You Were Always Mine

by Nicole Baart

  “Is there anything I can do?” Anthony asked when she paused in his office on her way out.

  “I’m fine.” Jess tried out a smile. It stuck, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “I just have a lot of things to think about.”

  He nodded in understanding. “I’ll file this tomorrow.” He held up the papers that Jessica assumed requested their adoption records to be unsealed. “I have to be honest with you, though: it’s going to take a while. I’m pretty sure the court is closed tomorrow, and then there’s the holiday . . .”

  “It’s not a problem,” Jess assured him, waving her hand to dismiss his concern. “No rush.”

  Anthony paused for a moment, clearly wanting to say something else, though Jess’s body language did not invite further intrusion. He probed anyway. “Would you like to talk about what’s in the letter?”

  “No.” Jess turned to go, but something made her pause. What did she have to lose? “Does Promise ever work with James Rosenburg Law?”

  “James Rosenburg,” Anthony repeated. He looked confused, but Jess couldn’t tell if it was because he truly had no idea what she was talking about or if he was trying to stall. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”

  Jess spun on her heel. “Please call me when you hear something.”

  “I’m not done yet!” Gabe half shouted when she walked into the reception area. The puzzle didn’t look much different than it had when Jess had left him at the little picnic table, but he had moved several pieces around.

  “It’s okay, bug.” Jess crouched down beside him and wrapped her arms around his solid frame. She nuzzled her nose into the nape of his neck and pressed her lips to his warm skin. But he was already wriggling out of her embrace.

  “I have to finish it. I only have ten pieces left.”

  There were far more than ten pieces left to fit into the puzzle, and as Jess studied it she realized that Gabe had forced a couple of mismatched pieces into the wrong spots. One cardboard corner was bent and frayed.

  “We’ll start a puzzle at home.” Jess tried to soothe him by rubbing soft circles on his back. “We have lots in the closet. We can do it together over Thanksgiving break.”

  “I want to do this puzzle!”

  “He’s been like this since you left,” Max said from behind a People magazine.

  “You could have helped him.” Jess pushed herself up and reached for Gabe’s hand. “Come on, buddy.”

  “I did.” Max tossed the magazine on the table in front of him. It slipped right off the smooth surface and landed facedown on the floor. Max didn’t pick it up. “He wouldn’t let me touch a single piece.”

  Gabe was crying now, whimpering something about puzzles and pieces fitting together. He did this from time to time, became fixated on something that he couldn’t do. But he couldn’t have a meltdown. Not here. The evidence against her would be too compelling if Jess had to manhandle her bawling son out the door of the adoption agency. Gabe had lost it in public places before. Jess had been forced to grab onto whatever flailing limb she could catch and pin a smile to her face while she tried to safely, carefully remove her wild child from a triggering situation. People didn’t understand. She worried that Anthony Bartels would certainly not understand.

  “Here,” Jess said, fishing in her purse and coming up with a fun-size candy bar. More sugar, but if it calmed him down, it was worth it.

  Gabe took the candy, momentarily placated, and Jess snagged him by the hand and led him to the door. “It was a difficult puzzle,” Jess muttered to herself, fishing in her coat pocket for her car keys. “There were too many pieces.”

  Max caught her eye, and she was surprised to see him give a single, fierce nod of agreement. She forgot sometimes that in spite of all his angst, he loved Gabe, too.

  “I have one more quick stop,” Jess said when everyone was buckled into the car. Gabe was still mewling a bit, but his mood hadn’t swung into a full-blown tantrum, and for that she was eternally grateful. His mouth was smeared in chocolate and he didn’t seem to register her announcement, but Max did.

  “No,” Max said definitively. “Drop me off at home if you have to, but I’m not sitting in another waiting room for half an hour. I have a test tomorrow.”

  “What?” Jess flicked on her blinker and merged into oncoming traffic. Auburn was hardly a metropolis, but the window between after school and after work was always busy. She wanted to give Max her full attention, but she was focused on the road. Jess managed: “That doesn’t make sense. Who would schedule a test for the half day before Thanksgiving break?”

  “Mr. Wallis.”

  “Science?”

  Max drummed his fingers on the console between them. “Yes, science. I have to study.”

  “It’ll just be a couple of minutes, Max.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  Jess could feel frustration coming off her son in waves. It was heady, laced with oak and resin and just a hint of sweat. He had PE today, Jess could tell. He refused to shower afterward and she didn’t blame him. She remembered all too well the gauntlet that had been the girls locker room during her adolescence.

  “I promise,” Jess said, softening. “Mere minutes. You can stay in the car. We’ll leave it running.”

  But catching Dr. Sanderson after work was easier said than done. The parking lot of Auburn Family Medicine was crammed with cars—so much so that there wasn’t a single parking spot available. Jess circled through the lot and back onto the road so that she could go around the block and try the back entrance where the employees parked.

  “Why are we at Daddy’s work?” Gabe asked from the backseat. His voice caught on the word “Daddy,” but Jess wasn’t sure if it was because of emotion or because his vocal cords were weary from whining.

  “I have to talk to Dr. Sanderson for a minute.” Jess turned down the back alley and drove to the spot that had been marked for her husband. The sign denoting Dr. Evan Chamberlain’s space had not yet been removed, and it was conspicuously empty in a parking lot that was so crowded there was an SUV with two tires straddling the curb.

  “But why?”

  Jess pulled into her husband’s space and put the car in park. Draping one arm over the backseat she gave her youngest a small smile. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, avoiding his question. Jess could feel the fragility of the moment, the fine strands of emotion that corded her heart at the thought of the letter secreted away in her purse, and the understanding that this was incomprehensible to her children. An awful, wicked situation that left them tender. Vulnerable. “I’ll be so quick,” Jess promised, hoping it was true. “You won’t even know that I’m gone.”

  Jess couldn’t slip in the back door even if she wanted to—the clinic was locked tight as a drum because of the fastidiously monitored cabinet that was filled with prescriptions. So she hurried around the side of the building, pulling her coat close and tucking her chin beneath the fringe of faux fur that lined her hood.

  The waiting room was packed to the gills, overflowing with people in various stages of distress. Even though Jess had spent nearly twenty years with a family practitioner for a husband, she was surprised by the crowd of people, the need that filled the room with a quiet desperation.

  It was a bad time. Though there was little that Jess wanted more in that moment than to interrogate Peter Sanderson, it was obvious that her timing was way off. Digging in her purse, Jess came up with an old receipt and a ballpoint pen that was missing its cap. Making her palm into a table of sorts, Jess scribbled a quick note.

  Beth was behind the receptionist’s desk again, and she looked up at Jessica with a frazzled expression that she tried to mask behind a fake smile. Jess wasn’t buying it, and she wasn’t going to take a second more of her time than necessary.

  “Hey, Beth. Sorry to bother you on such a busy afternoon. I have a note for Dr. Sanderson,” Jess said, holding out the folded receipt. “Could you please make sure that he gets it?”


  Beth took the paper reluctantly, but Jess knew that it was the only hope she had of getting in touch with Peter soon. Beth wouldn’t give out his cell phone number. Not even to Jess. And though Jessica could call the clinic directly and leave a voice mail on his private line, with the waiting room backed up as much as it was, she doubted he’d listen to it before Thanksgiving. Jess couldn’t stand the thought of waiting any longer. She felt like events had wound themselves around her, whirling tighter and tighter until she had no choice but to spin free or snap.

  “I’ll try.” The red light on Beth’s headset started to flash and she put up one finger as if to ward Jessica off.

  “Please,” Jess said. “It’s important.”

  Beth nodded, but she was already saying hello to whoever was on the line. Jess stayed put, watching until Beth took a tack out of the cork board beside her and pinned the note at the very center. She glanced back at Jessica as if to say: There.

  Jess nodded and gave her a little wave, but Beth had already turned away.

  * * *

  Gabe was calm as they drove home, so Jessica took a quick detour and grabbed a rotisserie chicken from The Food Court. She had a bagged salad in the fridge and a couple of potatoes sprouting in the pantry. It wouldn’t be hard to make up a few mashed potatoes. Jess felt nearly frantic with energy—capable of whipping them herself.

  “I’m hungry now,” Gabe complained as they stomped off their feet in the entryway and hung their coats on hooks. Max was already on his way to his room, science book tucked under one arm.

  “We’ll have supper in half an hour. You can wait that long.” Jess carried the plastic container into the kitchen and set it in the oven to stay warm. Then she went riffling through the pantry for the potatoes she was sure were there. Emerging with the sagging mesh bag in hand, she asked, “Want to be my helper?”

  Gabe shrugged. “What do I have to do?”

  “Peel potatoes. It’s easy.”

  They washed their hands at the kitchen sink and then Jess showed him how to run the peeler down one side of the soft, brown potato. A flat strip fell, revealing the cool, white flesh beneath. It was a magic of sorts, and Gabe thought so, too. He bit his bottom lip as he took the potato from her and began to pare off little snips of skin.

  “I’m not good at this,” he complained after a few minutes.

  “You’re great at it.” Jess glanced into the sink at the pile of peels and then took the potato from Gabe. It was dusted brown from his now-dirty fingers, but she ran it beneath a thin stream of water and it emerged nearly unblemished. “See? Good job.”

  Gabe wasn’t as convinced, but he grabbed another potato and began the process again while Jess cubed the one in her hand into a small pot. She couldn’t stop herself from stealing peeks at her son. The edge of the sink hit him square in the chest so his arms were curled up and over. It looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t complain. He just set his jaw and focused on what he was doing, oblivious to everything but the task at hand.

  It was so encouraging to see him so engaged. Jess loved it when Gabe found his rhythm, when the neurons that kept him sparking like an explosive calmed down enough just to let him be. He was a wonder to behold.

  What had she looked like? The thought snuck up on Jessica so suddenly she had to put her hands on the counter to steady herself. It wasn’t something she had ever considered before. Gabe’s birth mom was a black spot in her personal history, a bit of trouble that Jess would rather forget. But here she was imagining her. With Gabe’s neat, little nose. A head full of his soft curls. Skin that was at once brown sugar and candlelight, infused with warmth from within. Jess had no doubt that she was singularly lovely. The kind of woman who required a second glance.

  Jess wished for one startling moment that she had known her.

  Of course, they had her complete medical history. Several pages of diagnoses and diseases, things like hypertension and breast cancer on the maternal side. But after glancing at those clinical, impersonal sheets Jess had tucked them away and barely given them a second thought. Gabriel was her son—her son—and somehow all of those dispassionate facts and figures seemed completely detached from who he really was. None of that mattered. None of it was him.

  But as she stared at Gabe carefully peeling another potato, Jess felt for just a moment that she was looking at a complete stranger. What secrets lurked beneath his skin? What preferences and proclivities? He passionately loved dill pickles, and Jess could hardly stand the smell. When they ordered hamburgers at McDonald’s, he grabbed hers before she took a single bite and plucked off the pickles for her. And Gabe liked to sing. In the shower and in the car. While he was playing with his LEGO, and sometimes especially when it was irritating his brother. Jess couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabe asked.

  Jess looked up quickly, feeling like she had been caught in the act. Of doing what? Wishing that things had been different? That she had been different? She had been young and hurting and ignorant. The world looked very different from where she now stood.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Jess forced a smile and reached for the potato that he was holding out for her. “Thanks so much for helping me.”

  He picked up another potato, humming as he laid the peeler against the skin and began to laboriously flick off little shavings.

  It flashed through her heart so fast Jess wondered if she had thought it at all.

  I wish you had known her.

  And then: I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.

  * * *

  September 29, 2018

  Dad’s townhouse is kind of a shithole. I mean, it’s new and all, but I hate it here. So does G. It doesn’t help that Dads a total psycho these days. He’s always on his computer or writing things down and stuffing them in this old file folder. I have one like it for school, but it’s plastic and see-thru so I can find what I need. Ds is brown and dark and he’s always dumping everything out and rearranging it and talking to himself. But don’t try to help! He’ll freak out. Yesterday I found a business card on the table for some law office. James Rosenburg. And Dad yanked it out of my hand. Leave it alone! he said. And that’s funny because he had written those exact words on the back of the card.

  I thought M+D might get back together but now I don’t know. I think JR is a divorce lawyer. G asks me when we’re all going to live together again so I lie and say soon. But I don’t think so. Ds not interested in us anymore. Not really. I was trying to help G with an assignment today and D lost it. He felt bad afterward, I could tell. So he told me some stuff about Gs birth mom and told me not to tell M. Its kinda weird. Her name was LaShona, but Dad said she died. I guess that’s sad, but I didn’t know her. D didn’t know her either. Not really. But I’m pretty sure he’s trying to help her. I just don’t know why.

  M says D is a helper by nature. Duh. As if we don’t all know. D doesn’t have any decorations in the apartment, but theres a picture in the living room that says: “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.” Maybe thats why he forgets sometimes to do things for us.

  —Max

  Vivian H.

  24, mixed race, working on GED

  Dark hair dyed blond, roots showing. Small as a child. Looks 12.

  No one knows.

  MANSL/DEL CS, 30m, 17m pp

  CHAPTER 23

  DR. SANDERSON CALLED after Gabe was asleep. Jess was curled up on the couch in the living room, wrapped chin to toes in a fleece blanket and shivering anyway. The TV was on, a rerun of Fixer Upper blinking in the background, but Jess wasn’t watching it. Her eyes were glazed over, her mind elsewhere. When the phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Hi, Jessica. It’s Peter Sanderson.”

  Jess sat up, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she clutched her cell to her ear. “Hello.” Her voice was thin, unused. “Thank you so much for calling me back.”

  “Of course, Jess. A
nything for you.” He went quiet for a moment, and if Jess was right, he was swallowing down some black emotion. She was reminded once again that she wasn’t the only one who missed Evan. “How are you doing?”

  “We’re okay.” Jess reached for the remote control and turned off the TV. The house was enveloped in a sudden stillness that seemed to crackle like ice forming. “It’s hard.”

  “I know. I mean, I don’t know. But I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks for calling,” Jess cut in, rescuing him from having to say more. He was obviously struggling. No one seemed to know how to talk to her anymore.

  Peter cleared his throat. “Your note said it was an emergency?” There was a hint of worry in his tone. Jess realized that he’d likely hop in his car and drive right over if she asked him to. Her request was much less complicated.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said it was an emergency,” Jess admitted. “But I really wanted you to call me back. I have some questions for you.”

  “Anything.”

  Jess reached for the folder that she had placed on the coffee table. Her notes were there, each musing circled or underlined, and every page crisscrossed with arrows. A map to everywhere and absolutely nowhere. Jess was out of her element, but she dove right in, pretending that she already knew much more than she did. “I was hoping that you could fill me in on Evan’s research project.”

  “Research project?”

  “Yes. He was conducting a research project on female inmates.”

  “Inmates?” Peter truly sounded shocked. It wasn’t the response that Jess had been hoping for. She was grasping at straws, trusting that one or two of her hunches would turn out to be on track. Or, at least not completely harebrained. It seemed she wasn’t going to be so lucky. Peter grunted softly. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t realize that Evan was doing any sort of research project.”