Free The Search Angel by Tish Cohen Page B

pants, and her sister’s socks, she could very well have been hiding post-pregnancy baby weight. Eleanor was born in ‘75, but still. Diane is a busy woman. She mightn’t have had time to hit the gym.
    It explained everything. The crooked nose her adoptive mother called charming. Pale skin that refused to even freckle. A tendency to overdress.
Très
Diane, she convinced herself. From Woody, her diminutive frame maybe? Her poor eyesight? Definitely insecurity.
    She made it a point to look up every movie they made together. There was
Play It Again Sam
filmed in ‘72,
Sleeper
in ‘73,
Love and Death
in ‘75, and then
Annie Hall
. The way Eleanor sees it, she was conceived during the pre-production phase of
Love and Death
.
    It had to be. Especially when you consider Diane went on to adopt her daughter in ‘96, her son in 2001. She must have felt at least some guilt for giving up Eleanor …
    Nancy is right. She’s in trouble.

Chapter 11
    T he next afternoon, a heavily pregnant woman with muted red-gray hair walks in with two much older women, one obviously a relative with the same reddish hair, barely-there cheekbones, tiny ears, and inward tilt to her knees. The other one more solidly built, mocha-skinned with short hair grayed to white. They head straight for the furniture displays.
    It is clear, beyond the facial similarities, which one is the pregnant woman’s mother. What surprises Eleanor is the pregnant woman’s ease with the other woman, the one with the darker skin. It goes beyond mother-in-law, has none of that polite deference. The way she slips her arm through this woman’s. She’s close with this one. Closer than with her look-alike.
    They prowl the cribs. Running their hands over side rails. Leaning inside and pushing down on mattresses, everything but climbing inside and curling up for a trial nap.
    The apparent grandmother lowers the rail on the white lacquered Dearest One crib, the highest-priced crib in the store. When the rail doesn’t lower right away—this crib has a tiny lever on either side of the frame—the mother-to-beturns away. “Forget it. I read an article about that. Stubborn crib sides. It said they contribute to accidents because the parents delay lowering the mattress as baby grows. Too damned hard to lean over.”
    “I never lowered the rails once,” says the white-haired one. “All three kids, I just leaned in and picked them up. Who needs an extra step?”
    Eleanor walks over. “This one is funny. The levers aren’t where you’d expect.” She shows them the shiny chrome levers and lowers the side with ease. It’s a good crib. The same one she has upstairs for Sylvie. Solid hardwood and a nice sleek design. “Costs a bit more up front but it converts into a day-bed for later. You really get your money’s worth.”
    “Is there any discount on it?” The pregnant woman has a hand on her belly. “It’s gorgeous but, you know, having a baby is so pricey.”
    “I’m afraid not. I’m selling it below suggested retail as it is.”
    She sighs. Moves toward another crib but doesn’t seem happy with what she sees. Pretty Baby’s most popular model with its recognizable name and appealing price tag. She moves the rail up and down. “This one works better. Plus I like the dark wood.” She turns to the white-haired woman. “Try it, Mom.”
    “I like the glide, sweetie. It’s nice and smooth. But don’t you think the wood makes it too boyish? You could be having a girl, don’t forget.”
    The pregnant one looks up. “I love it but it’s way too much. What do you think, Belle?”
    Belle, hugging her purse to her belly, waves away her own opinion. “Oh, it seems pretty enough. It’s just the price.”
    The pregnant woman is adopted. Eleanor is nearly certain.
    “This crib is antique pine. Still solid wood but not nearly as bossy as the dark one. And half the price.” More than any other customer she’s had, Eleanor wants this mother-to-be to make the best choice.