by Eliza Park
The first piece of paper was a copy of my birth certificate. I flipped past it, finding a second hospital document signed by a woman named Maeve Noreena Bohanan, indicating she was giving up the rights to her unnamed newborn daughter with no intention of contact in the future.
The last name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I squinted at the paper, unsure of what to make of this information. What would any of this have to do with my trust? Did my dad Rumpelstiltskin some poor woman’s child to earn me more money or something? I set it down next to me and moved to the next page. It was a group of papers stapled together at the top. An article from a newspaper dated the day after my fifth birthday.
University Student Drowns in Putnam Lake Following Kidnapping Attempt
I took my time reading the article, my pulse racing faster with each word.
A snowy night.
A frozen lake.
A frightened girl.
A concerned father.
And the disappearance of a university student in the freezing waters. Presumed dead.
My hands were shaking as the article fell from my hand, finally understanding. I felt sick, my stomach in knots, and I ran to the bathroom, bending over just in time to throw up the contents of my breakfast.
Emily appeared in a flash, holding my hair back from my face.
Tears streamed down my face and I shook so hard my teeth clattered together.
“Celeste?” She looked into my eyes and her own widened, “I’ll call Marie, wait here.”
I grabbed her by the hand when she stood, shaking my head, “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
“Alright, just breathe, okay? Just remember to breathe.”
I did as she said and slowly the shaking stopped and I was able to stand, brush my teeth, and make my way back to the article, now discarded on the floor.
Emily picked it up for me and glanced over it, “Wow, this lady looks just like you,” she said. “Is that your mom?”
“I don’t know, I guess so?”
Emily eyed me warily, “You should sit down. Let me help you figure this out.” She sat next to me, reading the article.
I grabbed the rest of the papers, flipping through them and trying to quell the waves of bile threatening to spout from my stomach.
There was an interview with my dad for the New York University student newspaper.
A Forbes article from a few years before I was born.
Several opinion pieces written by the drowned woman.
Another smaller envelope with my name handwritten on it. I set that one aside for now.
And finally, a small stack of pictures. The top one was of a red-haired woman with green eyes standing in front of a large, ranch style house, a huge smile on her face. I flipped it over and scrawled in black pen was her name, Maeve, and a date. Three years before I was born. She would have been 18.
The rest of the pictures were from the same house, groups of people with their arms wrapped around each other, all wearing identical smiles. There was one picture I couldn’t move on from. It was an older couple standing in front of a red barn. The gentleman was tall and had his arm over the woman’s shoulders. She was laughing, her hand on her wide midsection. The back named the couple Myrna and Craig, the same names from the purple sticky note with the attached phone number.
“I think,” I said, “These are my grandparents.”
Emily set down the article she was reading to peer over, “They look happy as hell.” She shuffled back through the pages and looked over at me. “So, you have a mom you never knew about, who tried to kidnap you and drowned in the process.”
I stared at the picture, “That about sums it up, huh?”
“And you never knew?”
I shook my head, “No one told me.”
Emily nodded to the unopened envelope at my side, “What about that?”
“What if it’s a letter from her?”
“Well, it’s not like she’s going to know if you don’t read it.”
I coughed out a laugh and picked up the stiff white paper, running my finger along the triangle.
“Oh my god,” Emily said, grabbing it out of my hands and tearing it open. “Oh,” she murmured.
“What is it?”
“Um, it’s a trust. Worth a lot of money. Girl, you’re rich.” She handed the letter to me.
It was a bank account in my name, but not nearly the amount I was told to expect from my dad. “This isn’t from my dad,” I said.
Emily leaned over my shoulder.
I scanned the document and found Maeve’s name in the trustee box.
“She left me this,” I said, marveling, “How did she have so much?”
There was a handwritten letter attached and the blood in my veins froze at the sight of it.
My darling daughter,
If I don’t succeed in getting you back, I want you to know how much I regret giving you up. I think about you every day, wondering how it would feel to hold your tiny hand in mine, to see you smile, hear your wonderful giggle. I steal glimpses of you when I can and you’re growing so fast. The only thing I’ve given you is your name, so I put this money aside for you until your 18th birthday, in case we won’t be able to share if we don’t make it to Dublin. I know you won’t need it, given who your father is, but I had to leave you something.
This is the total sum of money your father paid me to keep you. I haven’t touched a penny. It doesn’t feel right to accept so much when I’d give every cent back just to hold you one more time.
I love you so much. And if we don’t meet soon, I want you to know that I love you.
I would break through the gates of hell to get to you, my green-eyed girl.
Mommy
My vision blurred and I used the back of my hand to wipe the tears from my eyes. Emily put a hand on my back, rubbing it up and down. “Your mom was hot, Sunshine.”
I laughed, leaning my head onto her shoulder. “She was broke,” I said with a sob, “She was broke, but she was going to take me to Dublin.” I let the letter fall into my lap, “The article makes her sound deranged, but she was just trying to save me from this horrible life.” I let out a sharp breath, the tears streaming down my face, “My life could have been so different, Em. If she’d succeeded. I wish she’d succeeded.”
“I know you do,” she cooed. “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you at your dad?”
I glared down at the letter.
“Oooh, yep, I’d give that about a ten.”
I wiped the tears away, anger replacing my grief.
“What are you going to do now?”
I swallowed, “I guess I’ll call my grandparents.”
Day 14
Three days later I was allowed my first phone call. Emily walked with me to the small station near the group therapy room.
“If you feel like crying,” she said, “And you really don’t want to, just focus on breathing. It’s the reflexes that screw up our breathing and forces the sobbing. You just keep breathing and you’ll be okay.”
“Just keep breathing?” I asked.
She nodded, her hand on my arm, “Just keep breathing.”
I inhaled slowly and let it out through my nose. “I can do that.”
I dialed the number on the piece of paper, my hand shaking with every button my neatly trimmed nail pushed. It rang twice before the voice of an elderly lady huffed through the mouthpiece on the other line, “Hello?” She asked impatiently, like I was already supposed to have presented her with the information of the phone call.
“H--hi, Mrs. Myrna Bohanan?” I stuttered, clearing my throat, and wishing I’d written down what I wanted to say.
“Aye.” I was surprised to hear a hidden Irish accent come through the phone.
“Um, hello,” I was relieved, but paralyzed with fear. How would she react?
“Are you gonna get to the point, lass? I don’t know a single person in that fancy rehab you’re callin’ from a
n’ I got a lot of work to do around here.”
I shook my head and looked down at my feet. “I’m sorry. I--my name is Celeste..Hanson and I, um, I think I might be your granddaughter?”
There was silence on the other line. I started to shift uneasily, my skin prickling with anticipation and worry. “Oh, my dear lord, Brennan told me ya might be callin.’ I didna know it would be from there.” Her voice was loud suddenly as she shouted, “CRAIG!” She returned to a normal volume, “Celeste m’dear. I canna tell ya how much it means to me to hear from ya.”
The urge to cry filled the space behind my eyes, and I glanced at Emily, taking a deep breath, “You’re not...angry with me?”
“Now why on earth would we be mad at ya, dear?”
I shrugged, even though I knew she couldn’t see, “I’m sorry I’m calling now, I only just found out a few days ago.”
“We’re jus happy to be hearin from ya at all,” Myrna replied, her voice warm. “I’ll be guessin you ‘eard what happened to yer ma?”
I swallowed, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of it but I’m working on trying to.”
“Oh, don’t worry yerself about the past, dear one. Maeve would want you to focus on gettin’ better before worryin about her.”
I smiled, it was so wonderful to hear my mom’s name out loud. “I’d really like to know about her, though, if you wouldn’t mind telling me.” I kept going, checking the time on my watch, “I’m restricted to ten-minute calls right now, but I have your address and I can write to you? If that’s okay?”
I could hear the smile in Myrna’s voice, “Oh, we would like tha’ very much.”
I fought back the tears pushing behind my eyes. Another deep breath, “Thank you, Mrs. Bohanan. I’m really glad I called.”
“So am I, dear. So am I.”
“I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Aye, love. I canna wait to hear from ya again. You get better now.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
“Bye, love.” I hung up the phone and checked my watch, glancing over my shoulder at Jenny.
“How did it go?” She asked, eyes wide with hope.
I smiled, “Really well. I think I’m ready to call my dad, actually.”
Her hazel eyes widened even further, “Are you sure you want to do that now?”
I shifted on my feet and nodded, “What’s the worst he can do in ten minutes, right?”
“Okay,” she breathed, “If you’re sure.”
I picked the receiver back up and started punching the buttons I’d memorized several years ago.
He answered on the 4th ring, sounding wary, tired, and a little irritated. “Celeste?”
“Hi dad.”
“I didn’t think you were allowed phone calls.”
“I’m past the first fourteen days so I’ve been granted quite a few freedoms.”
I heard the whoosh of his leather chair as he sat back, and I knew he was in the city at his office. “How is the recovery? Are you clean?”
“Yeah, I’m clean.” I could picture him sitting there, annoyed at having to deal with his only daughter's disappointing phone call from rehab. “Listen dad, there’s a reason I’m calling.”
“Do they not give you money in that place? My lawyer should be there this week with your trust.”
I frowned at my feet, “It’s not about money. It’s about my mom.”
“Your mom’s at home.”
I took a deep breath, “No, my real mom.”
I heard the shift in leather, picturing him straightening in his chair. His voice became angry, almost frantic, “Who’s telling you these lies, is it Lockwood?”
Why would he think it was Maverick?
“I don’t know who sent the information, there was no return address. But I’ve seen her picture and the news article from her death. I always wondered why mom--or Carole and I looked nothing alike. I thought we came from different planets, but it turns out she just isn’t my real mother. Your name is on the birth certificate, I was just wondering if you could tell me about her.”
I heard the scrape of his chair and guessed he was standing, “Carole is your mother. There’s nothing else to discuss here.”
“Dad I--.”
He hung up.
I hooked the receiver back on the line and stared at it. Emily’s voice came from behind me, full of sass, “Let me guess, he was a dick about it?”
I turned, keeping my eyes on the ground, “Well, he answered one question. Now I know for certain that it’s true.”
Emily hooked her arm through mine, and we walked back to our room.
Day 19
On the 13th session with my new therapist, Jenny, I had my journal propped open on my lap, a pen clutched between my fingers. She was asking me about my time at the academy, something she’d asked before, but I hadn’t been prepared to answer.
“I saw your medical file, Celeste. If you’re not ready to talk, that’s okay. But sometimes naming our trauma, bringing the memories to the front of our minds can help us move past it, instead of being stuck and repeating them again and again in our nightmares.”
I focused on my breathing, running my fingers through the immaculate ponytail I’d started wearing. That was another thing I was learning about. Controlling the things I could and letting go of the things I couldn’t. When I opened my mouth again, I let the story fall out.
Eventually I was able to work through some of the more gruesome details. There were pieces I couldn’t get through and parts I couldn’t remember that were overshadowed by the memories of Maverick I’d used to block it out. Jenny saw me daily, gently coaxing the story from the traumatic part of my brain. At the end of every session, she would lean forward, put her hand over mine, and say, “You did nothing to deserve this.”
I mentioned Maverick often enough that Jenny started to become suspicious of my relationship with him, even asking to see a picture to make certain I hadn’t conjured him in my imagination.
“Are you still in contact?”
“Well, not now.”
She nodded, her eyebrows furrowed, “I wonder if that might be for the best.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in your situation, you became hyper focused on your past and the trust in the ‘relationship’ you had with him. Is he really how you remember him? Can you trust him, truly?”
“He’s the best, he’s always been there for me. Even when we were kids, he saved me so many times.”
“He saved you?”
“Well, yeah. He got me here, Jenny. Without him I might be at Saint Bridgette’s still.” I shuddered.
“I think maybe you idolize him. Might be a good idea to take a break from him, maybe take some time before you return to your family.”
“I’m never going back to my family,” I stated, sounding so confident and sure I was almost surprised.
She smiled, “You are going to your family, Celeste.”
Idaho.
I didn’t have much time left and Jenny had the name of a therapist she was going to recommend me to in Idaho, although she would still video conference with me twice a month to check on my progress.
Myrna and Craig wanted me to come and stay with them as soon as my time was up at the facility. They had a room ready for me, the one my mom used to stay in, and every time I called they became more excited for the end of my stay here and the beginning of my time with them. I had their pictures taped above my bed in a perfect square, I’d even measured it with a ruler to make sure it was even on every side. I had a cousin, Janey, who was around my age, along with a dozen other cousins who regularly spent the summer on their farm. Janey would be going to Trinity University in the fall, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to join her. Carole had wept when I told her about the envelope, showing an odd amount of emotion for the first time I could remember, and she planned to come and visit me during family week, which was coming up soon. She didn’t fight me on the decision to go to Idaho and
offered to pay for private tutors so I wouldn’t have to attend any high schools there. I wanted to be grateful, but it felt like another concession in keeping my state of mind a secret from the societal pressure she lived under.
Carole, along with my therapist Jenny, and a team of nurses, would be making the tough call on whether or not I needed more time here. And I was dreading their conclusion. They had the power to keep me from going to Idaho.
Every day I woke up in the facility, I felt like a different person. My mind was clear, my understanding of things no longer hazy, and there were only a few things about my past I didn’t understand. I’d tried contacting my father again, but he was rejecting my calls.
I wanted to leave, but I was just as anxious to stay here where it was safe and clean, and everything was in its proper order. I had a schedule to stick to, a female best friend who didn’t want to see me dead, and I was finally a real, solid person with an emerging personality. I felt in my gut that I could trust Myrna and Craig, but I didn’t know how well they could protect me, or how well I could protect myself.
Emily had tons of suggestions, “Karate,” she said, swiping through the air with her small hand. “Or!” She hunched into a fighting stance, “Boxing.” She winked at me then, “I could teach you how to cut a bitch with a knife.”
I laughed so hard my head hit the wall behind my bed and I groaned, “How would you even know that?”
She sobered, her arms falling to her sides, feet shuffling. “My, um, my step-brother, taught me.”
I sat up, “Your step-brother taught you how to kill someone?”
She shifted uncomfortably.
“Em?” I asked, worried at her change in disposition.
“My step-brother taught me how to kill my step-dad.”
“What the fuck?” I whispered, goosebumps breaking out along my arms. “Did you? Kill him?”
She shook her head, and her hazel eyes lifted to mine, full of tears, “I was so close, Celeste,” she said quietly.
I knew, without hearing what she had to say, I knew she’d been through something similar. I walked over to her side of the room and wrapped my arms around her silently. “He can’t hurt you here, Em. You’re safe.” I brought her head to my shoulder and held her there for a long time, listening to her tiny sniffles as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. When she quieted down, I sighed, “So are you gonna teach me how to kill a man, or what?”