Satisfied now that a nice family had adopted Rae’s baby sister, Bernadette’s thoughts turned back to the other siblings. She still might have time to get a few more details about them as well. She turned the page and saw the Application for a New Birth Certificate.
Name of Child Assigned at Birth: Baby Girl Blackwell
Date of Birth: February 10, 1985 Place of Birth: Brackenridge Hospital, Austin, TX
What a coincidence. Rae’s baby sister was born on the same day as Veronica and at the same hospital. That settled it. She knew she’d crossed the line now, but she had to keep reading. Maybe she knew the adoptive parents. Maybe she even knew who Rae’s baby sister was. Wouldn’t it be something if Veronica had gone to school with her?
She looked back down at the file now without restraint, and what she saw made her face burn, her throat close up. She blinked at the blurry signatures at the bottom of the form. It couldn’t be. She blinked again. There was no mistaking it. Something sharp stabbed her in the pit of her stomach. She doubled over. Her breath came in short spurts, and she was afraid she was going to pass out. She gripped the seat of her chair until her knuckles turned white and her hands went numb. She had to get out of there. She made it to the door and stumbled down the hall in a daze.
“Mrs. Baker?”
A voice screamed no in her head at the sound of the intern’s voice. She walked faster, not daring to look back.
“Just a minute, Mrs. Baker.”
No, no, no, no, no! The voice in her head screamed louder. She started to run, slower at first, then faster and faster. Blind to anyone or anything around her, she ran down the hall and through the main reception area. She slammed her shoulder into the heavy exit door, and it gave way, thrusting her out into the crashing thunder just as the skies opened in a torrential downpour. With the driving rain and wind bearing down on her, she ran as fast as her short legs would allow, not stopping or looking behind her until she was too out of breath to go any farther.
THIRTY-TWO
Marty was oblivious to the rain smashing against the windows and the twisting tree branches almost touching the ground until a sudden flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder that made it sound like the storm had moved right into the living room startled him. He looked at his watch and was alarmed by the lateness of the hour. Just then, much to his relief, the front door opened. Bernie was home.
“I’m in here,” he called out.
She stood in the dark hallway, staring at him with her mouth open. Her hair was wet, plastered on her head like a doll’s. Her eyes looked as if she’d seen something she couldn’t believe she’d seen—not frightened-looking, but more dazed, the way he imagined the survivor of a lightning strike might look, an incongruent coupling of disorientation and heightened awareness. The Book of Dead Philosophers hit the floor as he flew from his chair and rushed over to her.
“My god, Bernie,” he said as she fell against him like a rag doll. He helped her to her chair opposite his by the fireplace and wrapped a soft wool throw around her shoulders. Then he knelt on the floor in front of her.
“You didn’t drive in this condition, did you?”
“The man warned me not to,” she said with a vacant stare and shake of her head.
“What man?” He shuddered, gripped her knees. Something really terrible had to have happened to put her in such a state.
“I couldn’t get my car door open. I don’t know how he got my keys.”
Marty grabbed each side of her waist, an awkward attempt to calm her and himself at the same time. A chill shot up his spine as he braced for the worst. “Did he hurt you?” It came out in a whisper.
She turned toward him, her eyes unfocused as if she didn’t understand the question or maybe didn’t hear him. He swallowed his growing panic.
“Tell me about the man, okay, Bernie?” His voice cracked.
“He helped me.” She spoke in a disconnected voice that didn’t sound like her. “He unlocked the door. He said I shouldn’t drive. But I did. I don’t know how I made it home.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, “he was very kind.”
Tears sprang to his eyes as he felt the terror inside draining away. But when he laid his cheek on Bernie’s thigh, he felt her body tremble, and it made him fearful all over again. He squeezed the outsides of her legs in a futile effort to stop the shaking. She gnawed at her hands, biting away at one patch of skin after another, her eyes darting back and forth, her face paler than white.
“Don’t.” He reached up and pulled her hands away from her mouth.
She shivered. Her eyes were wide, her gaze fixed on nothing.
“It can’t be,” she muttered.
“What?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“What can’t be, Bernie?”
Her head twisted from side to side in sharp, quick movements as if she’d developed a tic. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Then she started to sob. He jumped to his feet and pulled her up from the chair—he didn’t know why, he just didn’t know what else to do—and held her tight. She started to convulse and gasp for breath, just as she did the night the police officer came to the house to tell them Veronica was dead.
“My god, Bernie,” he said. “We need to go to the hospital.”
He felt a jolt of her body, heard a low moan.
“I’m calling 911,” he said.
“No,” she said pushing against his chest. “Don’t.”
With her hands covering her mouth, she fixed her red, swollen eyes on his face, as if seeing him for the first time since she’d come in the door. He grew wary, wanting to ask if she was ready to tell him what happened but afraid that if he did she might collapse again. She started biting the side of her thumb, and he grabbed her hands and pressed them against her abdomen. She pushed him away and took a step back.
“Marty!” It was a rasping sound, unlike anything he’d ever heard.
“What is it?”
She stared at him. And then, like water breaking full force through a broken dam, she screamed the words.
“Veronica and Rae are sisters.”
His stomach caught in his throat and left him speechless. Nothing could have prepared him for this. He covered his eyes and waited for the arrow on the roulette wheel spinning in his head to land on something, anything that could help him understand what she’d just said, because it made no sense to him whatsoever. He felt her hand on his cheek, then her arms around his neck. He leaned into her trembling embrace, pressed his brow against her quivering neck. And just when he was sure the sharp mixture of pain and fear shooting through his heart was going to kill him, she pulled back and gripped his upper arms tight as a vise.
“Marty,” she said, her eyes big and round, “this changes everything.”
The hot iron touch of her hands made him flinch. What was she saying? What did she mean? It was all too much… too much. He twisted away from her, but she turned him around, forced him to face her. He wanted to resist, but he couldn’t as she took his face in her hands.
“Look at me,” he heard her say.
But he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anything. Everything had ceased to exist. Then she kissed his cheeks, each in turn, and he felt his arms collapse at his sides. He buried his face in her throat for protection from whatever it was that threatened to devour all meaning from his mind and life itself and thus destroy his sanity. Destroy him. She clutched his hair and pressed his face into her breasts, and a low guttural sound assailed him, so terrifying in intensity that it wasn’t until later that he realized it had come from both of them.
THIRTY-THREE
Bernadette knew they were doing the right thing. Last night’s dream, strange as it was, left her no doubt about that. In the dream, she was in bed with her children, only they had curiously long arms and legs that were wrapped around each other like soggy noodles. An arm reached out to pull someone else into the bed. Then a leg did the same. Again and a
gain they pulled others in until the mass of twisted arms and legs turned into the world’s largest ball of twine, like the one she’d seen during a third-grade field trip to Darwin, Minnesota. Only in the dream, the ball wasn’t twine but a mass of living, breathing bodies. As soon as she woke up that morning, she had told Marty she knew what she had to do, and he had agreed. They had both acknowledged that it wouldn’t be easy, especially for Annamaria, but there was no getting around that.
She called the kids right away and that very afternoon, at five o’clock sharp, Annamaria marched into the kitchen, followed by Fin and Patty, holding hands. Bernadette’s stomach started doing flip-flops. She took in a mouthful of air, blew it back out and silently chanted breathe in love, breathe out fear before ushering her family into the living room.
Marty stood next to her in front of the fireplace, and together they watched everyone get settled. Annamaria’s shoulders were pulled back and her head tipped up as she sat on the leather couch in a posture of self-assurance, but her eyes—a collage of anxiety, fear, and confusion—betrayed her. Patty plopped down next to Annamaria with a decisive thump, while Fin lowered himself into a lotus position on the Oriental rug in front of them. They all looked worried, and no wonder; they weren’t used to being summoned to a family meeting about something so important that it couldn’t wait until dinner, especially when Friday was just the next night.
Marty kissed Bernadette on the cheek. “You ready?” he asked.
She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. But when she saw her children’s upturned faces looking first at her and then at Marty, a wave of lightheadedness came over her and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She placed her wobbly legs a few feet apart to keep them from caving in and held onto Marty’s arm for support. Then she took in a deep breath and let it out with a long whoosh.
“What’s wrong?” Fin asked.
“Give me a minute.” She held the palm of one hand up and pressed the forefinger of her other hand against her lips. It would be best to just get it all out at once, let them react in whatever way they had to. She opened her mouth again, only to find that all the words she’d so carefully rehearsed seemed to vanish.
Marty took her hand in his and nodded his encouragement. “Do you want me to start?” he whispered to her.
She shook her head, pulled her square shoulders back, and took in another deep breath. “There’s something we…” She exhaled.
Three sets of eyes fixed on her. Now. Tell them now. She looked at Marty, and his smile made it possible for her to go on.
“It’s about Rae and her mother.” There was no turning back now. She had to keep going.
“I found out that Maxine Blackwell is… well, she’s not only Rae’s mother.” She gulped in some more air, released it. “She’s Veronica’s birth mother, too.”
There, she’d said it. She closed her eyes and waited, not knowing what to expect. No one said anything. Were they still there? Why not a sound? She opened her eyes and saw that Annamaria’s eyebrows were a knot in the middle of her forehead, her lips a tight thin line.
“What the hell makes you think that?” Annamaria’s voice, like shattering glass, broke the silence.
“I can’t tell you how I know.”
Annamaria tucked in her chin and glared upward like an animal ready to pounce. Bernadette braced herself. She’d expected anger to be Annie’s first line of defense, knew it had shielded her from her pain for far too long not to protect her now. But just as anger served as a lifeline between Annie and Veronica, it kept her tied in a negative way to Rae as well. Asking her now to believe, without question, that Veronica was related to the very person she most detested—well, that would be asking too much. Annie would need a lot of time; there was no doubt about it.
No one said anything for what seemed like a very long time. They were in shock—traumatized, no doubt, as she and Marty had been just yesterday. How they’d gotten from the living room to the safety of their bedroom after she first broke the news to him was still a blur to Bernadette. They’d clung to each other for a long time—it seemed like forever—before they had been able to begin talking about it. Even hours later, when there was nothing more to say and Marty had fallen asleep from exhaustion, she’d stared up at the white blades of the ceiling fan flashing against the ghost-like shadows and prayed that he really did believe her, that he really was on her side. Well, she knew Marty was by her side now. And just as he’d come to believe her, so, too, would the others.
Bernadette saw that Patty’s curious eyes, round and wide as spaceships, were almost glowing. “What does this mean, Gran?”
“Maybe my friend Clarissa’s right,” she said with a smile. “Maybe we’re related to everyone on the planet.”
“Six degrees of separation,” Marty said with a shake of his head.
Fin, who had yet to utter a sound, sat in a meditative pose with his eyes closed, the palms of his hands face up on his knees. He was smiling.
“Veronica knows,” he whispered to no one in particular.
“Yes,” Bernadette said.
“I think your mom knew, too, without realizing it,” Marty said. “I think that’s why her heart went soft for Raelynn Blackwell right from the start.”
***
That was it. Annamaria couldn’t stand any more of this. She jumped up from the couch and stumbled out to the front hallway with her lower lip leading the way, her breath shooting out in flames. Then she stalked back to the couch and out to the hallway again, back and forth, back and forth, finally coming to an abrupt stop behind the couch. She dug her sharp fingernails into the soft leather.
“How can you expect us to believe this,” she said with a squinty glare, “when we don’t even know who told you?”
“I trust my source,” she heard her mom say.
“Is there anyone you don’t trust?”
“No need for that,” her dad said. “I didn’t believe it at first, either, if that’s any help. It’s a lot to take in.”
“If I thought it would help, Annie, I’d tell you how I found out, but my source is in enough trouble as it is.”
“So,” Annamaria snorted, “sounds like we have some violation of Texas confidentiality laws or something going on here.”
“Mom wouldn’t have told us if she didn’t know it was true,” Fin retorted.
“But Mom hasn’t told us how she knows it’s true, have you, Mom?”
“It started when I found out that Rae’s baby sister was born on the same day as Veronica… and at the same hospital, too.”
“You’re basing this on a coincidence?” Annamaria was flabbergasted. This was the extent of her mom’s evidence?
“I thought it was just a coincidence at first, too.”
Annamaria crossed her arms and glared at her mom. “Well, there you have it,” she said, “all this grief and drama over nothing.”
“But it turned out not to be. There was only one baby born at the hospital that day. That baby was our Veronica, and her mother was Maxine Blackwell.”
Annamaria snorted and looked away.
“Knowing the details about how your mom made this discovery is not what’s important,” her dad said. “What’s important is how we face this.”
Annamaria couldn’t believe it. Both her parents were against her. Again. She gripped the back of the couch to keep herself from sinking onto the floor. There was only one thing she knew how to do to stay in the fight, to inject reason into the craziness that had descended on her family. She tugged at the jacket of her red power suit and projected herself back to earlier that day when she was in court. She narrowed her eyes at her mom, a hostile witness. Then she looked at her dad and turned him and the others into members of the jury. It wouldn’t do for her to seem shaky in front of any of them. She had to appear confident, in charge, no matter what she felt inside.
“Okay then,” she said in the most professional tone of voice she could manage, “let’s say it’s possible that Veronica
and that murderer were related somehow.” She coughed into her hand to cover up the cracking in her voice.
“. . . Which none of us should believe,” she added, raising her voice, “without verification.” She paused, sighed, gulped in some air.
“There is verification, Annie,” her dad said. “It is what it is.”
“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say it’s true. The question remains: what difference does it make? I’m not just asking you, Mom, Dad. I’m asking all of you. What the hell difference does it make?” She drew her lips together in a circle and released the air from her lungs with a loud puff.
“The answer to that question is in your heart, Annie,” her mom said.
“You have the freedom, as do all of us, to choose how to respond,” her dad said, “to decide what it means.”
“It means,” Fin said, “that Raelynn Blackwell is all that we have left of Veronica.”
“No, Fin,” Annamaria said. “The correct answer is that it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It doesn’t mean anything to you that Veronica and Rae are sisters?” Fin said.
“Nothing.” Annamaria’s eyes flashed, and her words scorched the air.
“Come on, they’re blood,” Fin said. “Blood.”
Annamaria felt rage building inside her. She gritted her teeth. “They are not alike in any way,” she said. “Veronica was born good.”
“And Raelynn Blackwell wasn’t?” Fin said.
“Good, bad, blank slate,” her dad said with a shrug.
“You know what I mean, Dad. Veronica was a good baby. We all know that.”
“She was a happy baby,” Fin said, “with Mom and Dad beside themselves with happiness at the smallest hint of a smile from her and an older sister, you, unable to resist her charms no matter how hard she tried and, of course, a brother who anticipated her every need. But what if she’d been neglected or mistreated instead of loved and cared for? If she cried then, would that mean she was a bad baby?”
Patty shuddered. “If you guys didn’t adopt Veronica, she could have ended up like Rae.”
Just Mercy: A Novel Page 18