Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [20]
Carol Braverman is waiting for a miracle, her son Timothy to come home. Timothy, who would now be two-and-a-half years old, was kidnapped during a carjacking and is still missing.
“I know I’ll see my son again,” she told this reporter. “I just feel it inside.”
It sounded like what Susan Sulaman had said. Ellen read on, and another paragraph caught her eye.
Asked to describe Timothy in one word, Carol’s eyes misted over, then she said that her son was “strong.” “He could get through anything, even as a baby. He was smaller than most one-year-olds, but he never acted it. At his first birthday party, all of the other babies were bigger, but nobody got the best of him.”
She printed the interview, then went back to the Google search and read the line of links, scanning each piece on the Braverman kidnapping. There was a lot of press, and she contrasted it with Susan Sulaman, who had to go begging to keep the police interested. She learned from the articles that Timothy’s father, Bill Braverman, was an investment manager, and his mother had been a teacher until her marriage, when she stopped to devote herself to being a mother and doing good works, including fund-raising for the American Heart Association.
The Heart Association?
Ellen saved the articles, logged on to Google Images, searched under Carol and Bill Braverman, then clicked the first link. A picture appeared on the screen, showing three couples in elegant formal wear, and her eye went immediately to the woman in the middle of the photo.
My God.
Ellen checked the caption. The woman was Carol Braverman. Carol looked so much like Will, she could easily have been his mother. The photo was dark and the focus imperfect, but Carol had blue eyes the shape and color of Will’s. Her hair was wavy and dark blond, almost his color, and she wore it long, curling to her tanned shoulders in a slinky black dress. Ellen scanned Bill Braverman’s face, and he was conventionally handsome, with brown eyes and a nose that was straight and on the small side, a lot like Will’s. His smile was broad, easy, and confident, the grin of a successful man.
Her stomach clenched. She closed the photo, went back to Google, and clicked the second link, which retrieved another group picture in shorts and T-shirts at a poolside party. The photo was dark, too, taken at night, but Carol’s hair had been cut around her ears in a boyish style that made her look even more like Will. And Bill’s body looked lean but cut, with muscular arms and legs that showed the same wiry build that Will had.
“This is crazy,” Ellen said aloud. She shoved the computer mouse away, got up from her chair, and went to the first file cabinet. She slid open the top drawer, moved the green Pendaflex files aside, skipping folders hand-labeled Bank Statements, Car Payments, Deed, until she found the Will file. She slid the file out, took it back to her chair, and opened it on her lap.
On top were folded clippings of the series she’d done on the CICU nurses, then the one she did on adopting Will. She leafed through them, pausing at an early photo of Will in his crib. The paper had run it on the first page, and Will looked nothing like himself then, so thin and sick. She moved it aside, shooing away the memories. Finally she found Will’s adoption papers and slid out the packet.
At the top of the final adoption decree, it read, “The Court of Common Pleas of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, Orphans’ Court Division,” and the order was in bold: “The Court hereby orders and decrees that the request for adoption is hereby approved and that the above-captioned adoptee is hereby adopted by Ellen Gleeson.”
She felt satisfied, in an official sort of way. Will’s adoption was all sewn up, legal, certified, and irrevocable.