“Hey, Talia. Did you find Ursula?”
“I did.” Her gaze shifts curiously to the stranger. “Table for two?”
“Yes please. Thanks.”
“Of course. Sit anywhere you like.”
The man leads us toward a booth near the back, then slides into the side that places his back near a wall. It’s a move I only recognize from the time I’ve been out with the Hunts. None of them wants his back to a door.
Prior military, perhaps?
I sit across from him. “Your name?” I press again.
“Mattheus Karver,” he replies with a smile.
“Karver, I don’t recognize that name. Are you from around here?”
He chuckles. “No. Regrettably, I grew up on the other side of the country.”
“What can I get you two?” Talia asks as she sets two wrapped silverware sets in front of us.
“Uh, just chai tea for me, please,” I ask.
“Sweet tea,” Mattheus says. “Thanks so much.”
“You got it.” Talia leaves the table.
“So you know me but didn’t grow up around here. I’m a bit confused.”
He smiles and runs a hand through his dark hair. “It’s actually a long story.”
“I have time.” Not really, but I’m here.
“Happy birthday, by the way. I was so shocked to see you standing there that I completely forgot to say it.”
“Thanks. But you were shocked to see me standing in the place where you came to find me? Since I haven’t ever seen you at church before, and you’re not from here, I’m assuming you were there because of me.” I realize after I say it just how presumptuous it sounds, and my cheeks heat.
“I was. Um— I did not think this through.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a folded-up photograph, then slides it across the table at me.
Lifting it, I stare down at the old photo of a blonde woman wearing a hospital gown and cradling a baby in her arms. “Who is this?”
“Your mother,” he replies. “Birth mother, that is.”
The blood drains from my face, and my stomach turns into a pit. “Excuse me?”
“Here you go.” Talia sets my mug of tea down, alongside his sweet tea. “Aww, who is that?” she asks as she looks at the photograph.
“My birth mother,” I whisper.
“What?” Talia asks, surprised. “Seriously?”
Mattheus clears his throat. “Yes. Her name is?—”
“Wait.” I put my hand up. I made up my mind a long time ago that I didn’t want to know the name of the woman who decided—before she ever really knew me—that she didn’t want to keep me. As far as I’m concerned, Patricia and Emmit Franklin are my parents.
Mattheus reaches out and gently touches the hand that I have resting on the table. “I know you probably have a lot of questions, and I can answer all of them. Well, most of them.” He smiles at me, then glances up at Talia, who rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly.
“You know where I am if you need me,” she says.
