Who Is Sarah Randall (THE RANDALLS Book 1) Read online

  WHO IS Sarah Randall

  This book contains adult / mature situations.

  Who is Sarah Randall © 2020 by Gail Haris and Gail Haris LLC

  All rights reserved.

  The scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the author’s permission is piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property .No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission by the author, except for the use of brief passage for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, and events are all used in fictitious manner or of the author’s imagination. Any resemble to any person alive or dead, or any events or occurrences, is solely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Editor: Holly Ingraham, Holly Ingraham Editorial

  Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Cover Design: Rocio Beauty Pixels

  Cover Model: Culley Williams

  Blurb: Stacey Rourke, The Blurb Doctor

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Other Books By Gail Haris

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  My Boo. Because of you this was possible.

  …Also because of you this book took longer because you kept distracting me with binge watching shows. But I don’t regret a single moment ;)

  I love you, Bobby. Thank you.

  For everything.

  Dearest Olivia,

  I love you. I love you more than words can describe. I need you to know that. I need you to remember that, especially after everything you have heard or will hear. I also want you to know I don’t regret anything! You may not be my biological child, but I will always see you as my precious daughter. My Luv Bug. You must believe me when I say that raising you, loving you, and cherishing you have been by far the greatest joys I’ve ever known. My side of the story is kept in my journal. I won’t ask you to understand why I did it. I honestly don’t want you to understand; because, to understand my actions, you’d have to know that pain, and I would never wish that upon you. Please forgive me. Please remember me for how you knew me, not how you’ll come to know me.

  I love you forever and always,

  Mom

  I let the letter fall from my hands onto the floor. This doesn’t make sense. I rush to the bathroom and dry heave.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Luv Bug? Are you okay?”

  It’s Aunt Andrea…or who I thought was my aunt.

  “MOM! MOM!”

  “In here, Luv Bug.”

  I rush into the kitchen and throw my bag on top of the kitchen table. “Angie said that Aaron Lancaster was asking about me! Me! Oh gosh. He might even ask me to Homecoming.”

  My mom chuckles as she closes the door on the dishwasher. “Aaron Lancaster, huh?”

  “Yes! I’ve had a crush on him for the past two years.”

  “Has it been two years? Doesn’t sound like a smart boy if he still hasn’t asked you out. You’re too beautiful and sweet to waste your time pining over an idiot.”

  I grab a bag of chips from the pantry and slam the door harder than necessary. “Mom.”

  Of course she thinks I’m the prettiest, smartest, sweetest, and basically perfect-est. She has always gone on about how I look like an angel with my fair skin, blue-green eyes, long wavy blonde hair, button nose, and full lips. Her opinion is skewed so I don’t think she realizes what a big deal this is. Mom must see my frustration because she walks over and wraps her arms around me. I try to nudge her off, but she kisses my temple and just holds me tighter.

  “If you’re excited, then so am I. You have the best judgement out of everyone I know, so this Aaron must be pretty special to have caught your eye. For two years, no less.” I roll my eyes and she laughs. “He is pretty darn cute. Isn’t he on the football team?”

  I blush and look up at her through my eyelashes. “Yeah.”

  “And doesn’t he work at the pizza place?”

  I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Wanna go out for pizza? Maybe call Angie and she can tag along.”

  I squeal as I do a little spin. I rush over and wrap my arms around mom giving her a big squeeze. “You’re the best.”

  On the way to the pizzeria, we stop and pick up my best friend Angie. We’re both cheerleaders and play on the community soccer team, since our school is too small for an actual school team. Don’t be impressed by the cheerleader status. Our school is so small that if you can manage a cartwheel, you’re on the team. We barely have enough students for a football team. Like me, Angie is an only child being raised by a single mother. She’s wilder than me and to be honest, if we’d met in high school, we probably wouldn’t be hanging out so much. But we met back in daycare and have been inseparable ever since.

  “Hello, Cindy.” Angie greets my mom when she climbs in the backseat. Her clothes hug her lean, tan body. Her brown hair hangs in loose curls. Her full pouty lips are already a little large for her face, but they are even more pronounced with her red lipstick. She swears it drives boys wild.

  “Hey girl. Are you ready for pizza? I hear there’s a handsome boy-”

  “Mom!” My mom just laughs as I look back at Angie, who is also cracking up.

  “I’m sorry, Luv Bug. I’ll stop.”

  “You better behave. I shouldn’t have told you.” I groan.

  “What? We’re best friends. You can always tell me things. I was only teasing.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. She’s right. She is my best friend, other than Angie, and my biggest supporter. I sometimes wonder if we’re this close because it’s just the two of us. But Angie isn’t nearly as close with her mom. So, I guess we do have a special bond. I’m just lucky I guess.

  “COME OVER!”

  I hold the phone away from my ear as Angie groans and whines. “Ange, I can’t. I really have to finish this history report.”

  “You can not be serious right now. Please tell me you’re joking. It’s Friday. You have all weekend! Come on, Liv!”

  “I’m completely serious. You know how important getting a full ride scholarship is to me.” Angie should be more concerned as well. Neither one of our mothers can afford college tuition.

  “I also know how important Aaron Lancaster i
s to you. Can I persuade you by extending the invitation to him?”

  “I’m so done with you. If I get half of my report finished, then I’ll swing by. I haven’t even asked my mom yet, so all your effort might be for nothing.”

  “She’ll say yes. She loves me.”

  “She doesn’t know your mom isn’t home.”

  “And she won’t, if you omit that information.”

  “I never lie to my mom.”

  “I didn’t say lie. Now go ask your mom and get busy writing!”

  I laugh. “Bye.” I press end call and place my cell face down on the kitchen table. Mom isn’t home yet, so I’ll wait before I ask. Right now, I need to focus on Ancient Greek civilization.

  Bbbzzzz. Bbbbzzz.

  My phone keeps vibrating on the table. I have to get this paper written so I continue to ignore it. It’s probably Angie again.

  Bbbzzz. Bbbzzz.

  My fingers tap away on the keyboard.

  Knock. Knock.

  Are you kidding me? Is everyone determined for my grade point average to drop? It’s my senior year and if I’m determined to become Valedictorian, I don’t even have the luxury of a B. I slam my laptop shut and stomp over to the front door.

  Knock. Knock.

  If Mom forgot her keys again…That thought is brought up short when I see the red and blue flashing lights cutting through the curtains. I peek through the blinds to see two police officers standing under the porch light. Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and open it.

  “Olivia Stevens?” The tall officer asks.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s been an accident. Cindy Stevens is being taken to Memorial Hospital. Do you have someone we can call to be with you, or we can give you a ride?”

  Mom? Mom’s going to the hospital? What happened? What kind of accident?

  “Olivia?” The voice brings my attention back to the present. “Honey, come with us and we’ll get someone to help you through this.”

  Numbly, I close the door and follow the officers out. I don’t even think I locked the door.

  “Olivia? We’ve notified your Aunt Andrea. She’s taking the first flight here. Sweetheart? Did you hear me?” They’ve sent Mrs. Barbara Jenkins, a social worker, to be with me. She hands me a cup of water and gently rubs my back.

  I hear feet running down the hall and turn to see Angie. Her eyes are red-rimmed but she still manages to offer me a weak smile. Wrapping her arms around me, she squeezes me hard and then sits down on the other side of me.

  “I didn’t even get to tell her bye.” My brain is struggling to accept what my heart refuses to believe. “She can’t be gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Angie croaks out.

  Mrs. Jenkins leans closer toward me and whispers, “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.” I turn my eyes to her and she nods. “You can cry. You can be angry. Allow yourself to feel. You don’t have to be strong. I’m here to be strong for you. Don’t lock yourself down.”

  My phone vibrates. Grateful for the distraction, I look over and read a text about prayers for me from one of my friends. I haven’t responded to hardly any of them. Instead of responding, I open the last text Mom sent me:

  Leaving the store now Luv Bug! I hope you’re finished ☺ Just found Pretty in Pink and Sixteen Candles in the $5 bin!!!

  Luv Bug. That’s my nickname. It started out as Liv and somewhere along the way transformed from Liv Bug to Luv Bug.

  Sounded like we were going to have another 80’s movie marathon. I didn’t get a chance to respond because I was busy. Scoffing to myself as I rub my eyes. Busy. My paper doesn’t seem as important now. Angie takes my hand and squeezes it. “Want me to give you a ride back home? I’ll spend the night with you.”

  “That sounds great, Angie.” Mrs. Jenkins offers me a kind a smile and gently takes my hand. “I’ll escort you ladies back home and I’m going to stay with you until your aunt arrives.”

  I nod because I don’t have the strength to speak. Mom had been involved in a two-car head on collision. Her vehicle was hit head on by an older man passing another car. She was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital. He’s still in critical condition. They believe he’ll survive, and I hope he does. However, I don’t know if I will.

  What feels like forever, but may have only been a couple of hours, I feel Aunt Andrea wrap me in her arms. I thought I was too numb to cry, but apparently not. Seeing her red puffy eyes and feeling the tightness of her arms around me brings me to my knees. My body physically aches. Andrea allows me to lean on her as she gently runs her fingers through my blond hair. I hold on to her and cry, grateful she doesn’t tell me it’s going to be ‘okay’ and she’s ‘sorry.’ Because this isn’t okay and it’s not going to be. I’m seventeen and I’ve lost my mother.

  “What happens now?” I voice my biggest fear between hiccups and muffled sobs.

  “What do you want to happen? You’re almost an adult. I don’t want to disrupt your life any more by forcing you to relocate with me, but you’re welcome to. We’d love for you to stay with us. Or we could see about you living here. I’m really not sure, but I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins will have the answers.”

  I pull back and frown. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Jenkins. The social worker you’ve been talking to.”

  “There wasn’t much talking on my part.”

  “And that’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t know what to do…”

  “You don’t have to decide now, Luv Bug. Let’s get you some sleep and tomorrow, we’ll take the day as it comes.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Andrea.”

  “Oh Luv Bug, come here.” She brings me back to her in a warm embrace and I soak up all the comfort she has to give.

  The next day, Aunt Andrea makes me some scrambled eggs before going to the funeral home. I told her I really didn’t want to go, but agreed to pick out Mom’s final outfit and gather a few photos. As soon as I walk into Mom’s bedroom, my lip trembles. The further I step into the room, the more her vanilla scent invades my nose. My knees buckle and I collapse onto her bed. I fist the blanket and scream into the mattress.

  Why? I only had one parent…

  I force myself to calm down. Aunt Andrea will be back soon. She lost her sister and she’s carrying the bulk of this. I can at least pick out an outfit and find some photographs. I walk over to the closet and grab the hanger with her favorite dress. With great care, I lay it on the bed. Using a small step ladder, I reach far back in the closest to grab the old albums on the top shelf.

  I drop a few bulky albums. Stretching on my tiptoes, the ladder shakes a little, but I spot a box shoved in the far corner. I reach back using the tips of my fingers to slide the box closer. The ladder wiggles, and I have to stop to get my balance back. I stretch again and push harder, sliding the box within my reach. The dust is layered so thick it’s almost cemented the box in place, but with a little more force, I hear a pop and the box drags dust with it as it slides toward me. I cough and close my eyes as a small dust cloud attacks my face as I pull the box off the shelf. I cringe when I sit the box down and look at my fingers caked from the thick layers of dust on the box.

  The lid pops as it becomes unglued from the film. Now that the lid’s off, I don’t want to touch anything else with my filthy hands. I hurry into the connecting bathroom and wash up. Once clean and dry, I return to the box. My eager hands pick up a piece of small white fabric. I unfold it, and find it’s a frilly baby romper.

  Sarah

  I smile at the sweet little romper that belonged to a little girl named Sarah. Who’s Sarah? I’ve never heard Mom or anyone mention a Sarah. I lay the romper on the bed and continue to search for more clues in the little box of mystery. It’s like a treasure hunt. There’s printed photos of poor quality, like the ones you print off a computer. There’s a dark-haired woman pushing a stroller through a park. There’s another picture of the same woman, but this time she’s with a baby and a young, dark-hair
ed boy walking in the same park. There’s several more, all of the same woman with two children in the same park.

  Weird.

  I stop and stare closer at one photo. There’s a diaper bag with the name ‘Sarah Randall’ in cursive on its side hanging from the woman’s shoulder.

  Who’s Sarah Randall?

  This must be who the romper belongs to. Did Mom know these people? Are they from the town she lived in before she moved here? Aunt Andrea might know. Maybe they’re related or a close friend from their hometown. Not recognizing anything from the photos, I place them aside to reach in the box and pull out a journal. When I open the journal, a folded, faded piece of paper falls to the floor. I close the book and bend down to retrieve it. I unfold the paper and my heart plummets.

  No.

  “LUV BUG? OLIVIA? CAN I please come in?”

  No. No. No. It can’t be. It’s not true.

  I lock myself in the bathroom and take my phone and swipe the screen. In the search engine, I quickly type ‘Sarah Randall.’ There’s news article after article about a missing infant that was kidnapped in Lumberton, Missouri, Cindy’s hometown. The little girl was last seen in a park. In a park. She was wearing a white romper with her name on the front. The white romper. Sarah.

  I lean over and vomit into the toilet. The room is spinning so I grab the sink to help me stand. I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face.

  “Olivia! Please! You’re scaring me.”

  I throw the door open and stare into Aunt Andrea’s concerned eyes. “Who am I?”

  Andrea’s brows furrow. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

  Pointing to the bed, I wait for her to see the evidence of lies lying upon my kidnapper’s bed. “Who’s my mother?”

  Andrea walks over and shakes her head. As she starts to read, I watch as a wash of horror crosses over her face and the denial in her wide eyes. “This isn’t possible. Cindy was pregnant. She was. She left close to the time this happened but I-” Her face crumbles and her eyes seem to plead for me to what? Understand? Forgive? Agree and deny all the evidence?