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Nora’s words carried an aura of pride.
“Yes. A pathologist.”
“I think that’s a first. This family runs thick with lawyers and politicians, but you’re the first doctor the family has produced.”
Sloan had trouble getting her mind around the idea that Nora Margolis considered her part of the family. Nora asked questions about Sloan’s life for an hour—about her childhood, her adoptive parents, medical school, and residency. There was something gentle and pleasing about Nora Margolis and her manner. She possessed a charisma that made Sloan feel like she’d known her much longer than an hour.
“Tell me about your interest in genealogy,” Sloan said. “Since that’s how this whole thing started.”
“It’s been a hobby of mine for years. It started when my son needed to create a family tree for one of his high school courses. I became so fascinated with the science and history of genealogy that I just kept going even after the project was turned in. I traced my own heritage back to Wales, several generations. The process was captivating. Then I thought it would be fun to surprise my husband by creating a family tree for his side—the Margolis side. I’m so far down a rabbit hole I’ll never stop. For goodness sakes, look at what’s happened from it.”
“So let me see if I have my research straight,” Sloan said. “Your maiden name is Davies, and you married into the Margolis family?”
“That’s right. My husband is Ellis Margolis—Preston’s brother. Here, I’ll show you.”
Nora pulled her laptop over and fired up the genealogy site. Over another glass of wine, Sloan listened to Nora Margolis explain her heritage. The woman was clearly a genealogy buff, and her quest to find the origins of her ancestry was something more than a hobby.
Nora pointed at the family tree displayed on the monitor.
“I married Ellis Margolis who, along with Preston—your biological father—were the only two descendants of Reid and Tilly Margolis. Ellis and I have two children, no grandchildren yet. Preston married Annabelle Akers and had one child . . . you obviously know that part. So my kids are at the bottom of the Margolis family tree, but I’ve traced our ancestors back over a hundred years. And I’m still going.”
For thirty minutes Sloan listened to Nora dissect the Margolis family tree. Finally, somewhere in the seventeenth century, she stopped.
“Sorry, I’m probably boring you to death with all this.”
“Not at all. It’s part of why I came all the way to Cedar Creek. I wanted to see how a simple genealogy site brought us together after so many years.”
“It really is amazing. But . . .” Nora said before she hesitated. “I suppose the genealogy can explain how we found you after so many years, but it will never be able to tell us what happened to you and your parents all those years ago. I have to admit that part of the reason I reached out to you was selfish. I’m hoping your story can help shine light on what happened to Preston and Annabelle.”
Sloan smiled. “That’s the thing, Nora. I don’t know what happened to me. Until a couple of weeks ago, I thought I had a pretty normal childhood. I knew I was adopted, but that just became my normal existence. It was part of my identity. My parents loved me, and I loved them. They provided a great childhood for me. That’s all I knew. But after what I’ve discovered, I’m hoping to learn about my birth parents and what happened to them. I’m hoping you can help me, probably as much as you’re hoping I can help you.”
“It’s been a mystery for thirty years—what happened to you and your folks. Unfortunately, I don’t know any more than you probably do.”
“That can’t be true. You knew my birth parents, so that alone gives you a leg up on me. Can we start there? Can you tell me about my birth parents?”
“Sure,” Nora said. “Your mother was a dear friend of mine. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Your mother.
Sloan’s mind flashed to her mom, who was recovering in Raleigh from a week of interrogation by the FBI. It was hard to find room in her mind for another parent figure, but somehow Annabelle Margolis had taken root somewhere in her thoughts, morphing from a stranger Sloan had first seen on a tabloid cover to something else. What, exactly, Annabelle represented was unclear. But the woman was a stranger no more.
“You were the light of her life during that summer,” Nora said. “Annabelle loved being a new mom, and she was absolutely smitten with you.”
Sloan attempted to swallow but her esophagus constricted. She took a deep breath to collect her emotions, barely containing the tears that welled at the bottoms of her lids.
“You and my birth mom were close?”
“Ours was a short friendship, but a strong one. We only knew each other for about a year, but we became kindred spirits during that time. Mostly, I think, because we were both outsiders as far as the Margolis family was concerned. I mean, by the time Annabelle came into the scene I had established myself enough that I was accepted. Annabelle was a different story.”
“The family didn’t accept her?”
“Oh, Christ no. And I knew exactly what she was going through because I’d once been there myself when I first started dating Ellis. So Annabelle and I became close. I was the person she could lean on when things got heated in the family.”
“When you say the family didn’t accept her, who are you talking about?”
“Reid and Tilly.”
“Why didn’t they accept Annabelle?”
