Finding Georgina

by Colleen Faulkner

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Katrina says softly. “Just keep in mind, your daughter had nothing to do with the kidnapping. It isn’t her fault it happened. And it isn’t her fault that the woman who took her really did love her. It’s only natural for a child to love the person who cares for her and loves her.”

  When I wasn’t imagining my daughter buried in the bayou somewhere, her face covered in mud, I was dreaming she was in a happy home. Well cared for, even loved. Now I’m having a hard time dealing with the idea that the monster who took my baby loved her. Worse, that Georgina loved her in return.

  I stare at my boots on my feet. I must have dressed and redressed half a dozen times. What does a person wear to be reunited with their daughter who’s been missing for fourteen years? Jeans, ankle boots, and a white oxford shirt, I decided in the end. Casual but not sloppy. “Do you know why she did it?”

  “The kidnapper?” We’re whispering again.

  I nod. The police told me her name. Sharon Kohen. Our daughter has been living as Lilla Kohen. They have not been in New Orleans for fourteen years. They only moved here three months ago, from Baton Rouge. Apparently they moved a lot, typical for someone who had a secret to hide, according to the police. If you keep moving, it’s more difficult for people to get to know you, more difficult to rouse suspicions.

  The social worker takes her time to respond to me. She’s probably debating how much to tell me. We have an appointment with the police next week. We’re supposed to get more information then.

  “She lost a two-year-old to Tay-Sachs disease,” Katrina explains.

  “So she stole my daughter?” As the words come out of my mouth, I realize how cold they sound. How lacking in sympathy. I can’t help it. I thought my baby had been murdered. Sexually abused and murdered. I know I was taught better, but I’m a little short on sympathy today.

  “The mind is a strange thing. People respond to the same events in very different ways. Some women, when they lose a child, commit suicide.” Katrina meets my gaze. “Others kidnap a child, substituting one for the other, not just in their life but their mind. I didn’t interview Ms. Kohen myself, but I read the initial psych evaluation. Most of the time, she thought your Georgina was her Lilla.”

  “If I hadn’t seen Georgina in that coffee shop . . .” I hesitate, trying not to go there, not able to hold myself back. “I might never have known she was alive.”

  “It’s a lot to take in. A lot to process. As we discussed on the phone, we think it’s important that Georgina get counseling. I gave you a couple of names. What we didn’t discuss is that we recommend the same for you and your husband and daughter.”

  “Remy? Counseling?” My smile is thin. “He’s not going to go for it. I used to see a therapist regularly. I can see him if I feel the need.”

  “Bring it into the dining room,” Remy says loudly, walking from the kitchen toward us.

  Our cue to stop whispering.

  He enters the dining room carrying a tray of sandwiches. Jojo has the pitcher of sweet tea. Georgina brings up the rear carrying a plate of grapes in one hand, a bowl of chips in the other. I still haven’t heard her say more than a few words at once. She’s walking with her head down, her gorgeous dark hair covering much of her face. I meet Remy’s gaze. He offers a tight-lipped smile. He’s warning me to chill. I’m trying.

  “Sit anywhere you like,” I say, sounding a little bit as if I’m a cruise director. Of course, how would I know? I’ve never been on a cruise. Remy tried to get me to go on one several times, back when we were trying to make things work, before he moved out. I wanted to go. I wanted to make him happy, but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave Jojo for a week, not even with Ann.

  I watch Georgina set the food down and gaze at the table. Then at the dining room. And I realize she may be a little intimidated by the house. Ann, who lives in a cute double shotgun, says our place looks like a museum: the big, balconied exterior, the antique furniture, the portrait of Remy’s three-greats-back grandmother Marie, looking down on us from above the marble fireplace here in the dining room. For us, it’s just home. But from Georgina’s perspective, it could be overwhelming.

  But wouldn’t she remember something? We brought her here, home from the hospital. Wouldn’t something in the house look familiar? Wouldn’t we look familiar, even if she didn’t remember us?

  We’re all still standing around the table. Remy, the voice and action of reason, takes the chair at the end of the Victorian-era flame mahogany table that seats eight with the leaves out. He looks to Georgina and she slowly takes the chair to his left. Katrina sits to his right. I stand there for a second, debating whether or not to walk around the table to sit beside Georgina. Would I rather be able to look at her or touch her? Because I’m pretty certain she doesn’t want me touching her just yet, I take the chair closest to Katrina.

  “Can I skip lunch?” Jojo asks. “I ate at school.”

  “Right. Tacos.” Remy points at the table.

  With a huff, Jojo takes a chair, but not the one beside Georgina; she sits on the very end so she’s facing her father. As I pick up my napkin I meet Remy’s gaze. We silently agree to let it go.

  Remy picks up the platter of mini muffalettas, takes two, and passes it to Georgina. She puts one on her plate and turns to Jojo. Jojo doesn’t say anything, she just points at me. Georgina hands the plate across the table to me, which is a reach. I have to come partway up from my chair to take it. Georgina doesn’t make eye contact. The grapes and chips go around. Georgina takes grapes, no potato chips. Everyone, including my sulking daughter on the end, accepts a glass of sweet tea. I may have grown up in Philadelphia, but my mother was born and bred in Louisiana. I know how to make sweet tea.

  The conversation, as we eat, is awkward. Mostly it’s Katrina asking us questions: what Remy does at Tulane, where Jojo goes to school, where my office is. Georgina doesn’t say a word, except when asked a direct question. I haven’t asked her any of the questions I want to ask because Remy made me promise not to grill her, at least not in the first hour after she arrives home. His thought is that we’ll have the rest of our lives to talk about the years she was gone from us. I understand what he’s saying, but there’s so much I want to know. Need to know. But we agreed we’d start on the easy questions: which subjects she likes in school, what her favorite color is, if she plays a sport. Her responses are monosyllables, for the most part. Her favorite class is statistics—I can’t imagine why. She doesn’t play a sport and she likes gray. What sixteen-year-old likes gray? The more time that passes over lunch . . . drags, the more worried I become. Adjusting to our new family is going to be hard on everyone.

  “Any plans for this afternoon?” Katrina asks cheerfully. We’ve finished lunch and we’re edging toward the time when the social worker will leave us.

  I look to Remy, who’s just getting to his feet to clear the table. “We were thinking we’d take a walk through the park. How’s that sound, Georgina?”

  She stares at me across the table. Doesn’t smile. In fact, I haven’t seen her smile yet.

  “Or . . . we could do something else.” I sound more upbeat than I feel. “What would you like to do, Georgina? Anything. You name it.”

  I meet my daughter’s gaze and her eyes that are my Remy’s eyes fill suddenly with tears. “I want to go home. I want my mother.”

  9

  Jojo

  I push open the bathroom door without knocking. It’s open a little, so I figure the privacy rules don’t apply. Right? You only have to knock and wait for somebody to say “Come in” if the door’s closed. I cross my arms. I have to look up at her because she’s taller than I am. A couple of inches taller. She’s going to be tall like Dad, I guess. I got Mom’s short gene, apparently.

  “I take a shower at six thirty in the morning,” I say. I don’t even try to say it nice. “So . . . I guess you’ll have to get up earlier or use the downstairs shower or whatever tomorrow. This is my bathroom. Was.�
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  She doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, she looks into the mirror at me. She’s holding a toothbrush. She’s wearing a pair of ratty gym shorts and a T-shirt that says “Tulane” that looks new. I wonder if Dad got it for her. He didn’t bring me anything today.

  “You take a shower at six thirty in the morning on Saturdays?” she asks. Like I’m stupid.

  I forgot tomorrow is Saturday. Saturdays, I don’t shower at all, unless I’m going somewhere. Now I feel stupid. “I’m just telling you.”

  She keeps looking at me by way of the mirror. She’s really pretty. Not blond pretty like me, but she’s got shiny dark hair like Dad’s. Longer than mine. And her skin is so perfect it’s disgusting. I have to go to a dermatologist. Zits everywhere if I don’t use my special soap and stay away from dairy.

  We just keep looking at each other, like we’re both frozen. I wouldn’t have known she was my sister if I’d gone into that coffee shop. I can’t help thinking, Too bad it wasn’t me instead of Mom. I know that’s not the right thing to think, but from the look on her face, I get the idea she’s wishing right now it was me instead of Mom, too.

  She finally stops looking at me. She turns the water on and runs her toothbrush under it. I still stand there trying to think what to say. Dad says she’s definitely my sister . . . our Georgina. DNA testing. I wonder if that’s true. I was planning on binge watching a couple of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or maybe The Vampire Diaries on Netflix, but maybe I’ll do a quick Google search. I mean, what if someone did make a mistake? It could happen.

  “You hurt Mom’s feelings today, you know.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. “At lunch.”

  She’s still running the water over her toothbrush. She turns it off. She’s looking at me again and it occurs to me that she looks a lot like Elena in The Vampire Diaries, which sucks because Elena is so beautiful. That’s why both of the vampire brothers are in love with her, of course. Her dark beauty. I wonder if Georgina has a boyfriend. Had. She was going to a public school. I’m sure Mom’s not going to let her have a boyfriend. Ursuline girls don’t have boyfriends. That’s what Miss Gerard says.

  “About wanting to go home,” I say, my voice turning mean. “To your mother. Because that woman who stole you, she was your kidnapper. She’s not your mother.”

  She presses her lips together like maybe she’s going to cry. But she doesn’t.

  “All she’s wanted, for as long as I can remember,” I say, now feeling as if I’m the one who’s going to cry, “is for you to come home.”

  She looks down at the sink. Puts her toothbrush down, even though she hasn’t brushed her teeth, and walks out of the bathroom. Right past me. She goes down the hall, into her room, and closes the door. She doesn’t slam it. She closes it very quietly. Which seems louder in my ears than any slammed door.

  10

  Harper

  “Do you think I should check on her?” I shut off the light beside the bed and roll over to face Remy.

  He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “You shouldn’t check on her again.” He leans in and gives me a peck on the lips. “You said good night. Then you went back and said good night again. You told her to let you know if she needs anything. She’s sixteen years old. She’ll let you know if she needs something.”

  I tuck my head under his chin, press my hand to his bare chest, and breathe in his scent that’s burgundy wine, warmth, and French-milled soap. I used to think it was weird that he used the same soap his mother always used when he was a child. Now it’s part of his identity to me. You have to love a man who likes girly, nice soap.

  It feels so good to have him in bed with me again. Not just for sex. But to have him here all night. After he moved out, he rarely stayed the night anymore, and when he did, he slipped out very early in the morning. I don’t know if Jojo knew we were still sleeping together occasionally or not. She never mentioned it, so I don’t think so. It was Remy who didn’t think he should stay the night. He was afraid it would confuse Jojo. She took the fact that he was moved back in so nonchalantly that, thinking back, I doubt she would have cared. Remy doesn’t like it when I say things like this, but I think Jojo’s too wrapped up in herself to care. He doesn’t get that when I say things like that about her, I’m not being critical. She and I get along well most of the time. We’ve been a team since Remy left. I love her as she is, but as her mother and a female, I think I see her more realistically than he does.

  “I think today went okay.” I snuggle against him. “It went okay, right? She seemed to enjoy walking in the park. She liked that dog. Do you think we should get a dog? We’ve been talking about it.” I look up at him even though it’s so dark I can’t really see his face. “You think we should get a dog?”

  “I think we should go to sleep.” He kisses the top of my head.

  I close my eyes. Breathe deeply. I washed the sheets yesterday and they smell divine. “I think things went okay,” I repeat.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I’m quiet for a moment, but my thoughts are going in so many directions that I can’t stay quiet. “I was thinking we’d go shopping tomorrow. The girls and I. She didn’t bring much with her. Katrina said someone would be getting more of her things for her from her house, but maybe she doesn’t want those things. I don’t know if I would, if I were her.”

  Remy doesn’t say anything. He’s not asleep yet, but he’s close. I’ve never seen anyone who can fall asleep as quickly as he can. I find it annoying. I sometimes lie awake for hours, unable to relax, replaying things I said, did, during the day. “Remy?”

  He exhales and rolls onto his back. I follow him, lying on my stomach, resting my head on his chest. “What do you think? Should I take them shopping? Get her some clothes? She’ll need shoes to go with her uniform. Maybe do lunch somewhere fun? What’s the name of that courtyard restaurant in the Quarter Jojo likes?”

  “Harper.”

  “The one with the fountain. Jojo likes their crab cake sliders. I don’t know if Georgina eats crab. Maybe we should go there? You want to meet us?” I run my hand over his chest that is just hairy enough to be masculine without being too hairy. “I know you don’t want to go shopping, but you could meet us for lunch. You said you have to go into the office for a couple of hours, but maybe you could meet us for a late lunch?”

  “You can’t take it personally, Harper.”

  “I’m trying to figure out when to take her to see Daddy. I know he won’t remember her, but he’ll want to see her. He still remembers when she was born. But that might be a lot for Georgina. We should probably hold off on the nursing home visit.”

  “Did you hear what I said?” His tone is gentle, but he’s not going to let it go. “Harper?”

  I know what he’s talking about. And he knows I know. You don’t marry a man, have two children with him, lose a child, divorce, reconcile, and have your child miraculously returned to you fourteen years later and not know each other intimately.

  And the tears come again. I roll onto my back to lie beside him. “I’m her mother,” I whisper. “And you’re her father.”

  “Biologically, yes.”

  “She’s my child.” I pull my arms across my body, almost as if I can cradle her to my breast again.

  “Harper.” He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. He puts his other arm around me. “Can you imagine what it must have been like for her to have the police show up at her door and ask her mother if she kidnapped her? Have her mother admit right in front of her that she wasn’t her child? That she, the woman Georgina loves more than anyone in the world, abducted her when she was a baby?”

  I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about it. “She’s our daughter,” I repeat.

  “She was our daughter. And she will be again. But right now . . .”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

  I press my lips together trying to fight the wave of panic ri
sing in my chest. This afternoon, when I asked Georgina what she wanted, she said she wanted to go home. She wanted her mother. That woman. That monster. Not me.

  “I love her so much,” I whisper.

  “I know you do,” he says in my ear. “And I love her, too. But Katrina is right. This is overwhelming for all of us. And . . . I know you might not want to hear this, but I think maybe it’s more overwhelming for her on several levels. She never knew we existed until last week. We’ve been loving her all these years, Harper. Even when she was gone and we thought she would never come back to us. But she didn’t know about us.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and I say a little prayer to the Holy Mother. I ask for her blessing. For her guidance. A little extra to go with the fifty-four-day novena that I might just start again as soon as I’ve completed this one.

  Remy rests his head on my breast and strokes my arm.

  We’re quiet for a long time, but I can tell by the way he’s breathing that he’s not asleep yet. “Remy?”

  “Mm?”

  “Do you think this is going to work out? Not with Georgina. I mean with us. With you and me.”

  “Baby, I don’t know,” he murmurs, just on the edge of sleep.

  It’s not the answer I was hoping for, but tonight I’ll take it.

  11

  Lilla

  I didn’t think I’d sleep in the bed with the ugly pink sheets. After my bathroom chat with my little sister, whose middle name might be BITCH, I seriously considered climbing out the window of the second-story bedroom. The bedroom they say I slept in when I was a baby.

  I thought maybe I could swing from the window ledge onto the parents’ balcony and use the vines to climb down. But it’s a jump from my window to the balcony. And even if I make it, I don’t know if the vines would hold me. I don’t know what they are; I’m not much of a gardener. Then there’s the issue of where I would go. And the fact that I’m a coward and am afraid I’d break my neck going from the window to the balcony or the balcony to the ground. And it would be my luck I wouldn’t die. That would be too easy. Instead, I’d damage my spine and end up in one of those wheelchairs like Stephen Hawking. And the mother would feed me Jell-O through a straw and call me Georgina a hundred times a day. And cry a lot.