“Now you’re only trying to be nice because you feel sorry for me,” Emily said, but smiled.
Sailor shook her head, her brown curls moving like smoke around her face. “I don’t feel sorry for you. I know I’m annoying about it. I’ll stop. I wish I had other parents.…”
Emily wanted to have something smart to say, something that would make Sailor feel better, but she couldn’t. If she had Sailor’s parents, she’d be looking for new ones too. But Emily loved her parents; she didn’t want new ones.
So then why did she feel so terrible and empty just because the Kate woman hadn’t answered her friend request?
Kate’s sister, Tara, had accepted her friendship. Did she know? Did the sister know who Emily was? Emily imagined them talking about her, wondering why she was bugging them. Sailor and Emily had spent an entire Sunday afternoon going through Tara’s page, looking at photos and identifying people. Cousins. Uncle. Grandparents. But really none more important than the only one they wanted to identify: birth mom.
They’d zoomed in on Kate’s hair, curly and copper like Emily’s. They commented on Kate’s great clothes, and how Emily must have her birth dad’s chin because Kate didn’t have a cleft. Sailor said that Emily’s smile was an exact copy of Kate’s, like the kind from the dentist when you got your retainer.
But as much as the friends talked—and talked and talked and talked—Emily kept a great many thoughts to herself. She wondered, as she had always wondered, where she came from and why? Why did her stomach flip upside down when she was sad? Why did pollen make her sneeze? Why did her nose turn up on the very end?
And the biggest wonder, a wonder so big that it was a universe: Why did her birth mother give her away?
Emily sat forward, curling her arms around her bent legs. She rested her head on her knees and turned to look at Sailor. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. Okay?”
Sailor nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want,” Emily said.
sixteen
BLUFFTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
2010
Kate dropped onto the slipcovered couch at Mimsy, groaning. “That’s enough for today,” she said.
Lida laughed. “No way. Let’s set the boots up on the front table before we open tomorrow.”
On an April evening Norah, Lida, and Kate moved furniture and display shelves as they remodeled Mimsy, emulating Wisteria in Birmingham. The couches had been re-covered in white sailcloth, and they were placed in the middle of the room facing a long mirror. Lida sat next to Kate. “Is everything okay with you and Rowan now?”
Kate smiled. “Yes, of course.”
“I’m so sorry. Again, I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”
“Stop it, Lida. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I made my own mess and you got caught up in it.”
Lida leaned forward and shifted the handbags on the coffee table into an organized pattern. “It’s crazy with a capital F.”
“You are so bad.” Kate gently swatted Lida’s leg.
“I want you to be happy, Kate. It’s like you run into it and then away from it as fast as you can.”
“Well, it’s all good now. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell him.”
Norah called from the other side of the boutique. “Kate, Lida, how does this look?” They stood and walked to the scarf display.
“Perfect,” Kate said. “I think that we’ve set up a more social scene now, one that’ll make women want to stay and not only shop, but talk and hang out.”
Her phone buzzed in her jeans and she lifted it out, glancing at the screen. And there, in the middle of finally not-thinking about Jack, he called.
The preacher who had once told Kate that she had free will didn’t understand love at all, or at least the thought-life of love. It had been a full month since she’d left Alabama, a full month in which Jack entered her thoughts—unbidden and unwelcome—again and again. Jack preoccupied her in ways that made her miss meetings, run red lights, and wake at three AM with no hope of returning to sleep.
Kate looked down at her cell phone and smiled. “I’ll be right back,” she said, walking to the rear room where boxes cluttered the space.
“Hey, you,” she answered.
“Hi, you. I’m sorry it took me so long to call you back.”
Kate had called Jack several times. She couldn’t bear to leave their last words as the last words.
She took in a deep breath. “You’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” he said, quietly.
“I called you because I really want to talk. I didn’t want to leave things like I did—running off. I’m sorry Rowan busted in like that. It’s not his usual way. He was worried.”
“I understand. And you were right—we have to finish some things before we start new things. I understand now, that’s what you were doing.”
“I don’t think that’s all I was doing.”
“Listen, let’s let this go. Isn’t that why you were here? To let it all go? Begin again?”
“It’s all mixed up now.”
“Kate, there’s not much more to talk about.”
“Then why do I feel like there’s so much left to talk about?”
“Probably because you need to talk about them with Rowan. Not me.”
“Oh.” Kate closed her eyes and dropped her forehead onto the doorframe of the storage room. “Okay.”
“Take care of yourself, Katie.”
Then he was gone.
Lida ambled into the storage room, dodging packages of folded clothes and boxes of hangers. “You okay?” she asked.
Kate looked up. “I don’t know.”
“Who was that?”
“Jack.”
“And?”
“He was cold and short.”
“What else do you want him to be?”
“Mine,” Kate said as she sat in an office chair shoved in the corner. “I want him to be mine.”
“What?”
“It’s insane, but so true. And sad. And terrible. And impossible.”
“Damn,” Lida said, leaning against the wall. “What are you going to do?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Kate glanced at her cell phone as if it held answers. “‘Patience is wider than one once imagined…’”
“Huh?”
“A poem … never mind.” Kate stood. “Right now let’s get this store just right. Let’s finish.”
“You’re a mess,” Lida said, and hugged Kate before they walked out into the boutique.
They emerged, and Kate’s mom stood in the middle of the store talking to Norah. “Mom,” Kate said. “What a nice surprise.”
“Oh, the store looks so great. I was talking to Norah about having a cocktail party here with some of my friend, maybe a fundraiser for my friend, the mayor, Lisa Sulka.”
“You love saying, my friend, the mayor, don’t you?” Kate teased her mom.
“Shush. But don’t you think that’s a good idea? I mean, if you’re trying to make it more social, why not have events?”
Together, the four women talked about parties and displays, about clothing lines and artwork, until Norah yawned and ended the evening.
Left alone with her mom, Kate asked. “Okay, Mom, really why did you stop by?”
“To see you.”
Kate smiled and placed her hands under her chin as if framing her face. “Here I am.”
Her mom sat on the couch and motioned for Kate to do the same. “Darling, I really want to hear about how it went when you saw Jack. You won’t talk about it and you know how Dad and I care about all of it. We do.”
“I know you care. Jack is doing well. And I’m glad I finally told Rowan. But that’s all over now. Really, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“He hasn’t heard anything from Luna, has he?”
Kate exhaled through her mouth, blowing her hair off her forehead. “Don’t you think that’s something I would have told you?”
Her mom nodded. “Yes, I guess it is. I just…”
“I want to know about her also, Mom. But guess what? I can’t. And neither can you. So, let’s get on with our lives until we can, okay?”
“Okay, I get it.”
“I’m glad you do,” Kate said and smiled. “Because I sure don’t.”
Mom and daughter sat in silence, quiet and sure of their place in each other’s world. The sad knowing that her own daughter was out there in the world settled right next to Kate’s need for Jack, knotted and aching.
seventeen
BLUFFTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
2010
That last day in April started as ordinary. It was five A.M. and Kate once again stared at the ceiling as dawn unfolded through the cracks of her curtains. Ever since Alabama, sleep had been slippery and stubborn, never arriving when she needed it most. She rose in frustration, read e-mails, browsed through Tara’s blog, Mothering Heights, and checked on the dark and quiet boutique. On the storeroom’s computer, Kate decided to check her Facebook. It had been over a month since she’d browsed the site. She wasn’t anything like a Facebook regular. She was bored reading about what her “friends” cooked for dinner that night, or seeing photos of yet another party she’d declined to attend.
The Facebook page opened slowly. Kate imagined the Internet signal trying to find its way through the oak branches crowded around the building. On the top left corner of the page, there was a single notice: Emily Jackson wants to be friends.
Kate clicked on the friend request. Emily Jackson’s photo was not of her face, but a kitten curled in a lap. Kate couldn’t get to any of the young girl’s information as it was blocked with the words You aren’t friends with Emily Jackson. Emily and Kate had only one friend in common: Tara.
Mothering Heights had a following on Facebook and often those “friends” would see that Kate was Tara’s sister and assume it was okay to friend her. But Kate was more protective of her site: only friends and family. Not cyber friends.
With a quick e-mail to Tara—Who is Emily Jackson?—Kate turned on the coffee pot. The rest of the morning was the definition of typical, a regular world spinning on its usual axis of work. An entire shipment of clothes to be unpacked, steamed, tagged, and hung. A briefing with Lida. Phone calls to be returned. Women’s Wear Daily to go through, not to mention her favorite fashion blogs. Were her clients ready for the bright orange that was dominating the runway?
By the time Kate looked at her cell phone, she saw that Tara had called five times.
“Hey, Tara,” Kate returned her sister’s call, pouring more coffee into a mug.
“Kate, I can’t believe this.” Tara’s words were garbled. She was drowning in tears. Kate felt the panic rise to the surface. Tara rarely cried, and if she was sobbing like this then something was terribly wrong.
“Oh, God, what is it?” Kate set her mug on the counter, readying herself for the worst news. Their parents. One of Tara’s children.
“She found us,” Tara said slowly, pronouncing each word as if English were her fourth language, as if she’d never spoken those three words in a row.
“Who?”
“Luna. She found us.”
“What?” Kate’s soul unmoored, rising with hope. Dare she believe? She closed her eyes and waited because only one thing was worse than not hoping and that was believing and then allowing despair to wash inland.
For all these years, Katie had been telling herself, Maybe one day. Not today, but maybe one day in the future.
Was it too much to hope that today was that day?
“The girl, Emily Jackson. The one you e-mailed me about this morning. I went to her Facebook page. It’s her. Same birthday. If you get to her information page, her full name is Emily Luna Jackson.” Tara waited while her breath caught up with her words. “Kate, she looks like you!”
Relief began to tear open the closed and scarred places inside Kate. “Are you sure? I mean that’s impossible, right?”
“Go look. Now.”
“Oh, if this is true … the poor girl friended me over a month ago and I just hadn’t checked my Facebook.”
“Go,” Tara again demanded.
“I’ll call you back,” Kate said.
There hadn’t been a day in thirteen years when Katie had read or heard the word “Luna” and hope hadn’t leapt toward her daughter. And this time was no different, although she knew, as she did every other time, that it was nearly impossible that Luna was her Luna. No, totally impossible.
This wasn’t how the lost became found—in an early morning e-mail on a typical day. Kate took the back staircase to her loft. Tara’s tears, which Kate had thought meant the most terrible news, were sobs of joy, a preamble to the only news Kate had prayed for every single day for the last thirteen years. Every day. Please let her be okay.
“She found me,” Kate said out loud in her kitchen as her soul fell to its knees.
The extraordinary happens in the exact middle of ordinary, she thought clearly and permanently.
No trumpet blast to announce the moment, no parting of clouds or Hallelujah chorus. Just the simple miracle (as if any miracle is simple) between an in-breath and an out-breath, the wide-open space where the unknown was known, the lost found, and the unseen seen.
Moving as if in slow motion, she opened her Facebook screen and clicked “accept” on Emily Jackson’s request. In incremental understanding, she flipped through this girl’s photos, saying her name out loud.
“Emily. Her name is Emily.”
Kate’s chest expanded with the beautiful and overwhelming knowledge that she was staring at her daughter’s photos. To maintain her breath and her sanity, Kate read Emily’s profile out loud.
The facts became surreal, blurred, and too coincidental, as if someone were playing a prank on her, as if someone were taking all the ways to connect Kate and Emily and drawing lines between those dots as an example of universal synchronicity.
Her last name is almost Jack’s first name.
She is the oldest of three siblings.
She looks like Tara’s middle school photo.
Kate finished looking at the photos for the fifth time and then paced the kitchen. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing, but she’d ignored it, needing only the silence and these photos. Her cell phone screen flashed six missed calls combining only two names: Tara and Molly.
Yes, Tara would’ve called Molly by now.
The news would soon explode, changing the world. Kate wanted to be alone with the knowledge that Luna had found her. She wanted to taste the truth, to bask in the in-between of what was and what would be. Before the world knew, before her family descended with vigor and tears and gratitude, she wanted to hold Luna to herself.
Her daughter.
An hour later Tara called again, and Kate answered without greeting, but with a question. “Now what?”
“Send her a message. I mean, for God’s sake, Kate. If she had enough nerve to ‘friend’ you, answer her.” Her words were skipping and rough like an old record with scratches.
“Did you tell Molly?” Kate asked.
“I did. She is freaking out. Freaking. This is a miracle.”
“Isn’t there a word that is past a miracle?”
Tara laughed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re the writer. You’re the girl with words. What is better and bigger than a miracle?” Kate asked.
“I have no idea, but whatever it is, this is it. Now e-mail her.”
“What do I say? Tell me what to say.”
“Exactly what you feel.”
Dear Emily, for thirteen years I have loved you and been waiting to see your beautiful face.
Of course there was so much more to say, but who could prepare for that moment?
What next?
Kate picked up the phone and dialed Jack’s number. His heart, of all the hearts involved in these tangled lives, would be the most relieved. Kate didn’t think he’d answer after the
ir phone conversation the night before, but he did. He had barely finished the word “hello” before she spoke.
“She found us,” Kate said.
“What?”
“Luna. She found us.”
“Luna…”
“Yes.” Kate wanted to see Jack’s face, to see his green eyes fill with knowing.
“Oh, God. Tell me. Where?”
Even in the retelling of this conversation a hundred times, Kate wouldn’t be able to remember the order or way in which she told Jack that their daughter had found them. The truth tumbled out like champagne poured, bubbly and unruly.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.
Kate laughed. “I don’t think she meant to talk to me, or even anyone at all. I think she was messing around on her Facebook. She hasn’t even answered me yet. I feel terrible, because she’s been waiting a month. God, I hope she doesn’t wait a month. She’s only thirteen. I’m sure her mother has some say in this.”
“And you’re positive it’s her? Absolutely positive.”
“Yes.”
“Send me her photo. Right now.”
Jack rattled off his e-mail and Kate sat down at the computer, dragging Emily’s photo onto her desktop and e-mailing it to Jack as they talked on the phone. She rattled off facts. “She lives in Bronxville, New York. From the photos, I think she’s always lived there.”
There were, she imagined, a million rooms in every woman’s heart. Oh, how many doors had she shut when she handed her child to the social worker, when she closed her eyes as her daughter left the room? Those doors were now flung open, light pouring in.
“Call me as soon as she writes back to you. Promise?” Jack asked. “I don’t have a Facebook account.”
“Of course.”
The hours were eternal and timeless as Kate, Tara, and Molly waited for a response from Emily Luna Jackson, daughter of Kate and Jack, yet daughter of another family. Hours passed and phone calls were made and the world stood still and spun out of control. The sisters agreed—Kate would tell their parents in person. But not until they had heard back from Emily.
Later, when the day was relived as all miraculous days are, the sisters would talk about what each one did during the delay.
And Then I Found You Page 13
