it.
He shrugged. “Get on with other things, Wallis. Choose the life you want. Don’t lose yourself in this search.”
Wally just smiled, a little sadly, understanding on some level that Lewis’s advice was wise and halfway regretting that she would not be able to follow it.
She shook Lewis’s hand and left the office, heading back down the stairs and onto Lexington Avenue. Wally was about to turn the corner on 92nd Street when she glanced back at the building she had just left. In a window upstairs stood Lewis Jordan, teacup still in hand, watching her go. They exchanged small waves, and then Wally turned away, headed for her bus stop.
Late that night , Wally was awakened by the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the floor of the walkway, high above the bank. She stirred and checked the phone’s display. It read unknown caller .
“Hello?”
“Did you know, Ursula is the patron saint of orphans?” It was Lewis Jordan.
“I didn’t know,” Wally answered.
“I believe she is watching over you.”
Join the club, thought Wally.
“That’s great, Lewis,” she said. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“I shouldn’t be sharing information with you, Wally, but it occurs to me that I’ve been following the rules of this process for fifty years and I am no closer to finding my son. I’m still alone.”
“I really am sorry for that, Lewis.” Wally could hear the frustration and sadness in Lewis’s voice, and sensed that he was struggling with a difficult choice. She remained quiet, hoping he would decide in her favor.
“The Benjamin Hatch you’re looking for died three years ago in a traffic accident,” said Lewis.
Wally’s heart sank. Her best lead for finding Yalena was lost.
“He was survived by two sons from an early marriage,” Lewis continued. “Robert and Andrew. Their mother died from ovarian cancer when they were very young. The sons live together in their family home now. It’s not far away. I tried to reach them, but they did not return my calls, so …” Lewis coughed. “By the society’s rules, I should not have told you any of this.”
“Thank you so much, Lewis,” Wally said, grateful to him and feeling a rush of excitement that she would have a good lead to follow the next day. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Wally found a pen and paper in her shoulder bag and Lewis dictated the street address and phone number of the Hatch home, located in a place called Shelter Island.
NINE
Wally tried the number —with her cell set on speaker phone so the others could listen in—and it rang six times before the line picked up.
“Yes?” came a man’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello. Is this the Hatch home? I’m trying to reach either Andrew or Robert Hatch.”
“This is Andrew.” The voice was impatient.
“Mr. Hatch, my name is Wallis Stoneman. I’m the daughter of a woman named Yalena Mayakova. Does that name mean anything to you?”
After a brief pause, he answered simply, “No.”
“Are you sure? She’s from Russia. I’m fairly sure she had some connection with your father, maybe during the time he was doing business over there?”
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“He’s gone.”
“Your father? Yes, I know … I’m very sorry for your loss,” Wally stammered, feeling a twinge of panic as she sensed that Andrew Hatch was ready to hang up on her. “It’s just that I’m trying to locate Yalena, and I was hoping you might have heard your father mention her—”
“We don’t know anything about Russia. We have no connection with his business, or any of the Emerson people.”
“I understand, but if there’s anything—”
“I have nothing for you,” the man said, and hung up.
Wally and the others were quiet for a moment.
“That is a guy,” said Jake, “who knows an ass-load more than he was ready to talk about.”
“No shit,” said Ella. “And what’s this Emerson thing? He
He shrugged. “Get on with other things, Wallis. Choose the life you want. Don’t lose yourself in this search.”
Wally just smiled, a little sadly, understanding on some level that Lewis’s advice was wise and halfway regretting that she would not be able to follow it.
She shook Lewis’s hand and left the office, heading back down the stairs and onto Lexington Avenue. Wally was about to turn the corner on 92nd Street when she glanced back at the building she had just left. In a window upstairs stood Lewis Jordan, teacup still in hand, watching her go. They exchanged small waves, and then Wally turned away, headed for her bus stop.
Late that night , Wally was awakened by the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the floor of the walkway, high above the bank. She stirred and checked the phone’s display. It read unknown caller .
“Hello?”
“Did you know, Ursula is the patron saint of orphans?” It was Lewis Jordan.
“I didn’t know,” Wally answered.
“I believe she is watching over you.”
Join the club, thought Wally.
“That’s great, Lewis,” she said. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“I shouldn’t be sharing information with you, Wally, but it occurs to me that I’ve been following the rules of this process for fifty years and I am no closer to finding my son. I’m still alone.”
“I really am sorry for that, Lewis.” Wally could hear the frustration and sadness in Lewis’s voice, and sensed that he was struggling with a difficult choice. She remained quiet, hoping he would decide in her favor.
“The Benjamin Hatch you’re looking for died three years ago in a traffic accident,” said Lewis.
Wally’s heart sank. Her best lead for finding Yalena was lost.
“He was survived by two sons from an early marriage,” Lewis continued. “Robert and Andrew. Their mother died from ovarian cancer when they were very young. The sons live together in their family home now. It’s not far away. I tried to reach them, but they did not return my calls, so …” Lewis coughed. “By the society’s rules, I should not have told you any of this.”
“Thank you so much, Lewis,” Wally said, grateful to him and feeling a rush of excitement that she would have a good lead to follow the next day. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Wally found a pen and paper in her shoulder bag and Lewis dictated the street address and phone number of the Hatch home, located in a place called Shelter Island.
NINE
Wally tried the number —with her cell set on speaker phone so the others could listen in—and it rang six times before the line picked up.
“Yes?” came a man’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello. Is this the Hatch home? I’m trying to reach either Andrew or Robert Hatch.”
“This is Andrew.” The voice was impatient.
“Mr. Hatch, my name is Wallis Stoneman. I’m the daughter of a woman named Yalena Mayakova. Does that name mean anything to you?”
After a brief pause, he answered simply, “No.”
“Are you sure? She’s from Russia. I’m fairly sure she had some connection with your father, maybe during the time he was doing business over there?”
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“He’s gone.”
“Your father? Yes, I know … I’m very sorry for your loss,” Wally stammered, feeling a twinge of panic as she sensed that Andrew Hatch was ready to hang up on her. “It’s just that I’m trying to locate Yalena, and I was hoping you might have heard your father mention her—”
“We don’t know anything about Russia. We have no connection with his business, or any of the Emerson people.”
“I understand, but if there’s anything—”
“I have nothing for you,” the man said, and hung up.
Wally and the others were quiet for a moment.
“That is a guy,” said Jake, “who knows an ass-load more than he was ready to talk about.”
“No shit,” said Ella. “And what’s this Emerson thing? He
Similar Books
