A Weekend Getaway by Karen Lenfestey Page B

better than to
talk about this with Sarah Homemaker. She was like a cheerleader for everything
domestic. If asked, she’d probably confess she loved cleaning the hair out of
the shower drain.
    Unable to tolerate any more from the happily married mom,
Beth let the conversation die. She couldn’t help wondering if her relationship
with Drew would continue to go downhill. Obviously, playing house had been a
mistake. Would getting married really change anything?
    Sarah reached for her quilted purse. “I have to show you
this. I started making podcasts.” Pulling out her phone, she tapped the screen and
in seconds, a podcast geared toward stay-at-home-moms filled the room. Four
children began to sing “The More we Get Together” in perfect harmony while
using their hands to do sign language.
    Beth’s gaze bounced from the screen to Sarah’s face. “Are
those your kids?” They had grown so much that she barely recognized them. They’d
transformed from babies into miniature people in a few short years.
    Sarah nodded.
    “Wow. They have your eyes.” Almond-shaped and kind.
    After a few songs, the children transitioned to crafts. Beth
watched as the kids picked lavender from their backyard then the older ones
made it into soap. The youngest sat on the floor breaking the stems into tiny pieces.
    “The bits of lavender make an excellent exfoliant,” Sarah
explained. “My hubby likes to use it after he’s been working on the car.” She
handed the phone to Beth and turned her attention back on the boxes.
      “Your kids are
adorable.”
    “Thanks.”
    As she watched tips on creative yet healthy lunches, DIY
décor, and kids’ crafts, Beth kept thinking she just wanted to watch one more
minute. Someday she hoped she’d spend her days making things out of dried
flowers and play-doh, too.
    Beth jumped when Sarah gasped. Glancing at her watch, she
saw that over an hour had passed. She’d been so engrossed in the podcast, she’d
lost track of time.
    “Beth!” The excitement in Sarah’s voice was obvious. “I
think…I think this is it.” She pulled out a folder labeled “Taylor” and flipped
it open.
    Beth turned off the podcast and set it on the floor. Leaning
over Sarah’s shoulder, Beth scanned the paperwork. Alvin and Patricia Taylor
adopted Marsha Braya Sims on January 8, 1990. Beth shook her head. “That’s not
it. It’s the wrong Taylors.”
    “Sorry.”
    Beth rooted through the same box as Sarah. If there was one
Taylor, maybe there would be another. She did find some more Taylors, but none
of them were optometrists and none of them the right year.
    Once they’d checked every name in that box, they pushed it
aside. Each of them worked separately again, chatting about milestones that
Sarah’s kids were passing—learning to ride bikes without training wheels,
getting braces and first crushes. Having little to contribute on those topics, Beth
told about Emma’s new ant farm then shifted to her work at the call-in center—the
lonely, old woman who called every time after her grandkids visited, the woman
who liked to complain about Healthy Habits’ products but always placed another
order, the guy who had five pet cats. Beth smiled as she spoke. These customers
felt like people she knew—like long-distance relatives she spoke to on
the phone but never met in person.
    After exhausting their conversation, Sarah and Beth let the
quiet of the basement envelope them.
    When she found another “Taylor” label, Beth reminded herself
not to get her hopes up even as her body pumped blood faster. Seeing the prefix
“Dr,” she sucked in her breath. “Oh my God. This could be it.”
    Flipping through the file, she saw her baby’s birth
certificate from the Bloomington Hospital, legal documents where Beth had
signed away her parental rights, and a court date for finalizing the adoption.
Beth’s pulse spiked.
    Sarah stared. “What does it say?”
    Her fingers struggled to function as she turned page