Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

next.” Yet she was yearning to research Ian and Bonnie O’Reilly further.

“What about death certificates?” Genevieve suggested. “When I was looking into this same sort of thing a year ago, it was actually a death certificate that revealed far more than birth certificates ever did.”

“Oh?”

“Unlike birth certificates, death certificates are a matter of public record. They’re available to all.”

Leah’s hope rose. “How would I go about accessing a death certificate?”

“You can go to the vital records office in the county of death, or you can request a record online for a fee. I can’t remember off the top of my head the name of the website that allows you to request death records. But if you Google death certificates in Georgia, you should be able to find it.”

“I appreciate the help.”

“Sure! My sister and I also looked up old newspaper articles and old yearbook photos. I’m not sure if either of those pertain to your search, but they’re worth keeping in mind.”

Leah thanked her and, after a few minutes of chitchat during which Genevieve talked about how much she adored Ben, they disconnected.

She propped her laptop between the steering wheel and her abdomen, and located one of the record search sites Genevieve had alluded to. VitalCertificates.com.

It could be that Bonnie had died, and Leah simply hadn’t succeeded at locating her obituary online. In fact, if Bonnie had died back when Leah was young, it wasn’t surprising that Leah hadn’t been able to find her obit on the Internet. The Internet had been in its infancy then. Even after the Internet became more widespread, it may have taken many years for online obituaries to become prevalent.

The website asked her to provide much more information on Bonnie than Leah had to give. Red error messages kept popping up, asking her to fill in more fields. She typed unknown into several of the fields, then submitted the request. Perhaps VitalCertificate’s search engines would be able to piece together a result from very little.

She had more information on Ian, thanks to the details included in the intellectual property suit. Thus, even though he’d only be in his late fifties now, she completed a second records request for him.

Your request is processing, the site informed her.

Seven days ago Sebastian had gone to church with Leah. Today he was attending a worship service again, sitting alone on a folding chair at the back of a small auditorium.

Then, the church had been formal. Now a smaller, more casual congregation surrounded him.

Then, between holding Leah’s hand, breathing in the scent of her body wash, and studying the appearance of the Brooksides, he’d paid almost zero attention to the service. Now he was paying close attention to the pastor.

Then, he’d felt as content as he’d ever felt. Now he was as far from content as it was possible to feel.

He went to church with the Colemans from time to time in Misty River. But he usually spent his Atlanta Sundays reading medical journals, exercising, running errands, or checking on his patients.

He’d come here today because of his itching, scratching discontent. Obviously, he couldn’t go on like this. He was sick of the slideshow of scenes—from the ruined building in El Salvador and his foster care years—that kept running through his mind.

He’d hoped for a sermon on a topic like God’s grace or love. Instead, the sermon centered on identity. It was as if the pastor, who was wearing a blazer with jeans, had written it just for him.

It wasn’t comforting him. It was confronting him.

He’d wanted to slip in and slip out without talking to anyone. But Ellie, the nurse at work who’d told him about this place, had spotted him almost as soon as he’d arrived, and rushed over. She and her friend had taken chairs to his right. Ellie had been shooting glances at him the whole service, which was annoying him almost as much as the sermon.

Ellie had made it clear to everyone they worked with that she was into him. She was a stunning girl—lots of shiny dark brown hair. Green eyes. But she was much too young and much too enthusiastic for him. She made him feel twenty years older than he was, and nothing about her personality or body or bright lipstick attracted him.

Ellie wasn’t a math genius. Ellie wasn’t too independent for her own good. She didn’t make his five senses light up like a pinball machine.

The woman who did make his senses light up still hadn’t called him.

If Leah cared about him, she would have called him by now. Right?

Sebastian had been certain that she cared about him, but maybe that had been wishful thinking. At times his ideas and opinions on a subject were so strong that he could project those onto other people.

It could be he was the guy that girls like Ellie had crushes on and that women who hit on him in bars wanted to sleep with. But he was not the guy that women like Leah cared about.

If so, how much of that was his fault? How much of that could be chalked up to the fact that he hadn’t let anyone care?

He’d made an error with Leah.

“My affection can’t be bought,” she’d said to him. It had been clear the day he’d given her the necklace that accepting presents didn’t come naturally to her, yet the gifts he’d purchased had served their purpose. They’d convinced her to go out with him.

He should have stopped there, while he was ahead, because he’d clearly crossed an invisible line when he’d made that phone call on Dylan’s behalf. In doing so, he’d insulted her.

If he wanted her back, which he did, it looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

What would work with her? How could he win her over in ways that went beyond wrapped packages and expensive dinners?

Long ago, she’d told him she appreciated it when people spoke to her directly. He was a blunt person. Even so, the thought