Free Somebody Else's Daughter by Elizabeth Brundage

“confrontational.”
    â€œShe’s adopted, you know,” Greer confided, and the phrase seemed to hover in a cloud of ambiguity. “Not that that has anything to do with it. We have lots of adopted kids at Pioneer—truthfully, it’s how we maintain our diversity.”
    â€œWilla Golding’s a fine girl,” Jack said definitively, closing the subject.
    â€œYes, she is,” Greer said. “No argument there.”
    Soaking wet, the girls ambled up the incline in their awkward, teenaged way, and said hello to the adults. Nate’s heart began to pound. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back. He stood there, waiting to be introduced, his hands clammy. She was taller than her mother had been, and lean. He recognized Ada as one of Larkin’s piano students. Heath stood up and made the introduction. “Girls, this is Mr. Gallagher. He’s to be your writing instructor.”
    â€œHow’s that novel coming?” Ada asked in melodious flirtation. She had the same face as her mother, sprinkled with freckles.
    â€œDo you two know each other?” Greer frowned.
    Nate explained the Larkin connection, relieved to have an explanation for the idiotic grin on his face.
    â€œYou’re writing a novel?” Greer said.
    â€œHe’s trying to write one,” Ada answered importantly.
    â€œWell, good for you,” Greer said. “Nate, this is Willa Golding.”
    â€œHello,” Willa said, and reached out to shake his hand. Her hand was cool, her fingers long and tapered. He instantly remembered her grip as a baby, the way she wouldn’t let go.
    â€œHello, Willa.” Their eyes met and she grinned and for a crazy moment the world stopped.
    Maggie’s voice shattered the moment. “Go get out of those wet clothes, girls.” She ushered the girls into the house. “I’ll get dinner started. Look at that, it’s already getting dark. I hate that, don’t you? All of a sudden it’s fall and I was just getting the hang of summer.”
    â€œLet’s have a toast,” Jack said, holding up his glass. “Here’s to you, Gallagher. Welcome to Pioneer.”
    â€œHear, hear,” Greer said, and they lifted their glasses and drank.
    Maggie served trout with roasted potatoes and salad and corn bread. The food was delicious, but Nate could hardly taste it. The girls sat off to themselves on lawn chairs, holding their plates on their laps. Everything about Willa spoke of Catherine. The way she moved, her voice, her mannerisms—if only Cat could see her, he thought. How incredible just to be near her. It was as though he’d been revived from a very long sleep. The world seemed brighter, astoundingly vivid. He was awake! Her presence dazzled his senses, the long hair, the bones of her face, the white teeth. She was, in all her full-grown femaleness, magnificent—and she had come from him— she was his flesh and blood!
    The girls excused themselves and went inside. It was dark now, and a layer of mist covered the surface of the lake. Maggie brought out scones that had been baked by the school’s chef, who’d trained at the Sorbonne. “All the interesting people retire to the Berkshires,” Maggie said. “We’re so lucky to have him. Of course everything’s organic.”
    â€œOrganic,” Greer said wryly. “That’s an operative word here at Pioneer, Gallagher. Consider it a metaphor for our clientele.”
    â€œThe Patagucci set,” Maggie said. “You know the clothes? It’s the uniform of choice, a kind of subliminal dress code. Of course we’re all slaves to it.”
    â€œAh, the salubrious allure of the Berkshires,” Greer said like a travel agent. “Don’t panic, it’s organic.”
    They all laughed.
    â€œWhat’s underneath is all the same,” Jack tried to explain. “We’ve got our share of doctors and