamn mess.

“Don’t say that. Look, let’s call him at home right now.” Through directory assistance, Trixie got Mark’s parents’ number in Cambridge, then phoned and asked for him. Her kohl-darkened eyes widened. “Okay,” she said, “well, thanks anyway. Yes, I’d appreciate the number.”

Devin started to get a bad feeling. “He’s not there?” he said when she hung up.

“No, and they didn’t even seem to be expecting him because they told me to call him in Auckland. He canceled their visit tomorrow, too. Said he had to study for a test?”

“He’s probably holed up in his apartment to study,” he reassured her.
There was no test
. “Is that the phone number?” He rang it and got the answering machine, which gave Mark’s cousin’s cell phone number. She answered from Dubai and told him she hadn’t been home for a week. Devin kept his voice casual as he asked, “What’s the street address?”

When he hung up, Trixie said anxiously, “You don’t think he’d—”

“No Goth overreactions,” Devin interrupted, hiding his own increasing uneasiness. “My classes are finished for the day. I’ll call in on the way home.”

Her forehead creased in a frown. “I wish I could come, but with Rachel away we’re already short-staffed.”

“I’ll give him your love.”

That won him a smile. “Don’t you dare. But phone me, won’t you?” She scribbled down her number.

As soon as he was out of sight, Devin dropped the laconic stroll and whistled for a cab. Fifteen minutes later he was at the modest apartment block, hammering on Mark’s ground floor door and telling himself he was every kind of idiot for worrying. No one answered. A neighbor at the next apartment poked her head out her door, pulling it back like a turtle when she caught sight of Devin.

“Ma’am,” he called, “can you help me? I’m looking for Mark White. Have you seen him over the past couple days?”

Her head slowly reappeared and she scanned him from
top to toe with her rheumy eyes. “Are you a drug dealer or an undercover cop?”

The right answer came instinctively. “A friend of his mother’s.”

“Hmm.” She came out, leaning on a cane. “I don’t normally see him much but I haven’t heard him for a few days…he plays the sound system loud when his cousin’s not there.”

Shading his eyes against the daylight, Devin peered through a chink in the curtains, and saw a light on in the lounge. “Is there any way of getting in here short of breaking the door down?”

“I have a key. Suzy, his cousin, gets me to water the plants when she’s away. Mark has good intentions but he’s liable to forget.”

Five minutes later, when she turned the key in the lock, he stopped her from reaching for the handle. “Let me go in first.”

“You’re expecting something bad, son?”

“I hope not.” Devin opened the door and stepped inside.

The place smelled shut up. Flies buzzed on the remains of cereal in an empty bowl. The milk had gone sour. Devin started to sweat.
This isn’t the same
, he told himself.
Get a grip
.

When he was twenty, he’d lost his best friend, the band’s drummer. Devin had found Jeff sprawled across his bed, the TV blaring, the paraphernalia of heroin beside him. He’d been dead for two days.

Forcing himself to walk, Devin moved from room to room until he’d checked through the whole apartment. Empty. His relief was so great he had to sit down. But it was short-lived. Where the hell was Mark?

“Y
OU DIDN’T PHONE
on Sunday.” There was accusation in her mother’s voice.

She immediately felt guilty, even though there’d been nothing to stop Maureen ringing her. “I’m calling now,” she said.

“Four days later.”

“Mom, please…” Rachel massaged her temple. Why had she thought she might find comfort here? “This is obviously a bad time. I’ll phone again when—”

“He came to see me.” There was a strange satisfaction in her mother’s voice.

Rachel tried to remember what they’d been talking about last week, but the world had spun on its axis too many times since then. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall—”

“Your boy…Mark.”

Rachel’s grip tightened on the phone. “No.”

“He wanted to know why he was adopted.”

She went rigid. “Mom, what did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course. That your father and I wanted to keep him, but that you rejected—”

Rachel cut the connection and punched in Mark’s cell phone number with trembling fingers. Trixie had told her he wasn’t answering calls, but at least she could leave a message. “Mark, it’s Rachel. I know you’ve been to see my mother. There are two sides to every story. Please call me.”

She hung up. Briefly, she considered calling his parents’ home, but dismissed the idea. Whether he’d told them about her or not, this was a private matter between her and Mark. And Rachel wouldn’t force her way into his life without an invitation. Her son had to have some place of refuge.

Desperate to do something, she sat down at the dining
room table and started writing a letter. If she posted it today, he’d get it tomorrow.

She’d only written three lines when the phone rang. Caller ID showed it was her mother. Rachel didn’t trust herself to pick up. Even if she could rip through Maureen’s fantasy that their life with Gerard Robinson had been normal—and right now she was angry enough to try—it would serve no purpose.

Her mother would never love her, and Rachel would only be stripping an old lady of a defense mechanism that had probably kept her sane.

“He sets high standards, darling, and gets so disappointed when we don’t follow them.”

“Getting drunk occasionally doesn’t make your father an alcoholic. He works hard and needs to vent.”

“Oh, I always bruise easily. Goodness, I’m so clumsy.”

And when the injuries were too obvious to laugh off: “Darling, I’m not feeling well, I’m staying in bed for a couple of days. You look after your father.”

Her father. The town councilor, the church elder, the treasurer of the Rotary Club, the manager of a bank…the great bloke. And in public, he always was.

The answering machine picked up.

“Rachel, I’m disappointed in you, but not surprised,” said her mother. “If you’d listened to Gerard and me none of this would be necessary.” She hung up with a disapproving click.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again, the library’s number. Trixie had promised to ring if she heard from Mark. Rachel snatched up the phone. But the news only ratcheted her tension.

“What’s the address?”

“Yeah, that’s why I phoned….” As soon as the call ended, Rachel ran to get her car keys. To hell with a hands-off policy.

The front door of her son’s apartment was open. Without giving herself time for second thoughts she tapped on it. “Mark?” Stepping inside, Rachel stalled.

Devin was checking through discarded papers on the dining room table. Instinctively, she took a couple of steps toward him.

“Trixie said you were coming.” He didn’t glance up from what he was doing. “Mark’s not here, Rachel. He hasn’t been here for a few days.”

Pressure tightened like a vise around her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Not here…then where?”

“I don’t know.” He gestured in frustration. “No one does, which is why I’m searching this place for clues.”

“He went to see my mother in Hamilton on Monday.” She started speaking faster and faster. “She told him that she and Dad didn’t want to give him up for adoption. If no one’s seen him since then—”

“He came back.” Devin picked up the newspaper spread across the dining table in front of him. “This is Tuesday morning’s paper. Wednesday’s and Thursday’s were still on the doormat along with his mail. It looks like some clothes are missing from his closet and there’s no sign of his guitar. If he’s taken that, he’s still okay.”

She absorbed the news and tried to think. “Is there anyone else he’d confide in, someone else he’d go to?”

“In Auckland, there was only Trixie and me.” His tone held no accusation, no hint of rebuke, though they both knew she was to blame for this. His boots echoed on the
linoleum as Devin entered the kitchenette. “I’m hoping he left a note for his cousin somewhere.”

The internal vise wound tighter. “Why don’t you just tell me it’s my fault?”

“Because it won’t help find him.”

He was right. Rachel got a grip on herself. “Did you check his cousin’s bedroom?”

“Only scanned it. Take a closer look while I search in here.”

About to head in the direction he indicated, Rachel hesitated. “If I’d listened to you, or at least left you out of it, Mark would have had someone to turn to. I’m…sorry, Devin. For everything. You always had our best interests at heart.”

“Apology accepted.” Devin’s expression was opaque; he’d completely withdrawn from her. Rachel shivered.

She searched Suzy’s room but didn’t find anything on the dresser or the bedside tables. About to leave, she glimpsed the corner of a white envelope poking out from under one of many pillows and bolsters piled on the double bed.

The envelope was addressed to his parents. A Post-it note attached to it read “Suz, please post this to Mom and Dad. Rent’s paid until the 25th. You shouldn’t have trouble finding another flatmate. Mark.”

She must have made a sound because suddenly Devin was with her. Sitting her on the bed, he took the note from her nerveless fingers and read it. Then without hesitation, he ripped open the envelope and scanned the contents.

Rachel cleared her throat. “What does it say?”

“‘Dear Mom and Dad, I guess I should have told you I was looking for my birth mother. Well, I found her.’ There are a couple of lines scribbled out hard…he obviously doesn’t want anyone deciphering them.” Devin held the
letter up to the light from the window and she saw that his hand, with its dragon tongue flicking across his knuckles, shook. Maybe it was the same tremor of exhaustion as hers. But Rachel didn’t have time to wonder why he hadn’t been sleeping. “I can only make out one word.” He stopped, a hard question in his eyes as he looked at her. “‘Rejected.’”

“My mother told him I didn’t want…” She shook her head, unable to finish. Tears were a luxury she wasn’t entitled to.

Something like sympathy flashed in Devin’s eyes, then he returned to the letter. “‘I know you’re going to be disappointed but I really need some time by myself to figure out…’ He’s crossed out ‘who I am’ and replaced it with ‘stuff.’” Devin frowned. “ I will call, I promise, hopefully even before Suz comes back from Dubai and you get this letter. Don’t worry, I have a job lined up already. Love, Mark.’ His cousin isn’t due back for another three days,” Devin explained, “so he’s not expecting his parents to get this until next week.”

Devin frowned as a preposterous idea came to him. He pulled his cell out of his pocket. Zander had left a couple of messages in the night, which he hadn’t had a chance to return. Trying not to get his hopes up—surely Mark wasn’t that credulous—he rang his brother, turning to the window because he couldn’t bear to look at Rachel suffering. Didn’t want to be moved by it.

“Thank God,” said Zander by way of greeting. “When I arrived home yesterday I found Mark on my doorstep. Apparently I told him I’d give him a job. I would cut him loose but he’s like a goddamn puppy that’s been kicked too many times.”

“Don’t! The last thing he needs is more rejection,” Devin declared. Behind him, he heard Rachel gasp. “Keep him busy until I get there and don’t, whatever you do, tell him I called.” Devin snapped his cell shut and turned, trying to ignore the dark shadows under Rachel’s eyes. She’d brought this on herself. “He’s safe.”