Take Another Look

by Rosalind Noonan

Genres: Family Life; Suspense

Synopsis

When Jane Ryan discovers she's pregnant with twin girls, she faces a heart wrenching decision. On her own and unable to afford to care for both babies, she sees no choice but to keep one and give up the other for adoption. But fourteen years later, Jane's decision comes full circle. "Family is everything." It's one of the first things Isabel, the twin Jane gave up, says when they unexpectedly meet. Without warning, she and her adoptive mother have moved to the town where Jane and her daughter, Harper, live. But are they really family? In the throes of a willful adolescence, Harper is as sullen as Isabel is eager to please. Still, the sisters appear to bond quickly--until unsettling things begin to happen. Disturbing pranks, questionable accidents, strange ailments. Are the girls allies, or enemies? Is Harper acting out, or is Isabel not all she seems? Soon, Jane is convinced there is something darker at work than sibling rivalry. But who is to blame, and is this only the beginning? In a novel that is both suspenseful and deeply emotional, Rosalind Noonan explores the complex challenges of motherhood, and of truly knowing what lies in another's heart--even those we love best.

Release date: May 1, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

December 2000

Two rivers of thought converged as Jane Ryan stared through the glass at her twin baby girls. One stream sluiced clear and cold with resolution to stick to the logical plan and take her firstborn; the other was a muddy pulse of doubt. Despite the decision that she had embraced months ago, her mind now jumped from one plan to another the way a monkey leaped from tree to tree. The monkey mind. She had to quiet the monkey brain.

Just choose.

Stick to the plan.

Or not.

She tried to envision her life beyond this hospital, but antiseptic smells and bursts of noise tugged at her consciousness. For a moment she listened to the conversation of the other people at the window, a new mother in a fluffy pink robe talking to a young couple.

“That’s him. My Chad-man.”

“So cute. Isn’t he adorable?”

“Chad? Why’d you pick that name?” The young man voiced everything as a question. “You want him to be, like, a movie star?”

The woman with spiked hair smacked his shoulder while the mother defended her choice.

Their teasing made Jane ache for a simpler life with normal problems. Names could be changed. Some choices could be easily fixed, tempered, and shaved down. But not this.

Sweeping the dark hair from her forehead, she tried to shake off the haze of drugs and hormones, pain and exhaustion. Everything was distorted by the surreal bubble around her. She pressed one palm to the nursery window, as if the vibration of the glass would transmit the answer. Which baby? Which tiny girl would she bundle into the infant seat tomorrow ? Which one would remain her daughter, her new family, light of her life? The other mothers who had stood at this window did not share her dilemma.

Twins. The power of one word, a single syllable that could ambush a carefully plotted route.

The pregnancy test had set the first alarm, casting the future into the wind and leaving her scrambling to catch the pieces and fit them into a semblance of order. She had said good-bye to her hometown, her family, her familiar life. She had escaped the man she had thought would be the love of her life. She had just begun to imagine a life for herself and her baby here in Seattle when her first sonogram had revealed the multiple heartbeats. That had cracked the foundation of her newly laid plans. Two babies. One would be a challenge, but two?

Marnie had come up with the idea, Googling the contact info of Seattle adoption agencies. That was Marnie, always prepared for mishaps. In grade school, she had carried an emergency dollar in her pocket. She had carried a fat cell phone in her backpack in junior high back in the eighties when most adults didn’t have them yet. Marnie had been the only student in AP US History to turn her research paper in two weeks ahead of schedule. The skills of an event planner had shown Jane a way out, a light in the tunnel, a life with the one child she could handle.

But which one was that?

Her monkey mind wanted to renege on the agreement she had made with the adoptive couple and keep both babies for herself—an instant family. Her little girls could grow up together, sisters chasing each other through the backyard, sharing clothes and advice. But Jane had no backyard, no place to live as of yet. Marnie’s guest room had been a safe haven, but you couldn’t raise your children in someone else’s household. There was no going home—that was too dangerous. She had refused to give her mother and sister her new location, for fear that they would tell him.

She hardened herself to the image of the double stroller. It would never work.

Just choose.

But she had already chosen Louisa, right? The baby named after Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women. Jane would call her Lou.

Weeks ago, when she’d been in a quandary over which child to keep, Jane had decided to let fate choose. She had told the delivery room nurse that she wanted to hold only her firstborn. She had imagined the staff whisking the second baby out of her room and into Chrissy Zaretsky’s arms, with Nick cooing at Chrissy’s side. Jane had planned a simple, clean break.

Then came the C-section. Quivering on the table, splayed open like a rainbow trout. Her thoughts had run from panic to survival.

She shifted closer to the window, trying to ignore the tenderness in her abdomen, the angry incision that smiled across her belly.

She focused on her babies, one angel, and one little monster.

It had taken her a minute to locate them in the second row, toward the left of the room. The magnetic homing device of motherhood that she had anticipated had not taken hold, and the tiny loaves in rows of plastic bassinets all seemed strange and alien to her. She’d had to scan the cartoonish nametags to find two pink cards with RYAN marked in some nurse’s quick block print.

Of course, her Harper was the only baby in the nursery on a crying jag at the moment. The pathetic bleating evoked both compassion and embarrassment. Perhaps it was a romantic notion to think that the baby would have strength and grace simply because she was named after Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Louisa and Harper . . . Jane had deliberately chosen rare names, having read an article claiming that an unusual name could raise a child’s IQ.

Firstborn Louisa smiled in her sleep, a rosy-cheeked dream baby. The wails of her sister in the bin beside her didn’t penetrate her peace. Such a sweet thing. So easy to love, if you could block out Harper’s rant.

What was wrong with Harper? Shrieking and writhing as if in pain. A hot mess. With her infant acne and scaly scalp, she resembled a molting creature trying to escape the cocoon of her striped hospital blanket.

Tears stung Jane’s eyes. So much anger and agitation. This little bean was going to be hard to love.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jane had been asking everyone. She had begged an answer of the nurses, the pediatrician, and the aides who diapered the babies. “It’s like there’s a knife in her belly.”

The pediatrician had given a sage smile, his eyes glassy and mystical, as if he were answering from a distant mountain in Tibet. “Babies cry.”

The other answers were equally unhelpful. Hungry baby, in need of a diaper change. Too hot, too cold. Blanket wrapped too tight or too loose.

“She just needs her mama to hold her,” one aide had said as she placed the newborn in Jane’s arms, where Harper had continued to squirm and cry herself hoarse. That was the myth—that a mother possessed the magic touch to calm her own flesh and blood. Jane had rubbed Harper’s squishy little back and offered a bottle. She had rocked her and talked in a soothing voice. She had stroked her downy head and held her to her breast, but Jane was not capable of soothing Harper’s distress.

Even now as Jane peered into the nursery, an attendant picked Harper up and began to sway. Silence came swiftly. Knowing that she would not be one of those mothers with the power to soothe, Jane simply stared.

A few minutes later, when the woman was called away, she carried Harper back to her bassinet and paused. Double-checking the baby’s bracelet and the label, the attendant stepped over to Louisa’s bassinet and, to Jane’s surprise, tucked Harper in beside her sister.

“You can’t do that.” Jane knocked on the glass. “No!” They couldn’t be together. Yes, they were sisters, but they couldn’t get used to each other, accustomed to the warm contours of each other’s bodies.

When Jane got the woman’s attention, she was waved off with an omniscient smile. “It’s okay,” the nurse barked through the glass. “These baby girls are twins.”

Jane stood watch as the nurse left the viewing area and quiet resounded. Nestled face-to-face with her sister, Harper was content.

A few minutes later, Louisa’s open mouth was pressed to Harper’s head, leaving a trail of saliva over her patchy skull. There was something primal about the sight, as if Louisa were trying to devour her twin. But Louisa’s wet mouth soothed her sister. Both babies remained content.

Maybe they were supposed to stay together.

Suddenly, Jane wanted to keep both babies.

Or give them up—send them off together—so that they could remain as sisters.

She wanted both . . . or neither. Hormones swung her up and down, back and forth, like the creaking old playground swings that promised flight, but always pulled back down to earth at the last second. Both or neither. Louisa or Harper. Harper or Louisa.

Damned monkey mind.

Neither choice felt right.

Defeated, she returned to her room. Alone in her bed, she stared up at the bland vanilla tiles on the ceiling as guilt overtook her. It felt wrong to be apart from her children, and yet, when they were wheeled into her room for a feeding, Jane resented the loss of her freedom, the personal space she had spent a lifetime cultivating. She wondered if she would ever feel right again; she didn’t think so.

Harper’s howls scorched the room, prompting a disapproving sigh from Jane’s roommate on the other side of the curtain. Jane got out of bed, picked up the crying baby, and began to pace with her, swaying in the silent dance the nursery attendant had shown her. After a few minutes passed, Harper’s shrieks slowed to a whimper. Her mouth remained crumpled in a sour expression.

“You can’t help the way you feel,” she murmured in her baby’s ear.

Louisa’s little mouth was twitching into half a smile. Looking down at that perfect baby, Jane knew what she had to do. Louisa would be so easy to care for, so easy to love. And Harper . . . well, there was no way to be sure that the Zaretskys, or any adoptive couple, would have the patience for such a demanding child.

Turning away from the bassinet, Jane carefully eased herself back on the bed, careful not to awaken Harper, and pressed the call button. When the nurse answered, she asked her to take Louisa back to the nursery.

“Both of them?”

“No. Just Louisa.” Jane faced the window, careful not to look at the baby being wheeled away—the Zaretskys’ new baby girl. She stared at the dull bars of the window shade until she was sure Louisa and the nurse were gone. Until she knew it was over and done. A final decision.

She curled around her baby, her lashes grazing the vein that shone through the transparent skin at the bridge of Harper’s nose. This tiny thing had her issues. The acne that begged to be scrubbed. The cradle cap. As Jane breathed in the delicate baby smell, her heart filled. Flawed and difficult to love, they would make quite the pair.

The shadowed corridor of Mirror Lake High School was thick with new carpet smell—summer improvements—as Jane Ryan trudged along, trying to balance equipment that was awkward but not too heavy. Last week these halls had swelled with hundreds of students scrambling to reconfigure a schedule, pay fees, and score a better locker and a school photo that captured their best self. But registration was done, thankfully, and for the next two weeks the building was open for teachers and administrators to pull themselves together for the new school year. Hence the empty building.

This was one of Jane’s favorite Oregon seasons, a time of lingering light and cool restful nights. Each year she contemplated taking on a different grade, and each year reaffirmed her love of freshman English when she met that startling batch of rambunctious new students, ready to blossom like autumn mums. This fall the excitement was amplified by her daughter’s placement on the varsity softball team. The chance to dig her cleats in as varsity catcher had wiped out Harper’s back-to-school blues, and the past three weeks of practice had brought her exhaustion, healthy color, and inner contentment. Harper didn’t care that the position had opened up because last year’s infighting had prompted most of the varsity players to drop the sport. Harper lived for the game—any physical game, really—and she took her satisfaction where she could get it.

Someone popped out of the science office, startling Jane. Mina Rennert looked more like a flower child than a buttoned-down biology teacher. Her hair hung loose over a tie-dyed tank top and peasant skirt, and Jane smiled when she spotted an ankle tattoo and a fat collection of toe rings. When the kids were away, the teachers did play. Jane had enjoyed her own play session while Harper had been away at camp, though she tried to keep her personal life tamped down and covered, probably more than most teachers. As an unmarried, single parent, she had always felt the need to guard her privacy and reputation. Originally, she had sought to protect her daughter from the stigma of being different, but now half of the people she met assumed that she had once been married to Harper’s father and the other half didn’t care.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Mina revealed a pack of cigarettes in her hand. “I was just headed out for a smoke. And you look like you’re going camping.”

Jane adjusted the rectangular canvas bags that hung from her shoulders. “I’m in charge of the canopy for the girls’ softball team. They’ve got a game today.”

“Your daughter’s on the team?”

“She’s the catcher.”

“Awesome.” Mina shook a cigarette from the pack as she fell into step beside Jane. “Catcher is a key position. Most people don’t realize that. They put all the attention on the pitching.”

“You know your softball.”

“I used to play the outfield. That’s how I met my partner.”

Jane paused at the turnoff, wincing as the canopy banged into her hip. She would have walked outside with Mina, but her real intention was to stop off and see Luke. “Then you probably remember how games can drag on for hours.”

“I mostly remember the excitement and the pizza parties. And the dirt. Dust and mud. We were mud people. That was such a pisser. Tell the girls I said good luck.” Mina tucked the cigarette between her lips and strode away. Jane heard the rasp of the lighter even before the double doors popped open.

Sometimes Jane wished she could be a rule-breaker like Mina, unashamed and unfettered. But Jane reminded herself that she had more to hide and more to lose. Secrets, large and small.

She recognized the Grateful Dead tune emanating from Luke’s classroom. Inside, Luke sat at his desk, singing along as he worked on his laptop. His face was a study in black and white. His dark hair was cropped neatly around the ears, though unruly strands fell over his pale forehead. Slender lines of charcoal hair etched his chin and upper lip. Bold black frames could not mask the smoky wonder of his eyes. Those chocolate eyes had been the lure that had pulled her over the brink three years ago when they had gone from being friends to secret partners.

She tried to tap on the door, but the bones of the tent rammed against the threshold as she wedged herself inside. “Mr. Bandini.”

“Ms. Ryan. You seem to be in need of assistance.” The strain around his eyes softened as he got up from the desk and came to her. At five-eight, Luke Bandini was smaller than many of the students, spare but strong, though what he lacked in stature he made up for in a powerful presence and a voice that could boom through a classroom like rumbling thunder. He slid the heavy canopy from her shoulder while Jane let the cargo from the opposite shoulder flop to the ground. “You’ve got to let me help you with this. It will only take a minute, and you know how I dig construction.”

“True.” While Jane had already pinched her hand assembling the damn canopy for a practice, Luke had mad physics skills. He could change a tire or bake flakey biscuits because he reveled in the science of things: the engineering of a simple lever, the chemistry of butter clumps in layered dough. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to give the team parents any more information about us than they already have.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with a fellow teacher lending a hand.” He pushed the door closed behind her and took her hand. A daring gesture, here at school. “Besides, I think they know about us.”

“They probably do.” Her fingers curled around his hand, as if holding a glimmering seashell. “But I don’t want to fan the fires.” Her reputation was important to Jane; she didn’t want to make a misstep that might start someone digging into her past. “It’s already hard for Harper, attending the same school where her mother teaches.”

“I know, and I can wait.” Her nerves tingled as his thumb massaged her palm. “Three years.” That was their new deal, forged this summer over cheese, crackers, and a bottle of red wine their first night at Diamond Lake while Harper was off at softball camp. Marriage. Jane ached to take that step with Luke, to make it legal and official, to stop sneaking around like teenagers. Oh, to share a bed, split the chores, cook for each other, and stay in their pajamas until noon on Sunday. But she couldn’t do that to Harper, not while the girl was banging through the narrow tunnel of teen angst. To bring a man into the house—even a guru-saint like Luke—might derail Harper, who perceived threats in the most innocent of actions. In three years, Harper would be off to college, and there would be breathing room for all of them. Three years was the new mantra.

“I want to go back to Diamond Lake,” she said suddenly.

One dark brow lifted. “I guess that means we’re on for next summer.”

“I’m so high maintenance. A single parent with a live-wire daughter.”

“Complexity makes for a juicier story. You’ve got a great story, and a cute ass.”

She squeezed his hand, then let it go. Maybe their mutual attraction was amplified by the need to keep things under wraps. Other parents got the occasional free weekend through shared custody or sending their kids off for a trip to Grandma’s. Jane envied them the free time, but this just wasn’t her season to leave the vine. “Three years,” she said.

“With a few naughty nights in between.”

“Let’s hope so.” She went to the counter, to the supplies that she always found so amusing. Cotton balls, Popsicle sticks, and paper cups to build crash crates for eggs. A fat jar of pickles, for snacking and zapping with electrodes to demonstrate properties of electricity. “So how do your class lists look? The usual crowds?” Kids were always trying to finagle a spot in Luke’s conceptual physics class, and Luke, always a sucker for a good story, usually signed them in.

He sucked air between his teeth. “I haven’t even looked. Angry Bird therapy got the better of me.” He lifted the pickle jar to his chest. “Would you like a kosher dill?”

“I’m good. I’d better get out there. I just wanted to firm up plans for Friday night. Harper’s got that sleepover.” Although Luke had begun to join Harper and her for an occasional dinner, most of their time together coincided with Harper’s time away from home.

“Friday works for me.” He held up the heaviest canvas bag. “So do you want me to set this up on the field? No lascivious looks, I promise.”

“Your very presence out there is an admission of guilt.”

“And who is it we’re hiding from again? Because the parents shouldn’t care, and the kids already know.”

They had been over this ground a thousand times, and Jane was beginning to wonder why she kept hiding the truth. Harper was fed up with the ruse. “Mom! Everybody knows,” Harper complained, usually with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Why are you making such a big deal of this?” Jane usually countered by saying that she valued her privacy and her reputation as a teacher. To which Harper would retort that Jane was “old-school” or “random.”

Jane sighed. “What the hell. We can’t hide forever.”

“Let me remind you, we’re not breaking any laws.”

“Only the unwritten code of Puritan suburbia.”

Humor sparked in his eyes. “I’ll wear my scarlet letter like a badge of honor.”

They stepped from the dim school corridors to a crisp landscape of cerulean sky and rolling green hills. Oregon summers held a distinct beauty, with sunny, dry days and cool, starry nights and oceans of sweet, fresh air. Summers reminded Jane of the best parts of California: green lawns and barbecues and the lemony sunshine that had lit her childhood.

Built into the green hills on the elevated rim of the lake, the school campus had one of the better views in town, though the fir trees had grown so tall in the last fifty years that you could no longer see the lake that nestled in the center crevice of the horseshoe-shaped formation of hills. The school track backed up to the grassy splendor of the municipal golf course, and now the new baseball “Field of Dreams” shared a fence with an assisted living home, which had received a few foul balls but only one broken window in the three years since it had been built. Jane had grown fond of the town that she’d chosen through an online search, plugging in “best schools” and “low crime rates” as her top priorities. Mirror Lake was a place where most kids lived close enough to walk to school and parents felt secure enough to let their middle-schoolers hoof it. It was not unusual to see a handful of kids on their bikes, riding to the ice-cream store, heading to the park, or going down to the river to do some fishing. These days Mirror Lake had more of a wholesome, hometown feel than Burnson, the California home of Jane’s childhood that had crumbled into bankruptcy and depression in the past decade.

As Jane and Luke rounded the snack shack, the Mirror Lake girls came into view, their yellow and blue uniforms like sunflowers dotting the soccer field. Jane recognized Harper from the way she moved, graceful and strong, as she reached up to make a catch. This was Harper’s realm: the kinetic game. Something clicked when she stepped behind home plate, replacing the wary, unsure teenager with a chiseled athlete capable of controlling the entire field of players.

“First game of the year with Hoppy as varsity catcher.” Luke bumped Jane on the shoulder. “You must be proud.”

“I’m so nervous.” But Jane knew Harper wouldn’t be ruffled. The girl might melt down over a geometry test, but she was in her element out on the diamond.

“She’ll do fine,” Luke said. “She’s a natural.”

“I know she is. Look at her, laughing with Emma. She doesn’t get rattled by competition.”

“When you come from a place of confidence, there’s no need to stress. And for all other worrisome details, Harper has you to do the worrying for her,” Luke teased.

“I’m glad someone appreciates me.”

“Oh, I appreciate.”

“Hi, Mom!” Harper shouted, waving before she whipped her arm back and shot a ball across the field to her warm-up partner. Hair the color of dark cider was pulled back in a ponytail, as usual, and Harper’s new aviator shades resembled those of a Hollywood actress hiding from the press. Even her stern, tomboyish style of dress could not disguise the fact that Harper was a beautiful girl. But then, all the girls at Mirror Lake High possessed a distinct splendor, a signature movement or energy that they weren’t quite comfortable with yet.

Jane waved back, glad that it was a good day. Since she’d started high school, Harper had vacillated between proudly owning her mother and pretending she didn’t exist.

Many of the girls called greetings to “Ms. Ryan” and “Mr. Bandini.”

“Hey there, Mr. Bandini.” Olivia Ferguson turned toward him, ball in her mitt, and lunged to stretch her long haunches. “Are you coming to watch our game, too?”

The innuendo was not lost on Jane. Olivia never missed a chance to probe.

“Not today, Olivia.”

“Aw. You should stay.” When she stretched her arms overhead, her full breasts protruded against her tight jersey. A woman’s body and an adolescent brain were a dangerous combination. Or maybe Olivia had matured since she’d been a student in Jane’s freshman English class. “No one ever comes to our games.” Olivia pouted.

Luke did not break stride as he flashed a pleasant smile. “Maybe some other time. Did you ladies have a good summer?”

The girls gave bland smiles, then turned back to practice.

Over at the ball field, the girls of the West Green team ran a lap around the outfield, a forest of thick, green giants. Local legend had it that everything grew bigger in West Green. The visiting coach was sharing her roster with the umpire, a stout, gray-haired man with a serious demeanor. It was always a relief to have a calm, seasoned person officiating; teenage umpires were so easily rattled.

Some of the parents had already set up chairs along the foul line. At the grassy edge of the outfield, Linda Ferguson lay on a blanket reading a book. One bare foot bent back over her butt as if she were a beach bunny. Linda’s husband, Pete, hovered over the coach, who sat on the team bench working on the lineup. Legs crossed and head down, Carrie didn’t seem interested in Pete’s opinion, but no one in the Ferguson family read or respected body language. Although Harper had not played with Olivia yet, Harper had already been strong-armed by seventeen-year-old Olivia during practices. And Jane had been warned by a few of the softball moms that the Fergusons had been at the center of last year’s varsity turmoil. A believer in education, Jane hoped that this year the Fergusons might learn a few lessons about teamwork.

Fortunately, two of Harper’s friends since grade school were on the team with her, which gave Jane two instant “mom” friends, stable, capable women with a sense of humor and perspective. She headed toward Trish Schiavone, the most down-to-earth mom on the team. Trish squatted beside three grade-school kids, digging through a flexible cooler. “Did we really leave all the juice packs in the car? Kids, Mom is losing her marbles.” Trish stood up and sprinted past Jane. “Be back in a sec.”

Jane set her bag down and opened the canvas tote. “How are you kids doi. . .