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Why hadn’t Gracie thought of this before? If she had no idea who she really was, and Mark was the boy in her memory, could he…theoretically…possibly…be related to her? Brother? Cousin?
As she mopped the floor of the marina office that night, she retraced all the steps she’d taken to arrive here at Ocean Shores.
She’d started with the bassinet. It had the initials MW and the word San Francisco stamped on the underside of the handle.
That clue had taken her to the door of Mary Wing on Fulton Street. Part of her had hoped that she’d recognize Mary right away, that her birth mother just happened to create custom bassinets. But she would have felt ridiculous asking a complete stranger, “Are you my mother?” like some kind of lost puppy talking to a fire hydrant.
As soon as the woman opene
