by Cat Johnson
He sprinted to the house, trying to avoid getting wet. Inside the front door, he shook the water off his hat and then hung it on the hook.
“Hey, Mom. I’m home.” Justin’s announcement didn’t elicit a response.
He walked through the kitchen, dark except for the waning light filtering through the windows. He noticed there wasn’t anything started for supper.
Continuing to the living room, he found her on the sofa in front of the television, wrapped in a blanket in spite of the warmth of the day.
“Hey.”
It took her a second to look up. Long enough that he wondered if she’d heard him. Finally, she glanced at him and said, “Hi.”
As she turned her focus back to the television, Justin sat next to her. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Nothing. I’m not hungry.” It was her usual response. A clap of thunder had her jumping. “There’s a storm coming.”
“Just a few storm clouds. It’ll pass.” He noticed for the first time what she was watching on television. The Weather Channel.
A banner that read Storm Alert in bright red text spanned the width of the screen. Leave it to the media to make an event out of anything, including a simple thunderstorm.
He drew in a breath and stood, knowing she’d sit there all night watching the live weather radar and worrying, and there was nothing he could do about it short of unplugging the TV.
“I’m gonna throw something together for dinner for myself.”
“I’m sorry. I can do it—” She flipped the blanket off and moved to get up.
Sometimes, on the better days, he saw her guilt when she realized he was pulling both his own weight and hers. That he’d work a full day at the ranch and then come home to cook, clean, and do laundry. On those days she’d try to make an effort to function normally.
“Stay. I got it. It’s fine.” He moved toward the kitchen, too hungry and not in the mood to watch her wander aimlessly around the kitchen, taking twice as long to do something as it would take him because she couldn’t focus her mind.
He’d defrost some of the chili he’d seen in the freezer. If he delivered a bowl to her where she sat, she’d eat at least some of it, just to make him happy. That would have to do for now.
The best he could do was get some food into her. Then he’d convince her to take one of the pills the doctor had prescribed for her after his brother’s death. The ones that calmed her and made her sleep.
They were out of refills on the prescription and the bottle was getting dangerously low, but she took them so infrequently, there were still enough left to get her through the next month, when she’d need them most. After that, he’d have to convince her to go to the doctor again and get more.
Hell, maybe he should be taking the meds, too. Though he preferred to self-medicate with the good old-fashioned, tried-and-true medicinal properties of booze.
Five minutes in the microwave and dinner was ready.
Justin looked down at his culinary creation as he carried the two bowls to the living room. He had managed to put together a decent-looking dinner for them, and in just a few minutes.
It was amazing what a guy could do with a microwave and some incentive.
Dinner consisted of hot chili, smothered in the shredded Cheddar cheese he’d found in the fridge. It wasn’t gourmet, but it would fill the hole in his stomach fine.
More importantly, the food should warm up his mother, who looked inexplicably chilled on a day Justin had spent sweating. Of course he was warm because he’d been doing physical labor, while it looked as if she hadn’t moved more than to go from her bedroom to the sofa.
When he returned to the living room, she still sat right where he’d left her—on the sofa.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“Mom—”
“Justin, you eat. Don’t worry about me,” his mother cut him off while not touching the bowl he’d put in front of her on the coffee table.
“Momma, I’m going to eat. I promise you that. But I want you to eat, too.” When she didn’t look as if she was going to do as he’d asked, Justin added, “Please? Just take one bite and make me happy.”
She sighed but finally nodded. “Okay. Thank you. It looks good.”
“It is good.” As Justin talked, his mom took one bite. “I might not be a gourmet like those chefs you watch on that cooking channel you like, but I do know spiced beef.”
“You do. So did your father.” She forced a smile, but it faded quickly with her mention of his father. “His specialty was chili, you know.”
He watched her reach out and put the bowl back on the coffee table after only taking that one bite.
“Dad was who taught me how to make chili, though I do add my own secret ingredient . . . mostly because he wouldn’t reveal his.” Justin tried desperately to salvage the meal by bringing up a good memory from the old days, when his father and brother were both still alive.
He wanted to be able to reminisce with her. About his dad. About his brother. Remembering things that would make them both smile and help them heal. But she obviously wasn’t ready for that. She remained silent as she pulled the blanket closer around her.
Frustration and anger roiled through him. At times like this, he wanted to shake the sad out of her, while at the same time he wanted to hug and comfort her until all the hurt went away.
He was the son and she was the mother, dammit. This role reversal messed with his head as much as his inability to help her no matter what he did.
His own appetite ruined now, Justin stood. One glance at the weather radar on the screen showed him that the storm had moved past them. Clear skies were over their corner of Oklahoma.
The rain had stopped. He could see that through the window, and he hadn’t heard any thunder since before he’d made dinner.
He grabbed her bowl to carry it to the kitchen with his. “I’m going out for a little bit. You going to be a’ight?”
The only indication she’d even heard the question was the dip of her head as her eyes remained glued to the television.
“A’ight. I’ll see you later, then.”
She didn’t respond at all this time. That reinforced his confidence that he could leave her. She probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone.
It was better he go anyway because he was angry, even though he had no right to be. He strode to the kitchen, tossing both bowls onto the shelf of the fridge uncovered. He reached for his keys and was about to head out the door when he changed his mind. He was in the mood to wallow in his own misery, and he did that best while in his brother’s truck.
Justin tossed his own truck keys onto the counter and reached for the hook where the keys to his brother’s truck hung.
Much more of this and he was going to be as broken as his mother. Then what the hell were they going to do? They’d be two depressed, damaged individuals who couldn’t even get out of their own way, forget about earn a living or maintain a home.
He needed a break. Rohn would give him the time he needed to get out of town for a few days.
After all the stock he’d broken for the man, on top of everything else he did around the ranch, his boss owed him at least a couple of days off.
Of course Justin would have to call his aunt to see if she’d come check on his mother while he was gone. Maybe she’d even stay at the house while he was away. He’d feel better knowing someone was there with his mother at night. The sisters could have a girls’ night. Just because he was trying to escape from all humanity didn’t mean his mother craved the same.
It calmed him even thinking that he was going to get away for a few days. He could drive to . . . hell, he didn’t know where. Anywhere would be fine.
He’d been ready to crawl out of his own skin the past few weeks. He only hoped he’d be able to stand his own company for long enough to get out of town.
His boss would have to understand Justin’s need for the time off.
Rohn had lost his wife to cancer over five years ago. It had taken nearly that long for the man to recover. At least he hadn’t dated in all that time. Not until this summer, when Rohn’s old high school friend, Bonnie Martin, had come back to town. Now the two were engaged and Rohn acted like a new person.
Surely Rohn would realize that as the two-year anniversary of Jeremy’s death approached, Justin would need some personal time.
As the ranch came into view, Justin figured he’d know Rohn’s answer either way soon enough.
Chapter Five
Phoenix turned her key in the lock and flipped open the metal door of the mailbox. She peered inside and saw the small box was stuffed full.
Knowing it would be mostly junk mail and the rest bills, she sighed as she reached in and grabbed the bundle. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about the junk mail or the bills.
She closed the door and pulled out the key before turning toward the stairs leading up to her apartment.
One flight up and another turn of a key—this one for her tiny apartment—and she was home. The new school year started in a week and a half and in preparation, she’d been at school almost every day this week, in meetings and setting up her classroom. All the things it took to prepare for another school year.
It was exhausting, but more than that, it meant her summer break was almost over. The same old feelings she’d had as a child hit her just as hard as an adult.
Phoenix wanted to hold on to the last days of summer, even as they slipped through her grasp. In that respect, students and teachers were no different.
Mail in hand, she flopped backward onto the sofa. Flipping through the stack, she was about to write the whole pile off as junk when she saw an official-looking envelope from Arizona.
Arizona?
She looked more closely at the return address.
Office of Vital Records, Arizona Department of Health Services.
It took a few seconds before realization hit. Her duplicate birth certificate. She’d applied for it close to two weeks earlier, long enough ago that she’d forgotten about it.
Tearing into the envelope, Phoenix held her breath, more than anxious to see what was inside. It could just as easily be a sorry, no-duplicate-for-you letter. But as she pulled out the papers, she saw the heading on one page and let herself breathe again.
Certificate of Birth.
She glanced over the document, across fields listing the county, state, and city of her birth. Date of birth. And mother’s name.
The name typed into that field stopped Phoenix in her tracks.
Bonnie Martin.
Her adoption had been closed, meaning she didn’t know her birth parents’ names and they didn’t know who had adopted her. All parties had agreed to no exchange of information during the adoption process and no contact afterward.
Phoenix had never even heard her birth mother’s name. It certainly hadn’t been listed on her original certificate. That one had listed her adoptive parents.
Though, now that she thought about it, that certificate must have been modified and the one in her hands was a copy of the real original, filled out by Phoenix Baptist Hospital at the time of her birth.
She looked closer at the rest of the information.
Instead of her name, she was listed as Female Martin, leading her to believe that her birth mother, Bonnie Martin, whoever she was, had given her baby away immediately. Even before she’d named her.
Why? What had inspired this woman to give up her baby so quickly? So completely.
The space for the father’s name was blank. That was probably the answer right there. Bonnie had been an unwed mother.
Phoenix had never been one of those adopted children who thought much about her natural parents. The people she’d called mother and father for as long as she could remember were her real parents as far as she was concerned. But seeing her birth mother’s name had her wondering about things. Asking questions she’d never thought she needed or wanted to know the answers to.
In the age of the Internet, it was easy enough to open a browser and do a search. Too easy.
Ignoring the overwhelming feeling niggling at the back of her consciousness that she could be opening a Pandora’s Box, Phoenix hauled herself off the sofa. She headed for the desk against the wall by the window and pulled out the chair.
Sitting, she stared at the closed laptop.
When she’d first walked through the door, she’d been planning to sort through the mail and then investigate what was in the fridge that she could use to throw together dinner for herself.
Hunger took a backseat to curiosity as, bracing herself for what she might find, she flipped open the laptop and hit the Power button. The screen came to life.
Drawing in a deep breath, Phoenix opened a browser and typed into the search field her birth mother’s name, followed by the city and state listed on the certificate.
It was a long shot, but she hit Enter anyway.
A page of search results appeared. As her breathing grew short and shallow, Phoenix clicked to open the page for the white pages residential listing of a Bonnie Martin in Phoenix, Arizona.
She stared at the screen, reasoning that this might not be her mother. Martin was a common last name. Not quite like Smith or Johnson, but common nonetheless. But the name Bonnie wasn’t so common. The combination of first name and last name, along with the listing in the city in which she was born made her feel this was very possibly her mother.
This Bonnie Martin, who lived on West Meadowbrook Avenue, could very well be the woman who’d carried Phoenix for nine months. The same woman who’d then given her nameless baby away to a childless couple whom she knew nothing about.
The reality of the situation began to feel overwhelming. She’d never cared that she’d been given up for adoption. Why should she? Her parents were wonderful. They had given her anything and everything she’d ever needed. She hadn’t missed out on anything growing up. But what would it be like to look into the face of her birth mother?
What would it feel like to possibly see eyes as blue as her own staring back at her? To have a stranger see them together and remark how much they looked like mother and daughter?
More, what would it be like to know her inability or maybe just lack of interest in staying organized was inherited and not just her own laziness, as her father so often insinuated?
Did her love of books come from her birth mother or father? And who was this man who’d contributed to her existence? Had her birth parents been young and in love? Star-crossed lovers who could never be together for some reason she couldn’t fathom?
Jeesh. Now she really was letting her imagination run away with her. Chances were her natural parents’ love story was nothing like Romeo and Juliet. Her birth was more likely the result of a drunken frat party or a one-night stand lacking in birth control.
She wasn’t sure what clerical error had led to her having in her hand the very information she needed to meet her birth mother, but now that she had it, she had to decide what to do.
Did she honestly want to know the reality, the circumstances behind her birth, or was it best to leave things as they had been intended during the closed adoption—a secret?
The ringing of the phone made Phoenix jump in her chair. Dragging herself away from the computer screen, and the key to unlocking the secrets of her past, she stood and dove for the phone.
The ID listed her friend Kim’s name on it.
Phoenix hit to answer. “Hey.”
“Hi. Why do you sound breathless?”
“My duplicate birth certificate just arrived.”
“Well, hallelujah. Now you can apply for the passport and I won’t have to worry I’ll be in Aruba all alone. Of course then I’d have all the men to myself, so maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”
Phoenix moved back to the desk and stared at the information her Web search had unearthed. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Um, am I boring you?” Kim asked.
“Strange how?”
“Well, my original one—”
“You mean the one you lost?”
“Yes.” Phoenix rolled her eyes at the interruption, and the reminder she didn’t need or want. “Anyway, that one listed both names of my adopted parents and then my full name.”
“Okay. And?”
“This one doesn’t show any of that. This paper lists a Bonnie Martin as my mother.”
“And is that your birth mother’s name?”
“I never knew her name. That’s the point. It was a closed adoption. Her name wasn’t supposed to be given to us even if we asked for it. Ever.”
“Oh, boy. Somebody at the department of records screwed up big-time.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. That first certificate—the one I lost—must have been the one for the adoption, but there was still an original from the hospital where I was born.”
“And that’s the one the person filling your request for a duplicate copied.”
“Exactly.” Phoenix nodded.
“Wow.”
That was an understatement for how she felt about the whole thing. “So now what do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.” Phoenix flopped against the chair back heavily.
“Well, do you want to meet her?”
“I think I might want to.” She’d never been interested in the past before, but now, staring at the name on the screen, things were different.
“What other information is on the certificate?”
“Not much. The name of the hospital in Arizona, but that’s about it. There’s no father’s name.”
“Unwed mother.”
“Most likely.”
“So how will you find her?” Kim asked.
“I Googled her.”
“And?”
“There’s a Bonnie Martin living in Phoenix, Arizona.”
“Oh my gosh. You have to go find her. It’s not that far.”
