“So then we didn’t hear anything for months, and then, completely without warning, she filed a restraining order against my husband. That was April of 2004—we hadn’t even seen her for over a year—and the day she was supposed to show up in court to enforce it, we were there, but she wasn’t. And then that was the last we heard of her for six months or so, until that phone call last October. And then nothing.”
Until today. “And that’s when I met her.” I picked up the story where she had left off, told her how Sam and I had met at the shelter around Thanksgiving, how Sam had claimed to have been homeless since she was twelve, and using drugs for most of her life. How we became friends when she was in the hospital for her hand, and how our friendship continued after she left the shelter, through rehab, to the halfway house, and then the hospital in the Bronx. “She’s all right now,” I assured her mom. “But she had made herself very sick intentionally, and she lied about her illness.”
“Like she did with the other family,” said her mother, still quavering. “But she’s recovered—she’s better now?”
“Yes, she is. We caught on before too much damage was done, and now she’s in a long-term therapeutic rehab program, and she hasn’t suffered any health issues for a while now. So things are stable, and she’s getting help for her problems.”
“Oh, thank the Lord. This is the news we’d prayed for.”
I could hear the relief in her voice and Eileen chattering excitedly in the background—“Say to tell Sam I miss her!” However happy or unhappy I was to hear about Sam’s past, these people were overjoyed to hear about her present, and it was starting to rub off on me. Sam was okay, and I’d helped make her that way; I was a hero again, I was the angel of good news. And everything would only get better from here. This phone call would be the start of a fresh era in Sam’s life, and in mine. There was a whole new “other mom”—her real mom—who was going to take care of this.
“I really appreciate everything you’ve told me,” I said. “It’s been a confusing time for me as well, trying to figure out what’s real and what’s been the product of Sam’s imagination.” I chuckled a little, because now Mom and I were old friends, on the same team. “I’m actually delighted to hear Eileen sounding so well—Sam told me she was either in a coma or a group home following a suicide attempt, so hearing her voice is—”
“Well,” Ruby interrupted nervously, “Eileen did try to kill herself a few years ago, and she was briefly comatose, and then she was living in a group facility, yes. But she’s much better now.”
“Oh.” Nice family, I thought. I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice, but Ruby’s tone had become defensive, so I changed the subject back to Sam. “Mrs. Dunleavy, do you think Sam is psychotic?”
She let out another deep sigh—the good news was over; now the hard facts remained. “I don’t know. At first we thought it was the drugs, but now I think it’s something more.”
“But it definitely started around age seventeen.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She cleared her throat nervously. “But…but you say she’s been to drug treatment now?”
“Yes, she’s there right now. And I’d give you the phone number of the program, but it’s impossible to contact her right now anyway. Besides, I think it might be upsetting to her if she knew we spoke. She seems to be doing well at this program; she’s been there for a few months now. I’m hoping we can proceed slowly, so we don’t spook the horses, you know?”
Her mother agreed right away—too fast, almost. She’d just gasped with relief to find out that Sam was alive; I’d have thought she would have wanted to contact her right away, but she seemed almost afraid of her daughter. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to…I mean, I’m just so grateful that she’s all right, and that she’s getting some kind of help. I wouldn’t want to do anything…and I have to talk to my husband, you know, this is all very…”
She trailed off again, like she was at a loss for what to say or do next, and I realized I didn’t know, either. I hadn’t thought this far ahead; I had no idea how to reunite Sam and her mom when I was being blockaded from Sam myself.
“Well, maybe you and I can figure out a good way for you to reestablish contact with her—you can talk things over with your husband, and I can try to figure something out on my end, and we can talk again in a few days. Does that sound like a good idea?”
“Yes, I think we should. I definitely need to speak with my husband, you know, this is such a surprise….”
Ruby Dunleavy sounded like she really needed to sit down, maybe take a Valium. I hoped Eileen was standing by, ready to make her mother a nice cup of tea. “I’m sorry,” I said again, reassuring. “I know it’s out of the blue.”
“Oh no. You’re an answered prayer. We’ve just been hoping that she was…being taken care of somehow.”
“She has been,” I told her. “She’s had a lot of people who have cared very much for her.” Talking about her with all this warmth and love in my voice made me feel it again. I thought about the Sam I’d met that first night at the shelter—her wide, open smile, her look of satisfied concentration as she strung beads on a key chain for Jodi. “She’s a very special and talented young person, and I’m very dedicated to seeing her get well.”
I gave her my name and number, and Mrs. Dunleavy wrote them down. “Well, that’s just wonderful, and we thank you so much for calling.”
“I’m glad I called, too, and we’ll talk again in a few days.”
We hung up.
Well.
I put the phone down, exhilarated. I’d done it, I’d made the call, and it had worked out as well as it could have, better than I’d imagined. She’d talked to me, she was going to work with me. As shattered as I was by the truth, I was also satisfied, my curiosity sated, my ego somewhat restored. I’d been right about Sam—she was a middle-class suburban kid, as I’d suspected, but she’d also been a runaway junkie—I hadn’t been wrong to believe that. And I was right when I said she’d pulled a stunt with her health before. God, I loved being right. Sam had made me wrong there for a while, she’d made me mistaken, but now I was back to being right.
I called Bill at work. “Just had a chat with my new best friend, Mrs. Ruby Dunleavy.”
“And?”
I recounted the highlights of the conversation, Bill stopping in the same exact place I had. “So wait, one of her daughters tried to kill herself, and the other one…is Sam?”
“I know. Something’s rotten in that house. But listen, her mom is totally relieved and grateful to hear that Sam’s all right, and she’s committed to getting back in touch with her and helping her get better. I can’t help but think this is a good thing, you know?”
“I hope so,” he said. Then, “Wow, a kidney transplant. The kid’s got balls.”
“Yeah, no kidding. I can’t wait to talk to that family. I’ll ask Ruby for their name next time we talk.”
So much to ask, so much to discuss. But first I had to sit down with my notebook and write down the conversation before my short-term memory failed me. I hung up with Bill and picked up the pen. Her sister Eileen answered, sounded perfectly fine, handed me over to Mom….
For once, writing about it was making me feel worse. The more I wrote, the more the initial elation of the phone call wore off; by the time I was finished, I was angry again, feeling ridiculous, feeling this tremendous sense of loss. Had I actually thought I was going to become this girl’s mom? How stupid of me, how vain. She already had a mom; I’d just spoken to her. I thought of Sam sitting on that log that summer day, considering my offer to be her guardian, smirking into her knee because she knew she already had a mom, worrying about her, waiting for her, back in Colorado. I wasn’t her mom; I was nobody. I was nothing special. She’d duped whole families full of people like me before.
So I’d solved the mystery—big deal. I was only a year too late. And it wasn’t like I was such a supersleuth; it doesn’t take an advanced degree to use the Internet. Anybody
with forty bucks and a bug up her ass could have found Sam’s parents—she gave me her father’s middle name, for Christ’s sake. Now I knew the truth, but what good was it going to do me? I couldn’t confront Sam with it. I couldn’t tell DTP—they wouldn’t listen to me, they were too busy in “staff meetings.” I couldn’t even tell Maria. She was going to kill me for digging around when I’d said I’d leave the revelations to Sam.
I was still gloomy the next morning, even after my run, when the home phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, Ms. Erlbaum. It’s Ruby Dunleavy.”
Her voice was even more nervous and stressed than when I’d spoken to her the day before. I looked at the clock and frowned. It was only 9 A.M.—7 A.M. Colorado time. We’d spoken less than eighteen hours ago. She didn’t wait for me to acknowledge her before rushing ahead.
“Ms. Erlbaum, I’ve spoken to my husband, and we’ve decided that we can’t allow Samantha back into our lives until she’s well. She’s just caused too much damage to our family. You know, we have to protect Eileen, because this has just been so damaging. I hope you understand; we can’t have anything to do with her at all.”
“Of course,” I said automatically, my voice reassuring, even as I recoiled in confusion—surely she didn’t mean she wanted nothing to do with Sam. She was so agitated; if I could just calm her down, maybe I could get her to explain. “I understand, it’s a very difficult—”
“It is,” she interrupted quickly. “And I have to ask you, please don’t call here again. Please remove our number from your records. My husband and I just can’t allow Samantha to disrupt the family the way she has in the past. Maybe if she gets better someday, but not now.”
“Okay, I understand,” I said again. “Of course, if you want to reach me at any time, you have my number. But—”
She didn’t stop to hear me out. “All right, well. Thank you for understanding. Good-bye.”
Click.
Bill came into the room. “Who was that?”
I stared at the mute receiver in my hand, disbelieving. “That was Ruby Dunleavy. She says they’re done with Sam. She doesn’t want me to call them anymore.”
He looked dumbfounded, then disgusted. “So much for her Parent of the Year award.”
“Really.”
I couldn’t fathom it—Sam’s mother was giving up; she’d quit. I felt my chest swell with indignation. What kind of mother gives up on her kid? Sam wasn’t even mine, she’d tortured me for a year, and I still couldn’t fully let her go.
So Ruby had spoken to her husband—I bet he was behind her drastic change of heart. In fact, I bet he was behind a lot of things. I bet he was a big part of the reason both his daughters wanted to die. Him, and his frightened, hiding wife. Sam had filed a restraining order against him, right around the time her sister had tried to kill herself—I saw it on the background check, the civil charge from April 2004. Ruby herself admitted it. But there was something else she wasn’t admitting.
I put the dead phone back on the cradle, frowning. Something had happened in that house, that quarter-million-dollar house with the in-ground swimming pool—something that had helped make Sam very, very sick.
The second meeting of Sam’s three remaining moms took place two weeks later, at a chain restaurant in Midtown.
“Well, here we are again,” Maria said brightly, unwrapping her scarf, kissing me and Jodi hello. “Good to see you, ladies.”
It was good to see her, too, her cheeks pink from the cold outside, drops of melted snow in the curls of her dark hair. It had been more than two months since we’d seen one another, after months of seeing one another almost every day; it was a relief to see her now, and Jodi, too. They were my touchstones, my witnesses; this hadn’t all been a figment of my imagination. The past year and a half had actually happened. As unreal as she was, Sam wasn’t just a dream.
Jodi turned to me, gave me her pursed-lipped smile. “So, have you heard from Sam’s mom again?”
“Nope. And I doubt I ever will. It sounds like her husband put the kibosh on her speaking to me; she said they want nothing to do with Sam.”
“Unbelievable,” said Maria, shaking her head. “Just unbelievable.”
I’d called Maria and Jodi after talking to Sam’s mom and told them what I’d discovered: the physics award, the other family and the fake kidney transplant, Eileen’s very real suicide attempt, Mom’s overnight change of heart after talking to Dad. It took a few days for Maria to get over the shock and upset—she’d suspected the truth about Sam’s past, but she wasn’t entirely delighted to have it confirmed, especially after I’d said I would let the fact-finding mission lie for a while. But ultimately she agreed that it was better we knew than not. She and Jodi also agreed that the Dunleavy family stank of something rotten.
“That father,” said Jodi.
I threw my hands up. “Don’t get me started. Out of all the lies Sam told, I believe that her dad’s a total creep.”
“Well, I got an interesting phone call the other day.” Maria unfolded her napkin with a flourish, placed it on her lap. “Sam called to ask me about family day.”
“Really.”
And my stupid heart raced, that old adrenaline shot I got whenever Sam drew nearer. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d called Maria; Maria had remained a relentless supporter, sending unanswered letters every other week for four months now. Sam must have thought Maria could still be won over, drawn in, emotionally useful somehow. I wondered what it would be like to talk to Sam after all this time, knowing what we knew now. I didn’t know if I could do it, didn’t know if I could approach her with the care and compassion I was still trying to feel for her. Family day had been on my calendar since I’d heard about it from Maria last month, but I hadn’t yet decided whether or not to attend.
“How did it go?” Jodi asked.
“Hard,” said Maria bluntly. “It was really hard. She was talking to me like normal, like nothing had changed, and I was just…I didn’t want to tell her, ‘Listen, I know everything, tell me the truth.’ I still want her to own up to it herself, you know? But it was hard, not saying anything. It’s like, I still love her, I still care for her. I still want to support her so she can get better. But hearing her voice like that…it was hard.”
I could only imagine—that clear, piercing voice, so full of need. And so full of shit. “Are you still thinking you want to go to family day?” I asked.
“I am,” she said, resolute. “Especially since she called and asked me to. That had to be a big deal for her—calling me, after what we went through last summer, knowing that we know she lied about AIDS. It’s almost like, if she’s willing to admit part of it, maybe we can get her to tell us the rest.”
“How about you?” I asked Jodi.
“I’m ready to go,” Jodi said, shrugging. “I’m curious, as much as anything. And I still care about her, as crazy as that sounds. She didn’t call me, but if she wants me to go, I’ll go. It’ll be interesting, at the very least.”
I nodded. “I’m still not sure,” I told them. “Part of me kind of feels like I have to go—not just to be supportive of her, but for closure’s sake. Like maybe if I saw her again, I’d feel more settled about the whole thing.” Instead of unsettled, wildly ambivalent, alternately infuriated and depressed. The truth was, I didn’t want to go to family day. I couldn’t imagine being around Sam without wanting to grab her throat and squeeze it, and that impulse made me dislike both her and myself. “I don’t know,” I concluded. “Jury’s still out, for me.”
“Well, I think I can help you make that decision,” said Maria. She hesitated for a second. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Okay.” I wondered what Maria could tell me that would be worse than what I already knew. “What’s that?”
“You’re not on the list of approved visitors.” She wrinkled her nose and cringed a little. Sorry.
“Really.” I broke into a manic grin, blood rushing to my
head. She didn’t, I thought. Sam didn’t block me, and allow Jodi and Maria to come. “And why’s that?”
Maria hesitated again, and her cringe got deeper. “Because…she told them you’re a drug user.”
I stared at her, incredulous, then laughed.
“Oh, no,” said Jodi, drawing back. “She didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maria. “I really am.”
And I laughed again, because it was perfect—for once, Sam wasn’t lying. I was a drug user; I smoked pot all the time. Maria and Jodi knew it, I’d never kept it from them; as ashamed as I was of my immature habit, I didn’t hide it from the people I loved. And now Sam was telling the truth, wielding it just as skillfully as she wielded lies, slashing at my Achilles heel the way hers had been slashed, exposing me as I’d exposed her.
At the same time, in disowning me, she’d made my decision for me. I hadn’t wanted to go to family day, and now I didn’t have to. I could walk away from the situation with no remorse—in fact, I had no other choice. I hadn’t been able to cut myself loose from her, so she’d done it for me. Almost a kindness, like when she’d recuperated so I could go on my honeymoon. She’d released me.
“I’m sorry,” Maria said again. “I feel awful. I can’t believe that she said that, but—”
I waved it off—we could all believe that she’d said that. “Oh, I figured she’d told them something. I thought maybe she’d say I tried to grab her boobs or something. At least this is the truth, right?”
“Well, I’d be pretty angry,” said Jodi, looking offended on my behalf. “After all you’ve done for her…”
Right—after all I’d done for her. Which was what? I wondered. I’d listened to her, like the nun on the shelter’s videotape told me to, and I’d believed. But that wasn’t what she needed. She needed someone to not believe her, to see through her, and I’d been too busy seeing a reflection of myself. What had I done for her, after all? I’d rewarded her for being sick; I’d absolved her of guilt for any harm she’d done to others. I’d bought all the bullshit she’d sold me, until supply couldn’t keep up with demand anymore, and she was forced to take her ruse to new heights.
Have You Found Her Page 37