The heat of the sun had warmed her face as her mouth had opened and she’d gulped in air. Fear had given way to relief as she’d blinked and stared at the face of her father, whose frown had revealed a kind of fear she’d never seen before.
“Pop!” She had sucked in more air as tears had welled in her eyes.
Tanned fingers had brushed the strands of blond hair from her eyes, and a grin had tugged at the edges of a glower that scared most grown men. “Don’t you cry on me, Macy Crow. You’re safe and sound now. No need to cry. Jesus, your mother will kill me if she even knew I almost let you drown.” A sob had shuddered through her, and she had blinked back the tears. She’d sniffed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Macy had forgotten about that day from twenty-five years ago. And she remembered it now because she was sinking again to the bottom of another pool that was far deeper and darker. Pop wouldn’t be there for her this time.
She tried to open her eyes and focus toward the sunlight, but her lids didn’t respond. She remained trapped in blackness. She wanted to kick her legs, flail her arms, push through the inky obscurity, and break the surface. But no matter how much she willed it, she couldn’t.
In the distance, she heard hushed chatter and the beep of equipment. There were people around her. She wasn’t alone.
Once she thought she heard her brother’s low and angry voice. But it vanished almost as soon as she heard it and was followed by more poking and prodding.
“Dirk, throw me a lifeline! Pull me up! I’m here! I’m alive! Don’t leave me!”
Macy couldn’t remain in the darkness. She knew something.
Something important.
She couldn’t quite remember what it was, but she was certain if she could reach the light and air, she could find the missing pieces and finish the puzzle.
“Come on, Dirk, somebody, anybody. Pull me up! I’m right here, and I’m sinking fast.”
It was just after ten when Faith pulled past the guard station at the entrance of her North Austin gated community. The townhouse development was less than five years old, and she’d taken out a hefty mortgage last year to buy her first adult home.
Her row of townhomes was located toward the rear of the property and backed up to woods. The building’s sharp angles and modern lines could have been harsh and cold if not for the quirky combination of glass windows, tin roof, and wooden horizontal strips stained a warm honey brown. The building had an artistic vibe that blended with the water-efficient landscaping that provided touches of green cacti blended among rocks. There was a two-car garage space and metal steps that led up to the wooden front door with an ornate wrought iron handle. She’d been drawn to this home the moment she’d seen it.
As she pulled into her driveway, her headlights caught the silhouette of a person sitting on her front steps. Tensing, she slowed and rolled down her window to get a better look. The figure was slight and wore a hoodie.
“Who are you?” Faith asked as she reached for her phone. “How did you get past the guard? No, wait, don’t answer that. Tell it to the cops.”
“Chill, Faith. It’s me, Kat.”
Faith gripped her phone. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” the girl said.
Faith’s heart was still jackhammering. “You’re supposed to be at the shelter.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m here.”
“How did you get here?” Faith asked.
“Uber.”
“You don’t have a credit card.”
“I sweet-talked a visitor at the shelter. Said my mom was sick.”
She liked the kid’s moxie. “What’s going on, Kat?”
The girl approached her car, her hand gripping the strap of her backpack. “We need to talk.”
“Is something wrong with the baby?”
“We need to talk about DNA, Faith.”
Out of her car, she closed the garage and climbed the front steps. She opened the door and clicked on the lights. “What about DNA?”
“You registered your DNA with an ancestry site,” the girl said, following her inside.
After Peter Slater Sr. died, she’d lost what she’d thought was her last connection to her past. She’d wanted to broach the subject of her adoption with Margaret, but had been waiting for her to regain her footing after her husband’s death. In April, in a moment of frustration, she’d tossed her DNA into the ever-growing pool of people searching for some clue about their family’s past.
Faith had checked the site a few times, but she’d had no matches, which for now was fine. She had enough on her plate with work.
“How do you know that?” Faith asked.
“I’ll explain after I eat.” Kat looked from side to side. “I’m starving. Do you have anything you can whip up in the kitchen?”
As annoyed as she was at the kid for showing up unannounced and dropping one of her bombshells, she wouldn’t press until Kat ate something. “Sure.”
Inside, the foyer’s cathedral ceiling crisscrossed with beautiful wood beams. Hanging on the walls was an eclectic mix of paintings, photographs, and etchings. She’d collected some from around the world, but the majority of it had belonged to her mother and grandmother, who’d both loved art. Since Faith had been a little girl, her mother had told her that the women in their family loved art. Faith had never quite had her mother’s eye for it, but she’d inherited a deep appreciation.
Kat studied the artwork. Like most who entered, she stopped and stared. “Pretty sweet. Where’d you get all this stuff?”
“My grandmother, mother, and me collected this stuff from around the world. It’s all I have left of them.”
“Cool.”
“Each piece tells a story.”
“But the way you’ve put it all together tells a bigger story. That’s kind of what I do with computers. I string a lot of code together to create something new.”
Faith looked at the collection, realizing she’d never thought of the art as a whole. She’d always thought of the separate pieces and their unique stories. Now she realized she’d blended hers among her mother’s and grandmother’s and had told a new story.
She set her purse and keys on a side table and reset the house alarm. She made her way down a long hallway to a modern, open kitchen. It was outfitted with a spacious marble island illuminated by three industrial pendant lights, stainless steel appliances that she rarely used, and white cabinets stocked with mostly unused dishes from her mother and grandmother.
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a loaf of bread, grapes, sparkling water, and several cheeses that had served as her dinner the last couple of nights.
Kat dropped her backpack by the island and sat at one of the barstools. Through the glass doors of the upper cabinets, she openly studied the collection of handblown glassware and platters made by a favorite potter in North Carolina.
Faith pulled the loaf of bread from its sleeve and sliced into it. She slathered mustard on the bread and then layered the bread with meat, cheese, and lettuce. She cut the sandwiches on a diagonal and arranged them neatly on plates with handfuls of grapes.
Kat took several bites. “I’m starving all the time.”
“The baby is growing.” She handed her a paper towel and then poured her a glass of sparkling water.
“Starting to feel like an alien invader is in my body.”
“You have less than six weeks to go.”
Kat set down her sandwich and wiped her fingers with the paper towel. “That reminds me. That lady from the adoption group called again. She wants to meet. But I keep putting it off.”
“You can’t do that,” Faith said.
“I know. Will you come with me?”
“Yes. In fact, I can call her and set up the meeting, if that works for you?”
“Okay. Sure. Whatever,” Kat said.
She took that as high endorsement and was gratified that the girl trusted her with something so important.
“Consider it done. Eat up.”
Kat finished her sandwich and settled back in her chair. “When’s the last time you checked the genealogy site?”
“I haven’t.” When she caught Kat’s quizzical gaze, she sipped her own glass of water. “You aren’t the only one who doesn’t want to deal with adoption.”
“Maybe that’s why we have each other,” Kat said. “You help me, and I help you.”
“How’s that?” Faith asked.
“You have a hit on your page.”
She set her glass down carefully. “What do you mean I have a hit?”
“A half sibling.”
“What?” A week ago she would have discounted the news as suspect, but with the arrival of Macy she knew anything was now possible. “Let’s backtrack. How did you even know I registered for the site?”