Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [39]
"My grandparents, maybe. I know they lived in Buffalo. And their last name was Davis. Henry and Susan Davis."
"Have you found anything?"
"I think so. Maybe." Julia pointed to the screen, to the name Henry Davidson. "It's not Davis, but it's close, and the first names are the same."
"Mom's maiden name was Gregory."
"I know that's what she told us, but Dad said he believed her parents' names were Henry and Susan Davis. He never asked why the names were different." "What does the paper say?"
" 'Henry Davidson, age eighty-one, native of Buffalo, died after a long illness. He is survived by his wife, Susan.' It goes on to talk about his work as an engineer, his marriage of fifty-nine years, and his charity endeavors. There's nothing about a daughter."
"Then it can't be the same family."
Julia looked at Liz and saw nothing but skepticism in her brown eyes. "You think I'm making too big of a leap?"
"Yes. Susan and Henry aren't unusual names. Their last name was Davidson, not Davis, and there's no mention of a daughter named Sarah."
As Julia listened to Liz compute the facts, she was acutely aware of how different they were. Liz saw the negatives. Julia saw the possibilities. Even now, she had butterflies racing through her stomach at the thought of having located her grandparents. Maybe the facts didn't add up exactly right, but her instincts told her she was on to something. "You're overlooking some important points," she argued. "They live in Buffalo, same city, same names. The ages are right. I think it's worth looking into."
"What else did Dad tell you today?" Liz asked. She cleared a corner of the desk and sat down on it.
"He said Mom went to Northwestern University. He mentioned a roommate named Jackie. They lived on University Avenue, over a coffeehouse."
"Mom always did love her coffee," Liz said with a wistful note in her voice. "I never had to set my alarm. I woke up to the sound of the coffeemaker beeping every morning at seven a.m. She said she couldn't talk until she had her morning coffee." She let out a sigh, then said, "But I don't see how any of that information is going to help you."
"At least I know where she went to college. For some reason, I always thought she went to Berkeley- I guess because we were living there when she met Dad. He said he only went to our apartment twice. He couldn't remember the address, just the street name, Fairmont or Fremont. I found both streets in the city, but they're long, seven to ten blocks each. If I went house to house, it could take me months to find anyone who remembers a tenant from twenty-five years ago. I have nothing but crumbs to go on." As she finished speaking, Julia felt depressed. Liz was right. She had no useful information to go on. Except maybe the obituary. If she tracked down Susan Davidson, she could at least close that door or find a new way into her mother's past. "I wonder if I could get Susan Davidson's address on the Internet," she muttered, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
"And if you find her, what will you say?" Liz asked.
"I'll deal with that moment when I get to it."
"Look, Julia, what's really going to change if you find your grandmother?" Liz asked. "Nothing, that's what. You'll still be you, and she'll still be the woman who turned her back on our mother. What on earth would you want to say to her?"
Julia stopped typing to look at her sister. "I don't know what I'd say to her. But she's not just my grandmother, Liz. She's yours, too."
Liz appeared taken aback, as if that thought had never occurred to her. "I-I guess you're right," she said slowly. "I think of Nonna as my grandma."
"Well, you may have another grandmother. Aren't you at all curious about Mom's background?"
A moment passed before Liz shook her head. "No, I'm not curious. I don't need another grandmother. We have a huge family, Julia, with more occasions and dinners and lunches than I even want to attend. I don't feel like I'm missing anything, and I don't understand why you do." She put