Who Is Sarah Randall (THE RANDALLS Book 1)

by Gail Haris

  Through clenched teeth, I stand firm and ask the question that’s burning through me to know. “Did you know?”

  “I knew about the missing child. Everyone knew. The Randalls are a big, wealthy family back in Lumberton. It was everywhere.”

  “Did. You. Know. About Cindy?”

  “Olivia. We don’t know-”

  “We don’t know? Did you read the letter? Why would she have this? How did she come to have this?”

  Andrea picks the letter up off the floor. Her eyes widen as she reads the letter. She reads it again. I watch her hands shake as she places the letter on the bed. Her mouth opens and then closes. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers. “Cindy wasn’t…she wasn’t in the best place there for a while. I thought moving away and having a baby had straightened her out. I thought she’d finally found happiness and stability. I never dreamed she’d stolen someone else’s child.”

  “So, you’re not really my aunt,” my voice breaks.

  Andrea rushes to me and wraps me in a tight embrace. “Never doubt that I love you. Cindy loved you. This changes none of that.”

  Pushing her away from me, I stumble back. “It changes everything!” I rush out of the room of deceit to the sanctuary of my room. I slam the door and lock it.

  What do I do now? Who am I?

  When I hear Andrea leave the room across the hall and walk away, I slip out. I retrieve the box, letter, photos, and journal. The only verification I have of my identity are here. I take them back to my room and spend all night examining the photos. This stranger was my mother, yet the woman I loved like a mother was really a stranger all along.

  Feb. 5

  I read in a women’s magazine that writing can help. So—here we go. I’ve nothing else to lose.

  You know what phrase I hate more than anything? You can try again.

  This wasn’t a plant in my garden that didn’t survive the winter.

  This was my child.

  Apparently, only mine because Michael has moved on. He’s moved on. And I can’t. He says I need help. That I need help. What about him? Why isn’t anyone wondering about how easily he can get over our loss. It’s been only a couple of months since I miscarried during my third month of pregnancy. I’m not ready to try again. I’m not ready to move on. We suffered a great loss.

  Was it really a loss to him? Did he feel the baby? No. At this point I wonder if he feels anything…even for me. I hate him.

  My sister Andrea is pregnant. I’m going to be an aunt. I, who went to great lengths to eat as healthy as possible, lost my baby. But Andrea, who smokes like a freight train, is experiencing a perfectly, healthy pregnancy. I don’t even think she’s eating right…

  Can somebody please explain to me how this is fair?

  I love my sister and I want to be an aunt. I’m just trying to understand. I loved Michael. I did. I loved Michael as much if not more than she loves Brad. Michael and I never even argued until my chance of motherhood was stolen from me. Brad and Andrea fight all the time!

  It’s not fair.

  It’s not fair.

  It’s not fair.

  April 18

  Michael and I are divorcing.

  He’s divorcing me.

  Michael is divorcing me. He accused me of being sick and depressed… Men don’t know a thing. Not a damn thing. How can he understand my feelings when he doesn’t even have any feelings? Having feelings and grieving now makes you a sick person? Well HE makes ME sick. That asshole has left me stripped of everything. I don’t know how I’ll afford this house…

  I’m going to lose my home.

  I now regret ever listening to him. I had a job, but HE suggested I quit while we try to have a baby to “help with stress.” Maybe he was the cause of stress. He was the reason for all this. My job won’t take me back. What will I do?

  Our lives were going to be perfect…

  Now, we hate each other. When did our love turn to hate? When we lost the baby, I guess we lost our love too. We lost our hearts. Too much has been said for us to go back.

  I don’t know what I’ll do…

  Time will tell.

  June 1

  My sister Andrea is “worried” about me. So I drink. So I have a drink on occasion. Little Miss Perfect doesn’t understand what I’m going through. Her with her sweet little house and sweet little husband. How would she know the first thing about what I’m going through?

  There’s nothing wrong with having a drink. I’ve had everything else taken from me, now she wants to take away the only thing that numbs the pain?

  Am I bothering anyone?

  Michael filed a restraining order. Over one little phone call. Prick. All I wanted was to know if he’d packed and taken my ultrasound photos. They were my photos. He doesn’t deserve them. He sure as hell didn’t give a shit when we lost the baby so what does he want the photos for?

  I’m back to being unemployed. I had a few little jobs here and there…but here I am back to square one.

  I bet he likes that. He probably likes watching me suffer. Watching me struggle financially without him. He set me up this way. He left me this way. And the police have the nerve to act like I’m the villain?

  Me?

  I bet him and Andrea talk about me. Laugh about me. I don’t need either one of them. Tomorrow I’m getting a job.

  And eventually I’ll get out of this hell hole.

  THE WOMAN WRITING THIS COULD not have been my mother, but it’s her handwriting. I wipe away the moisture from my face. This doesn’t sound like her at all. I knew her. I loved her.

  Cindy was torn between being happy and jealous for her sister. She felt as though she’d been dealt a huge injustice in life. Andrea still smoked during her pregnancy and argued with Brad constantly. Cindy went to great lengths to eat as healthy as possible and was madly in love with Michael. Reading her words, I felt her pain. It was hard not to. Without Michael to support her, she had to get a job. It’s hard to imagine her never being employed before. The mother I knew was a career driven woman, working in management for a small company. This woman seemed to struggle with holding any job. She developed an alcohol problem. I can’t believe this! Mom never touched alcohol in all the years I knew her.

  This woman was a disaster. I have to stop reading. I don’t want to remember Mom like this. I go back to my phone and read the words from the woman I knew. Her sweet, loving words in that final text message.

  The sound of voices wakes me. Tomorrow is my mom’s, no—Cindy’s funeral. I don’t even know how I feel. The more time I have to absorb this information, the more confused I feel. I was raised by…a stranger. She lived a whole other life I’d never known about. The woman that I’ve loved more than anyone for as long as I can remember, who was supposed to protect me, is the one I should’ve been protected from. She not only lied to me but isolated me so I’d never know the truth. Had she planned to eventually give me that letter? Was it back-up in case she ever got caught? I still have her journal, although I can’t bring myself to read it any more right now. I’m not emotionally stable enough to receive any more information.

  The voices continue. They’re muffled, so I’m not sure who’s on the other side of my door. I get dressed and slowly creak the door open. I tip-toe down the hallway to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I cringe. Makeup can only do so much. My eyes are swollen and red rimmed. When I’ve made myself at least presentable, I exit the bathroom.

  I walk into the kitchen with my head held high, ready to face whatever new life altering discoveries await me. Aunt Andrea is seated at the table with Uncle Brad’s hand holding hers. They look how I feel with their dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. On the other side of Andrea, holding her other hand, is their son, Noah.

  I haven’t seen him in years, but he doesn’t look the way I was expecting. I know he plays football and it shows. He’s filled out from the scrawny little boy that came to visit years ago. Gone is the baby fat from his face. He now has visible jawlin
es and cheekbones. Maybe I’ve been staring at photographs of Ancient Greek statutes too long, but Noah Wallace has the face sculptors dream about. His body is that of an athlete, with strong arms that I can see the muscles flex as he grips his mom’s hand while watching me. His messy, blondish brown hair that used to be like a mop on top of his head is now trimmed and styled. The sides are cut shorter with the top longer and with a few strands hanging loosely over one of his thick dark eyebrows and hazel eyes that stare at me with caution. Is he worried I’m going to snap?

  I probably appear like a wild animal with how I keep my distance from anyone and right now, I feel like one. Who can I trust when everything has been a lie? Across from them are the backs of a woman and of a male in a blue police uniform to me.

  “Luv Bug.” Andrea sighs when her eyes meet mine.

  The officer turns around and stands. “Hello Ol-” He doesn’t continue.

  He doesn’t know what to call me. That makes two of us. Who is Sarah Randall? Apparently, I am. I know myself as Olivia Stevens. In fact, she’s all I’ve ever known.

  “Olivia.” I tell him with a blank face. “Please.”

  The officer and who I now can see is Mrs. Jenkins, exchange a look. She sighs and has trouble meeting my eyes. “Olivia, I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother’s car accident was most unexpected and a shock to us all. None of us knew…” She clears her throat, “…what Cindy had done. The accident has brought all this out into the open.” She turns to the officer and then back to me. “They need the box with all of its contents back. The letter, photographs, and…clothing. It’s all evidence. See, sweetheart, there are some legal matters that need to be tended to.”

  The officer nods in agreement. “Miss Stevens, I know this is hard for you. It’s a lot to take in for anyone, especially a young girl. You have parents that are still looking for you. They’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Would you like to meet your biological parents?”

  Mrs. Jenkins whispers something to the officer. He gives me a single nod and steps outside. She gives me a hug. “I’m so sorry, Olivia.” She pulls with her eyes full of sympathy. “If you will,” she takes my hands in hers, “go get the letter and box. I’ll give it to the officer.”

  I nod and go to my room. They didn’t mention the journal. I take the box and letter but leave the journal and a photo of me as a baby with the dark haired woman. Listening to make sure no one is coming, I hide them under my mattress. Aunt Andrea may not have seen the journal; therefore, the police don’t know about it.

  When I give her the items, Mrs. Jenkins hugs me again as she turns to leave. “I’ll come back tomorrow. In the meantime, please call me if you need anything.”

  Andrea wraps her arms around me and holds me close. She whispers against the top of my head. “I won’t leave your side unless you want to be left alone.”

  I don’t answer her. Instead, I turn my head to look around the house at all the photos on the wall of me and the only woman I’ve ever known as my mother. Her beautiful, smiling face scattered throughout the house. She was always smiling and laughing. My favorite is the one of us two years ago on the white, paint chipped porch swing in front of our house. Mom is holding my hands in hers, and we are looking at each other with our heads almost touching. We’re laughing. I still remember the day so vividly. It was in the summer, but it had rained so there was a nice cool breeze. A few friends had come to visit. We had all sat on the front porch for hours drinking lemonade, talking and most of all, laughing.

  I hang my head as Aunt Andrea rubs my back. How is all this happening? First, Mom, I mean, Cindy can’t be dead. Second, Cindy wasn’t my mother but my kidnapper. We were supposed to make lasagna and watch a movie that night. She went to the grocery store for supplies while I finished my homework. It was a normal night…until it wasn’t. My only thought now is I wish I’d gone with her that day.

  There’s a knock on the door. I don’t wait to see who it is or what they want. News has spread of Cindy’s death. This isn’t a big town, so everyone heard as soon as it happened. I push myself off of Andrea and go to my room, shutting the door behind me.

  I refuse to leave my room, other than to use the bathroom. I keep flipping through photos in the photo albums. Memories flood my mind. Cindy trying to teach me how to roller skate but us both ending up with matching scars on our knees. Her teaching me how to swim. My birthday parties over the years, always in the backyard. The memories become too painful, so I walk over and fall on my pillow and smell her perfume. I begin to cry as I think about how she’d come in here to tell me goodnight and we’d spend hours talking, sometimes into the wee morning hours. I roll over onto my side and press the button to unlock my phone. I swipe my finger through the more recent photos of us. Her trying on a ridiculous hat in a department store. A selfie of us with snow cones. A few more selfies of us making silly faces. I laugh out loud when I see the photo she had made me promise to delete. She’s pointing her finger at the camera, wearing a bright pink, fuzzy bathrobe. Her face is completely green, except for around her eyes and lips. A pastel orange colored towel is wrapped around her head, and she’s staring wide eyed and clearly screaming, having been caught in her current state. I’m so grateful now that I didn’t delete it. I get a tight feeling in my chest, so I close out of my photos.

  There’s a knock at my door. I turn my head toward the door and try to call out, but my words get stuck in my throat. The person doesn’t bother waiting long anyways. The door flies open and Angie comes rushing to my bed. She plops on top and curls up next to me. “You didn’t answer my texts so I got worried.”

  I give her a small smile. “Thanks Ange. I’m sorry, it’s just that-”

  “Hey don’t apologize. You’ve lost your mom. I’m just worried about you. What happens now? Think they’ll let you move in with me and my mom?” When I don’t answer her for fear I’ll burst out crying again, she continues. “Or…do you want to move away? To live with your aunt?”

  “Angie…” I clear my throat. “I found something out.”

  Angie sits up on the bed. “Shit. Did Cindy have millions stowed away?”

  “If only it were something that simple.”

  “Olivia, what happened? It’s not something crazy like Cindy had another family somewhere on the side.”

  “Actually…” I wet my lips. “I am the one that has another family.”

  Angie stares at me for a moment and then bursts out laughing. “That’s not funny. Wow. Your face was so serious, you almost had—wait, are you serious?”

  I nod my head with my lips pressed tightly together as I try to fight back the sobs threatening to break through. Angie wraps her arms tightly around me. After I take a moment to calm down, I pull away from my best friend that I may very well never see again for a long time if I move away.

  “Cindy is not my biological mother.”

  “So you’re adopted?”

  “Not exactly. I—gosh, I don’t even know how to explain. Google the name Sarah Randall from Lumberton, Missouri.”

  I patiently wait and then watch her eyes widen. She holds a screen up showing a beautiful, smiling young woman holding a baby. “This is you?”

  I wring my hands together and nod. “I think so. I found some evidence in Cindy’s closet as I was looking for stuff for the funeral. A social worker is handling most of the stuff with the police.”

  “Now what?”

  I fall back on my pillow and throw my hand over my face. “I don’t know, Ange. This is so messed up. All of it. I just don’t know.” I look over at her. “Hey, but can we keep this between us?” She nods vehemently. I point a finger at her. “Not even your mom.” She nods again.

  “Of course. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  There’s a knock on the door. I don’t answer. Whoever it is, knocks again and then finally turns the knob. I didn’t lock it, so I watch as the door opens a tiny bit.

  Noah.

  I give a
sideways glance waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat and asks, “Are you hungry? Need any…anything?” I shake my head and he gives me a closed-lipped half smile as he slowly shuts the door back.

  My cell vibrates with a text from Angie.

  Angie: I’m sorry. I’m a horrible friend. I kind of told my mom…

  Angie: It just slipped out I swear.

  Angie: She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone

  I know that’s a lie. Angie’s mom is going to tell everyone. Great. Just great.

  Angie: Please don’t hate me.

  I don’t have enough strength in me to even be mad at Angie. Everyone was going to find out eventually.

  I toss my phone and open Cindy’s journal. I’m hoping by reading this, I’ll gain some understanding. Why did she kidnap me? How did she find me? Did the Randall family ever know Cindy? Did the Wallace family have any involvement?

  September 5

  Andrea gave birth. She’s a mother. I’m an aunt. *yay* That’s possibly the closest I’ll get to becoming a mother. His name is Noah. And he is perfect.

  I want to be happy.

  I am happy. I just… can’t.

  HER SHORT JOURNAL ENTRY CUTS me. It’s like she was too emotional and depressed to even write a full entry. It’s weird that I’d just seen Noah at my door and then read about his birth in her journal. My mom did turn out to be a loving and great aunt. Her and Andrea both. Noah and I haven’t seen each other much throughout or lives; in fact, we barely know each other. But I know Mom always remembered his birthday and kept up with his life. She mailed gifts and cards. Andrea was a little more involved in my life. She’d make it a point to come visit, but she had Brad to help with Noah when they couldn’t all come.

  All she wanted was to be a mom. And she was. She was a great mom. I cry until I’m so exhausted that sleep takes me.