The Many Lives of June Crandall

by Suzanne Whitfield Vince

  After a short pause, Mother shook her head. "Why do you ask?"

  Grace didn't think the reincarnation theory would go over very well, so she stepped around it. "I have reason to believe that my mother's name was June Crandall. Do you know how I came to live here?"

  "You came to us from one of our sister orphanages in Los Angeles, but it too has closed its doors since then."

  Grace nodded and thanked her. She hadn't expected her to know who June Crandall was, but it was worth asking.

  Three days after she arrived, Grace borrowed a car and drove to Los Angeles to meet with the lawyer at Legal Aid that Carolyn had arranged for her. She'd learned to drive in high school, had obtained a New York driver's license, but she hadn't driven since she was sixteen, so one of the nuns--Sister Veronica--went with her.

  The lawyer's name was Betty Lewis, and Grace liked her right away. Carolyn had told her that she and Betty had been best friends since they were eight years old. They grew up in a housing project called Cabrini Green on Chicago's near-north side, and had somehow managed to survive the gang violence and drugs that had all but taken over the housing development. Both had received scholarships from Wellesley, and while Carolyn went on to receive her master's degree in social work, Betty studied the law.

  Grace guessed correctly that Betty was not good at taking no for an answer. "I've spoken to Carolyn about you, Grace, but I'd like to hear from you what it would mean to find out who your birth parents are."

  "Well, the short answer is that it would mean everything. I've spent my whole life wondering who my mother is, why she gave me away, and if she loves me. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering. I've had dreams, visions of her, and she's always very loving and protective. I believe she does love me, and that she never wanted to give me away. But right or wrong, I need to know in order to move forward with my life.""

  Betty explained that it would take a court order to unseal her original birth certificate, and that there must be a medical necessity for obtaining such information.

  Grace's heart plummeted. "But...I'm not sick.""

  "Oh, I don't know, you look a little pale to me. Are you sure you're not feeling a little ill, honey?"

  "Betty, please don't do anything that could get you into trouble."

  "Don't you worry your pretty little head, my dear. You just leave it to Aunt Betty. I'll file the petition with the court, and will call you as soon as I have some news.""

  A smile tugged at her lips and she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time. Hope. She didn't know what Betty was planning, but Grace trusted that she had her best interest at heart.

  "How much will all this cost?" she asked the lawyer.

  Betty smiled and reached for Grace's hand. "This one's on me."

  Grace tried to protest but Betty put up her hand. "I would like to do this for you, Grace. And for Carolyn. I owe her a lot. Please, will you let me help you?"

  Grace thought about her former counselor and a tender feeling washed over her. She'd promised herself, now that she was on her own, she'd never take charity from anyone, but she also understood the desire to help those who have helped you in the past. Slowly, she nodded. ""Okay, thank you."

  As she drove back to Pasadena, her heart was full and she was certain that, by the time she started school that fall, she would finally have met the woman of her dreams.

  Her mother.

  June Crandall.

  Waiting was practically impossible. To keep from going completely mad, Grace volunteered for extra shifts in the kitchen. She spent hours journaling, and decided to put all of her June Crandall dreams into one book. She called it, The Many Faces of June Crandall. She would finish it with a chapter or two of how she found the mother who had never wanted to give her away, and whose love for her was so strong, that in the end, it reunited them.

  She thought again about Carolyn's warning about getting her hopes up. Not just about actually finding her mother, but that--even if she did find her--it might not be the reunion Grace hoped for. She understood all that, but she believed down to her very essence that she was close to finding her mother, and that her mother would be thrilled to meet her.

  The call came seven weeks after her first meeting with Betty. By then she had not only chewed her nails down to the quick, she had lost so much weight that she had to buy a belt to hold her shorts up.

  "We have a court date on August first," Betty sang into the phone. "Why don't you come to my office and we'll go to court together."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Los Angeles County Superior Courthouse was enormous compared to the one in Peekskill. Thankfully, Betty knew exactly where to go. While Betty sat placidly on a hard wooden bench against one wall, Grace paced the hallway outside the courtroom. She visited the drinking fountain once and the ladies' room twice. By the time their case was finally called, it felt as if a swarm of angry bees had taken up residence in her stomach.

  This was it. She was either going to find out who her mother was, or she would remain a parentless child for the rest of her life.

  Betty led her into the courtroom, littered with people waiting their turn before the judge. They sat behind the petitioner's table, and Betty reached over to still Grace's jiggling leg.

  "You sit quietly and let me do the talking. Just nod your head and agree with everything the judge says. Got it?"

  She nodded.

  The judge banged his gavel and the courtroom silenced.

  Grace's stomach tightened.

  "With regard to the petition to unseal the adoption records for Grace Elizabeth Adams," the judge said, "and considering the petitioner''s medical condition, I hereby approve the petition and order the records to be released to her."

  Grace almost flew out of her chair, but Betty held her down. That was it? All that nervousness, all that waiting and the judge simply did it without either of them having to say a word?

  As soon as Betty led her out of the courtroom, Grace nearly leapt into her arms. "I don't know how you made that happen, but thank you from the bottom of my heart."

  "Come on." Betty took Grace by the hand and led her to a small office down the hall where they collected the court order. From there they went directly to the public records office, located four floors up, to retrieve the documents. The clerk placed the papers into an envelope and clasped it shut before handing it across the counter.

  Grace held the envelope tightly in her arms. "Betty, thank you once again for everything, but I think I want to open this in private."

  "Oh, I understand. I hope this gives you all the answers you're looking for. I wish you the best."

  Grace bit the corner of her lip and nodded thoughtfully. She glanced down at the envelope and then into Betty's soft, brown eyes. "Regardless of what happens, I will never forget you." And she didn't believe she ever would. Betty owed her nothing, yet she had risked her career to help her. She knew she must've done something right in her life to deserve that kind of help, and it felt like another sign that this was meant to be.

  Grace stared at the envelope for the next two days. She was excited beyond belief at the possibility of what the envelope might contain, but she also knew that it might tell her nothing. Or even worse, lead her to a mother who didn't want to know her. Now that she had the possibility of answers in front of her, she wondered whether it might not be better to keep her dream of June Crandall alive and not open the envelope.

  But then again, what was in that envelope might lead her to the real June Crandall. She held it up to the light. Why, she wasn't sure. Perhaps for a hint--a clue--as to its contents.

  She closed her eyes and said a prayer. She said it out loud, twice, to be sure He heard it. Then she turned the envelope over and pried open the clasp, her heart stammering out of control as she reached inside and pulled out the contents. Holding her breath, she went immediately to the birth certificate and searched frantically for the name of her birth mother.

  No, this has to be wrong!
<
br />   The name was Elena Borgese.

  Desperate to find the truth, she sifted through the rest of the documents, but nowhere did she see the name June Crandall. The life drained out of her. She had pinned all of her hopes on finding a woman who turned out to be only a figment of her imagination.

  She let the documents fall to the floor. "Please, God, help me to understand!"

  But she got no answer.

  Falling backward onto the narrow bed, she lay motionless for what seemed like hours. She was too stunned to cry. Too angry. Too disappointed. No, disappointment didn't even begin to cover it. She had been sure her mother's name was June Crandall. She reached to the floor and gathered up the documents, determined to make some sense of them.

  She repeated her birth mother's name over and over in her head to see if it sparked any recognition. It didn't. She looked at the birth certificate again and saw that her mother had been seventeen and her father was...unknown.

  What does that mean?

  She ran the options around in her head and, not liking any of the explanations she'd come up with, decided to focus on her mother.

  Her mother's address at the time Grace was born was in Pacific Palisades. Although she doubted her mother still lived there, she decided she would drive there the next day and look around. Maybe something would stand out, help her make sense of all this.

  The following day, she borrowed a car and drove to the address on the forms--a concrete slab apartment building that someone had tried to brighten up with a paint job the color of orange sherbet. She was looking through the resident directory when someone behind her said, "Can I help you with something?"

  She spun around to find a short, round man with a horseshoe of gray, curly hair and thick black glasses staring back at her. He looked to be around seventy.

  "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

  "Um, kind of. Have you lived here for a long time?"

  "Been the super for forty years."

  "Does the name Elena Borgese sound familiar?" She handed him her birth certificate and pointed to her mother's name.

  He shook his head. "Nope, nobody by that name ever lived here. And I would know. I never forget a face or a name. For instance, the woman who lived in that apartment," he pointed to the document, "her name was Nancy Ogilvie. She lived here for thirty years. Just moved out a few years back. Registered nurse, she was. Worked for some hot-shot plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. Retired to Phoenix."

  "Okay, well, the woman I'm looking for looked a little bit like me. She lived here in 1978. She was only seventeen when she had me. Maybe you remember someone like that?"

  "Trust me, if a girl who looked like you ever lived here, I'd remember. Sorry to disappoint you."

  Her whole body crumpled. She managed to thank the man and made her way to the car. She yanked open the door and sunk into the front seat. The last dash of hope drained from her body.

  Carolyn had been right to warn her about getting her hopes up. She now realized how foolish she'd been to believe that she would be given a piece of paper with her parents' names and address on it, and expect to show up on their doorstep and be greeted with open arms. Life just didn''t work that way. She of all people should've understood that. She didn't know who June Crandall was, but apparently she was no one to her.

  Maybe it was like Carolyn said. Maybe June Crandall was just a name she'd heard that she'd started spinning fantasies about. It was time to put away such foolish notions and get on with her life. Her mother had obviously not loved her, and clearly never wanted her.

  Who needs a mother anyway? I've gotten this far all on my own, and I'm doing just fine.

  She swiped angrily at her tears and flung her birth certificate on the floor of the car.

  When she returned to her room at St. Francis, she gathered her journals and the sketches she'd brought with her and sat down on her bed. She stared at the crucifix hanging on the wall.

  "Why, God?" she asked, quietly at first and then, "Why?"

  She picked up one of her journals and launched it at the wall. It felt good.

  She wasn't trying to hit the crucifix, but she really didn't care when it clattered to the floor. He hadn't done anything for her lately. For quite some time, in fact.

  She took aim and flung another one. It felt even better.

  She stood up and threw another, this time with more fury, the blood pumping furiously through her veins now.

  When she ran out of journals to throw, she ran to the small dresser and unloaded the contents of each drawer.

  "I haven't asked for much in eighteen years!"

  She launched a bundle of clothing at the wall.

  "I've gone to church every Sunday, and then some!"

  Well, at least until a year ago. Since Rose died, to be exact.

  Another drawer emptied and she reached for the last one. The anger continued to surge through her as she hurled the remaining contents.

  "How could you do this to me?" The last batch of clothing took over the lamp on the bedside table.

  "How can you be so cruel?"

  She moved over to the bed, and picked up a pillow.

  "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

  She launched the pillow at the door at the precise moment that Mother Peter opened it. The pillow caught the old nun square in the face.

  Grace stood, horrified, in the center of her room, which looked like a hurricane had struck it.

  Mother Peter studied the room and then Grace.

  Grace was expecting condemnation, or at least confusion. But Mother's eyes were kind, open, understanding.

  Grace looked into Mother's sympathetic eyes and cried. Mother Peter opened her arms and Grace folded herself inside them and bawled. It was a gut-wrenching cry, filled with all the sorrow and disappointment of the past eighteen years. How had she allowed this to happen? Why had she allowed herself to get her hopes up about this? What was she supposed to do now?

  "Oh, my darling. Whatever is the matter?" Mother Peter held the young woman in her arms.

  "It's...I've......You know the stories I've written?"

  "Of course. Sister Margaret shares everything she's received from you. I'm very proud of what you've done."

  "Thank you, Mother. But...those stories were based on dreams, dreams I've been having for the last eight years, of a woman named June Crandall. Different times, different places, but always the same person, always June Crandall. I thought...I hoped...she might be my mother...that I remembered her loving me, and......"

  "And she's not, I take it?"

  Grace pulled herself away and dug through the detritus until she found the copy of the birth certificate. She handed it to Mother.

  Mother studied it. "And this Elena Borgese?"

  "I went to the address and found the building manager. He says another woman lived in that apartment back then, a woman who looked nothing like me. It's a fake address. My mother just...just gave me away and ran."

  "Well, I'm glad she did."

  Grace was so stunned that, for a moment, she literally felt nothing.

  Mother stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her again. "If she hadn't, I would have never had the privilege of meeting you, and I know Sister Margaret feels the same. Grace, you have an entire convent full of women who love you dearly. And more on the East Coast, I''m sure."

  Grace slowly returned the hug, happy to accept the comfort, even though she knew it wouldn't be enough. Could never be enough. "You gave me away," she said in a small voice.

  "Oh, Grace," Mother said. "We had no choice. We're sworn to obey the Bishop, and he couldn't--"

  Graced went limp in Mother's embrace. "So you gave me away because God wanted you to. Just like God took Rose away."

  Mother squeezed her even harder, and when she spoke, it was clear that it was only with an effort. "I know. It seems hard, and it is hard. I can only say that God works in mysterious ways, but that He always has a plan. We need to have faith that eventually everything wo
rks out just as it's supposed to."

  Grace nodded, but said nothing. There was really nothing more to say.

  When Mother left, she straightened up the room, threw the journals and sketches into the trashcan in the corner, and collapsed in a heap onto her bed. When she awoke the next morning, the items she'd thrown away were in a neat stack on top of her dresser. She put them in the bottom of her suitcase, and never spoke another word about it to Mother.

  When she returned to New York the following week, she buried June Crandall in the bottom of her trunk. "Goodbye, June," she whispered. "Rest in peace."" She slammed the lid of the trunk closed, determined to prove to everyone that the only person she needed was herself.

  PART II

  Chapter Sixteen

  1996

  The NYU campus was abuzz with incoming freshman, none more excited than Grace. Moving in to her dorm was one of the best days of her life because of what it represented--freedom and the chance to prove that she was enough. That she could do whatever she put her mind to. Without help from anyone.

  Her roommate, Carly, was from North Carolina and had the funniest accent. Carly was a devout Catholic, and the first thing she did was hang a crucifix and ask Grace where she was going to church that Sunday.

  "Our Lady of the Kimmel Center Cafeteria," Grace said. "God and I are on the outs at the moment. I'm afraid if I set foot in a church right now, I would likely be struck by lightning."

  Carly laughed. "Oh, girl, I know just what you mean. I've been there myself a time or two. Well, I hope ya'll are able to make up one day. Just let me know if you change your mind."

  Double majoring in journalism and fine arts was going to be a challenge for a number of reasons. For one thing, the Fine Arts school was on the other side of Manhattan. She would need to take a train or bus to get there, so she scheduled those classes on opposite days from her other classes.