by Regan Claire
“Yeah, well. Thanks for giving me all this. I’ve got to go though, still got a lot of stuff I need to do and well, I think Margaret wanted me to eat lunch with her today before I left.”
As far as excuses went, mine was pretty lame. I just had to get away from her, get away from other people for a few minutes. I walked off with my hands full before Sara could really react. I heard her stand up and call my name, but I didn’t look back and she didn’t come after me; I think she knew I needed some time alone.
I walked the two miles back to Margaret’s, going back and forth between mad, hurt, and excited to learn all these new things about myself. Mad and hurt seemed to win over excited, and after I let myself into the house, I went to my room and shoved the folder into one of my still open bags, then told myself that nothing in my life was different because of it; I was determined to forget all about it.
Margaret, with her perfect timing, was just finishing up my favorite lunch when I walked in: grilled cheese and tomato soup. We were going to eat on the patio, and I was instructed to wait at the two-person table while she brought out our plates.
I didn’t realize that I still had the key and chain wrapped in my fist until I went in for my first bite. I put it down and tried to ignore it, but every few moments I’d realize that I’d stopped eating and was tracing the imprint left in my palm and staring idly at the offending key.
“Is everything okay, Della? How was your talk with Sara?” As a rule, Margaret and I didn’t talk about things, not real things anyway, but she must have noticed that something was up with me and was trying out her very rusty maternal instincts.
“It was good I guess. Very informative.” I muttered the last bit, but not really softly enough to not be heard.
“That’s a pretty necklace. I don’t remember seeing it before. Did Sara give that to you for your birthday?” She gestured towards the key sitting innocently next to my bowl.
“Well, kind of. Apparently it belonged to my mother. They found out who she was. I guess she left me some stuff back where she lived. Not like I’ll go and get it or anything. Her stupid family can just keep it.” I rarely acted the part of a surly teenager, but exceptional circumstances are cause for exceptional behavior, or something like that.
“Della, they know who your mother was? She has family? Child, that means that you have family! That’s something to be happy about!”
“Yeah, but they knew about me! They knew where I was. They didn’t just find out, they’ve known for years. I could have had a home, Margaret; they could have been my family. They didn’t even contact me and let me know they existed. They could have, you know. Even if they didn’t take me on, the courts would have let them contact me. I know tons of other kids in the system who at least get a birthday card from their birth family, even if they’re being fostered,” I told her, even though she was well aware of that fact. Then, when she didn’t say anything, I went on with my rant.
“They didn’t even want to know me. Why would I go there for some stupid house that’s probably run down, and some stupid family that doesn’t care if I exist? I’ve gone my whole life without whatever’s out there and I don’t see why I need it now. I just want to forget about it all and get on with my life!”
Margaret sat back with her hands in her lap for a few minutes, but I knew she wasn’t going to drop it since she got a certain look in her eye when she knew she was right about something. It was a look that she usually reserved for trivia game shows, something she was both obsessed with and brilliant with.
“Well, it seems like it would be a little difficult to move towards your future if you don’t know your past.” She wiped invisible crumbs from her mouth with her paper-towel napkin. “Della, even if you don’t see these people at all, you need to go back and find out about your mother. You said she left you a house? That seems like a pretty good way to start a new life, which is exactly what you have been planning to do, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t you start that new life in a place where you can find some answers rather than above some old convenience store?” she asked in her no-nonsense manner.
“It’s not that simple, Margaret. Even if I wanted to go, the house is in North Carolina. I’ve never even left California. I can’t go all the way to the opposite side of the country just because of some empty house and some relatives who don’t want to know me. How would I even get there? What am I supposed to do there? It’s better that I just forget the whole thing and move on with my life, don’t you think?” My argument sounded weak even to my ears.
“Well, I suppose you could do that, but if it were me I’d want to know. I’d want to know where I came from, and know who my family was. I’d even want to know the worthless relatives who didn’t want to know me, because you can’t find any answers if you don’t ask any questions. But I guess I’m just more inquisitive than you are. Those questions would burn at me and keep me up at night. To each her own, though.”
Obviously satisfied with planting the seeds she knew would take root in my thoughts, Margaret kept the conversation light for the rest of lunch. She did, however, seem really pleased with herself and was uncommonly cheerful for a woman who never smiled. After lunch she insisted on cleaning up again, and I excused myself for a run.
Now, I am by no means an athlete. I don’t go to the gym or play team sports, but there is something about running that is extremely satisfying. I usually only take my runs when it’s raining outside, one oddity of mine from a long list of them. I also like to run barefoot. I’ve had my share of stubbed toes as a result, but the feeling of my bare feet hitting the earth is just exhilarating to me.
I took the trail behind the elementary school I had found my first week in town. It was a dirt path that wound through a semi-wooded area to a clearing with a picnic table and a few sandboxes. I always made a beeline for the huge redwood tree that seemed to watch over this little family spot; it was a lonely reminder that this entire area was once a huge forest. I sat down with my back to the tree, dug my toes a little into the dirt and grass that surround the roots, and let myself absorb the calm that the tree offered with my head back and my eyes closed.
I’d been doing that a lot, going to that redwood and thinking about my future, and thought I had figured out which path my life would take. I would work at the convenience store, buy the old beat-up truck, rent out the tiny loft apartment, and save up for community college. I had only vague plans after that since I wasn’t in the habit of making long-term plans, never having been in one place long enough to make them.
My plan, which only that morning seemed exciting and fulfilling, was now lacking. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was missing, but I was sure that I could no longer be satisfied with that life, with any life really, at least not until I put my curiosity to rest. I guess I wasn’t too surprised that I’d come to that conclusion. Margaret’s seed had taken root and was sprouting.
I had managed to save nearly a thousand dollars working part-time at the convenience store, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. Airfare would take up a big chunk of that and, for once, I was really glad that I didn’t have that many things. Everything I owned could easily be packed into a couple of suitcases. It wasn’t as if there were anything keeping me here. If I went to North Carolina and it didn’t work out, I could just go somewhere else, start over in a place where nobody knew who I was, where I could be whoever I wanted to be. Besides there was a little money waiting for me, more than enough to replenish what I would spend getting there, and if the house belonged to me, then there wasn’t anything that anybody could say about my living there.
Who said I even had to see the supposed family that lived in the area? I figured I could ignore them quite as well as they had ignored me over the past few years. Better, in fact. I ended up being so very wrong, but at the time the thought comforted me and helped me steel my will toward a new direction.
I stayed a good deal longer under that tree, making mental to-do lists and planning my next few days. I didn’t think a
bout what I would do once I got to my mother’s house, didn’t think about the family that still lived in the area. Instead, I kept my thoughts filled with the few things I could control: the details of what I needed to do the next day to claim my inheritance.
Before going back to Margaret’s house I stopped by the convenience store to talk to my boss and let him know that there was going to be a change of plans. He was disappointed when I told him I would be moving away and would be unable to work that summer, but he wished me luck and gave me a gruff hug before I left to walk, still barefoot, back down the road to Margaret’s house. It was a strange walk, everything looked different to me, as if it were the last time I would see that road. I was thinking about how vastly different my life would be from then on. I felt that I was on the verge of becoming a new person; that I was about to be reborn.
CHAPTER THREE
I was a little naïve in thinking that my new life would start the very next day; there were too many things to work out. I took Margaret up on her offer to stay a couple of extra weeks and took that time to get everything in order. She was amazing and helped me go through all the papers in the folder Sara gave me, and even helped me make a to-do list for before I left.
Updating my birth certificate was less painful than I thought it was going to be, though I did have a little panicked moment since it meant I could also change my last name from ‘Doe’ (from Jane Doe) to ‘Deare’. Since I’d never had one, I ended up just making Doe my middle name, though in hindsight Della Doe Deare is kinda silly sounding.
Either way, it was exactly sixteen days later that I found myself in coastal North Carolina walking into the East Carolina Bank where my mother’s safety deposit box was held. Margaret had convinced me to call and make an appointment first, and I was planning on asking for more information on whom to contact while I was there, since I had no idea how to claim the rest of my inheritance.
I had paid an exorbitant amount of money for the taxi that had brought me there from the Norfolk airport, and I felt a little awkward standing in the bank wondering who to talk to with my two mismatched suitcases and the bright orange duffel bag that I used as my carry-on. I didn’t feel that way for long before a man smelling of cigars walked up to me and introduced himself.
“You would be Della, right? I’m John McCay, the lawyer for your momma’s estate.” He held out a hand for me to shake. “Ed gave me a call and told me that you would be here right about now. Why don’t we go on back and meet with him,” he said. Then, before I had the opportunity to say anything, he grabbed the handle to the suitcase I had put down to shake his hand and started walking towards the banks offices. Following him seemed like the best idea, so I did.
It turned out that Ed was not only the bank manager, but also Mr. McCay’s cousin. That explained how he knew whom to call about the estate.
“Now Della, I hope you don’t mind that I asked John to be present here for this. Since no one knew that Gabby had a daughter, or that she had passed away, I figured having your lawyer here would be the best way to go about things. You have the paperwork proving you are who you say you are, right?”
I was a little confused by Mr. McCay being called my lawyer, but I didn’t balk at his presence. Ed had made my life a little easier, and it was just one less thing that I would have to deal with by myself that day. I handed over the file that had my mother’s death certificate, the police report, and my now updated birth certificate and identification. The two men took a few minutes going over everything, and when they were finished, their rather similar blue eyes had softened considerably as they looked at me.
“You were raised in the foster system?” The lawyer, John, asked.
“Yes”
“And no one knew who your momma was until a few years ago?” This was from Ed.
“That’s what I’ve been told. I didn’t find out anything until my eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago.” They both exchanged a weighted look at that. They seemed surprised by the reports.
“Mr. McCay, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Certainly not, dear.” He smiled a little at his small pun on my new name.
“I was told that Gab- my mother’s family had been notified when they identified her. If you are the lawyer for her estate, then why do you seem surprised by this? Wouldn’t you have also been told? Wouldn’t I have been contacted soon anyway about all this since I’ve turned eighteen?” I didn’t know why the two McCay’s before me seemed so surprised by the reports.
“Well, one would think so. In fact I didn’t know anything about any of this until my cousin here called me up and told me about you. I had been under the impression that no one knew what happened to your mother, after she ran off all those years ago. I certainly didn’t know that she was pregnant when she left or that she passed away. If I had, I can assure you that we would have tried to get in contact with you.”
He appeared sincere enough, but growing up in the system made me know that how people appeared wasn’t necessarily how they felt. I trusted him anyway for the same reason I trusted, or didn’t trust, anyone: my uncanny instinct. Sure, it usually just let me know when someone was about to knock on the door, but it had never led me astray and the few times I ignored it had taught me never to do so again.
“So, Miss Deare, I assume you’re here to collect what’s in the safety deposit box.” Ed finally spoke up, and I nodded my head, though he was already walking out the door with a big set of jangly keys, which I assumed were for the deposit boxes. He returned a few minutes later carrying a metal box, which he placed in front of me.
I sat there looking at it for a few minutes. It didn’t look anything like the safety deposit boxes you see in the movies, this one was made out of metal that had etchings all over it, the etchings I later learned were a type of runes, the meanings of which are all but forgotten… to most people.
“You do have the key, don’t you Della? I really can’t help you if you don’t, I don’t even have one.” He put his hand on top of the object in question. “This box predates the bank here, and your family has kept it here since we opened; they’re, uh, special clients and there’s only one key.” I guess I was wrong about the jangly keys around his belt.
“Um, all I have is what was in that envelope, and this, which I think must be the house key or something.” I pulled the knotted key out from under my shirt where it was hanging. It looked a good deal different than it had when I first saw it. Margaret had gotten me some silver polish to clean it up with and it turned out that it only looked black because of all the tarnish. A few hours of hard rubbing proved that it was really silver. I had a nagging suspicion that the box in front of me was also.
“Why don’t we try it out and see if it fits, just in case?” he suggested.
I slid the key into the lock, and was a little surprised when it slid right on in, turning easily.
“Do you want us to give you some privacy?” asked Ed, and I shook my head as I lifted up the lid.
Inside were more savings bonds than I expected, which I immediately picked up and put to the side. There was also an envelope that was filled with cash. I had never seen so much money at one time, and when I counted it out it came to exactly two thousand dollars.
The deed to the house I had just inherited was also there, as well as a few more notebooks, but only one of them looked like my mother’s handwriting. The others looked a bit older, and were leather bound. I went ahead and took them out to take with me.
Underneath the journals was treasure! Well, it looked like treasure to me, since it was mostly jewelry, stuff that looked really old and expensive and must have been family heirlooms. I noticed that most of the pieces were marked with the same knot symbol that was on my key, either as a pendant or etched into a stone or even just on the clasp. It must be the family seal or something.
There was one piece that stood out from the rest, not only because it was still in a velvet bag, or that it was the only one that didn’t have the knot on
it, but there was something else about it that just seemed different. It was a very wide silver bracelet, not smooth and shiny; it looked hammered. Inlaid in the center was a ruby circle that was split in four by a cross, not the Jesus kind, more like the plus sign. The ruby was so big I doubted it was real. In the bag there was a small envelope with a note and a picture of a laughing woman and the profile of a handsome man looking at her.
Gabriella,
These past months have been incredible and it breaks my heart that we’ve had to end our romance because of who and what we are. You’ve opened my eyes to what true life is, and if it weren’t for the danger our love puts you in, then I would happily have you by my side for all eternity. If only the Fates were kinder, the rules less strict, or the punishment less severe. Don’t ever think that because we can no longer be together, what we feel for each other isn’t real and lasting.
I’m giving you one of my armlets that you so admired at our first meeting. When I look down and see its match on my arm, I will think of you and know that you will be thinking of me also. It’s not just a token of everlasting love for you, but also one of power and protection, so wear it always my darling; so that I may come to you, so that I may find you anywhere, so that I may keep you safe.
I will keep my memories of you close to my heart for the rest of my existence. Know that you are cherished, my darling.
Only yours,
D.
The handwritten note brought tears to my eyes, and I wondered who D was and if he were my father. It was horribly romantic: forbidden love, matching bracelets, angst-ridden love note. The picture must be of my mother and him, since the man was wearing what looked like this same bracelet halfway up each forearm. I had never known what my mother looked like, and I searched her laughing face for similarities. The man in the picture was looking at her with eyes full of love. You are cherished. I was glad my mother at least had that before she died, and I wondered what split them up. In the movies it was usually family pressure, and I felt sorry for the two lovebirds in the picture.