Chapman's employment history started after high school with a stint in the army's military police. When the army discharged him, he worked for his father on a farm in Georgia, but I couldn't read the name of the town. There was a period of several years where he listed part-time jobs but no specific information that anyone could use to verify the work. I took a guess that he faked the jobs to cover the period that he was in jail. His last job prior to the hospital was as a security guard for a company in Charleston, S.C. called Pro One Security. In my opinion, Chapman's hospital application was very shaky.
Chapman's parents were deceased but he listed a brother, Hank Chapman who lived on Wiley Road in Nags Head, N.C., and a cousin, Rick Chapman, who live on Dobbins Road in Manteo, N.C. It certainly made sense with what Chapman told Marvin about working on the Outer Banks for his cousin. There were phone numbers for both his brother and cousin.
When I called Eddie Chapman's brother, I received the message that the number had been changed to a private one, but when I called Chapman's cousin, the phone rang four times, and I heard the answering machine greet me. The greeting was "This is Rick. I must be busy, so you know what to do." I tried to think of a message to leave, but I was unprepared and I simply disconnected. I glanced at Tyler, who raised his eyebrows.
"I got the answering machine at his cousin's place."
"Awesome," said Tyler. "So you gonna call back and leave a message?"
"Yeah, but I'm trying to think of what to say. I have to make it good, or he may not call me back. He might also screen any other calls from me."
"Well, you got money in the bank. If you want to make sure that he calls you back, you could offer to go to Western Union and wire him money in exchange for info."
"Yeah, but what if he just keeps my money and then avoids me?"
Tyler wrinkled his forehead as he thought. In just a few moments, he said, "You wire him half now, and half if he gives you information you can use to contact your mother. If he really knows something, I'm guessing he would like some easy money."
"That's an idea. Maybe I'll offer him $500 now and $500 after. I think that's enough to get his attention. He probably knows my story from the hospital, and he wouldn't expect me to have much money. I'll just tell him $1000 will wipe out everything I have saved, so he doesn't ask for more."
"Go for it, River."
I rehearsed a message with Tyler to make sure it sounded just right. It had to be non-threatening and tempting. When I thought I was prepared, I dialed Chapman's cousin again. I heard the machine answer and at the beep, I left my message. I hoped that if Chapman was really living there, it would be good enough for him to return my call, and if it wasn't, then what? How long should I wait to hear from Chapman before I tried again? Would there be any use?
I jumped when my cell phone rang. Tyler looked on expectantly when I answered, but he knew from my expression that the call was not from Chapman.
"Yes, sir?" I answered. "Okay, we'll be right over, Papa."
Tyler frowned. "Sorry, River."
"It's okay. That would have been a little too quick for Chapman to call back. Anyway, you should get dressed. Papa said lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes."
***
After lunch, I told Papa about the message I left and the call I was hoping to receive from Eddie Chapman. I was worried that Papa would be disappointed that I had not asked his advice before making the call and offering Chapman money. Papa never appeared to be angry, and he didn't criticize me. Instead, he wished me luck and offered his assistance if I needed it.
Tyler and I worked the rest of the afternoon with Papa, Manny, and Louis to finalize preparations for the football camp. While I tried to concentrate on doing my part to help Papa, I checked my cell phone periodically to make sure that the ringer volume was high enough, and that I had not somehow missed a call from Eddie Chapman. I realized that the man and his cousin might be working because the beach shops and restaurants were open at night, but I couldn't help feeling a little more hopeless with each additional hour I waited.
The call came a little after seven o'clock that evening while I was eating dinner with Papa, Tyler, and Manny. The first thing Eddie Chapman wanted to know was how I found him. I took no chances of screwing up by allowing Chapman to catch me in a lie, so I told the truth about the floral card matching my mother's handwriting on the blanket note, my meeting at the hospital to review the video and visitors' log, and my conversation with Marvin at the apartments. I told Chapman that a close friend of mine from the hospital gave me his cousin's phone number. I added that I wouldn't reveal my friend's name any more than I would mention his name to someone else.
Looking back on our conversation, I thought that there were two reasons why Chapman cooperated with me. The money was one, but the other was that I made Chapman feel more comfortable when I would not give him the name of my friend at the hospital.
When Papa drove me to Carolina Food Market where there was Western Union service, I knew that I might lose $500 very quickly if Eddie Chapman took the money and failed to call me back with the information. I was more than willing to risk the loss when Chapman told me that he knew the name and address of the woman he allowed to enter my room after visiting hours. The guard had written down the information from her driver's license on a page in his pocket notebook. He made sure that she understood that if she caused him any trouble, he knew where she lived.
After Papa and I wired Chapman the first payment, we browsed around the store while we waited for him to receive the money and call me with the name and address. Papa told me that before we wired the second payment of $500 that he would use his phone to verify the name, number, and address with directory assistance.
When Chapman called me, I repeated the name and address of the woman while Papa wrote it on the back of the Western Union receipt. Papa verified the information, and I had a working phone number for Melissa Harrington at 534 Rhodenbrooks Circle, Asheville, North Carolina. We wired Eddie Chapman the rest of his money before leaving the store for a quiet ride back to Deer Lake Farm. On the way home, Papa told me that he had an old college friend who lived in the same neighborhood as the Harringtons and the properties were very expensive.
After he parked his truck, I told him that I was going to my room, and he patted my back before walking inside the house where Tyler and Manny were watching TV. I knew that Papa was giving me space, and I was certain that he would make sure Manny and Tyler did the same.
In my room over the barn, I rested my back and legs and thought of how things would go when I called my mother. I had the same thoughts on my mind that I had when I first knew my mother had visited me. She had stood right next to me in my hospital room while I slept. She saw how badly I was hurt. She saw the casts, the pulley, and the elevator. She couldn't have missed the stitches, the bruising, the swelling, the IV, the urinary catheter, and the drainage tubes. If she didn't want to wake me and speak to me that night, why would she talk to me now?
I decided to stop worrying about her reaction. I deserved answers, so I called Melissa Harrington's number and on the third ring, a man answered. His greeting was polite, his tone pleasant. He sounded well-educated and upper middle class. I had always assumed that my mother was unmarried when I was born and that she never married my father. Was I wrong? Was the man on the other end of the line my father? I realized that I had taken too long to speak when the man repeated his greeting. I tried to match his polite tone.
"May I please speak to Melissa Harrington?"
The man paused for what seemed like forever before he spoke. "Who's calling, please?"
Then it was my turn to pause. What should I say?
"Who's calling?" The man repeated impatiently.
"River. River Blue."
Another pause. Longer than the first one. Very long.
"Sir?" I checked to see if he was still on the line.
"I'm Mr. Harrington. Melissa was my wife. She passed away in April."
The air
rushed from my lungs. Of all the things I expected, I was not prepared to hear of my mother's death. So many thoughts rushed through my head. So many things I wanted to know. It seemed that minutes passed before I spoke again.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know where to start but..." I lost the words when I tried to explain my call, not knowing how much the man on the other end of the line knew. It didn't matter after Mr. Harrington spoke again.
"I know who you are," said the man. "I know that Melissa was your mother."
"But you're not my father."
"No."
"Do you know my father?"
I could hear voices in the background. Two different male voices. Probably young teenagers. I heard one of them say something to Mr. Harrington, but the only word I understood was "Dad."
"Melissa told me that he died young. I never knew him. Listen, I don't want to be rude, but I can't speak to you like this."
I understood that he didn't want his son to hear. Two sons, if both of the boys I heard were his. My half brothers. I couldn't just end the call and give up. I had to know what he knew about my parents and me.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that you're the only one who might give me some answers. I would be very grateful. Please, sir."
"My sons are still struggling with our loss. I won't have them badgered by anyone, and I won't stand for anyone tarnishing the memory of their mother."
"Sir, I know what hurt is, and please believe me, the last thing I want is to hurt your boys, or you for that matter. All I want is information. If you could just tell me what you know, I promise I will leave you all alone, and none of you will ever hear from me again. Please, Mr. Harrington, I've waited eighteen years. I'm begging you."
After a full thirty seconds, Mr. Harrington spoke, I could hear the resignation, and what I thought was sadness in his voice. He whispered as if his sons were near. "Where are you?"
"Outside of Harper Springs. It's probably about two hours from you."
"I know where it is. About an hour below Greenville."
"Yes, sir. That's about right."
"I have business in Greenville tomorrow morning. Meet me there in the lobby of the Four Winds East Hotel at ten o'clock. It's just off the interstate at Windham Road."
"Thank you, sir. How will I recognize you?"
"You won't have to. I'll know you. Melissa kept an album of newspaper clippings from your football games, and I saw shots of you on television."
"Okay. I'll see you at ten in the morning. Thank you, sir."
"Goodnight."
My composure vanished along with the sound of Mr. Harrington's voice.
With one phone call, everything was different.
Feeling small and vulnerable, I curled my body into a fetal ball atop my bed and changed into the damaged little boy of years ago. I was the boy who learned that it hurt less to suffer in silence than to share my pain with people who didn't care. I was the boy who cried alone in dark places of little hope where broken little boys lived.
I wept that night for my mother, a woman I didn't know. A woman who gave me away to a life that no good mother would want for her son. For as long as I could remember, I had held onto hope that my parents, at least my mother, really loved me and wanted me, but for a reason out of her control, she left me to the care of strangers. I pictured her crying miserably because she could not keep me. I even dreamed that one day the reason for our separation would no longer keep us apart and that she would find me, claim me, and beg me to forgive her. She would tell me an incredible story that would make perfect sense, and I would indeed forgive her.
With one phone call, everything was different.
There was no chance of a miraculous reunion with my mother. She would give no explanation that would make me feel any better about my life as a foundling. She could never offer an apology for the pain I endured while growing up as a target of ridicule, contempt, and abuse in state care.
I could never ask her why she was not by my side after my appendix burst. Why she couldn't comfort me the night my best friend's shattered body heaved its last breath against me. Why she couldn't simply hold my hand after painful surgeries that made me wish I had died with him.
My mother was dead. My father was dead.
I was not just a foundling. I was officially an orphan.
I doubted that my mother's sons were anything like me. Maybe they liked sports and the outdoors, but I was sure that their lives had little in common with mine. From the way he spoke, I could tell that Mr. Harrington was a successful man and was fiercely protective of his sons. According to what Papa said, the Harringtons lived in an expensive neighborhood, and I was sure that his boys had the best of everything. I pictured them as popular kids in school, just like the ones I had envied when I was a young boy. Just like Carlee and Max were.
My half brothers knew nothing about fighting with bigger boys over food or used clothes donated by strangers. They were never ashamed of the clothes they wore to school, and they never had to use the free lunch pass while other kids pointed and laughed. Maybe worst of all, they never had to run away in the middle of the night from a nightmare that they would never really escape.
I pictured my mother living comfortably with her loving family in their nice home in their upscale neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood where people were unfamiliar with kids like me. I saw her and her successful husband giving my half brothers all that I ever wanted. All that really mattered. All that I was never good enough or lucky enough to have, and what my half brothers probably took for granted. To be loved as part of a real family in a real home.
It hurt to know that the dream had ended, and that I would never so much as speak to my parents. It was one more disappointment to bury along with the others, and one more time I would try to put on a brave face to show the world that another defeat only made me stronger. It was one more time that I would convince myself to be thankful for what I had and carry on the best I could.
What choice did broken little boys have?
***
Papa insisted on driving me to meet Mr. Harrington in Greenville, but he left it up to me to decide if I wanted him to come into the hotel with me or wait in his truck. I chose the latter. I was not sure what Mr. Harrington's reaction would be if Papa joined me, but I was afraid that the man might hesitate to speak as freely in front of Papa.
When I walked into the Four Winds East, I was glad that I wore a coat and tie because it was the nicest hotel that I had ever seen. There were many well-dressed men and women passing through the lobby or sitting on plush furniture in conversation corners. Mr. Harrington spotted me as soon as I walked through the door, and I saw him almost as quickly. He was a tall, white man in his early forties, and I was sure that his suit cost much more than mine. His tanned face was expressionless, as he motioned me towards the elevators. For privacy, he suggested that we go up to his room.
A few minutes later, we sat across from each other in the living area of his suite, which was just as luxurious as the lobby. He abruptly asked me how I found his phone number, and I gave him a short version of the story, which seemed to impress him. We made a little more small talk, but I could see that he wanted to be done with me as soon as he possibly could. Besides knowing that he was understandably uncomfortable, I assumed that I was taking precious time away from his work. I was right.
"River, if I may call you that, I have a limited amount of time. I'll sum up what I know and then answer any questions that I can."
"Thank you, sir."
The more Mr. Harrington talked, the more his story fit, and the more I wondered why I didn't question peoples' reactions and behaviors towards me.
Mr. Harrington had heard of me because he was a huge college football fan, and he was always aware of which high school players were heavily recruited. He knew nothing about my connection to his wife until after she deposited money in my bank account. Normally, it would have taken him much longer to discover the withdrawal because she used money from a
savings account from which they rarely drew funds. Melissa Harrington thought that she would pass away before her husband saw it because she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and had little time left. She had planned to leave Mr. Harrington an explanation so that when he found the withdrawal he would not have to wonder what she had secretly done with their money.
Melissa had an older brother who drowned when she was a toddler, so she grew up with just her parents in the mountains of North Carolina. After high school, she started college at Ackers State in Bergeron County. Instead of living in a dorm, her parents arranged for Melissa to stay with an aunt who lived in Ackers. Since her parents were going to be taking frequent trips out of the country, often for months at a time, the arrangement meant they could leave with less worry. During Melissa's freshman year, her parents were on a church mission in Africa.
Melissa loved photography, and she especially enjoyed shooting nature scenes. Soon after she began college, she heard of some beautiful scenery in Bergeron County, but it was in a very remote area that was difficult to find. When Melissa told her aunt that she wished she had a guide, the older woman asked a friend who recommended a Mexican-American boy. His name was Gabe and he lived on a large horse farm.
Gabe and Melissa hiked and rode horses on many trips through the countryside. They even went canoeing on the gentle Blue Bergeron River, which flowed through beautiful woodlands that humans rarely ever saw. Melissa snapped breathtaking shots that she could have only taken from the viewpoints Gabe presented to her. Many of the photos were permanently displayed in the Harringtons' home.
Melissa and Gabe grew passionate about each other and used poor judgment. She found out she was pregnant with me a week after Gabe died, which left Melissa with only her aunt to help her. As strict and religious as Melissa's parents were, she believed that there was no way that she could tell them without losing them and their support. Since her parents were to be gone for another ten months, she didn't have to tell them. Her aunt consented to keep her secret. Since Melissa and her aunt didn't believe in abortion, they decided that after Melissa gave birth to me, they would give me up anonymously.
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