The Quiet Ones

by Brandon Massey

  “I’ve already reached out to the person via their message system,” Mallory said. Leaning against the counter, she took a small sip of the wine, ignoring the cheese and crackers. “I haven’t gotten a reply yet, but I can’t help but think, this could be the lead I’ve been hoping for, Ben. I could finally find Liz.”

  She had been looking for her big sister for longer than she could remember. Foster care and adoption records were sealed by the state, impenetrable to even a skilled investigative journalist. Over the years, she had hired multiple private investigators, too. No leads, no luck.

  It was as if, after that crazy asshole murdered their mom and she and Liz had gotten separated in the foster care system, her sister had been abducted by aliens. It made no sense. Liz would have wanted to find her, too, wouldn’t she? Sure, they had been ripped apart a long time ago, twenty-five years, but they were all each other had left in the world.

  The online genealogical service ThickerthanWater had been a last resort. About two months ago, she had overcome her privacy concerns and submitted the DNA kit. Her expectations had been low; she had been coming around to the idea that Liz was probably dead. Then, that email notification had dropped into her mailbox and upended her world.

  “This is promising, but let’s take it slow.” Ben leaned against the granite-topped island. “Don’t get your hopes up just yet.”

  “I don’t need you to apply the brakes right now,” she said. “I want this. I need this.”

  She felt tears coming on like a tidal wave, and she had to set down the wine glass and inhale steadying breaths.

  “I get it, Mal,” Ben said. He put his big arm over her shoulder, drew her closer to him. “But it might not work out the way you want. Can you take it as it comes, please? You can’t force a square peg through a round hole.”

  “It has to work out.” She shrugged off his arm, stepped away from him. “It will.”

  “You can be so stubborn sometimes. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I can’t do it anymore . . . life like this.” Suddenly, she seized her glass and drank half the wine in a couple of gulps, barely tasting it.

  “Hey, take it easy, baby.” He fetched a glass of ice water and slid it toward her. “You know you’re a lightweight.”

  “Maybe I want to get tipsy.” She ignored the water, took another sip of wine. “If this doesn’t work out, I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore.”

  “Okay, well, let’s not focus on that, Mal,” he said. “Let’s be cautiously optimistic, okay?”

  “Dammit, you don’t get to tell me how to feel!” she said. “You have this huge, glorious family that’s always been there for you, umpteen brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles, so many nieces and nephews I can’t even keep their damn names straight. I. Don’t. Have. Anyone.”

  She downed the rest of the wine in one long gulp, belched, and glared at Ben.

  Ben started to say something, but she raised her hand.

  “I know, you’re going to bring up Robin. You know I love her to bits and she’s been there for me since I was ten, but she’s not blood. It’s not the same.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” he said. “I was going to say that you’re right. I don’t get to tell you how to feel. I’m only trying to protect you, but I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged. She felt dizzy, as if she had hopped off a spinning carousel at a carnival. She had drunk the wine too fast on an empty stomach.

  Noticing, Ben slid the cheese and crackers closer to her. She arranged a double stack and popped them into her mouth.

  “What’re you going to do next?” he asked.

  “There’s nothing left for me to do at this point anyway except wait for a reply. I don’t have this person’s full name, only their screen handle.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Tabitha L. It doesn’t give me anything to dig into. My mother’s surname was Brown, and I don’t remember my mother ever mentioning someone named Tabitha.”

  “It’s wait and see, then.” Ben pulled his navy-blue apron over his broad torso and knotted the string behind him. With the flair of an experienced cook, he grabbed a chef’s knife and started chopping potatoes and carrots on a cutting board.

  “Yeah, as much as I dislike it,” she said. “But I’ve waited twenty-five years. What’s another day or two?”

  She had a response before the next morning.

  5

  Mallory couldn’t remember the last time she had been so nervous.

  A quarter before noon that Thursday, she sat alone at a corner booth in a Tex-Mex restaurant in downtown Macon, Georgia. A glass of ice water, a basket of tortilla chips, and a bowl of red salsa sat on the polished oak table in front of her, all items untouched. Her stomach was knotted so uncomfortably she couldn’t imagine eating or drinking anything.

  She sat beside a plate-glass window that overlooked a busy thoroughfare, the glass framed by partially open wood blinds. She kept glancing outside through the narrow slats—and most of all, she kept looking at the restaurant entrance, the doors barely ten paces away.

  Will I recognize her when she gets here? Mallory wondered.

  Only two days had passed since she had established contact via ThickerthanWater with the “close family member.” The close family member was her niece. Her sister’s daughter. Adult daughter.

  I’m Tabitha Love, the first email had said. I’m so excited we’ve connected, it’s such a blessing. Mother has said so many wonderful things about her baby sister. It’s been too long!

  Mallory had too many questions to pack into an email. She immediately responded with her phone number and invited her niece to call.

  In reply, she didn’t get a phone call as expected; she got another email through the ThickerthanWater messaging system.

  I’d prefer that we talk face-to-face, if that’s fine with you. It would be better that way, Aunt Mallory (is it okay if I address you as “aunt?”). I can explain when we meet. By the way, I’m 22 and I have a twin brother. The family is thrilled to make contact.

  “She’s twenty-two?” Ben had asked with a frown when she showed him the email. “Your sister is only a couple of years older than you, isn’t she?”

  “Right, Liz had the children when she was fifteen,” Mallory said. “There’s got to be a story behind that, I need to find out what happened.”

  “Why doesn’t she want to talk on the phone?” Ben asked. “That’s strange.”

  “There’s a sensible reason, no doubt. Why are you already trying to turn this into something negative?”

  “I’m not, but can you at least insist on meeting in a public place?” Ben asked. “I’m happy to come along, too. Backup.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Mallory said.

  After another exchange of emails, she and Tabitha agreed to meet in Macon, a city that was a ninety-minute drive from Atlanta, but which was apparently closer to home for Tabitha and her family. Mallory wasn’t sure since Tabitha had yet to reveal where she lived, even though Mallory had asked. Yet, she requested for Mallory to select the restaurant.

  I don’t get out much, Tabitha’s email had said. I’ve no idea where we should meet.

  “What is she—a nun?” Ben said. “What twenty-two-year-old woman doesn’t talk on the phone and doesn’t go anywhere?”

  Mallory had bitten her tongue against the sharp retort that came to mind, but she had to admit: it was all a bit strange, wasn’t it? The reluctance to talk on the phone, the unwillingness to answer basic questions. It set Mallory’s nerves on edge, though she would never admit as much to Ben. He was too skeptical (maybe overprotective, she corrected) and she couldn’t tolerate the idea that this was a scam. DNA didn’t lie, did it?

  I’ll know when I see her if this is legit, Mallory thought.

  They had agreed to meet at noon, but Mallory had arrived half an hour early, ostensibly to get comfortable. But she felt anything but comfortable—e
very time the doors swung open her heart jumped into her throat. It was evidently a popular establishment, the booths and tables filling up with diners dropping in for the lunch hour.

  When the clock ticked past noon, then five after, then ten minutes after the hour, Mallory’s anxiety cranked into overdrive.

  What if she doesn’t show up? What if she backed out?

  Frustratingly, Mallory had no way to get in touch with the woman except for the ThickerthanWater message system. As soon as Tabitha had revealed her name, Mallory had tapped into multiple databases to locate an address or phone number, but her searches had been inconclusive.

  “Still waitin’ on your friend, honey?” the server asked. She was an older lady who bore a striking resemblance to Dolly Parton. “Wanna get somethin’ while you wait?”

  Mallory was about to respond when she noticed a young Black woman enter the restaurant. Her heart literally skipped a beat.

  The woman looked exactly like Liz, if age progression had added ten years to Mallory’s memories of her sister.

  Tabitha, Mallory thought. It’s gotta be.

  “Ma’am?” the server asked.

  “I’ll order in a minute,” Mallory said, rising from her seat. “Excuse me.”

  On shaky legs, Mallory crossed the short distance between the booth and the entrance. “Tabitha?” she asked.

  The woman turned to face her. She wore a flowing blue cotton dress that fell all the way to the ankles, conservatively styled. Black leather flats. She had a natural hairstyle, a short Afro.

  Her brown eyes brightened at Mallory’s greeting, and a broad smile broke the smooth planes of her face. Those eyes and that smile, more than anything, told Mallory this was real. This woman was her blood.

  “Aunt Mallory?” she asked. She had a soft Southern drawl.

  “Oh, God.” Feeling weak, Mallory pulled the young woman into an embrace. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Her niece hugged her back, and Mallory felt her shaking, too.

  Thank you, Lord.

  6

  They sat across from each other at the booth. The restaurant was packed by then, diners talking and laughing amid the clink and clatter of dishes and the hum of classic seventies soft rock. Mallory was oblivious to everything except Tabitha. She couldn’t pry her gaze away from the young woman.

  This is really happening, she thought. She truly felt as if she might have been dreaming. How long had she dreamed of seeing Liz again? How long had she dreamed of seeing someone, anyone, closely related to her?

  “I apologize for my lateness,” Tabitha said. She giggled, knotted her fingers together nervously. “My driver got lost.”

  “It’s fine, sweetheart.” Mallory blotted away a tear with a napkin. “I’m so glad you’re here. So thankful.”

  Tabitha didn’t wear any makeup, didn’t have jewelry of any kind, not even earrings. Her appearance didn’t need adornment: she was naturally beautiful. Her dress had a modestly cut neckline, and the sleeves extended to her slender wrists.

  She had brought a faded black leather clutch purse that she set on the table within arm’s reach. She touched it periodically, as if drawing strength from its existence.

  The server stopped by soon after they were both seated and asked if they were ready to put in orders. Tabitha turned the laminated pages of the lunch menu with a confused frown. Mallory intervened, asked the server to bring Tabitha a glass of water and ordered an appetizer for them: a bowl of queso with jalapeños on the side.

  “Thank you.” Tabitha continued to fidget with the menu. “This is so exciting. So surreal.”

  "I’ve got so much I want to talk about, I barely know where to start,” Mallory said. She laughed, wiped away another tear. “You would have to know me to realize how unusual that is. I spend so much time preparing to talk to people, but now, I’m struggling to find words.”

  “You’re a reporter for a newspaper, yes?” Tabitha asked. “You said that in your messages.”

  “The Atlanta Times.” Mallory nodded. “Are you familiar with it?”

  “No.” Tabitha blushed. “I’m sorry. We don’t study what’s outside.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mallory asked. “Outside of where?”

  Tabitha blushed again. Although she had claimed to be twenty-two in her message, her mannerisms reminded Mallory of a younger girl. She was quick to blush, seemed hesitant to make eye contact.

  “I mean to say, we don’t study what’s outside of our home.” Tabitha giggled again, glanced away.

  “Oh, I see,” Mallory said. “Where’s home for you and your family?”

  “Sanctuary,” Tabitha said.

  “Is that the name of the city?” Mallory asked. “Sanctuary?”

  “Ah, oh no,” Tabitha stammered. “Only our place. We live in a very small town. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Ratliff,” Tabitha said. “It’s near Valdosta.”

  “You’re right.” Mallory chuckled. “I’ve traveled throughout the state, and I’ve been to Valdosta many times, but I’m not familiar with Ratliff.”

  “See, I told you.” Tabitha laughed again. Mallory noticed the girl’s fingernails were nibbled almost to the quick. Nervous habit?

  “I live in Atlanta,” Mallory said. “I was born there—so was your mother, Liz. We’re both Grady babies.”

  “Grady babies?” Tabitha asked.

  “It’s local slang, means we were born at the city’s biggest hospital, a place called Grady.” Mallory pulled in a deep breath. “How is your mother doing?”

  “She’s doing well,” Tabitha said after a brief hesitation. “She sends her love.”

  “Did she talk about coming with you, to see me?” Mallory’s heart pounded. “I’d really love to see my sister again, Tabitha. I haven’t seen her in twenty-five years.”

  “Oh, ah . . . Mother can’t leave the family.” Tabitha glanced at Mallory like a shy child. “But Mother wanted me to tell you she’s proud of you, Princess Butterfly.”

  It was like a punch to the chest, and Mallory, barely keeping herself together already, almost totally lost it right then. Princess Butterfly. One of Liz’s private nicknames for her. Jesus.

  “That’s really sweet,” Mallory said, sniffled. “You said you have a twin brother?”

  “Nimrod,” Tabitha said. “He couldn’t come. He’s sort of quiet. I’m the big talker in the family.” She giggled.

  “Do you have any pictures of your family?” Mallory asked. “Maybe a little family snapshot in your purse?”

  “Pictures?” She shook her head. “No, no, no, that’s not allowed.”

  “You aren’t allowed to have photographs?” Mallory asked.

  “It’s not the family’s way,” Tabitha said, as if speaking a memorized slogan.

  “I see,” Mallory said. “Is that related to why you were unable to call me on the phone?”

  “Uh huh. We’re not very familiar with technology, I guess. But I learned about the genealogy website and Father said it was acceptable to use. We always wanted to find you.”

  “And now here we are,” Mallory said, spreading her hands and smiling. But her mind churned like a wheel spinning a hundred miles an hour.

  Every time her niece shared a tidbit about her background, it triggered more questions. Mallory was holding back, as difficult as it was to restrain herself, and letting the girl speak at her own pace.

  But a picture was emerging. Avoidance of common technology and news, the conservative manner of dress, the lack of familiarity with how to order in a restaurant . . . all those details led Mallory to suspect that Tabitha—and by extension, Liz—lived in a rigid religious household.

  From what she remembered of her sister, it was difficult to imagine. Even as a child, Liz had been a free spirit. What had happened to her? Where had she wound up when they had gotten separated in the foster care system?

  The server dropped off the queso and sliced jalapeños, and ice water for Tabitha
. Mallory dipped a tortilla chip in the cheese and added a slice of the peppers. Tabitha mimicked her actions, but choked on the jalapeño.

  “Are you okay?” Mallory asked.

  “Oh, it’s so hot!” She slurped from her glass of ice water. “But it tastes really good, spicy.”

  “They have margaritas here too, you know,” Mallory winked. “According to reviews they’re quite good. But that might be a little too much for you.”

  I wonder if she even has a driver’s license? Mallory thought, and she decided it was unlikely.

  “What’s a margarita?” Tabitha asked.

  “It’s a beverage.” Mallory slid the cocktail menu across the table. “It has tequila, a type of liquor.”

  “Oh, no.” Tabitha pushed away the menu as if it might burn her fingers. “Alcohol is not allowed.”

  “I understand,” Mallory said. “But may I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly, Aunt Mallory.” Tabitha giggled. “It feels weird to say that. I need to get used to it, don’t I?”

  “I love it,” Mallory said. “What I’d like to ask, though: when you say something like alcohol isn’t allowed, is that for religious reasons? I’m only trying to understand, I’m not passing judgement.”

  “It’s not the family’s way,” Tabitha said. “We have our ways, the world has its ways. Our ways are better, they keep us safe.”

  “I think I understand.” Mallory nodded. “Did your father create these rules for the family?”

  “Of course.” Tabitha smiled as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “Father sees all. He loves the family so much.”

  Tabitha munched on the tortilla chips, dipping them into the queso and heaping them with peppers. But Mallory had lost her appetite.

  Father sees all.

  “Is Father a flesh and blood person?” Mallory asked. “I know it may be a silly question, but I’d like to understand.”