In Search Of Her Own. Carole Page Gift
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his eyes took on a shadowed, thoughtful expression.
“Please, Phillip, tell me. I’ve got to know “
He sat back, his muscular frame filling the lime green chair “Your son was adopted by a couple in their mid-twenties named Frank and Julia Goodwin.”
She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “You already know their names—the couple who adopted him? Oh, Phillip, I think I’m going to cry. Tell me all you know about them.”
“Not a great deal, I’m afraid. They lived in a small town in Oregon, not far from where your baby was born.”
“Lived? They aren’t there now?”
“No.” Phillip’s brow furrowed. “There was an accident, Victoria. Over six months ago.”
“An accident?” She sat forward, her muscles suddenly tense.
“A car crash,” said Phillip.
Her pulse quickened with alarm. “Oh, no! Phillip, don’t tell me—!”
His deep voice was somber, almost a monotone. “Frank and Julia Goodwin were both killed.”
Victoria’s breath caught. Dear God, she didn’t want to know, and had to know, but how could she cope? To find her child and have him immediately snatched away? She couldn’t stand it if—please, God, don’t let it be! “And my son?” she barely whispered.
“He survived,” said Phillip quickly. “He was injured, but my sources indicate that he recovered.”
Relief radiated through her body. She sank back, every muscle like jelly. “Where is my baby now?”
Phillip removed a slim notebook from his vest pocket. He thumbed through several pages. “Your son was released into the custody of his maternal grandparents—Julia’s parents—Maude and Sam Hewlett. They live in Middleton, a farming community north of San Francisco.”
“San Francisco?” Victoria repeated carefully. “That’s not far. Maybe half a day’s drive.”
“No, it’s not bad,” Phillip agreed. “The boy could have been in some remote city halfway around the world.”
“Middleton, you said? North of San Francisco? All right, wonderful. That’s where I’ll go to find my son.” Impulsively she added, “Would you like to go with me, Phillip?”
“Hold on,” he said, reaching over and touching her hand, a cautionary gesture. “There’s more, Victoria.”
“Bad news?” she asked with apprehension. She didn’t want to hear anything that would dampen her spirits. She knew now where her son lived. What more did she need to know?
“Not exactly bad news,” said Phillip. “It’s more puzzling than anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a colleague of mine from San Francisco check your son’s neighborhood and the local school system for some record of the boy. So far he hasn’t been able to uncover any evidence of your son’s existence.”
Victoria shook her head, baffled, “Wait a minute, you’re confusing me. No record of his existence? How can that be?”
“I don’t know. I’m just telling you what we’ve found.”
“My son is six years old now. He should be in first grade, or at least kindergarten.”
“I agree. But there’s no record that a Joshua Goodwin or a Joshua Hewlett was ever enrolled in any public or private school in the area.”
Victoria’s heart stopped in mid-beat. “Joshua, you say? That’s my son’s name?”
Phillip nodded.
“Joshua.” She repeated the name several times, marveling. “Joshua. It sounds strange and wonderful all at once.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. “I always wondered what he was called, my son, what name he answered to. Joshua. I like it. Don’t you, Phillip? It’s a good, strong name. A biblical name. If I recall correctly, it means ‘Jehovah is salvation.’“
Phillip sat forward and rubbed his hands together methodically, as if marking time until her emotional outburst subsided. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Unfortunately, Victoria, it’s a name we can’t trace past the accident that killed his parents.”
Victoria looked back in stunned silence, trying to make sense of Phillip’s words. “That can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Surely you’ve missed something, some clue. Have you checked with his grandparents?”
“No, not yet. That could be a ticklish situation, especially since we don’t want them to know Joshua’s natural mother is looking for him.”
“You think there could be trouble?”
“It’s happened before.”
“Have you talked to the Hewletts’ neighbors?” She tried to keep her voice under control, but couldn’t help hearing the nervous, urgent edge as she questioned Phillip.
“My colleague contacted every house on the block,” he replied. “No one has ever seen the youngster.”
Victoria’s voice rose with a shrill desperation. “But that’s impossible. Little boys play outside. They have friends. Surely someone has seen him.”
“No one,” said Phillip. “Everyone says the Hewletts are very private people. Not much is known about them. But all the neighbors agreed on one point. The Hewletts live alone.”
Victoria stood and walked to the window, hugging herself protectively. She felt a chill inside, like a clammy hand crushing her heart, making it hard to breathe. “Something’s wrong, Phillip. Something’s terribly wrong.”
He joined her at the window and placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “That’s the way I read it, too, Victoria.”
She turned to face him, tears wetting her cheeks. “I’m scared, Phillip.”
Impulsively he drew her into his arms and gently stroked her back, a friend offering comfort. He whispered against her hair, “It’ll be all right, Victoria. I promise.”
Hearing him say those words, she believed him, as if he truly could make everything right for her—this man of such strength, integrity and sensitivity. She wanted to stay in the warmth of his arms and savor his consolation; she had never felt so safe before. But as he held her she sensed the stirring of something more between them, not just comfort, but a physical attraction. It was the same delicious rush of adrenaline she had felt with Rick Lancer, only better, for she had always been on her guard with Rick. In Phillip’s arms she felt almost as if she were home where she belonged.
She lifted her face to his and for an instant she thought he might kiss her, but even as his lips parted, he released her and stepped back abruptly. “I’m sorry, Victoria. I didn’t mean to—I promise, that won’t happen again.”
She brushed back a stray lock of her burnished hair. She felt flustered, breathless.and disappointed. “Don’t apologize, Phillip, please. I’m sure you were just trying to calm a distraught client.” She laughed feebly. “I suppose it’s all part of the job description, isn’t it?”
“Not until today,” he murmured, smoothing his hair back and straightening his jacket.
It was obvious they both felt at a loss for words, so she said with forced lightness, “What are we going to do, Phillip?”
His brows arched quizzically. “Do?”
“About my case.”
“I knew that,” he said with a sheepish smile. When he spoke again he was all business. “I think we’ll have to confront the Hewletts and see what they have to say.”
“We?”
“I