Birthright

pants with a tailored blouse in aqua. Her makeup looked fresh, and her hair carefully styled. Her feet were bare.
    At her side was a big black Lab, and its tail was beating the wall like a joyful metronome.
    “Please . . . come in out of the rain. Sadie’s harmless, but I can put her away if you want.”
    “No. She’s okay.” Callie held out the back of her hand, let the dog sniff, then lick before she ruffled the fur between Sadie’s ears. “Great dog.”
    “She’s three, and a bit rambunctious. Terrific company, though. I like living out here, but I feel more secure having Sadie in the house or around the property. Of course, she’s so friendly, she’d just lick a burglar to death if . . . I’m sorry. I’m babbling.”
    “It’s okay.” Callie stood awkwardly, one hand still stroking the dog’s head while Suzanne stared at her. “We need to talk.”
    “Yes. Of course. I made coffee.” Suzanne gestured toward the living room. “I’m so glad you called. I didn’t know, exactly, what to do next.” She stopped by the sofa, turned. “I still don’t.”
    “My parents.” Callie needed to get that out first, to establish the pattern, and her allegiance. And still she felt miserably disloyal as she sat down in Suzanne’s attractive living room with the big, friendly dog flopping adoringly at her feet.
    “You spoke with them.”
    “Yes, I did. I was adopted in December of 1974. It was a private adoption. My parents are very decent, law-abiding, loving people, Mrs. Cullen—”
    “Please.” She wouldn’t let her hands shake. Determined, she picked up the coffeepot, poured without spilling a drop. “Don’t call me that. Could you, would you call me Suzanne at least?”
    For now, she thought. Just for now.
    “It was a private adoption,” Callie continued. “They hired a lawyer on the advice of my mother’s obstetrician. He placed a baby girl with them very quickly and for a very substantial fee. He gave them some basic information about the birth mother.”
    “You told me you weren’t adopted,” Suzanne interrupted. “You didn’t know you were.”
    “They had reasons for not telling me. Reasons that have nothing to do with anyone but themselves. Whatever situation we’re in, you have to understand, up front, that they did nothing wrong.”
    But her hands did shake, a little. “You love them very much.”
    “I do. You have to understand that, too. If I was the child stolen from you—”
    “You know you are.” Jessica. My Jessie. Everything inside her wept.
    “I can theorize, but I can’t know. There are tests we can take to determine the biology.”
    Suzanne breathed in deep. Her skin felt so hot, as if it might melt off her bones. “You’re willing to take them?”
    “We need to know. You deserve to know. I’ll do what I can to find the answers. I don’t know if I can give you more than that. I’m sorry.” Callie’s heart began to trip as tears swam into Suzanne’s eyes. “This is difficult for everyone. But even if I was that child, that’s not who I am now.”
    “I’ll take the tests.” Tears were in her voice, too, thickening it. Slurring the words. “And Jay, your . . .my ex-husband. I’ll contact him. He’ll take them. How long before we’ll know? Conclusively.”
    “My father’s a doctor. He’ll expedite the tests.”
    “How can I know he won’t skew the results?”
    The first flicker of temper crossed Callie’s face. “Because he is who he is. You’ll have to trust me on this or there’s no point in going any further. I have the information here.” She took a piece of paper out of her bag, set it on the table beside the tray of coffee and cookies. “This explains what you need to do, where to send the blood samples. If you have any questions on the procedure, your own doctor should be able to give you some answers.”
    “I can’t think. I can’t seem to think.” She battled with the tears because they blurred her vision. This was her child. She had to see her child. “My life changed in that moment I turned my back on you, while you slept in your stroller. A minute,” Suzanne said as calmly as she could. “Maybe two. No longer than that. And my life changed. So did yours. I want a chance to get some of that back, to know who you are, to share some part of those lost years with you.”
    “All I can give you right now are answers. How, why, hopefully who. None of that can make up for what happened to you. None of that will