by Keene, Susan
I looked at Ryan. He had an expression on his face I couldn’t read. Perhaps he wanted to give me more time. “Denise, yesterday Kate came into direct contact with a woman she believes to be her sister; her twin sister. Can you explain that to us?”
My mother looked straight at me. If she was shocked by Ryan’s statement, she didn’t let on. “No. I don’t believe I can.”
“Why’s that, Mom? If I have a sister I think you’d be the first to know.”
She rubbed her hands down her legs as if to straighten an unseen wrinkle in her housedress. “It isn’t possible. No. You cannot have a sister. It just isn’t possible.”
“Are you my mother?” I didn’t care if it sounded cruel or not. I wanted the truth.
“I’ve always been your mother.” For the first time since our arrival, her façade crumbled. She picked at her skirt and lowered her head.
My voice quivered. Had my entire life been a lie? “Let me rephrase my question. Did you give birth to me?”
My mother put her hands up to her face. I stood and walked over to stand in front of her. When she didn’t look up, I knelt in front of her. “Mother, did you give birth to me or not?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “No.”
I took her hands in mine and tried to pull them away from her face. She would not allow it. I squeezed them the next time I tried. I wanted to see her face while she told me I no longer had an identity it had taken me over thirty years to create and get comfortable with. My voice choked. “Is John Madison my father?” I needed to move the conversation forward.
“No, I never met John Madison.”
I sat down before I fainted. Ryan stood. I raised my hand and signaled no to him.
I needed a little time. I sat in the nearest chair and took a deep breath. In Yoga, they taught -step back and breathe. It seemed the most logical thing to do in the wake of finding out my entire life was a lie. I sat and tried to focus on my breathing.
It played like a scene in a movie. I heard Mom. She cried and took in choppy breaths; the wind chime tinkled in the breeze, along with the hum of the filter on the swimming pool, each of them became a distinct sound in the otherwise silent room.
The jingle of my cell phone pierced the quiet. I took it out of my pocket and looked at it. It flashed restricted number. I knew who it was. I showed it to Ryan as I brushed past him to take the call in private. “I’m glad you called, Sophie. I didn’t think I would hear from you for awhile. Why do you always know where I am?”
I realized I had such a tight grip on the phone, my hand ached.
“That’s a fair question. Did you look into the background of the men who tried to take me at the Art Museum?”
I turned around and looked through the door to see what Mother and Ryan were doing. They appeared to be deep in conversation. “I know they are Mafia from New Jersey. When you speak of your family do you mean the De Marcos?”
“Yes, I’m Sophia De Marco, but history tells me he isn’t our father.”
“Who is he and why are you running from him?”
“Oh, Kate dear, I wish I had the time to tell you what I know. I feel like Cinderella. If I don’t make it back before the end of the week, I may never get to leave again. Ask your mother who we are. She has more information than I. The extent of my knowledge is Dominic says he’s my father but he isn’t, and our mother is dead. Some say she died the night we were born; others say she was collateral damage in a mob shootout in New York City when I was eight.
“I also know whatever reason they had to separate us at birth doesn’t matter anymore, but it went on so long they didn’t know what to do.”
“This is so sordid. Why didn’t they let us know about one other when it no longer mattered?”
“Kate, you can’t undo a nearly thirty-five-year lie without destroying the world.”
“They have destroyed my life.”
“And mine.” She hung up.
I had more questions than ever. I wondered about the woman I’d known all my life. My legs weakened and my head ached. As I opened the door I noticed Ryan had a cloth in his hand. Mother looked faint.
Before Sophie came into my life, my mom was the best mom in the world. She had always been there for me, gave love and understanding at every point of my life. I reminded myself she was still the same woman. I didn’t want to destroy our bond. My thought boomeranged and slammed me in the face. We had no bond. Our relationship had been built on a lie. I wanted to believe her every action was meant to protect me from something or someone. But I had to know.
I knelt in front of her again. She looked up, straight into my eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. Back then I couldn’t tell you for fear they would come take you away from me. You have had my heart since you were a few hours old.”
“Mother, where did you get me?” I wanted to sit, yet I wanted to hold her hands to make sure I could see her eyes- and detect a lie. I didn’t know how I could have lived my life to adulthood and never know about my past.
What child doubts their mother about the circumstances of their birth?
“Kate, I’ve been going to tell you many times but each time fear took the lead and I couldn’t”
“Couldn’t what, Mom? What’s so scary you were too afraid to talk?” I tried to remain patient. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m almost thirty-five years old. No one can come and take me now.”
Mom looked at Ryan and back to me. “Sit down, honey and I’ll tell you the entire story. But I must tell you right now, it doesn’t involve a sister for you, much less a twin sister.”
I moved over and sat on the couch next to Ryan. He took my hand.
“Have you ever heard the name, Maroni Lombardi?”
“He was the last of the New York crime bosses to be gunned down in a Mafia war. In the late fifties, I believe,” Ryan answered. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything, he had a daughter, Julia Lombardi. She got pregnant by a member of another crime family. Before she could deliver the child, she was killed in an automobile accident. They saved the baby. You’re that baby.”
I felt faint. Ryan let go of my hand and drew me towards him, he beared the brunt of my weight. “So who was John Madison? You said earlier you never met him. So my father’s a lie also?”
“I didn’t know anyone named John Madison. The picture is that of a boyfriend of a girl I knew in St. Louis. He was killed in action and I needed a father figure for you. Someone you could look up to. Besides, I couldn’t have a baby out of wedlock and still be respectable.”
“I find that hard to believe. I was born in 1980. It wasn’t the dark ages. Plenty of women had babies.”
“It wasn’t the life for me, dear. I was twenty-nine. I had never been married. I had a successful career as a surgical nurse. All I had to do to have the child I always wanted was to make up a dead husband, move out of St. Louis to a spot where no one knew me and build a new life. You were my reward.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying? I was a reward like a teddy bear you win for knocking down the milk bottles at a carnival. What about Sophie? If there were two babies, why didn’t you take both? If you were there, you would have to know the woman had twins.” I wanted the entire story. “If you were afraid they would take me back, there must have been more to it.”
“I got a phone call about nine o’clock on the day you were born. Dr. Signorelli wanted me to come to the hospital. Honor Hospital was known as the Mafia Hospital. It was a privately owned entity where some not so law abiding citizens came with injuries, and for plastic surgery, among other things. “Men who were killed were sometimes brought there to make them look better before their families saw them. Let’s just say I helped the family in times of difficulty.”
I pressed her for more. “What kinds of difficulty?”
She glanced at Ryan. I think she needed to find an ally. “I don’t see how any of the details will help you find out who this Sophie person is or help you in any wa
y.”
“Indulge me, Mother.”
She stopped, took the cloth she had been using to blot her face, and put it on the table next to her. “I am done for now. This subject has given me a raging migraine and I must lie down. We’ll talk more after dinner. Ryan, could you handle dinner plans, dear?”
She was gone. I stared after her. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by me or my questions. This person was a stranger to me.
I went to the room Ryan and I shared and laid my suitcase on the bed. He followed me. “I’m going down to the beach to find a nice place for dinner. I won’t be gone long.”
I fell into a fitful sleep full of people who looked like me. They were ahead of me in line at the grocery store, at the post office, the doctor’s office; the toll collector on the bridge was my double as was the waiter, and the car wash attendant. When I dragged myself back to the present, my mother sat across from me. “You know I regret this, right, Kathleen?”
“Regret what, Mom, lying to me for all these years about a father who never even existed? What about all those stories you told me about my so-called paternal grandparents? Or the long labor you had when you gave birth to me. It’s been nothing but lies since I was born.”
I quit because the tears streamed down my mom’s face. As mad as I was at that moment, I didn’t have it in me to be mean to her.
Ryan danced into the room. I knew he hadn’t expected my mom to be there. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand, sported a St. Pete’s Beach Sand Volleyball cap, and carried a bag in his other hand. “I made reservations at Woody’s Waterfront Café for seven. I thought we needed a little diversion.” His gaze bounced from Mom to me. “I want to remind you two that when this is all out in the open, you’ll still love each other deeply and everything will be fine.”
I watched as mom gave him a weak smile. I looked at him with disdain.
I glanced at the clock on the wall near the closet. We needed to leave for the restaurant. Apparently, we would leave the family drama for a later time. I didn’t know for sure how I felt about it. Mom and Ryan seemed pleased.
We walked down the beach to the café. It was a beautiful evening. The tide was out. Every light on land reflected perfectly back across the water. It calmed my soul. I knew this was a much-needed break from the story unfolding. I went with the flow.
Mom and I ordered margaritas and Ryan ordered a beer. We had smoked fish dip, talked about the weather, our surroundings, but not much else. Dinner tasted amazing and the walk back to Mom’s condo gave me the perspective I needed to put it all in its place. I had a good childhood. Every night I went to bed smiling, warm, and well fed. Maybe mother had a good reason for what she had done. But my sixth sense told me it was all a lie. My brain needed some time to process what I heard earlier.
It was hard to get my head around the fact that I was the daughter of a mafia mol.
Mother promised to tell us the rest of her story the next morning. She looked tired and aged. I’d never thought of her as old before. Her posture had always been ramrod straight. She was taller than me. Her chin remained chiseled and her arms didn’t sag. She did Yoga three days a week, swam daily and planned to teach math at the local elementary school for several more years.
To teach in Florida she had to be bilingual. She switched from English to Spanish at will.
No matter what she did, I knew I couldn’t discount what she had done for me all my life. I didn’t believe it, yet I held out hope.
When we got back to the house, Mother excused herself and went to her room. Ryan and I ditched our shoes and walked on the beach. The moon hung like an orange balloon in the sky. As the waves lapped the shore, the light traveled on the surface of the ocean. We stood in silence and watched it. The moon shined on the water at the horizon and its light traveled to us on the water with every wave. We walked a long time in silence.
The ocean renewed me. As a child I sat on the same beach and made up stories about what happened under the water. Once I fabricated a story so scary I didn’t get in the water for the entire summer.
For the first time, I questioned where the money had come from. Mom told me I got my dad’s social security because he died in action. It couldn’t have been since he never existed. Who had paid for the place in Florida, the home in St. Charles, and all the other things we had? No way could it have been bought on a teacher’s salary. People always said could tell a child anything and they would believe it. I learned a lesson: well-cared for child doesn’t question anything.
I had so many questions.
Ryan must have stopped. I had walked another quarter of a mile before I noticed I was alone. I turned and walked back to him.
“Would you like to share any of those thoughts and memories with me?”
“I was going over some things about my childhood that don’t add up. I feel foolish for not questioning anything before now.”
He pulled me to him and buried his chin in my hair. “You always smell so good.” His chest was warm against me. He took a long deep breath and a sigh escaped before he continued. “Adults have manipulated children for years and some always will. Kids believe anything that is repeated time and time again. In your case there were secrets. I’d like to see this go well for you and your mom without too many strong words or accusations. What gums up the story the most is her not knowing about the other child. It’s pretty far-fetched.”
I didn’t answer. I agreed with him. She had to know there were two of us. Who separates twins at birth? Why?
Ryan’s parents were killed in a car crash when he was sixteen. It had to have been devastating to him. I asked myself if I had a right to be upset about the things I learned. The answer banged around in my head―absolutely.
I turned toward the ocean, took Ryan’s hand and tried to convey my thoughts. Several minutes passed. “Let’s go back to the condo.”
We walked back in a peaceful silence.
CHAPTER 15
M om sat at the table on the deck. She looked rested and not as stressed as the night before. There were bagels, cream cheese and coffee in a carafe on a table behind her. I smiled at her.
She reached behind her to touch my arm while I served myself. “Should we wait for Ryan?”
“That would be great, Mom. I won’t have to tell him everything.”
“Did I hear my name?” We both looked at him.
There wasn’t any small talk. Mom was ready to tell her story and we were ready to listen.
“Okay, as I told you last night. I was a surgical nurse at a private hospital. I knew some high profile people moved through there. They paid the staff twice as much as the other hospitals. They never urged me to do anything out of the ordinary. One day, well evening, I was at home and Dr. Signorelli called. He was the head of surgery. He called me in to help him deal with an accident.”
She stopped to refill her coffee cup. “It was the beginning of maybe fifteen times over the years I assisted in procedures on patients who were never admitted. They received the treatment they needed and moved on with no records. I’m sure the names they used were not real. In my pay envelope, along with my regular salary, were large amounts of cash. He made me feel needed. I rented a safe deposit box and put the cash in it. I knew I couldn’t go out and spend it. Everyone watched that hospital. By everyone, I mean the FBI. Every day there was a surveillance van parked outside taking pictures of who came and went.”
Mom stood and walked around the porch as she talked. “Everyone knew I wanted a child. You can’t work closely with the same people day after day and they not know your true heart.
“One night the phone rang and they asked me to come in. There were only two other people in Dr. Signorelli’s office, a nurse from the pediatric unit and you. The nurse handed you to me and left. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, with a fuzz of bright red hair and a gurgle when you looked at me. They gave me a birth certificate and a sizeable amount of money. The certificate of birth listed your father as John
Madison.”
Mom stopped talking and turned to stare at me.
I narrowed my eyes. “You changed your story. Last night John Madison was the boyfriend of a friend of yours and you took the picture. Which is it?”
“This is the truth. You had me flustered last night. If you’re going to badger me, I’ll stop right here.”
We stared at one another. I didn’t move a muscle.
She looked at her hands. “There isn’t much more. We moved to St. Charles and I told everyone I was a widow. No one questioned it. When you were in the third grade, I bought this place and we came here whenever we could. Right or wrong, Kate, I didn’t hesitate. I had the baby I wanted and a plausible story about where you came from. When I questioned who John Madison was, I was told whoever you want him to be.”
I shook my head at her. “I wonder what happened to Sophie. Who took her? This sounds like science fiction.”
“We know more than we did.” Ryan stood. “You were both born in St. Louis at Honor Hospital on April 1, 1980. That information should get us something. I figure there was another woman who wanted a child too. She got Sophie. If your mother didn’t see the birth mother she could have been kept in the dark about the second child.”
“I only wish Sophie had come to me sooner. She must have known about me for a long time. I wish she wasn’t in trouble with the law. She told me she could explain it away, but never came to me. As my grandmother was supposed to have said if wishes were horses beggars would ride.”
Ryan stood between Mom and me.
Mom wept. “Can you ever forgive me, Kate?”
I went to her. “At this point I must forgive you, not to would be harder on me than you. I need some time to absorb it all; to find out everything in my life is different than I thought is disturbing. You’re sure my mother’s name was Julia Lombardi?”
She took my hand. “No Kate, your mother’s name is and always has been Denise Madison. The woman who carried you died before you were born.”
