“You know as well as I do that she has not been well. I want you to stay away from her. She doesn’t need this kind of turmoil in her life.”

“I’m her daughter, Lofton,” Libby said carefully.

“An accident by birth doesn’t make you her legitimate daughter.”

“I’m pretty sure she would take exception. She’s the one that set these wheels in motion, not me.”

Her tone shifted up an octave. “Like I said, she’s sick, and I don’t want her being taken advantage of.”

Libby rose and started to pace the floor. “She’s always been sharp and clearheaded whenever I’ve spoken to her.”

“I’m warning you.”

“Oh, wait a minute. You’re warning me to not see Elaine? You don’t get to do that, you spoiled piece of . . .” She caught herself and drew in a breath. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Are you the one that encouraged her to change her will?” Her voice grew quieter, as if she was ducking her head and leaning into the phone.

“A will? Hold on a minute. Is this about money or your mother’s health?”

“Her health, of course.”

“Bullshit. It’s about money. And for the record, I don’t want anything from Elaine other than some family history and maybe one day a friendship. And if you ever call me again, you and I will be having our next conversation in front of our mother.”

“She’s not your mother,” she screamed. “She is my mother!”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you, Lofton?”

“I’ve had a few drinks.”

“You’ve had more than a few. Cut your losses and hang up.”

“She wants to give you Woodmont!” Lofton shouted.

At first, Libby did not say anything. She could not have heard correctly. “Woodmont? She has not said a word to me about that.”

“I don’t believe that. I heard the way you were going on about the gardens and the house at dinner.”

“She told you this?” Libby asked.

“I heard her talking to my father!”

A muscle pulsed in the side of her neck, and she rolled her head from side to side, trying to release the building tension.

“I don’t know anything about this,” Libby said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Goodbye, Lofton.”

She ended the call and tossed the phone on the couch. A string of unflattering words rolled off her tongue as she paced. She had always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sister. What a little brat.

Libby grabbed her phone and searched out Elaine’s number. She dialed, and her thumb was poised to hit send when she caught herself.

She was thirty-one, and she needed to act like it.

If Lofton thought she was going to stand between Libby and Elaine, she was wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LIBBY

Thursday, June 18, 2020

Northern Virginia

Take the bull by the horns. That was the motto of Libby’s day as she drove into Northern Virginia.

Guided by the directions on her phone, she wound her way up I-66 and then around the beltway into Old Town Alexandria via the George Washington Memorial Parkway as it meandered along the Potomac River. She had come up here in third grade on a field trip to Mount Vernon, never realizing that she was less than five miles from her birth mother. On that day, she had been so excited about the cupcakes her mother had packed in her lunch box that she had eaten them all before they had reached Fredericksburg.

Thinking about that trip and the lunch her mother had packed for her triggered a pang of guilt. Her mother had done her best, despite her struggles. She had been there.

She turned into a lovely tree-lined neighborhood featuring a collection of older brick homes with large green neatly edged lawns, towering magnolias, and mulched beds of azaleas that had shed their pink-and-white spring blossoms recently.

She parked, shouldered her bag, and walked up the freshly blacktopped driveway. Her stomach churned, chewing into her resolve to have a very frank discussion with Elaine. It was all fine and good to give Libby a journal that detailed Olivia’s first year at Woodmont. She appreciated knowing that, like her great-grandmother Olivia, Libby had trouble carrying a baby to term. And the birth of Elaine’s father was proof that she might have a chance at motherhood.

She climbed the brick steps and pushed the doorbell. After several seconds, when she did not hear footsteps inside the house, she reached for the door knocker.

What kind of a fool got in a car and drove three hours without calling ahead to tell someone that she was coming? Libby rapped hard with the door knocker.

As the silence stretched, she realized this maybe was not a good idea. Irritated that her big speech and grand entrance had failed, she descended the stairs. As she walked along the sidewalk back to her car, she heard, “Libby.”

She turned to find Elaine approaching from the side yard. She wore shorts, a T-shirt, and gardening gloves. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you. I know you said you would be back soon, but it could not wait. I’ll lose my nerve if I wait.”

Elaine knotted her brows and carefully tugged off her gloves. “Why don’t you come inside? Which should I pour, lemonade or bourbon?”

“Maybe both.”

Elaine opened the front door, and they walked together across the black-and-white-tiled floor to a large kitchen that reminded her of the remodeled one at the Woodmont Estate.

Elaine opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottled lemonade-flavored waters. “Sorry, no fresh lemonade made.”

Libby accepted the bottle and twisted off the top.

Elaine sat at the center white-marble island on a barstool and extended her hand toward Libby. “What can I help you with?”

Libby took a sip, wondering why her mouth suddenly felt as if she had eaten a handful of cotton. “Who is my birth father?”

Elaine did not answer right away as she fidgeted with the top of her drink.

“We’re in the honeymoon phase of our relationship. Everyone is on their best behavior, trying to do the right thing.”

“You think this won’t work?” Elaine asked.

“It always happens to my relationships. Somewhere along the way it all sours, and I’m left on the outs. I thought my dad was the one guy who hadn’t ever let me down. But he dodged telling me about you.”

“He loved you very much, Libby.”

“I appreciate the love, but I need honesty too. Believe me, if my dad were still alive, he and I would be having a very frank discussion right now.”

“I don’t want you to think less of your father. He was very dedicated to you and your mother.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have had strong words for him. He should have told me about Olivia’s letter.”

“I gave it to him that day we met in Roanoke for lunch.”

“Why then?”

“I knew he was sick, and I wanted to take what might be our last chance to talk about the truth. I thought over the years he might have had an honest talk about me. I understood why he did not when your mother was alive. He was protecting her as well as you. But after she died, I thought he would say something. I waited, knowing I had made my choice, and it wasn’t fair to break the promise I made to your parents.”