In Search Of Her Own

She had to find her son.

And, as if she had found the missing piece of a long-troubling puzzle, she thought of Phillip Anders. “Of course! I’ve got to call him! He’s the answer! He’ll know what to do!”

That evening, with trembling fingers, Victoria riffled through the telephone book and found Phillip’s number. But now that she was actually dialing him, she was assailed by misgivings. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her voice barely audible. And when she heard him say hello, her throat refused to emit a sound.

“Hello? Is anybody there?” he questioned. “Who is this?”

“It’s…Victoria Carlin,” she said at last. “You came to my rescue yesterday at the cemetery.”

“Well, hello, Miss Carlin.”

“I don’t mean to bother you—”

“Bother me? To tell you the truth, I was hoping I might hear from you again.”

“You were?”

“Yes, I enjoyed our chat at the coffee shop.”

“So did I. And I was thinking…” Her voice trailed off.

“Thinking about…?” he prompted.

“About you being a…a private investigator, Mr. Anders “

“Yes, Miss Carlin? Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’m not sure.” Her voice faltered again. “You said you…you find people…children.”

“Yes. Like I said, I do my best,” he replied. “Is there someone you want to locate?”

“Yes,” said Victoria, her tone growing decisive. “I would like it very much if you could help me find a little boy.”

“A boy, you say?”

“Yes. He just turned six.”

“What’s his name, Miss Carlin?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I’m sorry. I don’t know much about him.”

“Well, we’ll work with whatever you have, of course,” he replied patiently. “Just who is this boy, Miss Carlin?”

She closed her eyes; it seemed to take her forever to force out the words. “He’s…he’s my son.”

Chapter Three

Phillip Anders suggested they discuss Victoria’s case over dinner on Tuesday evening He met her at seven at the Dingho Chinese Restaurant just north of the university It was a quaint place with intimate tables and soft lights, accented by jade carvings, porcelain vases and wall scrolls depicting squat Buddhas and towering pagodas.

As Phillip settled back in his wicker chair opposite Victoria, the delicate china on the linen tablecloth gave his brawny good looks a rough-hewn texture. He looked out of place, this tall, square-jawed man with hands too large for the tiny teacups.

Victoria smiled impulsively. “I’m surprised you picked this place, Mr. Anders. You look more like a steak-and-potatoes man to me.”

He grinned. “I am But I thought this atmosphere would suit you.”

“I’ll consider that a compliment,” she replied.

“It is.”

Their gaze held for a moment She felt a velvety warmth steal over her and she quickly dropped her gaze to her menu. Wait a second, she reminded herself. This is a business meeting. Not a date

“I suggest their Peking duck or steaks Manchurian,” said Phillip with a smile.

She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been here before?”

“With clients a few times.”

“Then I’ll defer to your judgment.”

“Peking duck,” Phillip told the round-faced Oriental waiter. “With egg flower soup and sauteed snowpea pods.”

“It sounds like a culinary delight,” said Victoria.

Phillip leaned across the table confidentially “What I like best are all the little take-home cartons to warm up the next day. It beats my usual frozen dinner fare.”

“I know what you mean. I hate cooking just for myself.”

Phillip’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I hate eating my own cooking No matter what I fix, it ends up tasting like overcooked cardboard.”

“Perhaps you should invest in a cookbook.”

“I have dozens around the house My wife, Pauline, was a gourmet cook. She collected recipes like some women accumulate jewelry There was nothing she couldn’t make.”

“She must have been a very remarkable woman “

Phillip’s burnt-sienna eyes took on a distant sheen. “She was the best.” He looked up and blinked as the waiter brought their soup.

“Very hot,” warned the man.

As Phillip picked up his china spoon, Victona bowed her head and silently offered a quick prayer of thanks for her food She looked up, embarrassed to see Phillip watching her.

“My wife and I used to do that,” he said. “She never let a meal pass without saying grace.”

“It’s still a bit new to me,” Victoria murmured self-consciously.

They ate in silence for several minutes Then Phillip cleared his throat and said, “You telephoned me about locating a child for you, Miss Carlin. Would you like to tell me about your son?”

She dabbed a corner of her lips with the linen napkin. “Please call me Victoria.”

“If you’ll call me Phillip.”

“Of course…Phillip.” She touched the back of her neck nervously Her face felt uncomfortably warm “I must tell you, Phillip, I’ve never talked about my son to anyone. It’s very difficult for me. Now that both my parents are gone, no one even knows I have a child…except you.”

“I can understand your reluctance to share something so personal “

“It’s just not the sort of thing I want people to know about.”

“But surely there’s not the stigma there once was. “

“Perhaps not But wrong is wrong I know it no matter what anyone says, no matter how people try to whitewash it.” She didn’t add that she could still hear her father’s voice in her head condemning her for her actions Lamentably, his voice was often louder than the voice of God in her heart.

Phillip’s expression softened “You sound like you’re still struggling with guilt feelings.”

Victoria sipped her tea before replying. “I know I’ve been forgiven I’m just not sure I’ve forgiven myself.”

He flashed a wry smile. “Self-forgiveness can be a hard-won battle Frankly, I haven’t quite managed it, either.” His words were throwaway. With a change in tone, he was quickly back to business, but he had stirred Victoria’s curiosity. I want to know more about this cryptic, contradictory man, she acknowledged silently But he obviously doesn’t want to talk about himself.

“How can I help you, Victoria?” he asked in his professional, take-charge voice.

She told him sketchily about her strict upbringing, her whirlwind romance with Rick Lancer and the child Rick still didn’t know about—the baby she had carried and loved but never held, the child who belonged to strangers now.

“Did you consider keeping your baby?” Phillip wondered.

“No,” Victoria replied without hesitation. Then she relented. “Of course I did. Every day of my pregnancy. It was all I could think about I wanted my son more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But it was out of the question My life was already predetermined—my education, my career My parents had everything planned. There was no room for a mistake, especially not one resulting in an illegitimate child “

He eyed her curiously “Are you bitter about that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose on some level I am, but I remind myself that my parents had my best interests at heart.”

“Did they?”

“I like to believe they did. At the time I felt too overwhelmed to go against their wishes And my father was ill. He needed me. So I did the only thing I could do.”

“You gave away your child.”

“It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I regretted it the moment I signed the papers.”

“And now? Do you still regret it?”

“Now it’s too late. It doesn’t matter how I feel. What’s done is done I’ll never know what might have been.”

Phillip sat forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers interlocked. “Yet, now you want to find your child. After six years, you want to intrude yourself on his life.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it? Your son has his own life now—parents, a home, a future that has nothing to do with you. Are you prepared to interrupt all that and change the course of your son’s life?”

“That’s not what I want, Phillip I don’t intend to hurt my son. I just want to know how he is. I need to see him, just once.”

Phillip poured more tea. “Have you considered the consequences?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the unpredictable events you may set in motion, the problems you could cause your son and his adoptive family?”

Victoria’s voice was tremulous. Was she hearing right? “Are you saying you won’t help me?”

“I’m saying I want you to think this through very carefully, Victoria. Do what’s right and best for your son.”

She stiffened, her defenses flaring. Was she wrong to think she had found a friend in this man? Obviously he had no intention of helping her. “Do you talk this way to all your clients, Phillip?” she asked coolly.

“You bet. And if I believe the child isn’t a client’s first concern, I don’t take the case.” He paused while the waiter served their Peking duck. They helped themselves to several slices of the crisp, golden meat. “You know, Victoria,” he continued between bites, “there are a lot of distraught people out there who want to use their children as pawns or weapons against their mates. I refuse any part in such cases.”

“My case isn’t like that at all!” she protested. This wasn’t going the way she intended. She never should have come. Maybe she should just get up and leave and forget she’d ever met Phillip Anders.

“I know your case isn’t the same,” Phillip assured her. “But I can’t help wondering whether your emotions aren’t clouding your judgment.”

“My emotions?” She stared incredulously at him. How ironic that he would accuse her of letting her emotions cloud her judgment when she had lived a life so devoid of emotion-based decisions.

“What I’m saying, Victoria, is that perhaps the best gift you could give your son is to stay out of his life.”

She was trembling now. “You don’t understand, Phillip. I’m not going to tell my son who I am, nor do I intend to alarm his parents. I just want to see my child from a distance I want to know he’s well and safe.”

Phillip nodded soberly; he still wasn’t ready to concede his argument “I must warn you, Victoria. You may have to go through an awful lot of trouble for that one distant glimpse.”

She lowered her gaze. “There’s more, Phillip,” she said quietly. Talking about something as private and personal as her faith wasn’t easy, but it had to be done. “Three years ago I made a commitment. I don’t know quite how to explain it to you, but I put my faith in Christ.” Her eyes met his. “Since then, I’ve felt a deep burden for my son, for his eternal destiny. I’m not trying to sound like some religious zealot, but what if no one ever tells him how to find God?”

Phillip studied her for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing his response. Finally he said, “I made that same commitment some years ago, Victoria, before I was married. Pauline was a Christian, too, although I must admit my own faith is rather rusty these days.”

“Then, being a believer, you must understand my concern for my son”

“I understand, but I don’t necessarily agree. Can’t you trust your son to God’s care and get on with your own life?”

“You don’t think I have a right to find out about his spiritual upbringing?”

Phillip heaved a disgruntled sigh, as if he knew what he was about to say would get him into hot water. “Okay, Victoria, let me put it on the line. I think you’ve got other motivations going on inside that you’re not even aware of, but it feels safe to put it all under a spiritual umbrella.”

She bristled. “Are you suggesting I’m not being honest with you about my motives for finding my child?”

“Maybe you’re not being honest with yourself,” said Phillip.

She reached for her purse. “If you won’t help me, Mr. Anders, I’m sure there are other detectives who will.”

“Wait, Victoria” He reached across the table and seized her hand. His touch sent a warm ripple of pleasure through her, touching off pinwheels of emotion she hadn’t experienced since she was in Rick Lancer’s arms. For a long moment neither of them spoke. It was as if they had connected on a new, unexplored level that neither had anticipated, and neither of them knew where to go with it from here. At last he released her and her heart rate slowly returned to normal.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” he told her solemnly. He looked as shaken as she felt.

“But you said…”

He averted his gaze and picked absently at his Peking duck, as if he weren’t ready yet to say more. After a moment he looked up at her, his eyes crinkling wryly. “What I’m trying to say, Victoria, is that I never take a case I can talk a client out of. The road ahead is too tough for the weak-willed or faint of heart.”

“Are you saying.you will take my case?”

“I’m saying you’ll have to search your motives as we go along and make sure your head is on straight, okay? Do a whole lot of soul-searching. And then, if you’re willing to put yourself in my hands and trust my judgment—”

“Oh, I will. I do!”

“Even then,” he cautioned, “I can’t guarantee a happy ending.”

“I don’t ask for any guarantees, Phillip,” she assured him. “Just help me find my son, and I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Then I guess we’ve got ourselves a deal. I’m your man.” He shook her hand vigorously and once again their eyes locked with a riveting intensity. Goose bumps prickled her skin. She was excited, of course, about finding the son she had never known, but if she would admit it, she also felt a heady exhilaration at the prospect of spending time in the company of this remarkable man, Phillip Anders.

Chapter Four

Wednesday, May 6

I keep thinking about what Phillip said last night about my motives. What if I’m not being honest with myself? What if I’m just using my spiritual concerns about my son as an excuse to indulge my maternal yearnings?

What if I find my son and all I care about is getting him back? Am I opening a Pandora’s box? Am I just inviting more heartache? Maybe Phillip’s right. Maybe I should just trust my child to God and get on with my life.

But what life?

How can I go on with my life when such a big part of me is missing? When I walked away from my son six years ago, I thought that was as bad as it got; everything after that would be easier, and the pain would lessen with time. Instead, the emotional wound has festered and spread, infecting even the healthy parts of my life. I don’t know how I could have survived these years without God’s strength and comfort.

But now new concerns taunt me. What realities will I have to deal with when I find my child? What sort of life did I release him into six years ago? In my mind I’ve concocted a perfect world for my boy—loving parents, a happy home, a future any child would envy. I’ve consoled myself with the fantasy of an ideal life for my son. If I can’t have him, at least he has the best of all possible worlds with his adoptive family.

But does he?

Surely reality can never match my dreams.

Will I be able to accept a less-than-perfect situation for my child? If the life he’s living now is less than what I could have provided, then what was my sacrifice for?

Dear God, I’m so afraid of what I’ll find, of how I’ll feel. What if this all blows up in my face and my life is more messed up after I find him than it is now?

What if I find him and I can’t let go? Will I become one of those crazy, obsessed women who won’t stop until they’ve destroyed their child’s life?

To be honest, I don’t know what my motives are Yes, I want to be sure someone tells my boy about God I want someone to be there to answer his questions and point him to faith in Christ. I admit, I would give my life to be that person. But I know how improbable that hope is. So I will be satisfied just to know that someone will be there to help him find the answers.

It’s still not real to me what I’m doing. Looking for my son. Starting the process in motion. My baby’ Only not a baby now. A little boy. Six already. Will I know him? What will he look like? Will I feel that connection I felt when he was in the womb and we played our silly little bumping games?

The questions bombard my mind. Will I be able to transfer the love I feel for this fanciful child of my imagination to my real flesh-andblood son? Or will he be a stranger to me? Surely I will feel a mother’s love for him. If only he could feel a son’s love for me!

When I let myself think about it—all the possibilities—my excitement bubbles up and spills over and colors everything I do, every waking hour. No matter how many doubts and anxieties—and yes, at times, stark terror!—I feel, still, my overriding emotion is pure joy. To think that I may actually, on this earth in this lifetime, lay eyes again on my child. Perhaps even hear the sound of his voice. I can ask for no greater gift.

But for now I must play this waiting game, waiting for Phillip to call with news, waiting, praying How long will it take? Dear God, please don’t make me wait too long!

* * *

The following Tuesday Phillip telephoned Victoria and said, “I have some information. When can I see you?”

Her pulse quickened. This was the call she’d been rehearsing in her mind for days “You found my son?”

“I’d rather discuss it with you in person. Are you free now?”

“Yes, of course. I’m just grading final exams.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Victoria found waiting for Phillip an excruciating exercise in patience. She touched up her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. She straightened her tiny living room, replacing the stack of test papers on the coffee table with a bowl of fresh fruit. She returned several partially read books to the large oak bookcase. As she busied herself with incidentals, she sensed she was running purely on nervous energy.

When Phillip finally arrived, Victoria greeted him with clammy, trembling hands Her mouth was dry; her throat ached. “I haven’t felt so anxious since my student teaching days,” she told him as he took the velvet wing chair she offered. “I feel almost as if you’re giving me back my son.”

“Not so fast,” said Phillip. “I told you before, a search like this is likely to have its ups and downs.”

Victoria sat on the sofa across from Phillip. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “What are you trying to say, Phillip? Is it bad news?”

The tendons in his neck tightened, his eyes took on a shadowed, thoughtful expression.

“Please, Phillip, tell me. I’ve got to know “

He sat back, his muscular frame filling the lime green chair “Your son was adopted by a couple in their mid-twenties named Frank and Julia Goodwin.”

She pressed her fingertips against her lips. “You already know their names—the couple who adopted him? Oh, Phillip, I think I’m going to cry. Tell me all you know about them.”

“Not a great deal, I’m afraid. They lived in a small town in Oregon, not far from where your baby was born.”

“Lived? They aren’t there now?”

“No.” Phillip’s brow furrowed. “There was an accident, Victoria. Over six months ago.”

“An accident?” She sat forward, her muscles suddenly tense.

“A car crash,” said Phillip.

Her pulse quickened with alarm. “Oh, no! Phillip, don’t tell me—!”

His deep voice was somber, almost a monotone. “Frank and Julia Goodwin were both killed.”

Victoria’s breath caught. Dear God, she didn’t want to know, and had to know, but how could she cope? To find her child and have him immediately snatched away? She couldn’t stand it if—please, God, don’t let it be! “And my son?” she barely whispered.

“He survived,” said Phillip quickly. “He was injured, but my sources indicate that he recovered.”

Relief radiated through her body. She sank back, every muscle like jelly. “Where is my baby now?”

Phillip removed a slim notebook from his vest pocket. He thumbed through several pages. “Your son was released into the custody of his maternal grandparents—Julia’s parents—Maude and Sam Hewlett. They live in Middleton, a farming community north of San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?” Victoria repeated carefully. “That’s not far. Maybe half a day’s drive.”

“No, it’s not bad,” Phillip agreed. “The boy could have been in some remote city halfway around the world.”

“Middleton, you said? North of San Francisco? All right, wonderful. That’s where I’ll go to find my son.” Impulsively she added, “Would you like to go with me, Phillip?”

“Hold on,” he said, reaching over and touching her hand, a cautionary gesture. “There’s more, Victoria.”

“Bad news?” she asked with apprehension. She didn’t want to hear anything that would dampen her spirits. She knew now where her son lived. What more did she need to know?

“Not exactly bad news,” said Phillip. “It’s more puzzling than anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a colleague of mine from San Francisco check your son’s neighborhood and the local school system for some record of the boy. So far he hasn’t been able to uncover any evidence of your son’s existence.”

Victoria shook her head, baffled, “Wait a minute, you’re confusing me. No record of his existence? How can that be?”

“I don’t know. I’m just telling you what we’ve found.”

“My son is six years old now. He should be in first grade, or at least kindergarten.”

“I agree. But there’s no record that a Joshua Goodwin or a Joshua Hewlett was ever enrolled in any public or private school in the area.”

Victoria’s heart stopped in mid-beat. “Joshua, you say? That’s my son’s name?”

Phillip nodded.

“Joshua.” She repeated the name several times, marveling. “Joshua. It sounds strange and wonderful all at once.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. “I always wondered what he was called, my son, what name he answered to. Joshua. I like it. Don’t you, Phillip? It’s a good, strong name. A biblical name. If I recall correctly, it means ‘Jehovah is salvation.’“

Phillip sat forward and rubbed his hands together methodically, as if marking time until her emotional outburst subsided. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Unfortunately, Victoria, it’s a name we can’t trace past the accident that killed his parents.”

Victoria looked back in stunned silence, trying to make sense of Phillip’s words. “That can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Surely you’ve missed something, some clue. Have you checked with his grandparents?”

“No, not yet. That could be a ticklish situation, especially since we don’t want them to know Joshua’s natural mother is looking for him.”

“You think there could be trouble?”

“It’s happened before.”

“Have you talked to the Hewletts’ neighbors?” She tried to keep her voice under control, but couldn’t help hearing the nervous, urgent edge as she questioned Phillip.

“My colleague contacted every house on the block,” he replied. “No one has ever seen the youngster.”

Victoria’s voice rose with a shrill desperation. “But that’s impossible. Little boys play outside. They have friends. Surely someone has seen him.”

“No one,” said Phillip. “Everyone says the Hewletts are very private people. Not much is known about them. But all the neighbors agreed on one point. The Hewletts live alone.”

Victoria stood and walked to the window, hugging herself protectively. She felt a chill inside, like a clammy hand crushing her heart, making it hard to breathe. “Something’s wrong, Phillip. Something’s terribly wrong.”