half-brothers and -sisters. Would I like any of them if we met? If I needed a bone marrow transplant, would one of them be a match? But I don't know. I'll never know."
"Have you ever thought of hiring a private investigator to find your father?"
She stared out the window of the car at the dark streets, still familiar more than a dozen years after she'd left. "I doubt that even my mother knew who he was. She lived one of those very liberated '70s rock-and-roll lifestyles. There must be plenty of candidates for the sperm donor who absent-mindedly created me." Had her mother been glad to have a baby? Rainey didn't know that, either.
"She may have had several lovers around the time you were conceived, but the number is finite. Five? Ten? Twenty? Not beyond investigation. If you find a likely candidate—well, these days DNA testing can verify who a father is."
"I never thought about searching." Knowing her mother's promiscuity, seeking her father had seemed like a waste of time. Kenzie was right, though—the number of candidates couldn't be that large. Even if she found her father, it would be unrealistic to expect a warm embrace from a man who probably didn't know she existed. And yet..."I'd probably regret it if I tried."
"At least you might be able to satisfy your curiosity."
Deciding she'd think about it, she switched the subject to business. "Are you set to start shooting?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," he said without enthusiasm.
"Do the script changes I made help any?"
"A little."
If only he cared about this movie. He was too much a professional to give a bad performance, but he might give one that was without heart, and that would be almost as bad. Well, it was a director's job to coax, threaten, bully, or do whatever was necessary to get the best possible performance from her actors. By the end of Centurion , she'd know how good a director she was. "I'll see you next week in New Mexico, then."
"Maybe I'll come down a day or two before you start shooting my part. We've wrapped on my currently untitled opus."
And Kenzie hated not being busy. "If you decide to come early, just let me or Emmy know so we'll have your suite ready."
He thanked her and signed off. It had been thoughtful of him to call. How could a man so sensitive in many ways be such an unacceptable husband?
Foolish question. She'd known from the beginning the marriage wouldn't last. The mistake was hers for saying yes when he asked her to marry him. They should have stayed with a grand affair, then gone their separate ways with only a pang or two.
But maybe he had a point about trying to identify her father. Her marriage was over, she was embarking on a new venture that could change her career. She'd even had a real conversation with her grandmother. Maybe it was time to see if she could find her father. The trail was cold after so many years, but it would only get colder. If she was successful—well, as Kenzie said, at least she'd satisfy her curiosity.
The car pulled up in front of Val's attractive old brick row-house near Johns Hopkins University. It was a peaceful neighborhood of mature trees and carefully tended yards. Welcoming. Seconds after ringing the bell, she was being greeted with a rib-crunching hug. "I'm so glad to see you," Val said warmly. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired." Rainey slung an arm around her friend's shoulders and they entered the house. "Since you're wearing a navy suit and your hair is forcibly restrained, I assume you just got home."
"I walked in the back door about thirty seconds before you rang the bell." Val peeled off her tailored jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, then yanked out some pins and freed her hair into a curling red frenzy. "What will it be—wine or ice cream?"
"Ice cream, with as many extra calories as you can pile on."
"I'll make you the Sinner's Special." Val shook her head. "How does an ice-cream addict like you stay so slender?"
"Remember that I was unfashionably skinny when I
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