“I would, but I can’t. I don’t have any money…”
“Uh-huh,” Caroline said. The fog in her brain was starting to dissipate. “Now I understand. You want me to send you money…” I’m such a fool, she thought.
“No. No. I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want? Do you want me to send you a plane ticket? I can do that,” Caroline pressed, feeling a sudden surge of control. She was calling the girl’s bluff, what she should have done in the first place. “I’ll just need to know your last name so I can make the reservation.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Because it’s not important. What difference does it make? I already told you I can’t come there.”
“I tell you what. I’ll even get a ticket for your mom. She can come with you.”
“No. My mom can’t know about this.”
“I thought you thought I was your mother.”
“I did. I do. Oh, God, I don’t know what to think anymore.” A pause filled with the threat of tears. “Look. Even if she’s not my real mother, she’s the one who raised me. I don’t want to hurt her, and I just can’t just take off without telling her. She’d go crazy with worry.”
Caroline closed her eyes, remembering the panic of that awful night fifteen years ago when she peered into Samantha’s crib and found it empty. Fresh horror pricked her skin like hundreds of tiny needles, poisoning her bloodstream and racing toward her heart. She felt dizzy, faint, as if she might throw up. “So, it would appear we’re at an impasse,” she said when she could find her voice.
“Maybe you could come here.”
“What?”
“Come to Calgary. We could go to a hospital or a clinic, find someone to do the test. That way we’d know for sure.”
“I know now,” Caroline said. Did she? If she was so damn sure this girl wasn’t her daughter, why was she still on the line? “All right. Listen. You’ve given me a lot to digest. Let me think it over and get back to you.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I can’t give you my phone number. You can’t call me.”
Caroline’s anger resurfaced. What was the matter with her? She’d been dealing with this kind of crap for fifteen years, some of it well-meaning and sincere, most of it mean-spirited or downright hateful. This was either a clever scam or a sick joke. A ploy for money or a plea for attention. Most likely just another bloodsucking journalist seeking to exploit her vulnerability, her gullibility, to put a fresh twist on an old tale, gather whatever new information might be available, perhaps even extract a confession. She’d probably read all about this phone call in tomorrow’s papers. “Look, Lili, or whatever the hell your name really is…”
“Come to Calgary.”
“No.”
“Please. I’ve already checked and there’s a flight that leaves San Diego for Calgary first thing tomorrow morning. You’d be here by noon. I could meet you at your hotel.”
“What hotel?” Caroline asked. What was she saying? Was she crazy? How many times could she put herself through this? Hadn’t she already made ill-advised trips to Miami and Washington, only to watch her hopes turn to disappointment and ultimately despair? Was she really prepared to go through it all again?
“The Fairfax. It’s right downtown, and it’s pretty nice.”
“No, I can’t. It’s too ridiculous.”
“It isn’t.”
“This whole conversation is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. I’m ridiculous for sitting here talking to some girl who’s either a champion con artist or a total whack job. I’m sorry. I have to hang up.”
“Please…you said you’d think about it.”
Caroline stared at the wall of cupboards across from her, watching them blur together, separate, then come together again. She couldn’t seriously be thinking of going to Calgary. Could she? “All right,” she heard herself say.
“You’ll come?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” the girl said, and then the line went dead.
“Well, look who’s here,” Rain said as Caroline maneuvered her way through the rows of chaise longues that twisted around the hotel’s sprawling outdoor pool.
“You made it,” Peggy said, patting the empty chair beside her.