Chapter 22: The Result

The envelope from the lab came at four minutes to five, and Rhett would not open it in the car.

"In the room," he said. "In front of her. I want her to hear it the same time I do."

The sunroom at the Sanborn house was set for a meeting.

Folding chairs stood in a half circle on the stone floor, and a pitcher of ice water sweated on the side table.

The board chair sat in her dark green suit with the silver-haired man at her elbow.

Three more board members sat behind them with their coats on their knees.

The family lawyer stood by the window with his folder.

Adelaide sat in the big cane chair at the head of the room, in her pale blue suit with the silk scarf.

She looked as composed as the day she pinned my veil.

Silvan stayed at the door with his arms folded, and I took the chair across from her.

Rhett walked into the middle of the circle with the envelope.

"Mother asked that the results be read aloud," he said. "So I'm going to read them."

He tore the flap, and he took out one page, and his hands were not steady.

"Alleged mother, Rochelle Copley. Child, Poppy Sanborn."

The silver-haired man leaned forward.

"The probability of maternity," Rhett read, "is ninety-nine point nine nine percent."

Nobody spoke.

I heard a clock somewhere, and ice shifting in the pitcher.

"Conclusion," Rhett said, and his voice broke. "The alleged mother is not excluded. She is the biological mother of the child."

I put my hand over my mouth.

I had known it for a week.

It did not matter that I had known.

Silvan had come across the stone floor without a sound, and he put one hand flat between my shoulder blades and held it there.

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