731c3e32dd6349cda7e9d6caf76b901f

At the same time, I said,“She and my grand-dad were never married. He was a McAllister. She was a Jones.”

“She still is a Jones,” Sharon murmured. “She was born Marilyn. Then went by Mary for a spell, and now she’s Lyn.”

“So she switched up her nickname? A lot of people do that, right?” Charles reasoned, always so optimistic. I honestly didn’t know how he did it.

“Actually, she switched up her legal name. It took some digging to find all those iterations belonged to the same person.” She paused and drew in several deep breaths.

What was coming next? I almost couldn’t stand the anticipation, no matter how brief my wait.

“Luckily—or perhaps unluckily,” Sharon continued with a sigh, “she was in the papers a lot, your grandmother.”

Charles tensed at my side, tightening his grip on my shoulder.“Why?”

“She’s lived a troubled life,” Sharon said with a grimace. “She’s done a few rounds in prison. A few in the psychiatric ward. Seems to be a bit of a bad egg.”

I stumbled to my feet. Perhaps Sharon wasn’t the friend I’d thought she was. That was my fault for trusting a near stranger with something so important.

“What? Why? Why would you say that?” I demanded, feeling outraged on behalf of a woman I’d never even met. Sharon was saying my grandmother was a bad egg, and well, we were from the same nest.

“I don’t know. The records are sealed, but I could see she got picked up once every few years. Did small amounts of time in prison, until suddenly they started sending her to the asylum instead.”

“Not guilty by way of insanity,” Charles murmured.

“Also, it’s not called that anymore,” I added spitefully.

“Sorry, I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned, and I know that’s not always a good thing. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, hunny bunny,” Sharon said, softening my reaction to her harsh choice of words. But then she said, “I don’t think you’re crazy, even if your grandmother is.”

I turned toward Charles with wide eyes.“Do you think she’s dangerous? Is that why my grandfather kidnapped his own child? To keep my mom safe?”

He shook his head slowly but didn’t glance up to meet my gaze. “I wish I had the answers for you, but there’s only one person we can really ask.”

“I found her number,” Sharon said, pulling out a business card that she’d kept tucked in her jeans pocket. It had Sharon’s info on one side and another number scrawled with a failing ink pen on the back. She handed the card to me, and I read the string of numbers over again and again. I didn’t recognize the area code, suggesting she probably moved around a fair bit, too—or had at least moved somewhat recently, even before she’d arrived in Maine.

That checked out, since the seagulls had eyes on her in the Blueberry Bay area but then lost her temporarily when she moved to Katahdin.

Just where had she lived before? And how many different places had she ended up over the years? I knew she’d lived in Larkhaven, Georgia, when my mom was born and caught up with Nan in New York when Mom was a pre-teen. But where else had she journeyed these long years apart?

“It’s a California area code,” Charles informed us. “A couple counties over from where I grew up.”

“I wonder when she lived there,” I said, turning the card over in my hand with a frown. There was so much I didn’t know about this person—this stranger. Even though we shared some DNA, I knew absolutely nothing about her. Was I crazy for pursuing this?

“Are you going to call her?” Sharon prompted, nodding toward my hands.

I took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. Yes, maybe I was a little nuts, but I’d never considered that a bad thing before. “I’ve come this far. No sense in giving up now.”

I misdialed twice before I finally got it right, and then the phone rang twice, three times… seven, eight. Nobody answered, not even the voicemail service.

“Now what?” I asked Charles as tears threatened to spill. I kept pumping myself up, only to be let down. All that adrenaline coursing through my veins didn’t just go away. I stayed keyed up for hours after each near encounter with my grandmother. I had to meet her—and soon—for my own sanity.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” he promised.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Sharon said gently as she struggled to her feet and opened her arms to invite a hug. “I really wanted to have good news to give you.”

“It’s okay,” I said, hugging her once more. I couldn’t be mad at her. Not about this. Not about anything, really. It was just so hard to keep my emotions straight given how many highs and lows I’d experienced lately. I needed…

I wasn’t sure what I needed, but I had to figure that one out for myself.

“I appreciate the help,” I told Sharon, then turned to look at Charles as well, “but if it’s all right with you, I think I need some time to sit alone with my thoughts.”

8

Charles and I escorted Sharon to her car before returning to the B and B via the main reception area.