Resilient

by Patricia Vanasse

  “Um, we’ll talk about that later. We’re going to be late for class!” I grab her arm and head upstairs.

  “Don’t think I’ll forget about it!” she warns.

  * * *

  Thank God, the class was pretty full and Brianna never managed to sit next to me. She tried to get Kyle to change places with her, but he refused, and Brianna had to sit at the other end of the room. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her about Adam; it’s just that I’m not sure what to tell her. It’s not like we are in a relationship; I don’t know what we are.

  The rest of the morning goes by fast and the lunch bell has just rung. I walk down the stairs that lead into the cafeteria and I join everyone else in the food line. After grabbing a salad, I reach for the money in my pocket. The cashier waves it off and tells me someone already paid for my food. I look around and I see Adam waving at me. He’s sitting at a table with Kyle, Matt, and Brianna. When I reach the table, Kyle moves over so that I can sit next to Adam.

  I squeeze in between Kyle and Adam and I instantly feel Adam’s hand on my knee. “How’s your first day going so far?” He asks.

  “Not bad, I guess. What’s up with the Literature teacher?”

  “You met her, too?” Kyle asks.

  Adam and I answer yes at the same time. “Creepy, huh?” he adds.

  “Um, I was going to say H-O-T!” Kyle says.

  Adam shrugs. “Sure, but dude, something about her seems off. She’s got to be a real bitch.”

  The rest of the lunch hour is pretty much this: everyone talking about teachers, classes, and their expectations for the new school year. I can’t help but notice that Adam is acting strange. When he’s not rubbing his face, he’s resting his head on his hands.

  “Is everything okay?” I whisper close to his ear.

  “Just a headache,” he says, rubbing his face one more time.

  I touch his head, running my hand through his hair, and he gives me a surprised look—I realize what I’m doing and I pull my hand away. I take a shy look around, but Brianna, Matt, and Kyle are engaged in a conversation and don’t seem to notice my affection. Adam, however, is suddenly grinning.

  “You shouldn’t care what they think,” he says.

  “I don’t.”

  “Then prove it,” He dares.

  My lips spread wide as I roll my eyes. He tilts his head a bit and the look on his face tells me he’s serious. I lean toward him and he meets me halfway. Our faces are so close I can feel his breath on me. I shut my eyes and I feel his fingers on my face, tracing my lips. I close the last bit of distance between us, touching my mouth to his. He kisses back, not with just a light peck—it’s more like a slow-motion French kiss.

  I hear someone clearing her throat and I pull away. Brianna has her eyebrows raised and is smiling hugely. I look away and notice she’s not the only one paying attention.

  “Now she’s going to kill you,” she says, gesturing to the table across from us. We all follow her eyes and I see Lindsay looking our way. I see her friends trying to comfort her, but her gaze is stuck on me.

  Adam reaches for my hands and holds them tightly. “She won’t dare come close to you.”

  “She’ll get over it!” Kyle adds. “I didn’t know you two were a couple, by the way.” He looks at Adam, who gives him a wary glance.

  “I didn’t know either,” Adam says. “Is that what we are, Livia?”

  The way my face is burning up, I’m sure I look as red as an apple right now. “Uh, I guess?”

  “I think he just asked you to be his girlfriend,” Matt says.

  Brianna laughs and says, “Really, Adam? Put in some effort.”

  Adam rolls his eyes, but he stands up and pulls me up with him. Holding my hand and smiling at me, he announces, “Livia, will you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?”

  I shake my head in disbelief, but tell him quietly, “Yes.”

  “Yes!” He shouts. “She said yes!”

  16 Livia

  When I leave school, I walk quickly to my car. After the show that Adam and I provided at lunch, I couldn’t walk through the halls unnoticed. The swell of emotions towards me was way more than I could handle. I think every single person in the cafeteria took a look at me, and in every look, I felt something different. Some were happy for me, some were angry, some were jealous, and I even got feelings of pity from a few people. I suppose Adam’s heartbreaker reputation had something to do with that.

  I get home and no one else is here. Bento is the only other soul around, and he follows me everywhere, wagging his tail. I pick up my cell phone to call Mom, but it’s dead. I plug it in to charge. I walk up to the kitchen to use the house phone and the answering machine is flashing. I press play—a message from a flower shop in town, something about an order Mom placed. An older message plays next—“Mr. and Mrs. Berwick, this is Angelina Olsen from St. Cecilia's Convent. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. It’s about your daughter.”

  It was left on Monday night, three days ago. I replay the message a couple times, almost nauseous with anxiety. I feel lightheaded and my hands are trembling. I sit down on the barstool, trying to steady myself enough to think. Did she find my birth parents? My mind is full of sudden possibilities, and I wonder if that’s what Dad was talking to Uncle Henry about on the phone.

  I pick up the phone to call Mom.

  “Hey honey,” she answers, “we are in Canada. Didn’t your school give you a message?”

  “I left in a hurry. Did you say Canada?”

  “We had to come to Canada to see your Grandma. She had a mild heart attack on the cruise and she was brought to port in Vancouver. ”

  “What’s happening now?”

  “She is stable right now. Your dad and Henry are there with her. We are staying here until the doctors clear her to leave. It may take a couple of days. If it takes longer, the boys and I are coming home, and your dad and Henry will stay. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Mom, I heard the message from Sister Angelina.”

  She doesn’t say anything right away. “Livia, can it wait?”

  “But Mom, do you know what she wanted?

  “I’ve called, but I couldn’t get a hold of her. I’ll try again tomorrow. Just don’t mention anything to your dad today. He has a lot going on as it is.”

  “Okay, Mom. Kiss Grandma for me. I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  I stare at the phone for a minute. I should be worried about Grandma, but all I can think about is calling Angelina.

  I check my e-mails. There is one from Alyssa, and as I read it, my heart starts racing. She tells me that, when she was coming home this morning, she saw a nun in our building—or I should say the building where I used to live. The nun was talking to the doorkeeper, stressing that she really needed to talk to my dad. Since the doorkeeper didn’t know anyway to contact my family, Alyssa gave her our new number. She says the woman looked like she was desperate for it, and Alyssa was just trying to help by passing on the information.

  I grab my phone and call her. It rings and rings until it goes to the voicemail. I try again and again, but nothing. I walk down stairs to the kitchen and I re-check the message. I punch in Sister Angelina’s number in my cell and I call her—no answer.

  I run to my room and, without letting myself think twice, I pack up a few outfits. This will get me in trouble, big time, but I feel like this is what I have to do.

  I look up tickets to New York. There is a red-eye flight leaving at 10 p.m. That will give me plenty of time to get to Sea-Tac and only miss one day of school. My plan is to talk to Sister Angelina myself, and see what she knows. The moment she tries to hide something from me, I’ll know.

  Thanks to my parents, I have a credit card with a high limit on it and I doubt that Dad will check the bills. When Alyssa had a car accident last year, I put the entire bill on my card because she didn’t want
her parents to find out. She saved up money and eventually paid me back, but Dad never asked me about it.

  I know Mom and Dad will be furious if they find out, but they are not in my shoes. They don’t know what it’s like to be me. I need to find my birth parents. It’s the only way I’ll have answers—not only about my abilities, but now about the strange feeling I got from the Literature teacher, and maybe even why I can’t read Adam.

  I reach for the front door knob just as the doorbell rings. I open it to find Adam standing outside and staring at my bright red carry-on luggage.

  “My mom told me what happened,” he says. “Are you going to Canada?”

  “Uh, no, I’m heading to New York.” He looks confused, and now I don’t know what to tell him.

  “Why New York?”

  “Adam, I don’t have time to talk. I gotta be at the airport as fast as I can or I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he says and I don’t complain.

  We drive in silence for a little while. I know he wants me to explain, but I don’t want to lie to him. We enter the ferry and he turns the engine off. “Livia, I don’t mean to be nosy, but I’m kind of worried here. Why are you leaving for New York out of the blue?”

  Here we go. “There is something very important I need to do.”

  “You need to go right now?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks at me and I see disappointment in his eyes, and I know what he must be thinking. What makes someone drop everything and jump on a red-eye flight? “It’s not what you think,” I say. “There’s someone I have to talk to, a woman. I just need to deal with an issue, in person.”

  “I get it,” is all he says.

  We drive in silence for most part. I see his jaw muscles tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. When I see the signs for the airport, I reach for his hand. He interlaces his fingers with mine with such a pressure that I don’t think he’ll let go. This is exactly why I want to go to New York. If there’s any trace of my birth parents, I’ll do anything to find them and get answers, because I want to know what I am. Maybe then I can tell Adam. I want him to know me completely.

  By the time we get to the airport, I have an hour before the plane leaves.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “Is anyone picking you up when you land?”

  “I’ll be fine, and no one knows I’m going to New York, so please—”

  “You don’t have to worry,” he cuts in. “I won’t tell anybody.” His voice is dry and his eyes are cold. I wish I could say something to ease his mind, but with him, I can’t find the right words.

  “Let me know when you’re flying back and I’ll come get you.”

  I smile despite myself. “Thank you.”

  I lean in and kiss him. He keeps his lips sealed. My heart aches and my eyes fill with tears, but I’m determined, so I run my tongue softly over his lips until they part, and when they do, I kiss him deep and passionately. His hands tangle in my hair and mine in his as I tug him closer. Unfortunately, I still have a plane to catch—and when I start worrying, he pulls back.

  “I’ll call you,” I say, opening the Jeep’s door.

  * * *

  After landing in JFK, I get a taxi and head straight to St. Cecilia's Convent. The taxi drops me off right in front of the church. I’ve been here many times before; my parents used to come to this church every Sunday when I was younger. Dad would always admire its architecture. It’s a typical European Roman Catholic church, three stories high, made with red bricks—terracotta, as Dad likes to call it.

  The tower bell rings at seven a.m., and I walk around the building to the convent entry.

  “May I help you?” a tall nun asks me as I enter the foyer.

  “Yes, please. I’m looking for Sister Angelina Olsen.”

  “You are?”

  “Tell her it’s Livia Berwick—she will know who I am.”

  The nun walks up to me and as she takes my hand, I feel a rush of powerful sorrow coming from her. “My dear young lady, I believe you haven’t heard. I am sorry to inform you that Sister Angelina passed away Tuesday night.”

  I take one step back and a deep breath. My legs tremble. “I think I need to sit down,” I hear myself saying, and she helps me to the sofa chair next to the door. “How? How did she die?”

  The nun looks away. “We don’t know for sure. The doctors couldn’t find a specific cause. Our Father must have a greater plan for her, and it was time for her to go.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. Just when I was so close to finding an answer—I was sure that Sister Angelina knew something that could change my whole life.

  She studies me. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  I stand up. “I don’t think so. But thanks for your help.” I turn around to leave.

  “We are having a service at eight this morning for Sister Angelina,” she says. “Feel free to come.”

  “Thank you, sister. I will.”

  I leave the convent, desperate for fresh air. I’m trying to process all of this, but I’m exhausted and nothing makes sense right now. It starts to rain, so I retreat back into the church and sit at the end of the long wooden bench, just in case I see a familiar face and have to leave. I wait for the mass to begin. Slowly people start to arrive, and by eight, the church is full.

  The service for Sister Angelina is an emotional one. I feel the sadness enveloping me from all around the room. The organ is playing in the background and the nuns are taking turns in prayer. A picture of her sits next to her casket.

  Sister Angelina found me, an infant, dropped off at the convent door like a package for delivery. I was only a day or two old, with a note instructing her to contact the Berwick couple, their address and phone numbers provided. I know all this—but now I wonder what made her contact my parents and not the police.

  She was the only one that knew about me. She decided that it was best to keep my situation private, I suppose, and she helped my parents create a story to make my adoption legal. If they would have done it the conventional way, they probably would have been unable to keep me. I wonder if Angelina prayed for guidance—and what guidance she received; something persuasive enough to make a nun tell a lie.

  Yet she was trying to help my father find my birth parents. The more I consider it, the harder it is to imagine what the whole story could be. That message she left on our answering machine could only have meant that she found answers, but now I’ll never know what they were.

  Five minutes to nine, I say a prayer for Sister Angelina and get up from the bench to leave. I am about to step out of the church when I hear a familiar voice calling me.

  “Livia? Wait!”

  I freeze. Oh no. This isn’t good. I got caught, and by the worse person possible.

  “Annette?” She plows into me and I give her a big hug, laughing nervously. “What a coincidence!”

  “I didn’t know you were in New York, Livia,” she gushes. “Did you come with your parents? I thought they were in Canada with your grandmother.”

  “Uh, maybe we should talk outside,” I say, giving her a flat smile.

  “It’s raining outside. Let’s go in the restroom.”

  In the privacy of the church bathroom, I tell her what I’m doing here. I can feel that she is disappointed in me, but at the same time she feels sorry for me. “I understand why you came,” she says, “but you should have talked to your parents about this.” She frowns. “It’s not like you to be so irresponsible.”

  I drop my gaze to the floor in embarrassment. She’s right; it’s not like me to lie to my parents.

  Annette sighs before she says, “Sister Angelina contacted your Uncle Henry before she died. He knows what she wanted to tell your parents. At this point, your parents already know what you came all the way here for.”

  I’m confused—if my mom already knew, why didn’t she say anything? I can’t empathize with someone over the phone, so I couldn’t tell that Mom was hidin
g something from me. “But why didn’t she just tell me?”

  “Because it could be something that she wants to talk to you about in person.” Annette’s irritation with me is clear in her voice. “She was dealing with other problems, Livia, and maybe she thought it would be best to wait until she was home.”

  I’m nodding my head before she is finished. “Annette, I am sorry. You’re right. I promise I’m going back home right now, but, please, can you keep this just between us?”

  “I know you,” she says, “and I know you won’t do something like this again, so I’ll do as you ask. But I want you to call me as soon as you get home.”

  “Thank you so much. Just so you know, I really have missed you!” I give her another hug and she hugs me back. She is now caught in a situation that she wishes she wasn’t a part of, and I wish I couldn’t know that. She’s not happy about keeping this from my parents. “I’ll call as soon as I get home,” I reassure her, leaving the restroom and walking out of the church before she can change her mind.

  I get in a cab and give the driver directions to take me to my old building. I need to see Alyssa. I have until one p.m. before I need to head back to the airport, and I’m in New York, so I might as well. Besides, I am starving and I would love it if she could go get lunch with me.

  I get to the building and George, the doorkeeper lets me in. “Hi, Ms. Berwick. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Missing New York already?”

  “Not really,” I say, smiling at him. George has worked here since I was a little kid, and I’ve always told him to call me by my first name, but he never does. “I’m here to see Alyssa. Is she home?”

  “She must be. I haven’t seen her leave this morning.”

  “Okay, I’m heading up there. See you later, George.” I wave goodbye as I open the elevator door.

  I know her parents are out by now, so I ring the doorbell a couple of times, just to be annoying. The door opens but is snagged by the chain, and I see a pair of familiar, dark brown eyes peeking out at me—and then John opens it wide. His face lights up.