own hours. It also kept her isolated from others.
Which she desired most.
The truth was, she found more comfort in her art than she did with people. Jessie sighed. Her mother, bless her heart, worried about her solitary life. Since her father’s death one year ago, her mother seemed even more determined to push Jessie out into the world. She needed to make more friends, her mother often chided her, to open her heart to new relationships, to fall in love so that she wouldn’t ever have to be alone.
Jessie didn’t try to argue. She knew her mother’s intentions were good, though misguided. What her mother didn’t understand was that Jessie wanted it all. A husband, a family…someone to love, someone who would love her.
She didn’t want to live her life alone. But a solitary life was all she could handle. Opening up her heart, trusting others just wasn’t as easy as it might seem.
For Jessie it was impossible.
Just a few days ago, on their last visit together, her mother had seemed inordinately preoccupied with Jessie’s welfare, obsessing on her need for a secure future. Jessie had tried to laugh off the concern, telling her that, with a mother like her living nearby, she had all the love and security one person could handle. She remembered the worried expression that had flitted across her mother’s face at her flippant response.
Jessie pushed the disturbing image from her mind, picking up a charcoal pencil. Trying not to notice the trembling of her hand, she forced herself to work on the illustration. Purposefully she cleared her mind and focused her attention on the drawing, not stopping until she was finished.
Later, her fingers stiff with overuse, she laid her pencil down on the desktop and sighed with relief, satisfied with what she’d accomplished. Flexing her fingers, stretching the kinks from her muscles, she glanced outside the apartment’s large picture window and was surprised to see the early rays of dawn filtering through the cloud-laden sky. She must have been working for over an hour, though it had only seemed like minutes.
The phone rang, jarring her out of her reverie.
Startled by the early-morning call, she snatched the receiver from its cradle, anxious to still its insistent peal. “Hello?”
“Jessie?” It was Eugenia, her mother’s housekeeper. More than a housekeeper, she was her mother’s loyal friend, a valued member of the family. The pain shadowing Eugenia’s voice sent an arrow of dread darting through Jessie’s heart.
“Eugenia, what is it?” Jessie demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s your mother,” Eugenia said carefully, regret lacing her tone. “She’s gone, Jessie.”
“Gone? I don’t understand. Gone where?”
A strained silence followed.
“No, you can’t mean—” Jessie’s voice broke beneath the heavy weight of disbelief. “She can’t be—”
“I’m so sorry, darling. The best we can figure, it happened early this morning. She went to sleep last night and never woke up. The doctor thinks it was her heart. It…it just gave out on her.”
Early this morning Jessie’s dream…she’d been awakened by an unbearable sense of dread, of loss. Her first thoughts had been of her mother. Surely it had been merely a coincidence.
Or had it?
Jessie closed her eyes against the hot sting of tears. Coincidence or not, her mother’s worst fear had just been realized. For the first time in her life, she was truly, completely alone.
Chapter 1
“I don’t understand.” Jessie pointed to the documents spilling out onto the shiny surface of the lawyer’s mahogany desktop. “What are you trying to tell me?”
The lawyer for her parents’ estate shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His round glasses reflected the light of the desk lamp as he looked to Eugenia for guidance.
Eugenia refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she sat stiffly in her chair, her faded-blue eyes, moist with tears, trained on the handkerchief clenched in her trembling hand.
Sighing, the lawyer began, “Miss Pierce, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you—”
“I…I told Louise that you needed to know the truth,” Eugenia interrupted, her voice sounding strange, thick with emotion. “But she wouldn’t…she couldn’t bring herself to tell you.”
Jessie stared at the older woman in disbelief. “Then it’s true?”
“I—I’m afraid so, darling. Louise and Malcom Pierce weren’t your real parents. They adopted you when you were five years old.”
The admission struck with a stunning blow. Jessie couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Her life, everything she’d believed to be true had been built on a lie.
“Why—” Her voice broke beneath the weight of tension. She forced herself to continue. “Why didn’t they tell me?”
Eugenia hesitated, glancing at the lawyer. He shrugged, looking lost, discomfited by the personal turn of the meeting. Finally she said, “I don’t know all the details. But I suppose they were trying to protect you.”
“From what? Being adopted isn’t a crime.” Jessie noted that the pitch of her voice rose as she spoke. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. In the three days since her mother’s death, she’d been under an enormous strain. Grief had all but overwhelmed her. Now she had to deal with the fact that the parents she had believed to be hers weren’t really hers, after all. “Adoption isn’t the social stigma it might have once been. What’s the point of hiding something like this?”
Eugenia shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. Malcom and Louise didn’t care what others thought. Their only concern was for you.”
From the stack of papers Jessie picked up a birth certificate naming her as Jessica Pierce, daughter of Evelyn and Jonathan Pierce. Her hand shook as she read the document stating that she was born in Charleston, South Carolina. Not in Atlanta, where she’d lived all of her life. An unwanted anger built inside her. She felt betrayed by those who were supposed to have loved her most. “I don’t understand any of this. My name on my birth certificate…it’s the same as the one I have now.”
“It would be, wouldn’t it?” Eugenia said quietly. “Since Malcom and Louise were already your aunt and uncle.”
“My aunt and uncle?” She stared at the other woman, her incredulity growing.
Eugenia released an unsteady breath, suddenly looking older than her sixty years. “Darling, Malcom’s younger brother was your birth father.”
If she thought she’d been surprised before, nothing compared to the shock of that single statement. Tears welled in Jessie’s eyes. She blinked hard, fighting the flow. Now, more than ever, she needed a clear head, not one clouded with emotion. “I still don’t understand. Why didn’t they just tell me the truth?”
“Jessie, I’m sorry.” Eugenia started to reach out to her, then stopped. Looking uncertain, she let her hand fall helplessly onto her lap. “I know how upsetting this is…. I’m handling it so badly.”
Numbly Jessie shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
“I…I just wish I knew more what to tell you,” she said. “All I can remember is that your birth father died before you were born. And your mother died when you were only five. When Malcom brought you home, you were terribly traumatized. Both he and Louise were beside themselves, at a loss how to help you—”
“The nightmares,” Jessie said, her voice trembling.
“Yes, they were horrible. Every night for months you woke up screaming, so frightened. And then the dreams came less often. It was as though you’d put whatever had caused them out of your mind. You