1. The Letter
A/N: I feel so pathetic. I'm writing an alternate version of one of my own stories! Anyway, I got the idea for this while I was writing the epilogue for 'Out of the Clear Blue Sky' and it just wouldn't leave me alone.
July 4, 1994 started the same as any other day for Tracey Cooper. She woke up early for a summer day, got up, got dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast, announcing her arrival with, "Happy Independence Day!"
"Thank you, Tracey," Ryan Andrews, Tracey's stepfather, replied as she kissed his cheek, "and happy birthday to you."
"Thanks, Dad." Tracey sat down at the table.
Her mother, Sandra, set a plate in front of Tracey with three fluffy pancakes, two strips of bacon, two sausage links, and two hash brown patties. "Happy birthday, Tracey."
Tracey grinned as Sandra set a tall glass of chocolate milk beside the plate. "Thanks, Mom."
Having already finished his breakfast, Ryan left the table to wake up Tracey's half sister and brother, six-year-old Lynda and four-year-old Jeffrey. "So, what would you like to do for your eleventh birthday, Tracey?"
Tracey swallowed the bite she'd taken of her pancakes. "I'd like to see my father. My _real_ father."
"What?" Sandra dropped Ryan's plate, which she'd just picked up, and it hit the floor with a resounding crash. "Oh, God."
"I'm sorry, Mom." Tracey got up to help her mother clean up the broken plate.
"No, no, Tracey, it's all right," Sandra told her daughter, waving off the girl's offered assistance. "You just surprised me, that's all."
"I didn't mean to, Mom," Tracey replied, slowly resuming her seat. "It's just, you've told me so many times that I look like him and I'd really like to meet him."
Sandra sighed, setting the broken shards on the counter behind her. "I understand, Tracey, but I'm not sure it's entirely possible for you to meet him."
"Why not?" Tracey asked curiously. "Isn't he still alive?"
"Well," Sandra hesitated, folding her arms across her chest and looking up at the ceiling, "the thing is, I'm not sure if your father is still alive."
"Oh." Tracey looked down at her plate and toyed with her food. "Well, would you like me to pick something else to do?"
Sandra shrugged, turning to pick up the broken plate. "Well, your first choice might be hard to do."
Tracey nodded, wishing she hadn't made her mother break the plate. "Okay."
A gasp from Sandra made Tracey look up. "Oh, my."
"Mom? What is it?" Sandra slowly turned around, the broken plate now whole. "Wow. That was quick, Mom. How'd you manage to fix it so quickly and easily?"
"Um," Sandra looked down at the plate and back up at her daughter, "that's, uh, my little secret."
"Okay." Tracey went back to her breakfast. Her desire to find her biological father was a recent development. She had her mother's small, slender build and her face was the same shape, but she didn't have Sandra's brown curly hair, or her hazel eyes. Instead, Tracey's hair was long, wavy, and auburn and her eyes were a bright, piercing blue that twinkled when she was amused or happy and ice-cold when she was angry. Tracey just wanted to know the man who'd given the hair and eyes to her. She sighed.
Sandra turned from the sink, where she'd been cleaning dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "Tracey, are you alright?"
Tracey set her fork down and sat back. "I don't know, Mom. I just feel like something important should happen today, but it hasn't."
Sandra walked over and hugged her daughter. "Oh, honey, the day's still young, you never know."
Tracey nodded, hugging her mother back. "Thanks, Mom. How does a picnic sound?"
"It sounds perfect." Sandra kissed the top of Tracey's head just as Ryan entered the kitchen carrying Jeffrey, trailed by Lynda, both of whom were looking sleepy. "Hey, kiddos."
"Hi, Mummy," Lynda mumbled around a yawn.
"'Lo, Mommy," Jeffrey added.
Leaving Tracey to finish her breakfast, Sandra began to make breakfast for Lynda and Jeffrey.
* * *
"Tracey, would you mind getting mail?" Sandra requested, hefting a soundly sleeping Jeffrey into her arms. The family had gone on a picnic at the nearby park and enjoyed themselves immensely.
"Sure." Tracey trotted over to the mailbox and pulled out a stack of mail. Most of it was for her parents, although there was a birthday card from Ryan's parents and an envelope of some yellowish-type paper for her. Following Ryan, who was carrying the empty picnic basket into the house, Tracey examined the yellow envelope closely. The address read, 'Miss T. Cooper, second-largest bedroom, 12345 Terrace St, Linden, CA, 98765.' "Hmm, I wonder what this could be." Handing the rest of the mail to Ryan, who'd set the basket on the kitchen counter, Tracey turned the envelope over. It had been sealed with purple wax. A large A with two smaller Ms on either side had been stamped in the wax. Breaking the seal, Tracey opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper that matched the envelope.
~Dear Miss Cooper,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Colorado branch of the American Magic Academy. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Fall semester begins September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.
Sincerely, Evan Wilson, Vice Principal.~
"Tracey? Tracey, are you alright?" Sandra's voice disturbed Tracey from her reverie and she looked up at her mother. "Where'd you get the letter?"
"It's addressed to me, Mom," Tracey replied, offering it to Sandra.
Sandra took the letter and read it, her face going pale. "Oh, my."
Tracey stood up, read to catch her mother should she fall. "Mom? Are you alright?"
Sandra waved her daughter off. "I'm fine, Tracey. Could you please tell Ryan that I need to speak with him?"
"Um, okay." Tracey nodded and slowly left the kitchen. She paused in the hallway, trying to figure out where her stepfather was. Voices led her into the family room, where Ryan was playing with Lynda. "Dad, Mom wants to speak with you."
"Okay." Ryan nodded and got up. "Would you mind playing with your sister for a bit?"
"Not at all," Tracey assured him, pasting a fake smile on her face.
He stopped and kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, Princess."
"You're welcome, Dad." She watched him leave the room before walking over to join Lynda on the floor.
* * *
"Sandra? What is it?" Ryan entered the kitchen to find his wife of eleven years seated at the table, staring out the window. "Sandra?"
She turned to him and he was surprised to see tears in her hazel eyes. "Ryan, we need to go to England."
He ran a big hand through his straight black hair. "Any particular reason why?"
"This." Sandra picked up the letter in front of her and held it out to Ryan. "Tracey got it in the mail today.
He read through the letter, dark eyes wide by the time he finished reading. "So, this world you told me about truly exists?"
She nodded, not resisting when he sat down and pulled her into his lap. "I love you, Ryan, don't forget that, but there's a possibility that Tracey's father _is_ alive."
"Sandra, that was over 150 years ago," Ryan reminded her gently, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "Don't you think he would be dead by now?"
Sandra shook her head. "They live longer than we do, Ryan. He could still be alive, even after all this time."
"So you want to go to England so Tracey can meet her father?" Ryan asked, making sure they were thinking on the same wavelength.
"Yes, Ryan." Sandra was so small it was almost like holding Tracey in his lap at times.
"And you have no desire to see him yourself?" Ryan's voice was soft and gentle, with no accusation in it.
Sandra pulled away to meet his gaze; her cheeks faintly pink. "Well, it _would_ be nice to see him again. It's been over eleven years for me, and much more than that for him."
He smiled, brushing her curls back from her forehead. "I don't mind, Sandra. I understand that he'll always hold a special place in your heart."
She returned the smile before stretching slightly to kiss him. Holding her close, he kissed her back.
A/N: I feel so pathetic. I'm writing an alternate version of one of my own stories! Anyway, I got the idea for this while I was writing the epilogue for 'Out of the Clear Blue Sky' and it just wouldn't leave me alone.
July 4, 1994 started the same as any other day for Tracey Cooper. She woke up early for a summer day, got up, got dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast, announcing her arrival with, "Happy Independence Day!"
"Thank you, Tracey," Ryan Andrews, Tracey's stepfather, replied as she kissed his cheek, "and happy birthday to you."
"Thanks, Dad." Tracey sat down at the table.
Her mother, Sandra, set a plate in front of Tracey with three fluffy pancakes, two strips of bacon, two sausage links, and two hash brown patties. "Happy birthday, Tracey."
Tracey grinned as Sandra set a tall glass of chocolate milk beside the plate. "Thanks, Mom."
Having already finished his breakfast, Ryan left the table to wake up Tracey's half sister and brother, six-year-old Lynda and four-year-old Jeffrey. "So, what would you like to do for your eleventh birthday, Tracey?"
Tracey swallowed the bite she'd taken of her pancakes. "I'd like to see my father. My _real_ father."
"What?" Sandra dropped Ryan's plate, which she'd just picked up, and it hit the floor with a resounding crash. "Oh, God."
"I'm sorry, Mom." Tracey got up to help her mother clean up the broken plate.
"No, no, Tracey, it's all right," Sandra told her daughter, waving off the girl's offered assistance. "You just surprised me, that's all."
"I didn't mean to, Mom," Tracey replied, slowly resuming her seat. "It's just, you've told me so many times that I look like him and I'd really like to meet him."
Sandra sighed, setting the broken shards on the counter behind her. "I understand, Tracey, but I'm not sure it's entirely possible for you to meet him."
"Why not?" Tracey asked curiously. "Isn't he still alive?"
"Well," Sandra hesitated, folding her arms across her chest and looking up at the ceiling, "the thing is, I'm not sure if your father is still alive."
"Oh." Tracey looked down at her plate and toyed with her food. "Well, would you like me to pick something else to do?"
Sandra shrugged, turning to pick up the broken plate. "Well, your first choice might be hard to do."
Tracey nodded, wishing she hadn't made her mother break the plate. "Okay."
A gasp from Sandra made Tracey look up. "Oh, my."
"Mom? What is it?" Sandra slowly turned around, the broken plate now whole. "Wow. That was quick, Mom. How'd you manage to fix it so quickly and easily?"
"Um," Sandra looked down at the plate and back up at her daughter, "that's, uh, my little secret."
"Okay." Tracey went back to her breakfast. Her desire to find her biological father was a recent development. She had her mother's small, slender build and her face was the same shape, but she didn't have Sandra's brown curly hair, or her hazel eyes. Instead, Tracey's hair was long, wavy, and auburn and her eyes were a bright, piercing blue that twinkled when she was amused or happy and ice-cold when she was angry. Tracey just wanted to know the man who'd given the hair and eyes to her. She sighed.
Sandra turned from the sink, where she'd been cleaning dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "Tracey, are you alright?"
Tracey set her fork down and sat back. "I don't know, Mom. I just feel like something important should happen today, but it hasn't."
Sandra walked over and hugged her daughter. "Oh, honey, the day's still young, you never know."
Tracey nodded, hugging her mother back. "Thanks, Mom. How does a picnic sound?"
"It sounds perfect." Sandra kissed the top of Tracey's head just as Ryan entered the kitchen carrying Jeffrey, trailed by Lynda, both of whom were looking sleepy. "Hey, kiddos."
"Hi, Mummy," Lynda mumbled around a yawn.
"'Lo, Mommy," Jeffrey added.
Leaving Tracey to finish her breakfast, Sandra began to make breakfast for Lynda and Jeffrey.
* * *
"Tracey, would you mind getting mail?" Sandra requested, hefting a soundly sleeping Jeffrey into her arms. The family had gone on a picnic at the nearby park and enjoyed themselves immensely.
"Sure." Tracey trotted over to the mailbox and pulled out a stack of mail. Most of it was for her parents, although there was a birthday card from Ryan's parents and an envelope of some yellowish-type paper for her. Following Ryan, who was carrying the empty picnic basket into the house, Tracey examined the yellow envelope closely. The address read, 'Miss T. Cooper, second-largest bedroom, 12345 Terrace St, Linden, CA, 98765.' "Hmm, I wonder what this could be." Handing the rest of the mail to Ryan, who'd set the basket on the kitchen counter, Tracey turned the envelope over. It had been sealed with purple wax. A large A with two smaller Ms on either side had been stamped in the wax. Breaking the seal, Tracey opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper that matched the envelope.
~Dear Miss Cooper,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Colorado branch of the American Magic Academy. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Fall semester begins September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.
Sincerely, Evan Wilson, Vice Principal.~
"Tracey? Tracey, are you alright?" Sandra's voice disturbed Tracey from her reverie and she looked up at her mother. "Where'd you get the letter?"
"It's addressed to me, Mom," Tracey replied, offering it to Sandra.
Sandra took the letter and read it, her face going pale. "Oh, my."
Tracey stood up, read to catch her mother should she fall. "Mom? Are you alright?"
Sandra waved her daughter off. "I'm fine, Tracey. Could you please tell Ryan that I need to speak with him?"
"Um, okay." Tracey nodded and slowly left the kitchen. She paused in the hallway, trying to figure out where her stepfather was. Voices led her into the family room, where Ryan was playing with Lynda. "Dad, Mom wants to speak with you."
"Okay." Ryan nodded and got up. "Would you mind playing with your sister for a bit?"
"Not at all," Tracey assured him, pasting a fake smile on her face.
He stopped and kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, Princess."
"You're welcome, Dad." She watched him leave the room before walking over to join Lynda on the floor.
* * *
"Sandra? What is it?" Ryan entered the kitchen to find his wife of eleven years seated at the table, staring out the window. "Sandra?"
She turned to him and he was surprised to see tears in her hazel eyes. "Ryan, we need to go to England."
He ran a big hand through his straight black hair. "Any particular reason why?"
"This." Sandra picked up the letter in front of her and held it out to Ryan. "Tracey got it in the mail today.
He read through the letter, dark eyes wide by the time he finished reading. "So, this world you told me about truly exists?"
She nodded, not resisting when he sat down and pulled her into his lap. "I love you, Ryan, don't forget that, but there's a possibility that Tracey's father _is_ alive."
"Sandra, that was over 150 years ago," Ryan reminded her gently, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "Don't you think he would be dead by now?"
Sandra shook her head. "They live longer than we do, Ryan. He could still be alive, even after all this time."
"So you want to go to England so Tracey can meet her father?" Ryan asked, making sure they were thinking on the same wavelength.
"Yes, Ryan." Sandra was so small it was almost like holding Tracey in his lap at times.
"And you have no desire to see him yourself?" Ryan's voice was soft and gentle, with no accusation in it.
Sandra pulled away to meet his gaze; her cheeks faintly pink. "Well, it _would_ be nice to see him again. It's been over eleven years for me, and much more than that for him."
He smiled, brushing her curls back from her forehead. "I don't mind, Sandra. I understand that he'll always hold a special place in your heart."
She returned the smile before stretching slightly to kiss him. Holding her close, he kissed her back.
