“I need to call Aunt Bessie.” I stood up to grab my cell phone out of my purse.

“Rose, wait!”

The anxiety in Violet’s voice stopped me.

“There’s a picture in here!”

I spun around to the image Violet held in her hand, an old color photo slightly discolored around the edges. A woman held a tiny baby, her face radiating so much happiness it permeated from the photo. The baby’s face was clearly visible, in spite of the blanket wrapped around its body.

“Rose, that looks like you,” Violet said in awe.

The baby’s cheeks and eyes looked a lot like the pictures of me when I was one and two. I peered closer at the woman’s face. The way she smiled, the way one of her eyes squinted a tiny bit more closed than the other, the curve of her chin. Before Violet turned the photo over and read the back and confirmed it, I knew this woman was my mother. I’d seen the same face in the mirror only a few hours earlier.

“Dora and Rose, November 8, 1986…” Violet read. “Then below it says ‘My precious girls’.” Violet looked up in shock. “Rose, this is written in Daddy’s handwriting.”

Chapter Fourteen

I leaned over the photo. The handwriting was definitely Daddy’s distinguishable chicken scratch.

I pulled it out of Violet’s hand, turning it over with trembling fingers to study the woman’s happy face, the face of my mother. At that moment, my world stopped spinning and gravity evaporated away. The pieces of my life no longer fit neatly into a perfect picture, albeit an unhappy one, but one I knew. My entire life had been a lie.

While Violet called Aunt Bessie, my eyes remained glued to Dora’s face, willing her to float out of the photograph and tell me everything. Instead, she sat frozen in time on a country blue-and-white checkered sofa, holding a tiny me. Who was she smiling at? Daddy?

“Aunt Bessie is cancelling all her clients for the rest of the day and is coming right over, but she has to tie up some loose ends. It’s probably going to be another hour and a half.”

I suddenly remembered Muffy. Crappy doodles. Strike two on responsible pet ownership.

“I have to go home.” I stood up and grabbed my purse.

“What?” Violet’s mouth fell open. I wondered if Violet would get high blood pressure from all the surprises I had thrown at her the last week.

“I’ll come back, I promise. I just forgot about Muffy.”

“Who’s Muffy?”

“My dog. I left her alone all day and I need to go let her out.” I hated to even think about the possible state of my bathroom.

“Your dog?” Violet stumbled backward. I literally pushed her over the edge with that one.

“I’ll explain it to you later. I just have to go.”

I ran out of the house, temporarily surprised by the convertible in the driveway. My day came rushing back and now it felt so superficial. I drove home, leaving the top up, not finding any joy in the car anymore. It was a tangible item that had no meaning in my life.

I found Muffy in the bathroom, lying on the cold tile, her face on her paws. She looked as sad as I felt. We made a good pair, she and I. Can you be soul mates with a dog? I wondered as I put on her new collar and attached the leash. If only I had found her sooner. But before a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t even considered looking.

I watched her sniff the grass and relieve herself all over the backyard. She seemed to be less timid and I wondered if she would be bouncing all over the place in a week. Then I remembered I wouldn't be here in a week. What would happen to Muffy when I was gone?

Tears stung my eyes. Lucky day, my ass.

I started to laugh at the absurdity of it all and it was then that I felt Joe’s presence. I hadn’t heard him, between my laughing and my crying. I turned to face him. He stood at the corner of the house, watching me with brooding eyes. Then he came toward me, as if in slow motion and a million thoughts went through my head. Why was he home so early? What was he doing back here? Did he really care about me?

He stopped about a foot in front of me and stared down into my face. The worry in his eyes answered my last question.

“Rose,” he said, his voice full of regret and pain. Even in my inexperience I recognized the longing in his smoldering dark-brown eyes.

I studied him, amazed he really did want me, and not like Daniel Crocker had in the bar. This was different.

His eyes widened when I reached up to touch his cheek. Then he closed them, seeking refuge in his despair. I brushed the hair off his forehead, intrigued at how soft it felt between my fingers. I had never touched a man other than Daddy, well, other than the few times I had kissed Joe. But in those moments, I had been lost in myself and hadn’t paid attention to him. It occurred to me I might never get another opportunity. I let my fingertips trail down his cheek, feeling the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. My thumb skimmed across his lips, warming with the rush of air from his sharp exhale. The muscles in his shoulders looked like they were melting as his tension fell away.

I did that to him.

I was hungry to know more.

I moved both hands to his waist, dropping Muffy’s leash, and lifted up the edge of his t-shirt. His eyes flew open in alarm and he started to say something, searching my face for an explanation. The intensity in my eyes willed him to be still. He seemed to understand and let me lift his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off the rest of the way himself. Then he waited, the pain on his face more profound than before. I wondered what he saw on my own.