Inside the gas station convenience store, Rorie picked up a candy bar and a diet soda, hoping the caffeine and sugar would improve her mood and keep her awake until reaching the hotel. As she drove, negative thoughts about Cecily invaded her mind and she struggled to push them back. But anger simmered inside at having to face this trip alone. The voice inside her head taunted her: What else will you have to do alone? Will she ever be there for you?
By the time Rorie drove into the parking lot of the hotel, hot tears of frustration and fatigue trickled unchecked down her cheeks. Cold drops of rain washed them away as she dragged her suitcase to the hotel lobby. She scowled at the way it wobbled across the tile floor. One of the wheels had snapped in the overhead bin during the flight, because apparently things weren’t hard enough already.
She collected her key from the lone attendant on duty at the registration desk and shuffled down a long hallway toward her room. The garish carpet was a decade out of date and made her retinas ache. She sighed when she reached the door to her room, not for any particular reason but just because the whole thing had become too much. Talking to the caseworker, meeting her mother, and doing it all alone. She pulled the key card from its paper sleeve and waved it over the sensor. One time, two times, three times… it didn’t surprise her in the least that the stupid thing refused to work. She jiggled the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Mustering up her last reserves of energy—and thanking God that she’d indulged in that candy bar an hour ago—she turned to head back to the front desk.
As she did, she heard the door to the room swing open and a woman’s familiar voice called out.
“Hi, sweetheart!”
Rorie’s heart lurched as she spun around. “Cici?”
“It’s about time you got here. I was starting to worry I’d fall asleep.”
The anger she’d felt evaporated at the beautiful sound of her voice. Rorie lunged into Cecily’s arms, covering her face equally with kisses and tears. “I don't understand. How are you here?”
Cecily laughed. “The magic of Hollywood. Tyler got a hold of me right after your cab left. He called the studio’s main office and just kept insisting on people transferring his call until he found someone who knew how to reach us on location.”
“That is one resourceful kid you’ve got.” Rorie felt a flood of affection for the boy.
“Once he got me on the phone, he told me what was going on and where I needed to be, and my production assistant took care of finding a charter flight straight into Lake Charles.”
“That had to have cost you a fortune!”
Cecily shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
Rorie’s mouth gaped. “Is this the same woman who spent all summer clipping coupons for canned goods?”
“Money’s never been the issue. It was the principle of being self-sufficient that I cared about. But I think this is a little higher priority than a casserole, don’t you?” Cecily hooked an arm around Rorie’s waist. “Come on. Let’s get to bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”
As she allowed Cecily to lead her into the room, Rorie’s fatigue was offset by a peaceful sense of well being. This whole time, even when it felt like she stood utterly alone, Cici had been there for her, trying to reach her. There’d been no cause for worry after all. Meeting her mother would be the biggest day of Rorie’s life, but she knew she could make it through with her partner by her side.
Chapter 21
Rorie shot up in bed at the blaring of an unfamiliar alarm. Her heart raced in the darkened room until she remembered where she was. She felt a stirring on the mattress beside her, and breathed in a faint whiff of lavender. Cecily. She sank back down into the bed, fumbling around on the nightstand until her hand connected with the snooze button on the clock. At least, she assumed that’s what she'd hit since the room was suddenly silent.
“What time’s the meeting with the caseworker?” Cecily mumbled against her neck as she snuggled in close.
Rorie breathed in deeply and stretched her legs beneath the sheets, waiting for the details of the day to sort themselves in her still-fuzzy brain. “Ten o’clock?”
“It’s seven now. We can stay in bed until room service arrives at seven-thirty.”
“You ordered us room service?” The rumbling of Rorie’s stomach provided punctuation for her question. “I think I could get used to the new, less frugal you.”
“Don’t get too excited, I haven’t given up on my resolve just yet. But, there are better things to worry about right now than hunting for breakfast.”
“Like what the hell I’m going to say to my mother when I see her?” Rorie’s fingers twisted and rolled the edge of the sheet nervously. “I’ve been so caught up in searching for her, and then the excitement of finding her, that I haven’t even thought about what I’m actually going to do.”
Cecily pressed her hand atop Rorie’s until her fingers were still. “Don’t worry about what to do. Just be there and it’ll come to you.” She lifted Rorie’s hand brushed it against her lips.
“What if she doesn’t want to see me?”
“I can’t imagine any mother feeling that way, can you?”
“I’ll admit that I’m no expert on what mothers feel. Although with Tyler around, maybe I’ve gotten a little bit of a clue. And no, I guess I can’t imagine that.”
“Oh?” Cecily’s tone was teasing. “Is Tyler winning you over to motherhood at last?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” Rorie paused as it occurred to her that Cecily was still well within childbearing years. As was she, come to think of it. “Cici? You don’t…Do you ever think of doing the whole motherhood thing again?”
“Why, do you?” There was caution in her response.
“I meant it when I said I’d never seen myself as a mother. It’s not something I ever pictured doing. But…you’re only forty-one.”
“Only?” Cecily responded with a snort. “I don’t know why people insist that’s young. It sure doesn’t feel like it at the end of a sixteen hour day when you’re the oldest person on set by a decade!”
“I only meant, if you still wanted more kids, it’s something we could… talk about.”
Cecily was quiet for a moment. “I know how much that means, coming from you. But I think I’m just as happy the way we are. Are you?”
“Yes.” Relief washed over her, although she was surprised that just a drop of disappointment was mixed in, too. Raising a baby together would have been quite an adventure. Just not one they were destined for in this lifetime. “Well, actually, there’s one thing that would make me happier. I wish when we were together, we weren’t always counting the days until we said goodbye.” Rorie sighed. “Maybe someday we can live in the same city, or—daring, I know—in the same house?”
“Mmm, someday,” Cecily mumbled as she kissed Rorie’s shoulder, then gave it a nip with her teeth. “Come on, time to get up. Breakfast will be here soon.”
They finished breakfast and were on the road in plenty of time to travel the short distance between the hotel and where Rorie’s mother lived. As they approached, Rorie noted that it was a plain building, institutional, but in decent repair. Entering through the automatic doors, she got the impression of cleanliness, though nothing close to extravagance. It was functional, which pleased her, but she had a hard time imagining living within its walls for as many years as her mother had. It lacked all inspiration.
Rorie checked in with the nurse at the front desk. They’d arrived early, so the nurse showed them to a grouping of upholstered chairs in a corner of what appeared to be a common room, where they could wait. There was a television on the wall and a few patients watched a daytime talk show while others sat at tables to play games or put together puzzles. Beside her, Cecily picked up a celebrity gossip magazine and pointed out an actor that she knew. While Cecily was content to flip through the pages to find the article, Rorie couldn’t settle down. Her foot twitched as she sat, until eventually she felt compelled to sta
nd and move around. She walked toward the windows at the far end of the common room and gazed out at a sprawling green lawn. Her eyes landed on one patient who sat on a bench under a tree just on the other side of the window, and her heart skipped a beat.
The woman she saw could have been her, in another twenty-five years. Her face was the same, but with lines and creases that were deep enough to be visible from a distance. The woman’s hair was curly, though cut short, and had once been black, but was now salted with gray. She had the patrician appearance of well-bred Creole lady, her features a perfect blend of African, French, Spanish, and Native American heritage that was strikingly beautiful even in her current state. The woman was looking directly at Rorie, or rather, through her, through the window—at least that’s how it felt. Behind her eyes of glacier blue, it seemed as if nothing was there but emptiness. Rorie knew that this must be her mother, Grace Mulloy. But she felt like she was looking at her ghost.
“I apologize for the wait.” The caseworker, Terry, walked in front of Rorie and Cecily with the heavy waddle of a pregnant woman nearing her due date. Her ankles were visibly swollen below the hem of her capris. “I’ve got a stack of cases to clear before I go on leave.”
Rorie tried not to stare at the woman’s massive ankles and bulging belly. If she hadn’t been convinced before that she and Cecily had reached the right conclusion with regard to childbearing that morning, this sight would have done the job. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Of course. I understand you have some questions about your mother?”
“Yes, anything you can tell me, really. We’ve been… out of touch for many years. I had no idea that she was in the condition she’s in.”
“Oh?” Terry’s face filled with surprise. “But I thought… no, never mind,” she amended, shuffling through the file folders on her desk. “That may have been another case, but I’ll never find it in this mess.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “We’re in the middle of transitioning to a new computer system. The old one’s already been disabled but the new one’s having trouble, so right now we’re operating on paper copies. Please continue, Ms. Mulloy. And, I’m sorry, you were?” She glanced from Rorie to Cecily questioningly.
“Cecily DuPont, her partner.” Cecily reached for Rorie’s hand and gave it a squeeze as she spoke.
Warmth spread through Rorie at that word: partner. It wasn’t one Cecily had used before to describe them, but Rorie liked how it sounded. Permanent, committed. It was a million times nicer than girlfriend, and made her feel like she wasn’t facing this alone.
Terry’s eyebrows shot up at hearing Cecily’s name and seeing their clasped hands. “Not Senator DuPont’s daughter? Well, whatever I can do, Ms. DuPont. And please, I hope you don’t get the impression that we’re letting the quality of our work suffer at all from these… inconveniences. I wouldn’t want the Senator to get that idea.”
It struck Rorie that in this particular case, the fact that her girlfriend—or partner, rather—was a DuPont was even more helpful to them than her budding celebrity as an actress. The caseworker was definitely going to give them her full attention now.
Terry dug through her files again, this time retrieving one from the teetering stack. “Your mother arrived at our facility in 1985. Hold on, no. This is one of those old purple mimeographed copies, and it’s hard to read. She was admitted to a different facility, then transferred here three years ago. I think.” Terry looked up and gave a nervous smile. “She was diagnosed as having a rare, catatonic form of schizophrenia.”
“You’re sure about that?” A touch of sarcasm tinged Cecily’s question. “You seem fuzzy on several of the details. You do have the right file now?”
“Well…I think so…”
“What about treatment?” Rorie’s hopes for their reunion were sinking. In her current state, her mother wouldn’t even know she was here.
Terry’s eyes shifted toward her closed office door. “I shouldn’t really talk about her treatment, but since you are her daughter, and since some of the doctors here don’t like to pay attention to the concerns of a mere caseworker, I’ll say this much: her meds could stand a closer look. I’ve only been assigned as her advocate for a short time, but between you and me, with the dosages she’s on, it’s just as likely the meds are causing her current state as it is the disease. You didn’t hear that from me, of course.”
“Of course not. So, there might be alternative treatments to explore?”
“Yes, but the facilities that offer the best treatments are costly. We rely on the state for our funding, and we have to make it stretch a lot further than we’d like.” She looked accusingly at Cecily when she said this, as the closest thing to a government representative in the room.
Rorie was puzzled. “But the Courville family has money.”
“Courville, you said? Not Corbil?” Terry shoved the folder in her hand aside and opened a different one, flipping through the pages inside. “She hasn’t got family that I know of. It says here that when she was admitted there was a small trust, but it’s long since gone. I was under the impression that any relatives were deceased.” She found the paper she was looking for and cried out triumphantly. “Ha! Yes, here we go. This is what I was remembering from before. I knew her daughter was on here. Yes, the only family listed here is her daughter, Rebecca.”
Rorie’s jaw dropped. “Who?”
Terry gave her a funny look. “That's you, right? Rebecca?”
“No. It's Rorie.”
“Oh. Well, I knew it started with the letter r. So Rebecca must be your sister?” She looked from Rorie to Cecily and her expression grew confused. “I presume…wait, were you not aware you had a sister? You did say Courville? With a v?” Her eyes widened nervously. “If you’ll excuse me, I just need to go talk to my supervisor. I’ll be right back.”
Rorie looked at Cecily, her face a mask of shock. “This is all just another clerical error, right?”
“If it is, it's one hell of a mistake.” Cecily chewed her bottom lip. “You’ve never heard anything about a sister?”
Rorie’s hands shook against the arms of her chair, and she dug her fingernails in deep to gain control. “Cici, what if it’s not a mistake? What if I've found not only my mother, but a sister, too? I just don’t know what to do with any of this.”
“I don’t, either. But let’s wait and hear what Terry has to say when she gets back. You’re probably right that it was just another mix up. They seem to make a lot of them here. If I were on better terms with Daddy right now, I'd have a word with him about this.”
They waited for almost thirty minutes, but Terry never reappeared.
“Where do you think she is?” Rorie looked at her watch.
“I don’t know. Maybe her water broke on the way to her supervisor’s office?”
They both snickered, but it was obvious they were laughing to cover their rapidly increasing anxiety. Finally, just as Rorie was about to suggest they go to the front desk to remind someone they were there, the office door opened and a man walked in.
“Ms. Mulloy, Ms. DuPont. I’m Curtis Fletcher, the director of this facility.” He stuck out his hand and gave them each a firm shake. “I apologize at the way all of this was handled. You see, we’re in the process of changing filing systems—”
“We’ve heard,” Rorie interrupted. “What I really need to know now, Curtis, is whether there was a mix up with my mother’s files. Because as far as I know, I don’t have a sister.”
“There was a mix up,” he said hesitantly, “but not about your sister. Your mother had a child, a daughter named Rebecca, in 1984. She was placed with your mother’s aunt at the time of her admittance, and then went into the foster care system when the aunt died.”
“My mother remarried?” Rorie cringed inwardly at the thought of breaking that news to her father. It was clear he was still crazy about her.
“No, not that we know of from the records. I don’t know how to put this delicately, Ms. Mulloy, bu
t your mother had untreated schizophrenia and was living on the streets. There’s really no telling exactly how she came to have that baby.”
Rorie swallowed hard as her stomach did a flip. She thought of the pictures of her vibrant mother, and of the hollow shell of a woman she’d seen in the yard, and of what she might have been through to become that way. Perhaps some things were better left unknown.
“This Rebecca, my…sister. Where is she now? And what about the rest of my mother’s family? Why have they not been taking better care of her all this time?”
“I have the address of Rebecca's last foster home, but that’s from 2003. As for family, our records indicate the aunt who died was the only family left.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve seen how good your records are,” Rorie muttered.
“About that, Ms. Mulloy…”
Rorie looked up nervously, not really wanting to hear whatever else he had to say. “Yes?”
“I’m afraid there has been an even bigger mix up. With the billing. You see, your mother was admitted under her maiden name, Courville. But her billing files seem to have gotten confused with another patient who was here at the time with the last name Corbil.”
Rorie nodded slowly, afraid to find out where this was heading.
“Your mother had a trust fund set up for her when she first came here, but it’s used up and, as I said, she has no family left. We’ve been billing Medicare to cover her costs, but as it turns out, we were billing them under the information for Corbil. And Corbil, wouldn’t you know, died about a year ago.”
“I see.” Rorie swallowed. “Exactly what does that mean? Does she owe for the past year?”
“No! No, nothing like that. She doesn’t owe anything. Yet. But, when Terry brought this into me, of course I corrected the error right away. And as a result, the government rejected her claim for next month. The government has policies about paying for treatment when a patient is dead, you know.”
Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two) Page 40
