by James, E L
“I don’t think so. The searches he did on my family didn’t start until a week or so after you began your job at SIP. Barney knows the exact dates. And, Ana, he fucked all his assistants and taped them.”
Ana’s quiet, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
About Hyde? About me?
I could have ended up like Hyde if I hadn’t been adopted.
Is she comparing me to him?
Fuck. I am like Hyde. A monster. Is that what she sees?
That we’re the same?
What a repulsive thought.
“Christian, I think you should talk to your mom and dad.” She squirms, and I release her legs, but she shuffles down into the bed so we’re facing each other.
“Let me call them,” she offers in a tender whisper. I shake my head. “Please,” she pleads. Her expression is as compassionate and sincere as ever. Her eyes brimming with love.
Perhaps she’s not comparing me to Hyde.
Should I call my parents? Maybe they can offer the missing pieces on these fragments of my past. They’re bound to remember, surely.
“I’ll call them,” I murmur.
“Good. We can go see them together, or you can go. Whichever you prefer.”
“No. They can come here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you going anywhere.”
“Christian, I’m up for a car journey.”
“No.” I give her a lopsided smile. “Anyway, it’s Saturday night; they’re probably at some function.”
“Call them. This news has obviously upset you. They might be able to shed some light.” Ana’s words are stirring. As I gaze into her eyes, there’s no judgment there, only her love shining through the cracks into my darkness.
“Okay.” I’ll play it her way. I pick up the bedside phone and call my parents’ home. Ana snuggles up to me while I wait for an answer.
“Christian.” Carrick’s voice has never been more welcome.
They’re home! “Dad!” I can’t hide my surprise.
“Great to hear from you, son. How’s Ana?”
“Ana’s good. We’re home. Welch has just left. He found out the connection.”
“Connection? With what? With who? Hyde?”
“The foster home in Detroit.”
Carrick is silent on the other end of the phone.
“I don’t remember any of that.” My voice wavers as my shame and simmering anger surface, a poisonous cocktail. Ana hugs me tighter.
“Christian. Why should you? It was long ago. But your mother and I can fill in the gaps, I’m sure.”
“Yeah?” I hate the hope in my voice.
“We’ll come over. Now, if you like?”
“You will?” I can scarcely believe it.
“Of course. I’ll bring some paperwork from that time with me. We’ll be there soon. It will be good to see Ana, too.”
Paperwork?
“Great.” I hang up and regard Ana’s curious expression. “They’re on their way.” I still can’t hide my surprise.
I ask my parents for help…and they come running.
“Good. I should get dressed,” Ana says.
I tighten my hold on her. “Don’t go.”
“Okay.” She bathes me in a loving smile, and she snuggles once more into my side.
Ana and I stand arm in arm in the doorway of the living room to welcome my parents. My mother lights up when she sees Ana, her joy and gratitude obvious to each of us. Reluctantly, I release my wife into my mother’s embrace. “Ana, Ana, darling Ana,” she says, and I have to strain to hear her. “Saving two of my children. How can I ever thank you?”
Yep. Mom’s right. She’s saved me, too.
Dad hugs Ana, his eyes shining with paternal affection. He kisses her forehead. From behind them Mia, whom I wasn’t expecting, appears and pulls Ana into a fierce hug.
“Thank you for saving me from those assholes!”
Ana winces.
“Mia! Careful! She’s in pain.” My shout startles everyone.
Of course. They brought Mia because Mom doesn’t want to let her out of her sight. She was drugged and kidnapped only a few days ago. My irritation at my baby sister evaporates.
“Oh! Sorry,” she says goofily.
“I’m good,” Ana says, giving Mia a tight smile.
Mia barrels over to me and curls her arm around me. “Don’t be so grumpy!” she scolds me quietly.
I scowl at her and she pouts playfully at me.
Damn. I hug her tightly to my side.
Thank God she’s okay.
My mother joins us, and I hand her the photographs from Welch. Grace examines the picture of the family. She sucks in a breath and covers her mouth. Dad joins us and winds his arm around her shoulders as he also scrutinizes the family picture.
“Oh, darling.” Grace reaches up and places her palm against my cheek, her eyes stricken with shock and dismay.
Why? Did she not want me to know about this?
Taylor interrupts us. “Mr. Grey, Miss Kavanagh, her brother, and your brother are coming up, sir.”
What the hell? “Thank you, Taylor.”
“I called Elliot and told him we were coming over,” Mia pipes up. “It’s a welcome-home party.”
Mom and Dad share an exasperated look. Ana’s glance is sympathetic. “We’d better get some food together. Mia, will you give me a hand?”
“Oh, I’d love to.” She grabs Ana’s hand and they head over into the kitchen area.
Mom and Dad follow me into my study, and I offer them each a seat in front of my desk. I lean back against it, suddenly aware that this is how my father would perch in his study as I stood in front of him while he lectured me about my latest misdemeanor. The tables have been well and truly turned, and the irony is not lost on me. I need answers and they’re here—so presumably they’re willing to shed some light on this dark chapter in my life. I mask my anger and gaze at both of them expectantly.
Grace is the first to speak, her voice clear and authoritative, her doctor’s voice. “This photograph, these are the Colliers. They were your foster parents. You had to go to them once your biological mother died, because under state law we had to wait to see if you had any relatives who would claim you.”
Oh.
Her voice drops. “We had to wait for you. It was agonizing. Two whole months.” She closes her eyes, as if reliving the pain. It’s sobering. My anger melts away as my breath catches in my throat. I cough to hide my emotion.
“In the picture.” I gesture to the photograph Grace is holding. “The boy with red hair. That’s Jack Hyde.”
Carrick leans in and they examine the photograph together. “I don’t remember him,” my father muses.
Mom shakes her head, a forlorn look on her face. “No, me, neither. We only had eyes for you, Christian.”
“Were… Were they kind?” I ask haltingly, my voice a shadow. “The Colliers?”
Grace’s eyes fill with tears. “Oh, darling. They were wonderful. Mrs. Collier doted on you.”
Silently, I blow out a breath of relief. “I wondered. I couldn’t remember.”
Grace’s eyes widen with understanding. She reaches out and grips my hand, hazel eyes beseeching mine. “Christian, you were a traumatized child. You wouldn’t or couldn’t speak. You were skin and bone. I can’t even imagine the horrors you endured in your early life. But that ended with the Colliers.” She squeezes my hand, willing me to believe her. “They were good people.”
“I wish I could remember them,” I whisper.
She stands and takes my hand. “There’s no reason why you should. It felt like forever for us, because we wanted you so badly, but it was only two months. We’d already been approved to adopt, thank goodness. Otherwise, the process could have been long
er.”
“Here,” Carrick says. “It must be harrowing not knowing, but I have a few things from that time for you. Maybe they might help you remember.” From inside his jacket he produces a large envelope. I sit down at my desk, steel myself, and open it. Inside I find a résumé for Mr. and Mrs. Collier and details about their family, a daughter and two sons. Several letters, and two drawings…my drawings?
I gaze down at them, and my scalp tingles with a sense of wonder.
Both pictures are in crayon. They’re a scrawled child’s view of a house with a yellow door. There are stick figures: two adults, five siblings.
The sun shines over them all. Huge. Bright.
The second picture is similar, but all the children are holding what look like sugar cones with ice cream.
It appears happy enough.
“We had reports on you every week from them. And we visited. Every weekend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Grace and Carrick exchange a look.
“It never came up, son.” Carrick’s jaw tightens, his voice quiet with remorse, I think, as he shrugs. “We wanted you to forget, about all…” He trails off.
I nod. I get it.
Forget about my life with the crack whore.
Forget about her pimp.
Forget about my life before them.
I don’t blame them. I’d like to forget.
Why would anyone want to remember that?
“I hope this helps with some of your questions,” he says.
“It does. I’m glad I called you. It was Ana’s idea.”
Carrick smiles. “She’s one brave woman, Christian.” He glances once more at Grace. She nods, and it looks like she’s giving him permission. He hands me another envelope.
With a puzzled look at both of them, I open it. Inside is a birth certificate.
STATE OF MICHIGAN
CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH
State file number: 121-83-757899
Date filed: June 29, 1983
Child’s Name (First, Middle, Last, Suffix): Kristian Pusztai
Date of Birth: June 18, 1983
Gender: Male
Child’s Birthplace: Detroit, Wayne County
Mother’s Name Before First Married: Életke Pusztai
Mother’s Age: 19
Mother’s Birthplace: Budapest, Hungary
Fathers Name: Unknown
Father’s Age: Unknown
Father’s Birthplace: Unknown
I hereby certify that the above is a true and correct representation of the birth facts on file with the Division for Vital Records, Michigan Department of Community Health.
Kristian! A tremor runs up my spine. My name!
And the crack whore! She has a name.
From nowhere I hear her pimp asshole shouting. “Ella!”
Ella…short for Életke.
His usual epithet was bitch.
I shake off the thought.
“Why are you giving this to me now?” My voice is hoarse as I gaze at my parents.
“I found it with the letters and the drawings. In Mrs. Collier’s letters she calls you Christian with a K. So, if you wondered…” My mother’s voice trails off.
“Why did you change the spelling?”
“Because you are a gift. To us. From God.”
I stare at her. Stupefied. A gift? Me? All the shit I gave the two people standing in front of me, and this is what they think?
“We felt we owed Him. You’ve always been a gift, Christian,” Carrick murmurs.
Tears pinch the back of my eyes and I take a deep breath.
A gift.
“Children are a gift. Always.” Grace’s maternal adoration is plain in her glistening eyes, and I know what she’s left unsaid—that I’ll find this out for myself, in a few months. Leaning over, she smooths my hair off my forehead. I return her smile and, standing, pull her into my arms.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, son.”
Carrick hugs us both.
I close my eyes, and fighting back my tears, I accept it.
Unconditional love.
From my parents.
As it should be.
Enough. I pull away. “I’ll read the letters later.” My voice is gruff with emotion.
“Okay.”
“We should get back to the others,” I mutter.
“Have you remembered anything?” Carrick asks.
I shake my head.
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but don’t sweat it, son. You have us. You have your family. And like your mother says, the Colliers were good people.” Gently, he squeezes my arm, his warmth and affection radiating through my body.
We head back into the main living room, but I’m moving in slow motion, disconnected from my reality, my head ready to explode with all these revelations. I scan the room for Ana; she’s standing with Elliot and Kate at the kitchen counter, eating some canapés.
From somewhere deep in my brain, the part that stores my earliest memories, comes a fragment—a vision of a family gathered around a wooden table. Laughing. Teasing. Eating…macaroni and cheese.
The Colliers.
I’m distracted from my reminiscence by the sight of Ana with a flute of pink champagne in her hand.
Junior!
I move to take the alcohol from her, but Kate steps into my path. “Kate.” I acknowledge her.
“Christian,” she responds, in her usual abrupt way.
“Your meds, Mrs. Grey?” My tone is a warning as I stare at the glass in Ana’s hand, trying not to give anything away. But Ana narrows her eyes and raises her chin in defiance. Grace collects a full flute from Elliot, walks up to Ana, and whispers something in her ear. They exchange a furtive smile, and they clink glasses.
Mom! I grimace at both of them. But they ignore me.
“Hotshot!” Elliot claps me on the back and hands me a glass.
“Bro.” I keep my eyes on Ana as Elliot and I take a seat on the couch.
“Jesus, you must have been worried sick.”
“Yeah.”
“Glad that asshole is finally caught. His ass is on its way to jail.”
“Yeah.”
Elliot frowns. “You missed a great game.”
“Game?”
He wants to talk baseball? Is he trying to distract me? He’s pissed the Mariners lost to the Rangers today, but I find it difficult to concentrate on what he’s saying—my attention is locked on Ana. Carrick joins Ana, and Grace kisses him on the cheek, then moves to sit with Mia and Ethan—who are looking mighty cozy on the couch—leaving Ana to talk to Dad.
My father and my wife enjoy a lively whispered conversation.
What are they talking about? Me?
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, asshole.” Elliot pulls me back into our conversation.
“Sure. The Rangers.”
He punches my arm. “You get a pass,” he says. “You’ve had a tough few days. You know, you two should come see your house.”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Ana and I were planning to and then all hell broke loose.”
“Ana and Mia. Fuck.” Elliot’s expression is grim. “Glad your wife took that asshole down.”
I nod.
“Hi, Christian.” Ethan joins us and I’m grateful for the interruption.
“Watch the game?” Elliot asks, and they fall into a debate about Beltré hitting a homer against the Mariners. I tune them out as Ana comes toward us.
“It’s great to see everyone,” she says to Carrick, as she sits next to me.
“One sip,” I scold her under my breath. And you’ve had that. I take the glass from her hand.
“Yes, Sir.” She flutters her eyel
ashes, her eyes darkening and suddenly full of promise. My body stirs in response, and I ignore it.
Jesus. We’re in company.
I wind my arm around her shoulders and shoot her a quick look.
Behave, Ana.
Ana is curled up in bed, watching me as I strip. “My parents think you walk on water.” I toss my T-shirt onto the chair.
“Good thing you know differently.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Did they fill in the gaps for you?”
“Some. I lived with the Colliers for two months while Mom and Dad waited for the paperwork. They were already approved for adoption because of Elliot, but the wait’s required by law, to see if I had any living relatives who wanted to claim me.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“About having no living relatives?” Relieved! “Fuck that. If they were anything like the crack whore.” I shake my head.
Thank God for Mom and Dad.
They were—are—a gift to me.
I don my pajama pants and climb into bed, cuddling up to my wife, beyond grateful that she’s here with me. She inclines her head, her expression warm, but I know she’s expecting me to say more. “It’s coming back to me,” I muse.
Mac and cheese…yeah.
“I remember the food. Mrs. Collier could cook. And at least we know now why that fucker is so hung up on my family.” A hazy memory surfaces.
Wait—didn’t she use to sit by my bed?
She’s tucking me into a small cot bed and holding a book. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“It makes sense now!”
“What?”
“Baby Bird. Mrs. Collier used to call me Baby Bird.”
Ana’s looks puzzled. “That makes sense?”
“The note. The ransom note that fucker left. It went something like ‘Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are, Baby Bird.’”
Ana still looks confused.
“It’s from a kid’s book. The Colliers had it. It was called Are You My Mother? Shit.” I imagine the cover in my mind’s eye: the little bird and the sad, old dog. “I loved that book. Mrs. Collier used to read it to me. Christ. He knew. That fucker knew.”
Though I have no memory of him…thank God.
“Will you tell the police?”