by Gail Haris
It’s Monday. I just had the weekend from hell. I sit alone in the dark in my room. This can’t be real life. This can’t be my life. I wait for the next shoe to drop. Instead, there’s a soft knock at the door. I wait and Aunt Andrea calls from the other side of the door. “Olivia, it’s me. I was wondering if you need help getting ready?”
With all that is happening and all that has been brought into the light, we’ve decided against a formal funeral for Cindy Stevens. We’re going to the church and having a simple cremation. The preacher is going to speak and we’ll say our goodbyes to a framed photo next to a box. What can he say about a woman who’d stolen a child from her family? I guess, we’ll find out.
I open the door and turn on the light. Aunt Andrea wraps me in her arms. She kisses the side of my head and sniffles. She’s been so strong all this time. Hearing her sniffle breaks me. It breaks the last shred of my heart. I squeeze her tighter and bury my face into her.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I’m here for you, Luv Bug. Brad and Noah are here too. Angie. Mrs. Jenkins.”
I shake my head into her shoulder, feeling her shirt soaking up my tears. “This is only the beginning. I don’t know what’s to come. I’ve never left home. I feel—I feel sad, confused, embarrassed-”
“Ssshhh,” She speaks into my hair as she pets the side of my head, while still holding me tight with her other arm. “You’re allowed to feel all of those things. But know, none of this was your fault. You have no reason to feel embarrassed, Luv Bug. We’re going to take this one day at a time.”
I pull back and search her eyes. “Are we?”
She knows what I’m asking. Am I going to be able to continue my relationship with Aunt Andrea? She’s been questioned about her involvement in my kidnapping and so far, there’s nothing linking her to it other than being Cindy’s sister.
She cups my face. “I’m here. And I’ll always be here for you. If you still want to have any contact with me, that is.”
I’m shocked that Aunt Andrea could possibly think I didn’t want a relationship with her. She bows her head and I see a single tear slide down her cheek. I reach up and cup her face. When her eyes meet mine I ask, “And give up the best peanut butter pie? You know yours is my favorite.”
She sniffles. “I can make you some tonight, would you like that?”
“I’d love it, Aunt Andrea.”
We take a moment to hug each other and shed a few more silent tears. Between being so confused and constantly nervous, I’ve had a painful headache since this all began. I need another minute alone.
“I’ll be out shortly.”
She nods and leaves. I shut my door and go stand in front of my mirror.
Who are you?
All the messages about a mother being the woman who defines you. Who am I then? I’ve always been so close with the woman who raised me. There were never any signs that she wasn’t my mother, other than we didn’t favor each other in looks. She loved me. She cared for me. She made sacrifices for me. Her life wasn’t easy as a single mother, yet she never once complained. Yet who was she really? She kidnapped a child. She stole me from my family. Yet, I feel that she’s been stolen from me. Maybe I was never meant to be hers to begin with. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose. I take one last look in the mirror at Olivia Stevens. Cindy’s Luv Bug.
Taking a deep breath, I open my bedroom door. I focus on placing one foot in front of the other. I stop when I enter the living room. There’s Aunt Andrea, her husband, her son and Mrs. Jenkins sitting in awkward silence. They turn their heads and stand when they see me.
Mrs. Jenkins smiles. “Your parents’ flight has landed. If you’re up for it, we can go visit them tonight or tomorrow. Whenever you’re ready. They’re very eager to see you.”
Andrea dabs at the corner of her eyes, but gives me a smile.
What are my biological parents like? Will I feel an immediate connection to them? I have brothers and sisters now. What are they like? This is too much too soon.
“Tomorrow. Tonight, I want to focus on laying Cindy Stevens to rest.” And burying Olivia Stevens.
We enter the small church. My heart breaks at the sight of an empty room. Not even Cindy’s co-workers came to say their final goodbyes. The scandal of my kidnapping has overshadowed the death of a loving mother. I’m tired of everyone’s pity. Once the news got wind of my kidnapping and Cindy’s death, I received several messages. Most were “Sorry for your loss,” but I’m sure now it’s not the loss of Cindy, rather it’s the loss of my life that might’ve been. Another popular one is, “Sorry for what happened.” Again, I’m sure this isn’t about the car wreck but rather the kidnapping.
I wonder if Pastor Rogers and his wife June are only here out of obligation. I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Angie. She hugs me tight and whispers again how sorry she is.
“It’s okay, Ange.”
She gives me a sad smile and then moves on to give Aunt Andrea a hug. Uncle Brad clears his throat and mumbles about going to find a seat. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I feel a large presence at my side and turn.
Noah.
This whole day we haven’t spoken, and I think now he’ll speak, but instead, he nods his head toward the front pews. He gently places a hand on my back and I follow him to the front and sit down. I’m a little surprised when instead of sitting next to his mom, he takes his seat next to me. Angie comes and sits on the other side of me and takes my hand in hers.
I watch as Pastor Rogers’ wife, June, slowly makes her way to the piano. Her long, frail fingers tremble but never falter as she begins playing. The church looks as though it would on any given day. There’s no flowers. Since Cindy is being cremated there’s no coffin—simply a black box and a single frame with her photo smiling. Pastor Rogers makes his way to the front of the church. He stands and looks out. What must he think seeing only six people? I wonder if this is the smallest funeral he’s ever officiated. He clears his throat and Mrs. June stops. I watch as she places her delicate fingers in her lap and awaits her husband to give his eulogy. I follow her gaze and wait to see what light he might shed on Cindy.
“We’re gathered here today to honor the life of Cindy Stevens. She’s preceded in death by her parents Mark and Debra Stevens. She leaves behind one sister, Andrea Wallace, who is married to Brad Wallace. And one nephew, Noah Wallace. Cindy was born…”
What about me? She left me behind?
I feel my chest rise and fall rapidly. I want to stand up and shout at him that he left out a daughter. She left behind one daughter, Olivia Stevens. I feel a heavy arm around my shoulders pull me close. I lean on Noah’s warm, solid body for comfort as I stare at the man who speaks about Cindy as though she’s a stranger. He knew her. She attended this church every Sunday.
And he knows me. He knows me as Olivia Stevens, daughter of Cindy Stevens. Yet he refuses to make eye contact with me. I stop listening and watch his mouth move. I don’t hear what meaningless words he says, I just watch the motions. I feel Noah’s arm tighten occasionally around me. I feel so broken as I sit here. I’m baffled. I keep thinking, this can’t be real. None of this is real.
Finally, Pastor Rogers looks directly at me. I sit straighter, giving him my full attention. “There’s a plan set in place for all of us. We don’t know, and we may not understand, but we have to trust He has a plan. Let us bow our heads and pray.”
I stand up. “I’d like to say something.” Everyone stares wide-eyed at me as I walk up the altar steps. “Please.” Pastor Rogers steps aside and I take his place at the microphone.
“Cindy Stevens was more. She was more than a dedicated, hard-working woman. She was more than a member of this church. She was more than a loving sister and aunt. She was…” I feel my throat tightening. I swallow and suck in a deep breath. My eyes find Noah’s and he gives me a single nod. “She was a loving mother. She was my mother. She was so much more and deserved more,” I choke. My resolve is crumbling. I just wanted�
�no needed—for them to know she did love me. And despite everything, I loved her. This church should’ve been full. In my peripheral vision, I see Aunt Andrea jump up and rush toward the stage. “She was a mother.”
Andrea wraps her arms around me and allows me to fall into her. She leads me down the steps and holds me as the piano plays softly. Pastor Rogers leads us in prayer as I cry quietly into Aunt Andrea’s shoulder.
January 3
It’s been a year. A long, painful year. I’m more alone than I’ve ever been in my life. Or that’s how I feel anyway. I’ve thought about trying to get pregnant again. I don’t have to be married. I don’t even have to be in a relationship. All I need is a man for a few minutes.
Who am I kidding? My body isn’t fit for a child. I need to clean up my diet. My lifestyle. I’m no longer fit to be a mother or grow a baby.
What have I become?
January 5
Do you believe life has a way of winding around to finally landing you where you’re meant to be? I do.
I didn’t for the longest time, but in that moment…I did. Because through all the heartache and pain, I got a job at Tony’s Pizza as a delivery driver and it brought me to steps that I’d otherwise never gone. The door opened…and there she was.
There she was!
I met those big blue-green eyes and my heart finally began beating again. This beautiful little pink baby with blonde curly hair. The most beautiful baby in the world was being presented to me. When the woman told me her name was Sarah, it took everything in me not to scoff.
Sarah? Really? For such a beautiful girl? The name is too common. This girl would not be common. A name instantly came to me. Olivia. That’s her name. Olivia…
Then I hear the voice of a small child and look over the woman’s shoulder. She notices me and looks over as well. She smiles and tells me that’s her son Trent.
“Can you believe I’m already pregnant again? I just gave birth! I almost cried when the doctor told me.”
Three. She has two here and one on the way. While I… well, it’s just me, isn’t it?
Once again, I’m reminded how unfair the world is. How cruel fate can be. Or maybe…maybe it’s fate that brought me here to lighten her load… Maybe I’m not meant to birth my own daughter, but to be a mother to this little girl.
IT’S ONE O’CLOCK IN THE morning when I finally get to the part where I’m mentioned. I was about to fall asleep, but now I’m wide awake. Cindy had taken a job delivering pizzas. She was delivering a pizza to the Randall’s home when Melissa opened the door holding me.
The way Cindy describes me makes my heart swell, as weird as that sounds. She thought I was the most beautiful baby. I laugh when I read that she didn’t think the name “Sarah” suited me at all. I feel the same way, but maybe only because I was raised to feel that way. She was jealous that Melissa was pregnant and already had two healthy children. I can understand Cindy. I mean, she felt that this woman had it all, while she had nothing. It hurts my heart to think of how defeated Cindy must’ve felt. She was the best mother and did give me all her attention. Melissa’s attention was divided amongst three children and a husband. Did this all work out for me? I’m suddenly drained, physically and emotionally.
Tap. Tap.
“Luv Bug?”
I roll over in my bed and see Aunt Andrea standing there with sad eyes. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Jenkins will be here in an hour to take you out to lunch. You’re meeting your parents.”
“Are you coming?”
She bites her bottom lip and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I think this is something…” She gives a humorless chuckle and shakes her head. She looks up at me and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll like them. Don’t worry. They’re really good people and they have so much to offer you.”
I raise up in bed. “I’d feel better if you were there. They might be my parents, but Aunt Andrea, they’re still strangers to me.”
“Strangers who already love you. They’ve loved you since before you were born and never once stopped. How can you be nervous when you’ve already swept them off their feet?” She attempts to joke. I roll my eyes at her. She walks the rest of the way into my room and sits next to me on my bed. “Mrs. Jenkins will be with you the whole time. If you really don’t feel comfortable, I’m sure we can talk to her.” She pats my leg. “You’re almost eighteen, kiddo. Pretty soon you won’t need any of us.”
I scoff. “I doubt that. I’m a mess. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m forty-four and I still don’t know who I am half the time.”
We take a moment just to smile at each other. On the upside, if I move in with the Randall family, Aunt Andrea won’t be so far away. On the downside, I’d rather move in with her. As if she can read my mind, she says. “Just give them a chance. They’re who you should’ve been with all along.” Her eyes glisten as she fights back tears. The strain in her voice and tremble of her lips shows that took a lot of effort for her to say. I nod. Aunt Andrea pushes herself off the bed and closes the door on her way out.
I walk into the living room and see two suitcases by the front door. Aunt Andrea and Brad aren’t around, but Noah is standing there with his hands in his blue jean pockets.
“Ma and Dad are in the bedroom. Getting the last of our stuff.”
“Oh,” I nod. He nods. This is awkward. “I hope you have a safe flight back.”
“Thanks.” We hear footsteps outside the door. “That’s probably your ride.”
“Probably.”
“Well, I hope you have a nice lunch with Richard and Melissa.”
“Do you know them?”
“Not very well.”
The doorbell rings. “More than I do,” I say as I walk over to the door. I open the door and find Mrs. Jenkins, dressed impeccable as usual, in a grey suit. I look down at my jeans and grey long sleeve shirt.
“Ready?”
“Yeah—I mean, yes.” I look over my shoulder at Noah and give him a closed lip smile. “Bye.”
He gives me a slight nod and three-finger wave.
Mrs. Jenkins opens her car door for me and smiles. I thank her and ask, “Where are we going?”
“To the steakhouse down on Main Street. They’re so excited.” When I don’t respond she reaches across the console and takes my hand. “Don’t be nervous. I’m right here with you. And they’re probably more nervous than you are. You’re the one in charge. If you feel overwhelmed and need to leave any time, just say so. I’m sure your parents will understand.”
My parents? Strangers.
No, I need to try to be positive. Maybe then they won’t seem like strangers. In fact, I may have an instant connection with them since they are my biological parents.
The only family I ever knew of, other than Cindy, are my Aunt Andrea and her family. I barely recognized Uncle Brad and Noah. Aunt Andrea would send photos, of course, but it’d still been eight years since I’d seen those two in person. Over the years, they had come to visit us in Springfield, Colorado, but we never went to visit them. Since we lived in Colorado and they lived in southeast Missouri, visits could be expensive and time restricted. Thus, Aunt Andrea would make most trips alone since usually Uncle Brad and Noah couldn’t make the trip due to conflicting schedules. I’ve only been around them a handful of times; however, I’ve maintained a close relationship with Andrea. She always tried to visit at least once or twice a year, but she called every day.
We pull into the parking lot and park next to a black sedan. As I’m exiting the car, I see the doors of the sedan open also. A very handsome, well-dressed older couple walks out. The man is tall and lean: he has blondish brown hair and slightly darker facial hair that’s neatly close trimmed to his face. Everything about him is neat, right down to his pale blue, wrinkle free button down shirt and beige dress pants. The woman reminds me of a modern day Jacqueline Kennedy—everything about her. Her dark styled ha
ir, clean classic beauty facial features, olive coloring, light makeup and fitted peach colored A-line dress.
She’s the woman from the photograph. She’s my mother.
This beautiful, sophisticated woman is my mother.
When she catches sight of me, she puts her hands to her mouth and nearly crumbles to the ground. She quickly regains her composure and comes rushing towards me in tears. She wraps her arms tightly around me and cries. I’m not really sure what to do, so I wrap my arms around her as well.
“You’re here! You’re really here! You’re here,” she continues to repeat between sobs.
The man joins us, teary eyed, and rubs his hand on his wife’s back. “It’s okay, Melissa. It’s okay. Let’s take her inside. I’m sure she’s already overwhelmed,” he whispers.
He turns to Mrs. Jenkins and shakes her hand, thanking her for all her support and help.
Melissa nods but keeps one arm around me to lead me toward the restaurant. “I-I’m sorry, Sarah. I am just so happy to have you in my arms again. Not a day has gone by that I wasn’t praying for this day. Not a day.” She squeezes me close to her side.
Sarah. That’s the name that was originally given to me. I’m speechless and overwhelmed.
The man turns to me and smiles. “Sarah, I’m your father but, uh, you probably don’t remember me, so I’d like to re-introduce myself. My name is Richard Randall.” He hugs me and whispers, “I can’t express enough how happy we are. We hope to bring you home.”
Mrs. Jenkins smiles. In a gentle tone she says, “Let’s go discuss this over lunch. Get to know each other again.”
Melissa takes my hand in hers. She can’t seem to stop touching me. As she’s leading me toward the restaurant, my stomach drops. This is all too much. It’s becoming too real. I make eye contact with Mrs. Jenkins. She’s watching me closely and raises her brows silently asking me if I’m alright. Am I? I inhale slowly and exhale. I can do this. I give her a reassuring nod.
