Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(12)
“There’s no further trace of James. I was able to follow him out to California and ultimately into Mexico, but after that there’s nothing. Mexico’s a place where a person who wants to get lost can do so easily.”
Wilbur nodded knowingly.
Sam hesitated a moment, then continued. “Joelle remained in New Orleans for another five years. After that, she and the girl moved to Cherry Hill. She remained there until her death in nineteen eighty. Once the mother was gone, the daughter moved to Philadelphia.”
“Were you able to find the daughter?” Wilbur asked.
Caldwell nodded. “Her name is Caroline Jean Sweetwater. She’s single, got a job as a copy editor at Back Roads and Byways, and living with Greg Markey, the features editor.”
“Caroline Jean,” Ida repeated. “Jean is my middle name,” she added wistfully.
“From what I’ve been able to ascertain Caroline barely remembers her father. I doubt that she has any idea of where he went or where he might now be, but if you’d like to talk with her—”
“Well, of course I want to talk with her, she’s my granddaughter!”
Wilbur let go of Ida’s hand, and she reached for the folder Sam Caldwell offered. Inside there was an address, telephone number, and five photographs of Caroline coming and going from the Back Roads and Byways office building. The profile beneath the pictures said Caroline Jean Sweetwater was twenty-eight years old, never married.
A tear fell from Ida’s eye. “Caroline’s older than James when he left home. Imagine me having a grandbaby all these years and never having the joy of knowing it.”
“It’s never too late to start,” Wilbur said.
“That’s true.” Ida nodded, but in the back of her mind she wondered if there was still a chance she would one day find James. She tried to tell herself she no longer cared, not after his selfish ways had robbed her of a grandchild. But the sad truth is that a mother’s love never dies; it forgives and forgives and then forgives again.
With a heavy heart Ida began to envision all the things she had missed. She tried to see the young woman in the picture as a baby and then a toddler. She tried to hear the sound of the child’s first word, see the courage in her first steps, feel the apprehension in her first day of school. But all those things were gone. Gone forever. Caroline was a woman now. A single woman living with a man, making decisions Ida wished she could have influenced.
Although Ida said very little in her heart she decided that although she had failed James, she would not fail Caroline. She had little other than love to give, but sometimes love was all a person needed.
In Philadelphia
Caroline Sweetwater was sitting at her computer when the telephone rang, and, believing it was Greg, she purposely ignored it. Earlier that morning before he left for work he’d asked her to write an article, which was already overdue. An article that would carry his byline.
“I won’t have time,” she answered. “I’m working on my novel today.”
Greg rolled his eyes in that condescending way he’d mastered. “You’re gonna blow me off for that piece of trash?”
Trying not to hear the ugliness in his tone, Caroline replied, “To you it’s trash. To me it’s a love story.”
“It can wait,” Greg argued. “This article has to be on Tom’s desk tomorrow morning.”
“Then write it yourself,” Caroline answered flatly.
Of course such a statement angered Greg to no end. He flew into a rage, ranting about her ingratitude after all he’d done for her, and how he could no longer love someone with such an attitude. When pleas and threats failed to change her answer, he angrily slammed his fist against the wall and stormed out.
Such a scene was nothing new. It had happened countless times before; different days, different projects, but always the same bitter accusations and demands. For three years Caroline had written most of the articles appearing under Greg’s byline. Early on he’d promised that in time she would have her own column, but it never happened. When he moved into the corner office she remained in a cubicle, proofreading, editing, and writing his words.
It started innocently enough. Four years ago he’d asked for her opinion on the Hampshire Inn article he’d written, and she’d made a number of suggestions.
“Great ideas,” he’d said, flashed a smile that was irresistible, and invited her to dinner to show his appreciation. One dinner led to several more, and when Greg lost his lease a year later he moved into Caroline’s studio apartment.
“This is just short-term,” he promised, “because with two of us, we’re going to need a larger place.”
Caroline, who by then had fallen madly in love with Greg, imagined that come Christmas he’d be slipping an engagement ring on her finger. Instead she received a pair of pearl earrings. She moved her expectation of a ring ahead to April. But when her birthday arrived, he gave her a computer he’d bought at a discount.
By then Greg had begun to find various reasons to stay late at the office. There was always a last-minute conference call with the West Coast affiliate, or a strategy meeting, or a dinner with an important advertiser. During those empty evenings Caroline started something she had long wanted to do: she began writing a novel. At first it was little more than a title page, but in time it grew and blossomed into a love story. And if you looked closely and read between the lines, it was easy enough to see it was the love story she hoped to be living.