Love Me Tonight by Gwynne Forster

reference librarian for the microfilm room.
    â€œIf you can’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, “maybe I can help you.”
    â€œThank you. Where’s the reading room?”
    She told him and added, “I’ll be glad to help if you think I can.”
    He thanked her again and went to the microfilm room. He found the newspaper with the birth announcement that listed the family name Motens. He went to the library’s computer and began copying the names, addresses and telephone numbers for the name Moten. By the time he finished, his stomach was growling. Hedidn’t feel inclined to seek out the helpful librarian. He pocketed his notes and left.
    Sitting in the far corner of a restaurant eating a hamburger, French fries and coleslaw, he read over the names he’d recorded. None of the names were listed in his parents’ papers, and he couldn’t interview or even hope to locate all of them. He finished his lunch, and decided to put a classified ad in the newspaper. He found the office of the Herald-Mail , placed the order and headed back to Baltimore.
    When he got home shortly before six o’clock that evening, he found his answering machine blinking. “I’ll deal with that later,” he said to himself. He had to work out a plan in case no one answered his ad. Adoption papers were sealed, but there was always a way.
    Suddenly, he bolted upright. The adoption papers were not among those he had found in his mother’s closet. She had stashed them somewhere else, but where? Did she have a secret hiding place? Calm down, man. As Heather said, “you’ve just started.”
    He went to the refrigerator for a can of beer and took it outside on his terrace. Where could he search next if no one answered his ad? He had a sudden inspiration. The churches! Most churches kept baptismal records. He let out a deep sigh of relief, rested his feet on the edge of the ceramic flowerpot beside him and closed his eyes as a sense of peace washed over him.
    He answered his cell phone. “Philips. What may I do for you?”
    â€œThis is Curtis. Is that laboratory’s attorney allowed to get in touch with me directly?”
    â€œWhat? That’s a no-no. Did you happen to record it?”
    â€œYou bet I did. He wanted to know what I was prepared to settle for. I told him I’d let him know, because I wanted him to continue talking. I’ll make a copy of the tape and send it to you tomorrow by messenger.”
    So they wanted to be sneaky. That only strengthened his hand. He wondered how dirty they’d get.
    Â 
    Two days later while Judson sat on the grass in the sculpture garden of the National Gallery, soaking up the sunshine and eating his lunch, his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the name on the ID screen, so he used his formal response.
    â€œThis is Judson Philips. How may I help you?”
    â€œMr. Philips, my name is Cissy Henry, and I’m from Hagerstown. I think I may have some information for you.”
    He nearly choked on his food. “Are you referring to my ad in the Herald-Mail? ”
    â€œYes, sir. My daughter-in-law told me you were asking if anybody knew Beverly Moten. Well, I used to know her, but she left here well nigh thirty years ago. Her father was my brother.”
    He’d forgotten his lunch and was standing. “Do you mind if I come to see you and talk with you?”
    â€œNo. I don’t mind a bit. Nobody’s interested in what we old people have to say. Where are you, and when do you want us to talk?”
    â€œI live in Baltimore, and I can be at your placetomorrow morning at about eleven. What’s your address?”
    She gave it to him. “I know you young folks are busy, so you come anytime you want to. I’ll be right here. I can fix us a real nice lunch, and we can talk. Judson Philips, you say your name is? You come on. I’ll be here.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs.