by Nicole Baart
“You feeling okay, Mrs. Chamberlain?” one of Jess’s students whispered from the row closest to her desk. “Because you should go home if you’re sick.”
“I’m fine, Kaden.” Jess stuck her cell phone in the top drawer of her desk and grabbed the textbook that her students were currently reading out of.
“We don’t want to get sick,” someone else chimed in. “I mean, if you need to go home, we can handle things here.”
A few chuckles lit up the room. Jess could feel their energy—it was thick and charged, sparking between the desks and the twenty-some teenagers with their auras of Axe body spray and candy-scented lotion. The whole room seemed like it would spontaneously combust on the weight of a single word.
“I’m beyond fine,” Jess assured them. “Healthy as a horse.”
“Who says horses are healthy?”
And just like that, the tenuous silence evaporated. Books were slammed closed as her students erupted in laughter. It didn’t take much.
It was obvious that no one was capable of having a meaningful discussion, so Jess separated them into groups and had them work on alternate endings to the short story. They groaned, but it was imaginative busywork. Only Jess was captivated by the prospect of rewriting the ending of a story gone horribly awry.
When school was over, Jess picked up her boys earlier than normal and headed into town.
“Where are we going?” Gabe wondered, the prospect of an outing delighting him.
“Home,” Max said. “I have homework.”
“Really?” Jess gave her son a sidelong glance. “Who assigned homework when there’s only half a day tomorrow?”
Max said something unintelligible and began dragging his finger through the steam that was collecting on the passenger-side window. Usually that drove Jess crazy—she couldn’t stand fingerprints on her windows—but she held her tongue. She had to choose her battles and this was not going to be one of them.
“I have to make a quick stop before we go home,” Jess said, directing her answer toward the backseat and Gabe. “It won’t take long—I promise.”
“Just drop us off,” Max complained.
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
Max shot her a furtive glance beneath a fringe of blond hair that Jess realized was getting too long. But she was far more concerned with the look in his eyes. Knowing? Guilty? She couldn’t quite decide, but he didn’t press her any more about dropping them off before attending to her errand. Later, Jess told herself. I’ll deal with him later.
The afternoon sun was blinding, glinting off the snow like cold steel. It glared, hard and unmoving as Jess navigated the ice-packed streets. Even wearing sunglasses she had to squint, but the brightness was misleading. It was so cold that a crust had formed over the newly fallen snow, a crisp layer of frost that snapped when she drove over a section that the snowplows hadn’t fully cleared. The crunch beneath her tires was unsettlingly violent.
Jess turned into the Bomgaars parking lot and pulled up to a squat little Coffee Hut that was situated near the entrance. When the ice-fishing cabin turned coffee drive-through first appeared in Auburn, Jess had scoffed at it. But the Coffee Hut had good coffee and even better hot chocolate. It was mildly peppermint flavored and topped with an extravagant swirl of whipped cream. She hoped it would appease her boys.
By the time she dragged them into Promise Adoption, Gabe was humming happily, a creamy mustache smeared across his upper lip. Max wasn’t as mollified, but he followed willingly enough, his hot cocoa in one hand and a math textbook in the other.
“You can wait here,” Jess said, motioning to the plush seats. Someone had put up Christmas decorations since the last time she was here, and a skinny artificial tree with white lights and silver decorations twinkled coolly in the corner. Max flopped down in the nearest chair with no regard to where it was or which direction it was facing. Gabe found the kid’s table almost immediately and set to work on the puzzle that remained exactly as it had been when she saw it weeks ago.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Jess said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. He smelled of the coconut oil she had smoothed in that morning. “Don’t tip this over.” She tapped the lid of his drink gently and gave him a warning look.
“I won’t.” But his words were rote; he wasn’t paying attention to her.
“And, Max?” When he looked up, Jess continued: “Keep an eye on your brother.”
He nodded once. Good enough.
Though Samantha had undoubtedly watched the entire exchange, when Jessica approached the tall, receptionist’s desk, Samantha greeted her as though she had just walked in the door. “Hello, Mrs. Chamberlain.”
Jess wasn’t quite sure where to stand. The desk was more of a counter, really, curved and long and recently festooned with an artificial garland that was twined with sparkly ribbon and tiny clear-glass baubles. It was impossible to get close, so Jess hovered nearby. “Thanks for squeezing me in on short notice,” she said.
“I have just a bit of paperwork for you to sign before I take you back to see Anthony.” Samantha pushed her dark hair behind her ear and held out a clipboard.
“Thank you.” Jess accepted it graciously, but the lovely receptionist wasn’t nearly as warm as she had been the first time Jessica came in. Samantha pulled up the corners of her mouth in the likeness of a smile, obviously leery of the woman who had breezed into her office demanding answers not so long ago. Good thing Jess had made an appointment this time.
She took the clipboard to the nearest chair because the decorations made it impossible to get close enough to write on the counter. Samantha had implied that there was an assortment of paperwork, but when Jess took a look at what she had been given, she found it was just a single sheet. In fact, it was a sheet that she recognized.
When she and Evan had adopted Gabe, they had signed a consent to communication form—which was actually a consent to noncommunication, or communication through an intermediary. Promise Adoption held their papers and acted as a post office of sorts, but the only way their sealed papers could be released was through a court injunction. Jess wasn’t sure what she was signing now, but a quick scan of the two short paragraphs told her all she needed to know. Just as she asked, Anthony was petitioning to open the file and reverse the communication consent form they had agreed to over six years ago. All he needed was her signature proclaiming that this was what she wanted, too.
Jess glanced over at Gabe, pen poised in her hand. The tears that sprang to her eyes were hot and sudden, an overflow of the love and anger and despair and hope that were fierce and full in her chest. He was as much a part of her as her own breath, but she knew that strangers would never peg him as her son. Dark haired and brown eyed, he looked absolutely nothing like her. And their differences were more than skin deep.
“Love wins,” Jess told herself. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to trust that this was only a part of their story. A bump in the road that would fade in the rearview with time and perspective. But she wasn’t so sure.
Jessica signed the paper anyway.
Samantha led her back to Anthony’s office, clipboard in hand. “Anthony,” she said cheerfully, rapping on the door. “Your four o’clock is here.”
With more grace than Samantha had mustered, Anthony rose from behind his desk and came to give Jessica a hug. She tried not to stiffen in his unwanted embrace. “It’s good to see you again,” Anthony said, taking the clipboard from Samantha and wordlessly dismissing her. “What about all this snow?”
Jess wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but she let him have his way as he sorted and re-sorted papers at his desk and chatted about the weather and the snow that had blanketed Auburn in white. Anthony’s kids were ecstatic about an unexpected day off school, and Jess was tempted to ask him if they were biological or adopted. The distinction had never mattered to her before—her kids were her kids—but she wondered if Anthony Bartels “got it” or if this was just a job.
/> “Well,” he finally said, heaving a sigh and placing both of his hands palm down on a nondescript manila file. “After we talked a few weeks ago, I looked more deeply into your case.”
Jess tried to nod, but her head just gave a jerky bob.
“The paper you signed was a request to open Gabe’s file. It’s hard to tell what the judge will do, especially if only one party is petitioning for a reversal. But I did some digging and there is more information that I can share with you.”
“Thank you,” Jess whispered. She didn’t want to be as affected as she was, but it was hard not to feel like a piece of the puzzle was hovering just outside her grasp. Or rather, on the desk in front of Anthony. And she hadn’t decided if she could trust him or not.
“Your noncommunication clause was not legally binding,” he said. “It was just a good-faith agreement between two parties who wanted the same thing. There was no contention and no reason to make it legal or official. As I understand it, you were both—adoptive family and birth family—open to dialogue at some later point.”
Jess didn’t really remember that part of the adoption process, but then, Evan had handled most of the details. She was in charge of preparing their home and family for a new addition, and Evan handled the paperwork. He was a task-oriented perfectionist who actually enjoyed those sorts of things. Jess had bought a crib set with little trains and read every book she could get her hands on about bonding and attachment and parenting a child from a “hard place.” She wondered what else she had missed.
“So,” Anthony said, opening the file. “Turns out I can share some things with you.”
“What sorts of things?”
“Our log.” He lifted a sheet from the folder and handed it across the desk to Jess. “We record every time a document is added or removed from a communication file. The record includes time, date, and the person who added it or removed it.”
Jess looked at the paper in her hand. It wasn’t a very long record. Just six entries in all, seemingly dated in pairs. June mostly. A couple in July. The same name was listed after every memo.
“Our former secretary,” Anthony said, anticipating her question.
“But you don’t have the letters?” Jess already knew what he would say, but she had to ask anyway.
Anthony shook his head. “We don’t make copies.”
“Okay.”
“There’s more.” Anthony took the next sheet of paper. “In the state of Iowa a birth mother can sign a consent form authorizing the state to provide the child with her name, last known address, and last known telephone number should the child request that information when he or she reaches an age of majority. We don’t have a copy of the form, of course, but our records indicate that Gabriel’s birth mom signed it.”
“I don’t understand. Gabe’s not eighteen.”
“Yes, but this will help all the same. It proves that Gabe’s birth mother was open to contact, that she wanted her information to be available.”
Jess realized she was biting her bottom lip and stopped. It was warm and swollen where she had been worrying it. “Is there anything else?”
“Only this.” Anthony held up a standard-sized envelope. There was a stamp in the corner that was smudged with the faint blue lines of a cancellation mark and a pair of addresses that were too small for Jessica to read. “Promise Adoption owes you an apology,” Anthony said. He ground his jaw and a tendon popped near his ear. Above his beard, his cheeks were as smooth as a child’s. “As far as I can recall, this has never happened before.”
“What’s never happened before?” Jess’s stomach twisted in anticipation.
“Apparently we lost a letter. Samantha found this when she was pulling your file. It’s kind of amazing that she discovered it at all. She was wearing a bracelet and it slipped off and dropped into the filing cabinet. If she hadn’t gone fishing for her bracelet, she would never have found the letter.”
Jess’s heart stuttered. “Is it from her?”
Anthony shrugged, but held out the letter for her to take. “We don’t open the letters, Jessica. We just deliver them. I’m sorry that this one is being delivered so late.” He pushed back from the desk and gave Jess a thin-lipped smile. “Maybe this is a good thing?”
Jess wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m going to give you a few minutes.” Anthony clasped her shoulder for a second before he left the office. It was fortifying and apologetic and maybe a little pitying, but all Jessica felt was confused. He shut the door quietly behind him and she found herself alone with a letter clutched in her hands.
Jessica turned it over and studied it from every angle, running her fingers along the edges and smoothing her thumb over the address that was neatly printed in the upper left-hand corner. There was no name over the house number and street, but it had originated from St. Paul. That was something. Jess held the thought carefully: Gabe’s birth mom had lived in St. Paul. It was the first thing she learned about her.
In some ways, Jess knew that sliding her finger beneath the seal was the beginning of the end. She could never again pretend to not know. She could no longer be disconnected from the woman who had given her a son. But in other ways it was an open door, a fresh start. Truth, after years of pretending that everything was as it should be when it wasn’t.
Opening the letter was a declaration. A commitment.
Jess worked her thumb into a gap near the corner and ripped.
* * *
April 13, 2017
Dear Gabriel Allen,
Happy birthday to you! You’re five years old today, buddy. I can hardly believe it. Of course, you won’t read this letter until you’re eighteen (if you even read it at all), but know that today I am celebrating you. Chocolate cake (my favorite—maybe it’s yours too?) and five red candles. When I blew them out, I made a wish for you. Don’t even ask: it’s a secret. ;-)
I have a confession to make: I saw you yesterday. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never bother you, that I would let you make the choice someday about whether or not you want to be a part of my life. But it’s been a hard promise to keep. Your mama doesn’t want me around, and honey, I don’t blame her. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t trust me. And yet, I’ve always secretly hoped that one day she would realize that there’s room for both. That we both love you. Two mamas doesn’t sound so bad, does it?
I have to tell you something. I went to your house. Yes, I know where you live, and no, I’m not going to tell you how I know. It’s a long story (but I promise I’m not a weirdo and I wasn’t stalking you). I just wanted to see you. Maybe even say hi. I thought that I could ring the doorbell and ask for directions or something. You don’t know who I am. She doesn’t know who I am. It would be so easy to tell a little white lie and see your face.
But when I pulled down your street, I saw you. I’m sure you don’t remember this, but it was really warm yesterday. Warm for April, anyway, and though there were still patches of snow on the front lawn, you were riding your bike in a T-shirt. Your bike is red (that’s why I bought red candles!) and it doesn’t have training wheels—or any pedals, for that matter. You were pushing yourself along, running, really, and laughing like the world was filled with everything good. I pulled over and watched you for a while. It was hard to tell at a distance, but it looks to me like you got your grandpa Andrew’s nose. And your coloring is all mine. You’re golden, Gabriel.
I wanted to step out of the car, but just as I grabbed the door handle your big brother came outside. He’s handsome, kiddo. Tall and blond and kind of like a boy in a music video I used to love. He saw you on your bike and got this wild little smile on his face. When he started chasing you, you screamed and went as fast as you could. But he caught you anyway and grabbed you beneath the arms so he could spin you round and round. The bike fell, but you didn’t care. You were both giggling so hard. And then he put you down and rubbed his knuckles against your hair just like a brother should.
He loves
you. I hope you know that. I’m sure you fight—if you’re like my brothers, you fight all the time. But you can’t fake the way he looked at you. The way his hand fell so easy against your dark head. It was pretty amazing to see.
Your mama came outside right after that. She had car keys in one hand and shin guards in the other. I think it’s amazing that you play soccer. Guess what, buddy? Me too. I guess that’s something you got from me. You went running and grabbed those shin guards so fast! She smoothed your hair and gave you a quick kiss and then you were all in the car, backing out of the driveway. Your mama waved to me in the rearview mirror and I waved back.
You have such a beautiful life, Gabriel. It makes me really proud that I was strong enough to let you go. And now when I think about you, I can picture you in that place, surrounded by love, a part of a family.
Your mama is beautiful, too. She fights for you. I can see it in her. It’s in the way she touches you, the way she moves. She deserves every ounce of your love. But if there’s something I’ve learned, it’s that love comes in a limitless supply. I hope yours spills up and all over everyone around you. And I hope you can save just a little bit of it for me.
Love, your birth mom,
LaShonna
Heather J.
39, mixed race, GED
Tall, thin, shoulder-length dreads. Antagonistic, paranoid.
Everyone knows.
CSCS, 41m, 13m pp
CHAPTER 22
JESSICA WAS GRATEFUL that the bathroom at Promise Adoption Agency was down the hallway and far from the front reception area. Her boys didn’t have to see her tear-stained face or wonder at her bloodshot eyes. She had been wearing makeup, but it was a smudged mess, and rather than trying to fix it, she washed her face in the bathroom sink with pink industrial hand soap.
The cold water was fortifying, the antiseptic soap sharp and abrasive. It grounded her, and by the time Jess left the bathroom she had more or less collected herself. Eyedrops, mascara, and a dab of rose-colored lipstick had returned her to a semblance of normalcy, and she had effectively walled off the letter in her heart. For now. It was tucked in her purse, a time bomb disguised as a plain white envelope. Jess had much to process, but as with everything lately, it felt like now was not the time. She had been kicking the can of her fraught emotions down the road for longer than she could remember. It was only a matter of time before she burst.