CHAPTER 26 - Cedar Creek, Nevada Saturday, July 27, 2024

CHAPTER 26

Cedar Creek, Nevada Saturday, July 27, 2024

SLOAN MADE IT DOWN FROM THE FOOTHILLS, WHERE SHE HAD SPENT the morning combing through the files Eric had obtained on his father’s death, the hit-and-run accident that killed Baker Jauncey, and the disappearance of baby Charlotte and her birth parents. She was due to meet Nora at her studio at one o’clock, and had thirty minutes to freshen up. She pulled across the Louis-Bullat Bridge, found her quiet cul-de-sac, and parked in the driveway. The autopsy reports for Baker Jauncey and Sandy Stamos were on the passenger seat. She grabbed them and hurried inside.

She popped open a Diet Dr. Pepper, pulled out her phone, and sent a text message.

Hi Dr. Cutty,

Would you have time to review a couple of autopsy reports for me? They have to do with my research into forensic genealogy. Let me know. Thanks!

Sloan took ten minutes to run a brush through her hair and touch up her makeup. As she applied a fresh coat of lipstick she noticed the tremor in her hand. She had no idea what was waiting for her at Nora’s studio in Reid and Tilly Margolis, but she’d travelled all the way across the country to find out. She finished her Dr. Pepper on her way into town, found Nora Margolis Photography on the corner, and parked.

A quick glance into the rearview mirror was meant to settle her nerves. She’d spent twenty-nine years as Sloan Hastings, never once thinking of herself any other way. Yet now, in just the last couple of weeks, her identity had morphed. She’d become a part—small or large, she wasn’t sure—of another family. Acceptance was not what she was after. She was looking for answers. But some part of her understood that to the grandparents she was about to meet, Sloan was something more than a stranger. They had once known her, if for just a short moment in time, as Charlotte Margolis. They had held her and fed her, and then that child was gone. Now, nearly three decades later, she was returning as someone else. For as nervous as Sloan felt, she could only imagine what Tilly and Reid Margolis were going through. She decided answers could wait. This afternoon she’d simply be present.

She finally stood from her car and walked to the front of Nora’s studio. As soon as she opened the door, a crowd of people yelled “Surprise!”

Sloan froze in the doorway. In front of her were fifty strangers, all smiling and cheering. Nora emerged from the crowd and embraced Sloan in a hug.

“Not my idea,” Nora whispered into her ear. “But Tilly and Reid were just too excited. They invited the whole family. I’ve got a bottle of rosé chilling for after this is over.”

“God bless you. Stay close.”

“I won’t leave your side.”

Nora disengaged from her hug and took Sloan’s hand as the room quieted. Sloan felt every set of eyes fall onto her.

“Everyone,” Nora said loud enough to be heard over the whispers that filled the studio. “This is Sloan. Sloan, this is the Margolis family.”

“Your family,” a woman yelled from the back of the studio.

“Hear, hear!” a man yelled, and the family cheered again.

That same man walked from the crowd with a woman by his side. Sloan knew without introduction that she was looking at Reid and Tilly Margolis. She was not sure what she had expected her biological grandparents to look like, but the couple in front of her was not it. Sloan had done the math and knew Reid and Tilly were in their eighties, but money, privilege, and what appeared to be a hell of a lot of Botox, kept them looking younger. Reid Margolis wore a crisp, white button-down under a navy sport coat. Tall with broad shoulders, his hair was snow white and contrasted against his tanned skin. Khaki pants and docksiders gave the appearance of a man who had just stepped off a yacht in the Caribbean.

Tilly was slighter in stature and sweeter in presence. Less intimidating, for certain. Tall and thin, she, too, sported a head of white hair perfectly styled in a pixie cut. Her lips were plumped by filler and her face tight but softening from a long-ago lift. Despite the surgical augmentations, there was something sincere about the woman’s presence. Unlike her husband’s smile, which was plastic-banana fake and the same one he’d likely plastered across his face during countless business deals over the years, Tilly’s was kind and genuine.

Tilly approached and, without hesitation, lifted a hand to Sloan’s cheek.

“My sweet Charlotte,” Tilly managed before her eyes filled with tears.

Caught off guard by both the outpouring of emotion, and from being called Charlotte, Sloan took Tilly’s hand, feeling the soft redundancy of skin that betrayed the woman’s true age, and hugged her.

“Don’t cry,” Sloan said. “Because I’ll cry if you cry.”

The embrace lasted a full minute as the family applauded the reunion. Tilly finally relinquished her grip and looked from Sloan to her husband.

“Her eyes, Reid. I see him in her eyes.”

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Nora said. “That’s the first thing I noticed. You have Preston’s eyes.”

“And Annabelle’s smile,” Reid said. “It’s beautiful.”

Sloan shrugged. “I’ve only seen pictures from the tabloids.”

“We’re going to fix that,” Nora said. “My husband dug Annabelle’s photos out of the attic. I’ll show them to you. They’re much better than the stock photos the media used.”

“I’d love that.”

“I suppose introductions are not necessary. But Sloan, this is Tilly and Reid Margolis.”

“Hi,” Sloan said.

“I just can’t believe it,” Tilly said, still staring into the eyes Sloan knew reminded her of her son.

“I’d love to tell you everything,” Sloan said. “How I found you and how Nora helped and, well, you know, the whole story.”

“We’d love that,” Reid said. “We’re so very curious, as you can imagine.”

There was an awkward pause as Sloan looked at Tilly and Reid. Behind them she sensed the rest of the family staring.

“Okay,” Nora said to the room. “Let’s not gawk at the poor woman like she’s on display at a museum. I’ll introduce Sloan to each of you. Remember, you all know each other and for the last few days you’ve all known about Sloan. Sloan, however, knows no one. So let’s not make this more overwhelming for her than it already is.”

For the first time, Sloan noticed the nametags—sticky white squares scrawled with blue Sharpie ink and attached to everyone’s chest.

“Let me bring Sloan around to everyone,” Nora said to Tilly and Reid. “Then we’ll circle back so you all can chat.”

Tilly reached out again and placed her hand on Sloan’s cheek.

“She’s not going anywhere, Tilly.”

Sloan smiled and allowed Nora to whisk her away. For a hectic two hours she met the Margolis family—aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins. Each of them playing some role in the family empire, whether it be the real estate holdings, the timber company, or the law firm aptly titled Margolis Margolis. Sloan heard, as the parade of people came to speak with her, every family member’s memory of Preston and Annabelle—from short quips to long stories. About Sloan, too, as an infant, and what they recalled about her short two months in Cedar Creek before the family up and vanished.

Food had been catered, and they ate lunch at tables that had been erected around Nora’s studio as if they were all at a baby shower. By three o’clock the crowd began to thin. By four o’clock the studio was empty but for Sloan and Nora sitting with Reid and Tilly.

Sloan retold the story of the last month of her life, from first submitting her DNA to the online website, to discovering she was Charlotte Margolis, to learning that her birth parents were still missing, to the FBI questioning her adoptive parents, and finally to Nora reaching out and inviting her to Cedar Creek. Left unmentioned was the part about Eric Stamos tracking her down in Raleigh and convincing her that wriggling into the Margolis family was the only way for Sloan to figure out what happened to her and her birth parents nearly thirty years ago.

Tilly asked a hundred questions. Reid listened but added little to the conversation. Instead, he sat back and observed, guiding Tilly’s inquiries every now and then as if he were her attorney at a deposition, present only to make sure she didn’t say the wrong thing. The man’s unrelenting stare set Sloan on edge, and only when Nora’s husband arrived did Reid Margolis loosen up.

“Finally,” Nora said when her husband walked into the studio.

“The boy will be late to his own funeral,” Reid said.

Ellis Margolis walked into the studio pulling a dolly on which several cardboard cartons were stacked.

“Sorry I’m so late. I got caught at the office, and then Nora asked me to dig through our attic for these old photos.”

Sloan stood up and Nora immediately took her hand. “Honey, this is Sloan. Sloan, this is my husband, Ellis.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sloan said.

Ellis, like nearly every other Margolis Sloan had met that day, looked at her with a quizzical expression. He put a hand to his mouth and fought back his emotions.

“Damn.” Ellis offered an awkward smile. “You look like Preston.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Sloan just made it through two hours of folks gawking at her,” Nora said. “Are you going to do the same?”

Ellis laughed. “Sorry. I’m sure it was overwhelming.”

“No, it was . . . special. I can’t remember everyone’s name, but I was touched they all came to meet me.”

“You know, I’ve given Nora a hard time about the genealogy stuff over the years. How many great-great-great uncles and their farmland do I need to hear about? But I guess the joke was on me, because she’s the one who made this possible.”

Sloan smiled at Nora. “She did, indeed.”

Nora pointed to the boxes stacked on the dolly. “You found them?”

Ellis shrugged. “I think. I didn’t go through every box, but the couple I looked at had the pictures.”

Nora turned to Sloan. “Annabelle’s pictures.”

“Here,” Ellis said. “Look at these.”

He opened the lid from the top box and pulled out an envelope filled with photos.

“This first box has a bunch of Preston. Look.”

Ellis pulled out a photo and handed it to Sloan.

“Look at my brother’s eyes.”

Sloan took the photo. She saw it now as she looked at Preston Margolis. Her birth father’s eyes were haunting as they stared back from the photo, as if Sloan’s eyes had been Photoshopped into the image. They spent an hour perusing through the first box and passing photos back and forth, reminiscing about the images they found. Sloan listened to stories about Preston and Annabelle.

Finally, Ellis looked at his watch. “It’s just past six. Why don’t we go for a sail? It’s a gorgeous evening.”

“Yeah,” Nora said, collecting the photos and returning them to the box. “I think Sloan needs a break.” She looked at Sloan. “Are you up for a little cruise on our boat? We can look through the rest of Annabelle’s photos tomorrow.”

“We’ll show you the town from the creek,” Tilly said. “It’s the best way to see it, and Ellis is a wonderful tour guide.”

“I’ll bring that bottle of rosé,” Nora said.

Sloan smiled. “I’d love that.”