22
The look on Hillary’s face would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that I’m feeling exactly like she looks.
“I found out today that my biological mother’s name was Margret, and her last name was Taylor, like yours,” I explain, my heart pounding with excitement.
She looks me over, and I see the dawning recognition on her face. She must’ve noted the resemblance also.
“But—” she starts, then swallows, staring at me. “This is such a shock. You have to forgive me.”
“Yeah, I’m still kind of digesting it also.”
“Margie had a child?”
“She must have,” I say. “If I’m right, that is.”
“But that can’t be. Margie died more than twenty years ago. This has to be some kind of a mistake.”
I just sit there and let her ruminate on it.
“You do look like her,” she says after a pause. “And you
