Birthright

turn things back and make me your daughter again.”
    This was wrong , Suzanne thought. Desperately, bitterly. To find her child only to have that child speak in that cool, distant voice. To have her own daughter study her as if they were strangers.
    “If you feel that way, why did you come? You could have ignored me, or insisted there wasn’t an adoption.”
    “I wasn’t raised to lie, or to ignore someone’s pain. What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t mine, it wasn’t my parents’. But someone’s to blame. Someone changed the pattern, and most likely changed it for profit. I want the answers, too.”
    “You’re blunt, and you’re honest. I’ve often imagined what it would be like to see you again, to talk to you. None of my imaginings were quite like this.”
    “You’re looking for, or hoping for a kind of reunion I can’t give you, a kind of bond I don’t feel.”
    Every healing scar on her heart opened and bled fresh. “What do you feel?”
    “Sorry. Mrs. Cullen—Suzanne,” she corrected, and wished she could reach out. Wished she could cut through her own barriers and reach. “I feel sorry for you, and your family. And for mine. And I feel a little shaky about the whole thing. Part of me wishes you’d never seen me on the news, because the minute you did, you changed my life again. And I don’t know where it’s going now.”
    “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
    “I wish I could say the same, but I’m afraid almost anything I do is going to hurt you.”
    “Maybe you could tell me something about yourself. Something you’ve done or wanted to do. Just . . .something.”
    “I found bones today.” When Suzanne blinked, Callie worked up a smile, picked up a cookie. “The dig,” she continued. “I believe what we have was a settlement. A Neolithic settlement by the creek bed, near the mountains where a tribe built homes, raised children, hunted, began to farm. Today, I found evidence I think is going to begin to verify that theory. If it’s as big a settlement as I hope, we may be digging for several seasons.”
    “Oh. Well. Ronald Dolan will have a fit about that.”
    “Probably. But it’s not going to do him any good. We’re going to have considerable attention, from the media, from the scientific community. Dolan’s going to have to consider his development a loss.”
    “If I came out to the site one day, would you show me what it is you do?”
    “Sure. Did you make these?” She held up the half-eaten cookie. “Yourself?”
    “Yes. Do you like them? I’ll give you a box to take with you. I—”
    “They’re great.” It was a kind of reaching out, Callie thought. The best she could do for now. “My . . . associate,” she finished, decided it was the easiest way to describe Jake. “He recognized your name. Suzanne’s Kitchen? I’ve been snarfing down your baked goods for years.”
    “Really?” Tears wanted to swim again, but she willed them back. Some of her pleasure shone in her eyes instead. “I like knowing that. You’re very kind.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m single-minded, easily irritated, selfish, driven and very rarely kind. I just don’t think about it.”
    “You’ve been very kind to me, and part of you must . . . I hadn’t realized until now. Part of you must resent me.”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”
    “And you’re careful with your feelings.” At Callie’s frown, Suzanne fussed with the cookie arrangement. “I mean, it seems to me you don’t give your feelings easily. Douglas is like that. Even when he was a little boy, he was careful. He thought so much, if you know what I mean. You could almost see him wondering, ‘Now what exactly do you mean by that?’ ”
    She laughed, picked up a cookie, set it down again. “There’s so much I want to tell you. So much I . . . I have something I’d like to give you.”
    “Suzanne—”
    “It’s not a gift, really.” She rose, walked to a side table and picked up a box. “They’re letters. I wrote you a letter every year on your birthday. It helped me get through.”
    “We don’t know yet for certain if you wrote them to me.”
    “We both know.” She sat again, set the box in Callie’s lap. “It would mean a lot to me if you’d take them. You don’t have to read them, but I think you will. You’re curious about things or you wouldn’t do what you do. So you’re bound to wonder about, well, about this.”
    “Okay. Look,