“Lucy?” Emma pulled back. There were tears streaming down her face, and, Lucy realized, down her own, as well. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t know, Emma,” she whispered, a little girl again, looking up to her big sister. “I’ve been asking myself that all day.”
“You’ve known all day? Have you seen her, then? Talked to her?”
Ramsey was right there behind here. Ready to hold her up.
“It’s me, Emma. I’m Claire.” It wasn’t planned. Rehearsed. It just happened.
Emma stumbled back and Lucy’s heart dropped. She’d had all day to prepare. She’d known that she wasn’t what they’d expect their little Claire to be…?.
“You?” Emma stared. Aghast? “But—”
“Please, can we all step into this room and have a seat?” Ramsey didn’t give Lucy a chance to respond to his raised voice as he rapped on a window and motioned to Bill. With a hand on her arm, he led her into the little room where, only that morning, her life had changed so drastically.
With Ramsey’s guidance, Lucy was the first person in the room. He showed her to a chair at the table and saw her seated. Standing with his hands on the back of the chair beside her, he had Rose take the seat across from Lucy. Emma sat down next to her. Bill stood just behind Ramsey.
“Do you mind if I take this?” Ramsey asked. Bill shook his head.
“Mrs. Sanderson, I’m sorry for making you wait to hear this. There’s just no easy way to bring everyone together.”
Lucy looked at the other woman because it was easier than seeing Emma, who knew her, and knew the truth.
“I understand, Detective,” Rose said. “Just please, is Claire alive? Is she well? Can you tell me—”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ramsey spoke clearly. Concisely. But the last word was barely discernible for the animalistic cry that Rose emitted.
She didn’t say a word, though. Biting her lip she continued to give Ramsey her full attention. He continued. “I can tell you that we’ve located your daughter. She’s been properly identified through DNA records.”
Lucy heard Emma’s gasp. Ramsey probably did, too, but he didn’t even pause.
“She’s alive and well. And for the past twenty-five years, she’s been living another life, with another family. She just found out today that she is not who she has always thought she was.”
With tears running down her face, Rose said, “Oh, poor baby. My poor, poor baby.” Her gaze turned to Emma. Lucy continued to watch Rose. “Did you know, Em? They found our Claire.”
“I know, Mom.” Emma was clearly crying.
“Okay.” Rose folded her hands on the table and sat forward. “What do you need us to do now?” she asked, smiling, still crying, but focused, too. It was astonishing, how the woman could take control and fall apart all at the same time. “Tell me what she needs, Detective. Time, I assume—that’s a given. And then what? I assume she has her own place, but if she doesn’t, she can stay with Emma or me.”
“With Emma?” Lucy spoke for the first time since she’d come into the room. And Rose seemed to finally notice her sitting there.
“Yes,” the woman—her mother—smiled at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met…?.”
Her voice drifted off and all the color left Rose’s face. “Oh,” she said. And Lucy wanted the floor to open up.
“Oh!” Rose said again. And then, “Oh, my…”
Her hands, trembling visibly, moved slowly across the table as Emma said, “Mom, this is Claire.”
Rose’s mouth fell open. She stared. And then, with tears streaming from her eyes, she jumped up and was around the table. Ramsey was no obstacle to her at all as she pushed by him and reached for Lucy. “Oh, my baby. My Claire.” Her fingers ran lightly over Lucy’s face. They were so soft, Lucy could hardly believe they were adult hands. And they were wiping away her tears.
“Emma, come here, love,” Rose said, putting an arm around Emma and pulling her close. Lucy knew they were a real family—Emma and Rose. She understood. And then, somehow, she was with them, encircled by their arms, as both her mother and her big sister held her so tightly she somehow knew that she was never going to fight another battle alone.
“Y ou’re coming home with me,” Rose said half an hour later. She was sitting on the divan between her two daughters, holding both their hands. Ramsey had just told Emma and Rose about Jack and Sandy. It was Emma who told her mother that Lucy had grown up in Aurora, still lived there and had only arrived in town that day.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanderson,” Ramsey said, not to be pushed aside this time. “But she’s coming home with me. For the next few days, at least. That’s not negotiable.”
Rose frowned. “Is that proper, Detective? I mean—” “I think Ramsey and Claire are falling in love, Mom. I’ve been hoping so, anyway.”