Chapter 161: Best Feet Forward

Sunday, June 29, 1986

We met Mom and Dad for breakfast at eight, then split up to ‘freshen up’ and such. Angie’s lunch date wasn’t until one. The plan was to leave at noon, drive to an L station, park, and then take the train a few stops to the Portillo’s. Mom and Dad would go to lunch somewhere else nearby — there were several restaurants within a few blocks — while Jas, Paige, and I settled into a back booth at the Portillo’s. It was entirely possible that Sharon might recognize us, but that was fine. We weren’t hiding, just staying out of the conversation until Angie wanted us to join in (if she ever did).

There wasn’t a lot of subterfuge here. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Sharon guessed which hotel we were staying in. We didn’t intend to hide that, or anything easily discovered, in any case. Angie couldn’t go into this assuming Sharon was an adversary. Caution, yes, but not wariness. Wariness would likely scare Sharon off. She was likely good at reading people.

Beyond that, we felt that the clock was not just running, but running very quickly. Indeed, the ‘tick, tick, tick’ of ‘60 Minutes’ might be the clock that was running. Within just a few hours after their lunch meeting, Angie would appear on national television. Trying to pretend we could keep a low profile was absurd. If Sharon wanted to find us, she knew how to find Mom and Dad, our high school, and our university, and would even know that attending a GSS meeting would put her in proximity to Angie.

Hopefully, none of that would matter. It could, though. Today’s goals were relatively modest. Angie wanted to see how Sharon was doing, to see if they got along in person, and to determine whether a long-term friendly relationship was likely. There would be some sort of relationship unless things went very wrong, though. Restraining order wrong, or worse.

No matter how well things went, this was just a first step. Sharon could undoubtedly hold things together for a few hours. If she couldn’t, she wouldn’t be living on her own and holding down a job. It would take a lot longer to figure out if things were going to keep working.

Things went smoothly during the trip, and we arrived almost twenty minutes early. Mom and Dad picked an Italian restaurant. It didn’t seem busy, so they could likely just hang out there until we were done. If they had to leave, they would find someplace nearby to wait.

Portillo’s was about a third full when we arrived. It was a bit late for lunch, and it was a Sunday, so I really didn’t expect it to get much more crowded. That suited all of us well.

We separated right away. Angie ordered and took a table off to the side, away from others, while Jas, Paige, and I waited a few minutes, ordered, and took a booth in the back. We could see Angie, but not well.

Just before one, a woman in a relatively muted multi-colored dress came in. I’d been thinking of something brighter, but this was likely one of Sharon’s work dresses. Browns, greens, and some darker reds combined for a fairly nice look.

The woman herself fit what we expected. She looked to be around forty, was thin, about as tall as Angie, and had shoulder-length blonde hair. I couldn’t see her eyes very well from here, but I would guess they were as blue as Angie’s. The resemblance was unmistakable.

We knew Sharon had, at times, lived a very hard life, but — assuming this was indeed Sharon — she didn’t look beaten down by it. Angie would likely look better at the same age, but Sharon could still have coasted on her looks if she wanted. It reflected well on her that she didn’t appear to be doing that.

She looked around, spotted Angie, hesitated, then waved a hesitant little wave. Angie waved back immediately.

After that, she took a step toward Angie, then turned, went to the counter, ordered, took her number, and headed off to the table. Angie was standing by that point, and they shook hands awkwardly before hugging. The hug was nearly as awkward as the handshake, but not as awkward.

After that, we watched them talk and ate our lunch. Angie’s food appeared a bit before Sharon’s, but it hardly mattered. They both just picked a bit at their food while talking almost constantly. It seemed like it was very much back and forth between them, and it seemed to be pretty amiable.

At one point, something Angie said clearly startled Sharon. She didn’t look upset, just very surprised. After a second, she said something fairly emphatic, to which Angie nodded and — I think — said something to reassure Sharon.

There were several obvious rounds of tears, too. Both of them cried, and hugged, and offered each other napkins (in lieu of tissues). They got it together, then cried again. Both of them had plenty to cry about, so that seemed completely reasonable. I would have been shocked if they hadn’t cried a few times.

They talked for nearly half an hour before Angie turned, waved, and pretty clearly mouthed ‘Paige.’

“Guess I’m on!” Paige said, giggling a bit and also blushing just a touch. “Wish me luck!”

She looked uncharacteristically nervous, but that was understandable. How often do you meet your fiancée’s semi-estranged mother, who you’ve spent time loathing but now want to make a good impression on? There’s hardly a template for how to behave in such a social circumstance!

We hugged Paige (which, I’m sure, gave Sharon a fair bit of information), then let her head over.

The resulting greeting was every bit as awkward as Angie and Sharon’s. Angie hugged Paige, but then Paige and Sharon tried shaking hands before managing a slightly shaky hug.

After that, they sat down and started talking. Rings were shown off, and Sharon seemed to realize something about Angie’s after seeing Paige’s. Angie’s ring would work for a woman engaged to a man, but it worked much better with someone who could wear its mirror image.

It seemed like things were going well, though Sharon seemed a bit emphatic at a few points. I was guessing it concerned her relatives in Indiana. Sharon was likely somewhat paranoid about them. That, honestly, was fair enough, since I was pretty sure her relatives were, in fact, out to get her. And Angie.

And probably Paige. Jas and me, too, because why not? Cammie and Mel, maybe, too, on general principles.

My hope was that Sharon’s relatives had absolutely no idea any of us existed. They shouldn’t, based on what we knew. Sharon had taken the Marshall name when she married, and it was our understanding that there was no straightforward way to connect Sharon Marshall with Sharon Eger. She had been highly motivated to cover her tracks, after all. Had they found her, they undoubtedly would have done something to her long ago.

I imagined her family suspected she was dead. Hopefully, anyway!

They talked for nearly half an hour (with two more rounds of tears) before both Angie and Paige motioned us over.

Sharon got up as we approached, as did Angie and Paige.

Angie said, “This is my brother, Steve. Which, believe me, was a really strange thing to say just six years ago! And Steve’s fiancée, Jasmine Nguyen.”

Sharon chuckled softly at that, extended her hand to me, and said, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

She had a fairly soft Midwestern accent. I would not have guessed Indiana, but she’d probably worked on it.

“A pleasure,” I said, shaking hands. I think it worked better than any of Sharon’s previous handshakes, but I was a guy, which changed the rules.

Jasmine simply skipped the handshake, offered a hug, and said, “It really is.”

We shifted to a table that would hold six people, and everyone sat down.

Sharon looked at me and said, “Angie has told me a lot about you. Or ... well. It feels like a lot.”

She smiled as she said it. In that smile, I could see, again, that she hadn’t lost her charm. She wasn’t trying anything with me, not even flirting, but had a great smile and easily could have flirted if she had wanted to.

She looked at Jas, said, “And you, too!”

Her smile to Jas was virtually identical, which continued to downplay the notion of flirting.

“Vice versa,” I said, smiling back. “Although ... well. There was a great deal we didn’t know six years ago.”

Sharon blushed a bit, but nodded.

“I ... had no ability to tell you,” she said. “And I don’t just mean because of being locked up. My therapist says it’s self-serving to say that the old me had to die in order for me to become who I am now, but it often feels that way. It’s self-serving because, after all, I’m still the same person, meaning I could backslide if I let myself.”

I nodded a bit. That ... worked. But saying it might itself be self-serving.

The problem was that Sharon wanted to make a good impression on us, of course. Everything she said would be self-serving to at least some extent, and that was expected. Fine, even. We had to be aware of it, but we couldn’t expect her not to put her best foot forward.

I said, “The important thing, I think, is that you go forward in the right way. Looking back matters, but mostly to let experience guide you.”

She smiled a bit and nodded quickly.

“Nancy says the same thing. Oh! That reminds me. Angie said both of you are seeing a therapist. The same one! It’s very lucky that Angie is. Without that, I’m not sure how we would have gotten in touch.”

It took me a second, but I realized Nancy must be her therapist. Angie nodded at my questioning look, which pretty much confirmed it.