“Sarah, are you okay?”
I’d been quiet too long, and Amelia sounded worried.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to say thank you. I won’t let you down.”
And I hung up the phone.
Finally, the time had come for me to leave. I used the money from my last shift at Buster’s to rent a car for the drive up north. I didn’t need anything big, as I only had a few boxes of belongings.
It was harder leaving the apartment than I expected. As usual, I felt like I was leaving a piece of Cliff behind. I thought of all the times he’d slept here, of all the memories we shared. It’s like his spirit would stay lost in this place forever, but I promised I wouldn’t let that happen. Moving on with my life didn’t mean ignoring his. I’d talk about him and keep him alive, in my heart. At least I would no longer have to pass the same street where I had seen him die.
Amelia had suggested meeting before I left, but I thought it would be too hard. It would be easier to see pictures once I got settled in my new place but seeing you in person would have been too difficult. I would want to hold you, take you with me, and I knew I couldn’t do that.
And yet, as I sat in the driver’s seat, my hand on the steering wheel, it felt impossible to move. I couldn’t just leave New Hutton without seeing you. Although I’d look like some foolish young girl again for changing my mind at the last minute, I knew I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
I got out of the car and ran across the street. I fed coins into a pay phone and dialed Amelia’s office number. It felt like a punch to the stomach when they told me she still hadn’t returned, that she wasn’t working at the center at all. I’d missed my chance, and who knew when I’d get to see you again. Would I even recognize you?
I walked back to my car, defeated. The handwritten directions for my journey were sitting in the passenger seat. I was trying to muster the determination to put the car in drive. Then I thought of something. What if I simply drove to Amelia’s house? Maybe she would be there when I arrived, and I could see you.
It would be unexpected, but Amelia would understand. Like she said, she would never be able to repay me. And yet she could. By letting me hold you one last time.
35 Marion
Now
Mom is awake, but she’s not exactly lucid. By the time I arrived at the hospital, she was already out again. Carmen is waiting in the lobby. Des stayed back at the condo with Ava.
“How long was she awake?” I ask the nurse. A name tag attached to his green scrubs reads, Roy.
“Only a few minutes.”
“How was she? Did she say anything? Ask for me?”
“She was pretty out of it because of the drugs. That’s to be expected. It might take another day or two until she’s ready for any conversation.”
Great. As though I haven’t waited long enough. All I’ve wanted to do is talk to her. When I received the phone call saying she was awake, I thought this was finally my chance. I need her now, more than ever, to make sense of everything.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You’re free to visit. There’s always a chance she could wake up again, but I wouldn’t count on her being coherent. Sorry the call got your hopes up.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay a while.”
“It might be good for you. Her too, in some way.”
Now I’m sitting here. Waiting. For what? I don’t know. It’s not like she is going to start a conversation. I was foolish to think otherwise. And yet, this visit feels necessary. It is my first time seeing her after learning the truth. She’s my mother.
Mom doesn’t look like the person I remember from a week ago. Her skin is dull, fixed, not unlike a corpse. Every time she inhales the machine to her left makes a loud wheezing noise, reminding me she is still alive, even if her mind is elsewhere. There are a series of tubes attached to her body, at her elbow and mouth. Beneath her gown, I can see the top of what looks like a long line of staples, souvenirs from surgery. How I wish I didn’t have to see this person. I want the woman I remember, the woman I love. I want my mom back.
There’s a knock at the door and Nurse Roy pokes his head inside.
“Your name is Marion Sams, right?”
“Yes.”
“You have a phone call at the receptionist’s desk.”
I look in my lap at my cell phone. There is full service and no missed calls or messages. Carmen is still in the waiting room. Des, still at the condo, wouldn’t have called the hospital line unless there was some sort of problem with Ava.
“Do you know who it is?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just passing along the message.”
I stand, taking another look at Mom. She’s not moved since I’ve been here, and yet there’s that worry that she’ll wake up the moment I’m out of the room. I follow Roy into the hallway. Beside the door, sits the police officer I’ve seen during each visit. He’s reading a newspaper, only raising his head once to scan my face.
Roy leads me in the opposite direction from the lobby to a small nurse’s station. There’s a woman behind the counter shuffling paperwork. When she sees me, she hands over a portable receiver and gets back to her work.
“This is Marion Sams.”
A few seconds of silence, and then, “It’s good to hear your voice.”
The voice is female, but I don’t recognize it. It’s definitely not Amelia or anyone else I know.
“Who is this?”
“Do you have a pen and paper?”
On the counter, there is a cup full of pens and a writing pad. I take one, surprised that the voice on the other end ignored my question.
“Yes, but who is—”
“Write down this address: 127 Greenfield Drive. There’s a storage facility there. You need to go to Unit 308 and press in this code.” She gives me a six-digit combination. I write down everything she says, even though it feels like I’m doing something wrong. “That’s all you need to get inside. You’ll find a green folder. There’s something you need to read.”
Something about this, the secrecy of the phone call, feels wrong. I think of the press, of Carmen’s rage if she were to discover I was continuing to correspond with people without her permission. “Tell me who this is.”
“Just do what I say. It’s to help Sarah.”
The line goes dead. I pull back, staring at the useless receiver in my hands. Who was it that just called me? How would they know I’m at the hospital, and why would they wait until this moment to give me such muddled instructions? No one—other than the police and Amelia—has referred to my mother as Sarah. Could this be someone from her old life? Someone who knows something? Of course, if that’s the case, I wonder why they wouldn’t have already come forward. If this woman is doing this to help Mom, why wait until now?
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman at the desk. Her back is turned. “Excuse me?”
She faces me. The dark circles beneath her eyes and heavy sigh suggest she will be less helpful than Nurse Roy.
“Do you have any idea who called this number?”
“No clue.”
“Is it possible to trace the call?”
She makes a dramatic turn and exhales again. “This is a hospital, not a directory center.”
I leave the phone on the counter and stuff the written instructions into my pocket.
When I return to Mom’s room, it doesn’t look like she has moved. She’s still sleeping, her body fighting to regain consciousness. I sit with her a little longer, hoping against reason she will open her eyes.
36 Eileen
Then
Bruce opened the door.
I’d only met him twice. Once before the adoption paperwork was finalized, and again at the hospital when they came to take you home. Amelia showed me dozens of family photos during our outings to the horse track. He seemed smaller in person, less powerful. Being a Parker or a Boone meant a ribbon of aristocracy was tied to whatever you did, but Bruce appeared norma
l, even boring. The type of dorky father you would want raising your child.
“May I help you?”
Our meetings were so brief he didn’t recognize me at first. I’d already shrunk back to my pre-baby weight. The most notable change in my appearance were the dark bags beneath my eyes, badges of too little sleep.
Then, his face changed. He remembered.
“I’m sorry. Are you—”
“Sarah. I’m Sarah. I should have called.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I, um, it’s nice to see you again.” He started a handshake but pulled me in for a hug instead. I think he was embarrassed at not recognizing me immediately. “My God, what am I thinking? Would you like to come inside?”
As you would expect, their home was beautiful. I was seized with fear I might break something; everything looked too delicate to touch. The far wall was made entirely of glass, overlooking the backyard pool. I was too afraid to speak at first, but Bruce kept looking at me, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m just making a late afternoon snack,” he said, walking into the kitchen. I followed him. The room was bigger than my entire studio apartment. There was a large island in the center complete with a second sink. He pulled out a chopping block and started slicing small rectangles of cheese.
“Amelia might have told you,” I began. “I’m leaving town soon.”
“She did. Starting school, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
I sat at one of the barstools pulled up to the island. It felt awkward, being alone with this man I knew nothing about. Amelia was an old friend by now, but Bruce was something different. Neither of us was sure what to do in her absence.
“Any idea what you’d like to study?”
“I was thinking about being a teacher. Younger kids. You know, like preschool age.”
“I worked in education for years myself, but my students were older.” He unfolded his arms now, getting more comfortable in his seat. “I taught at Phillips Academy.”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t figure why. Suddenly, I was thinking about Cliff, about all those stories he used to tell about the kids passing through his neighborhood. Khaki pant pricks, he’d called them. As with most memories of Cliff, part of me wanted to laugh, while another part wanted to cry. I still hadn’t accepted his loss, and I was resentful he never got the opportunity to meet you, to hold you in his arms.
“I’m leaving town today,” I said. “Everything is packed and ready, but… I don’t know.” I started to lose my confidence, afraid, for some reason, that Bruce would deny my request to see you one more time. “It doesn’t feel right leaving her like this. I’ve not even held her since she was born. I’d like to see her just one more time, if that’s okay.”
Bruce stopped what he was doing, crossing his arms. “Have you talked to Amelia?”
“I tried calling, but the center said she no longer works there. I guess I assumed she’d return after Caroline was born. I decided to come here instead.”
“I’m glad you did. Caroline should be up from her nap soon.”
“I can wait.”
I leaned back, finally at ease. I’d get to hold you one more time, and then I would be off to start my life, and you would stay here to continue yours. I’m not sure why I was nervous, hung up on the idea they wouldn’t let me see you. We had an amicable relationship, always putting your best interests ahead of anything else. For the rest of time, you would be theirs.
He walked to the other counter and retrieved a bundle of fruit. He pulled the twigs apart, dropping the dried stems into a separate bowl. After several seconds of silence, he rolled up his sleeves, folding them just below the elbow. On his left forearm, there was a long gash, now smooth and silver. It looked out of place compared to the rest of his neat look.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at his arm. “Looks like that was a bad cut back in the day.”
He stopped, looked down at his arm, then up at me.
“A reminder of my misspent youth.”
I forced a laugh.
“No, really,” he said, looking away. He arranged the food on the wooden slab. “Just a bad cut I got when I went on this camping trip with my brothers. I hope Caroline will be into that sort of thing.”
I hoped so, too. I hoped you would have all the experiences I couldn’t give you.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll take some wat—”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off and raising his hand. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked out of the kitchen, disappearing down a hallway. It sounded like he was going downstairs.
I wandered into the living room, daring myself to look around. I thought back to all the times I’d watched Amelia, analyzing my life through her lens. Now my analysis was different. This wasn’t Amelia’s home, but yours. The place where you would grow up, take your first steps, never go without a need or want. Walking around the room, envisioning what your future might be, I knew I’d made the right choice.
My eyes stopped on a bookcase. There were six shelves, reaching from the floor to just a few inches below the ceiling. The top and bottom rows held books. More books than I’d ever read. Most people don’t read all the books they have on display, but I’d bet anything Bruce and Amelia had read them all. They were reliable in that way. They didn’t pretend to be perfect; they just were.
The two middle rows held a collection of vases and frames. I reached out and touched the speckled glass, wondering if it was Venetian. Amelia had told me all about their honeymoon there, how they toured Murano and Burano, even took a day trip to Verona. All these experiences would be impossible for me to give you, and yet, in a way, I had. Because I’d given you to Amelia, and she could compensate for everything I lacked.
One of the pictures was of a group of people standing in front of a building. The fine print indicated it was taken at Phillips Academy. Students and teachers crowded the steps. I spotted Bruce standing on the back row, wearing the same kind of navy vest as his co-workers.
Then, out of nowhere, something familiar. A face. A face I’d missed so much, it hurt to suddenly be confronted by it again. Jamie. She was standing in the second row, sandwiched in with the other disinterested pupils.
My mouth felt dry, and that lump in my throat returned, but this time, instead of sadness, I felt sick. Jamie. I scanned the years written at the bottom. This was her high school. Phillips Academy. That’s why it had sounded familiar when Bruce mentioned it. It wasn’t Cliff’s story I’d remembered, but Jamie’s. In the photograph, she stared back at me with those sad eyes. And there, only a few rows away, was Bruce, beaming at the camera.
“Are you a wine drinker?”
I jumped, realizing he’d re-entered the room. The frame was still in my hand, and I clutched it tighter. “What?”
“I’ve been dying to try this new red wine. You should have a glass.”
“No.” I turned quickly, putting the frame back in its place. Before I could step away, I felt the heat of someone standing behind me. “I’m really not a big drinker.”
“That was my last year at Phillips,” he said, staring at the picture before us. “I taught there for ten years.”
“Why’d you quit?” I asked, trying to ignore the warmth of his breath on my neck.
“I started working for Amelia’s father. Longer hours, but a bit more flexibility than the academy offered. Better pay, too. I quit right around the time we started trying for a baby, but, well, you know how that turned out.”
I did. Amelia had detailed every false positive, every heartbreaking loss. I turned to face him, and could see he was looking down, no doubt thinking over the same awful history. Then he looked at me.
“Of course, thanks to you, we finally have the family we always wanted. You’ll never know how much this has meant to us.” He smiled. For the first time, I noticed the faint gray line on his gums.
Fuzzy Sw
eater Gray Gums.
I took a step back. “Do you have a restroom I could use?”
“Sure.”
His brow furrowed. He’d picked up on my sudden change in attitude. He pointed me toward the hallway. I walked quickly, gently closing the door and locking it behind me.
Think, think, I chanted to myself. This idea had struck me from nowhere, but it would be too coincidental, wouldn’t it? What were the odds Jamie’s attacker would be your adoptive father? Amelia’s husband?
I tried to remember everything Jamie had ever told me about what happened at her school. She didn’t talk about it often, and it had been well over a year since the topic had been mentioned. I closed my eyes, trying to remember her exact words.
He had a reputation at the school, I remembered her saying. He’d gotten away with it with other girls. He followed me into the bathroom, but I fought him off. Left a nice scar on his forearm.
Bruce had said that picture was taken his last year at Phillips Academy. And he, I realized with a twisting sickness, fit Jamie’s juvenile description. Fuzzy Sweater Gray Gums. That was the name girls around school had called him. He had the scar on his arm. But could it be true?
Maybe I was simply tricking myself into thinking these things. Maybe this was a last-ditch effort to convince myself not to leave you behind. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, giving you away. I did it for your benefit. If Bruce Parker was the man who attacked Jamie, I wouldn’t be leaving you in loving hands. I’d be leaving you in danger.
“Everything okay in there?” Bruce asked from the other side of the door.
“Be out in a sec.”
I took a deep breath, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. I wished, more than anything, I could reach out to Jamie and ask her the name of the person who attacked her. What I would have given for the mundane ease of sending a text message or making a direct call, but it was the late eighties, and no such luxury existed. I took a deep breath, and exited the bathroom, determined not to leave New Hutton until I knew the truth for myself.
Not My Mother Page 18