Chapter 2

The next day, I went to the pharmacy.

Silas wasn't behind the counter. Loretta's voice drifted out of the treatment room.

"Be gentle. It hurts."

The curtain was open a crack.

She sat on the examination table with her collar undone. A raw red cut ran beneath her collarbone, and Silas bent over it, applying ointment.

I pulled the curtain aside. Loretta recoiled.

Silas immediately stepped in front of her. "Get out!"

"When did she get that cut?"

"It's an old scar. It's inflamed."

"An old scar that's still bleeding?"

He pulled the curtain closed and frowned. "Do you know anything about assessing wounds?"

"I asked when she got it."

"I told you. It's an old injury!"

Loretta buttoned her collar. "It's from surgery when I was little. I scratched it open just now."

"Wren, every detail in Mrs. Vance's letters fits."

I gave a cold laugh. "You haven't even met her, and you've already decided she's your mother?"

"I've waited all these years. Am I not allowed to be happy?"

"Were you waiting for a mother, or a house in Boston and a trust fund?"

Loretta's expression froze.

"I applied for three jobs and didn't get a single interview. My mother's trying to make me marry Denny Rowe. His wife's dead, and both his boys are older than my little brother."

"They said if I won't marry him, I have to move out. If you were me, would you throw away a chance like this?"

Silas pulled her behind him. "Enough!"

Loretta peered around his shoulder. "Wren, you already have a job. You have Silas. I just want somewhere to go."

I looked at him. "So you gave her my mother?"

His expression changed. "Mrs. Vance is looking for Loretta. Stop making things up."

The phone on the desk rang.

Silas answered, his voice turning gentle at once.

"Mrs. Vance. Yes, it's me."

"The scar is in the right place. It looks at least ten years old… Yes, she remembers her childhood, too. You can come get her."

He hung up right in front of me.

I stared at him. "You're really willing to call a fresh cut an old scar and vouch for her?"

"I treat wounds every day. No one knows them better than I do. She's the girl Mrs. Vance is looking for."

"Wren Hallowell, just because someone lives in Boston doesn't mean you get to decide you're her daughter."

Silas deliberately raised his voice.

"You got lost as a child. Of course hearing that someone's looking for a daughter would get your hopes up. I understand."

"But Loretta's been through enough. You can't steal her family, too!"

Loretta lowered her head. Right on cue, her eyes filled with tears.

I stared at Silas. "You know I work at the school. You know what people calling me a liar could do to me."

"Then stop making a scene."

That afternoon, Loretta brought gifts from Boston to the school.

When parents asked about them, she only sighed. "Mrs. Vance is looking for me. Wren went missing as a child, too, so I think she's having trouble accepting that I'm going to Boston with my mother."

By the time the story spread, people were saying I was jealous that Loretta had found a wealthy family and was trying to pass myself off as the woman's daughter.

Two parents went to the principal. They said they weren't comfortable leaving their children with someone suspected of identity fraud and demanded that I be removed from the classroom.

Principal Beckett studied the written complaint for a long time. Then he put the recommendation form he'd been preparing for my teaching-assistant training back in his drawer.

"Wren, I believe you. But the complaint has already reached the district, and they want the facts checked first. We'll have to hold off on the recommendation for a few days."

He paused.

"Starting tomorrow, help out in the records room. Your pay won't change. This doesn't mean you've done anything wrong."

Silas was called in to explain. Principal Beckett asked him directly, "Who exactly is the woman from Boston looking for?"

Silas glanced at me. "Loretta."

"Wren says those childhood memories are hers."

"She's been exhausted lately. She's convinced this has something to do with her. A few days away from the classroom would do her good."

He put a hand on my shoulder.

I pushed it off. "Margaret Vance is looking for me."

The color drained from his face. "Who told you her name?"

He seized my wrist and dragged me out of the office.

"You've already been taken out of the classroom. Keep this up, and you can forget that recommendation. You can forget the wedding, too!"

He knew I wasn't crazy.

He was reminding me that he could use anything against me—my mother, my job, our wedding.

If I insisted on reclaiming my mother, he would convince everyone I was the one trying to steal someone else's identity.

I looked at the face I'd known for more than a decade. For the first time, I felt as though I'd never known him at all.

He'd stolen my chance to find my mother.

Now he was using my job to keep me quiet.