by Laurel Dewey
“She’s not here,” Jane quickly suggested.
“Give it time, Jane. It ain’t like you called her ahead of time and told her to wait at the curb.”
Harlan suggested they drive the short distance to the restaurant, which took all of three minutes, including parking. After half an hour, Jane was ready to call it a day when a woman walked out of the restaurant and headed around the corner into an alley that framed the building.
“Jane? That’s her!”
Jane felt her heart shudder. “Yeah. I know.” She pulled the 1967 black and white photo of her mother and Harry Mills out of the file and grabbed her wallet. “I’m doing this alone, Harlan.” She got out of the van and walked with hesitation to the mouth of the alley. Peering midway down the alley, she spotted Wanda edging closer to the side and then hiding quickly behind a huge commercial dumpster.
“Shit,” Jane murmured, figuring her timing couldn’t be worse. She jogged down the alley, slowing her pace as she moved within twenty feet of Wanda. The first thing she saw was Wanda’s waitress cap peeking out from the top edge of the trash. The second thing she heard was the frantic flicking of a butane lighter. “Hey!” Jane shouted.
Wanda slammed her body against the large metal container and spun around. “Who’s there?”
Jane was taken back by the voice. It sounded rather weak. “Wanda LeRóy?” she asked, realizing she sounded way too much like a cop.
There was a slight pause. “Yes?” she said, still obscured.
Jane’s mouth went dry. “Come out, would you? I need to talk to you.”
Wanda carefully slipped out of the shadows. She wore a soft pink uniform and a nametag with a pink ribbon and tiny brass angel glued on it. Her dirty blond hair was swept in a neat bun, exposing her ten earrings in one ear and seven in the other. Looking down at her fingernails, they’d been chewed to the quick. Her teeth were stained with nicotine and in desperate need of a dentist. She looked underweight to Jane, as her uniform hung a little too loose around her waist.
“What’s going on?” Wanda asked in a soft voice.
Jane stared a little too long. “What are you smoking?”
“You a cop?”
“You doing drugs?” Jane quickly asked.
Wanda brought out cigarette and lighter. “Yeah. Nicotine. It’s the hardest one to quit, you know?”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
She tilted her head in a puzzled manner. “Who are you?”
She hesitated again. “Jane. My name’s Jane.” She couldn’t stop staring. It was jarring to her, but at the same time, mesmerizing. It was strange and yet familiar. They were the same height and, looking into Wanda’s eyes, she couldn’t help but see a reflection of herself. It was in the way she licked her lips and looked off to the side when she answered a question. And there was the sigh. Somehow, across the channels of space and time, her other half had learned to sigh exactly the way Jane sighed in pitch perfect harmony. Wanda’s body was ravaged by time but her mind hadn’t agreed to it. She could still talk herself into believing she was twenty-one years old and invincible. Somehow, even after all the abuse from the drugs and the hard lifestyle, Wanda hadn’t lost that optimistic spark. It was still there in the corners of her eyes, battling for dominance.
“What do you want?” Wanda asked.
Jane swallowed hard as she held out the photo. “The woman on the left…” She hesitated, realizing she hadn’t rehearsed a damn thing. Of all the meetings to come to unprepared, this wasn’t the one.
“What about her?”
“Her name…Her name is Anne LeRóy.”
Wanda’s eyes widened. “What?”
“That’s your birth mother. And the man next to her is Harry Mills. That’s your father.” She handed the photo to her.
Wanda stared at the photo, her body gradually shaking.
“Please don’t tell me you need a drink.” Jane nervously said. “Are you okay?”
“No. I need to sit down,” she faintly said.
They walked down the alley and across the street to a small park. Taking a seat at a picnic table, Jane waited until Wanda calmed down.
“You going to ask who I am?”
Wanda looked at Jane, her brown eyes studying every line and crease. Finally, she replied. “I think I know.”
“You know?” Jane asked, skeptically.
“I’ve been looking for you my entire life,” she said as her eyes teared.
“I don’t understand.”
“When I lived at the orphanage, it was pretty bad. On visiting day, I’d get all dressed up in a fluffy dress that was only reserved for that occasion. And I’d sit perfectly still in the front window seat. And I’d wait. When the lady who ran the place asked me who I was waiting for, I told her I was waiting for my sister to show up. Of course, she laughed at me and told me I was an only child and that nobody was ever going to come for me.” A tear rolled down her weathered face. “But I never stopped waiting. I just knew. I can’t explain it. Somehow, I’d meet the part of me that I always knew existed and I would know her when she showed up.” Wanda gave the photo another good gaze. “She looked like a lot of fun. Was she?”
“When she conceived you, she was having a lot of fun. By the time I was conceived five years later, the only ‘fun’ was in dysfunctional.” Jane observed her. “I think maybe you got infused with that early lighthearted quality and I got stuck with the miserable end.”
Wanda looked up at her. “Are you miserable?”
The question came out of left field. “Isn’t everybody nowadays?”
“It’s a choice though, isn’t it?”
“Oh, fuck. You’re in AA, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s part of my probation. Why?”
“Because I can name it and claim it with the best of them.” She spied the cigarette pack. “You mind?” Jane took out a cigarette and lit up. “I’m only going to have three puffs.”
“I say the same thing,” Wanda smiled, taking a drag on her cigarette and admiring the photo of Anne again. “What was she like?”
“I never knew that side of her,” Jane offered, pointing to the photo. “By the time I showed up to the party, she was pretty beaten down. I realize now that part of that had to do with you. She used to stare out the kitchen window a lot. I thought she was trying to figure out how to disappear from my father. But now I wonder how many times she was thinking about you and wondering where you were at that moment.”
Wanda choked up. “That’s when she and I were thinking of each other.”
“Why do you say that?” Jane took another hit.
“Because I’d be walking along and for no reason whatsoever, I’d think of her. I had no idea what she looked like but I knew her by heart. And I’d wonder at that moment, now why in the world did that thought pop into my head right then? That’s when I realized it popped into my head because I was catching her thought on the wings of the angels.” She leaned closer to Jane. “I’m very intuitive. I sense you are, too?” She smiled. But a shadow of sadness quickly overcame her. “When did she die?”
“When I was ten.”
She was taken back. “And I would have been…”
“Almost fifteen.”
“Fourteen. Yeah. I remember. I changed right around that time. I’d been doing okay up until then but I recall just losing my anchor, so to speak—”
“You did…so to speak.” Jane shook her head, sucking in another dose of nicotine. “My fourteenth year didn’t turn out so great either. You lost your anchor and I lost my mind. I’ve been looking for it ever since.”
“You didn’t lose your mind,” Wanda said with a wry grin. “You lost your heart. Don’t worry, I get them confused too.”
“What do you mean I lost my heart?”
“Your willingness to love. Your fear that if you love too much,
the fall will destroy you. The knowing that losing the one rock in your life can change everything and leave you paralyzed to the point where love becomes too fraught with peril. Believe me, I get it. But what are the options, right? Living alone? Hangin’ on by a thread? Counting the days until you drop from this world? No, I don’t care what the question is.” she said wistfully. “Choose love as the answer.”
“Sounds like a bumper sticker.”
“It’s the way I live my life. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions, I grant you that much. But I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve loved again. It’s easier to slay a dragon than it is to love another human being with every fiber of your soul. To give that much, to risk that much, is more than most can handle.” She set down the photo. “You know what I think? I think people are afraid their reserves will become exhausted and a big hole will form in their heart. They’re afraid that nothing will come to fill that empty space. And just the fear of that possibility is enough to make a strong person run from a chance at happiness.”
Jane sat back, taking a hard drag on the cigarette. “How in the hell did you figure all that out?”
“I’ve had a lot of down time, so to speak, over the last twenty-two years. Lots of time to lay on a cot and think.”
“And that is what you thought about?”
“It beat thinking and talking about what the other inmates were focused on. I tell you what, Jane, if I had to listen to one more story about victims, I’d carve a spoon into a knife and shank a fellow inmate just to have my ass thrown in solitary and get some peace and quiet.”
Jane looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. It sounded exactly like something she would say. She took another drag.
“You know, you’ve hit that more than three puffs. It’s such a bad habit,” she offered, taking a puff.
“I noticed,” Jane smiled. “But you’re just worried about my welfare, aren’t you?”
Wanda grinned as she played with one of her many earrings. “They call me the little mother over at the transitional housing center.”
“Is that right? You like to hover over people?”
“I guess.” She thought about it. “I think one of my problems is I’ll take care of everyone else but I won’t take care of myself. I have a hard time believing I’m worth it. Does that make any sense?”
Jane took a hard drag before crushing out the cigarette on the picnic table. “Too much sense.”
Wanda glanced at the photo again before returning her attention to Jane. “How’d you find me?”
Jane gave her the condensed version of how it all went down, leaving out the parts she felt were too hard to believe. “It was around the fifth of this month when it all came together and I found out where you were.”
Wanda looked stunned. “The fifth? You’re kidding?”
“No. Why?”
“That’s the day I left prison. I walked outside and my heart swelled. I’d felt so alone up to that point but then, I remember so clearly walking down that path and out of nowhere, I actually felt this strange sense that somebody out there cared. Like somebody was looking for me. I didn’t know it on that day but it was you. I could feel my life starting to come together, even though I didn’t know how it was going to happen. I felt it in here,” she touched her heart. “I would finally have an identity.” She reached forward, grasping Jane’s hand. “Do you have any idea what this means to me? To have this confirmation and realize that everything I felt as a kid in that damn orphanage was real. That my heart wasn’t lying to me after all?”
Jane nodded. “I do,” she whispered.
Wanda checked the time on her watch. “My break’s almost over. I can’t be late getting back. The job’s part of—”
“Your probation. I know. I understand how it works.”
Wanda didn’t move. “I’m not gonna wait tables forever. I’m just gonna do it until I find my purpose.” She smiled. “My sponsor told me something the other day that really stuck. She said, ‘Through work, you find your purpose. But through love, you find salvation. And through that salvation, you rediscover your purpose.” She looked at Jane. “Now that is a bumper sticker.” She swung her legs on the other side of the bench.
“Hang on a second,” Jane said, opening her wallet and bringing out the fake ID. “I had this made for you.” She handed it to Wanda.
“A fake ID?” she said with a grin. “I’ve had a few of these.”
“This one’s different,” Jane said, pointing to the wording on the ID. “It says, ‘Wanda Anne LeRóy.’ That’s so you’ll know your mother’s first name. Check out the address. ‘Three eleven’ is your birth date and ‘Harry Mills Street,’ that’s so you remember your father’s name. ‘Midas, Colorado’ is where I was when I discovered you.”
“Who’s that in the photo?”
“That’s me, prior to my makeover. And ‘January 11, 1972’ is my birthday. Just in case you want to send me a birthday card,” she said with a wry expression.
“And how would I do that?”
Jane thought about it. “I’ll send you my address.”
Wanda’s face saddened. “Right. Okay.” She looked off to the side. “I gotta go.” She got up and started off.
“I’m a cop,” Jane said.
Wanda stopped and turned around. “Is that right?”
“And my life is pretty complicated right now.”
“I see. Well…when it gets less complicated, look me up again, okay? You obviously have the ability to track me down.” She turned.
“She loved you, Wanda,” Jane loudly stated. “Please know that. You were loved from afar. You may not have felt it, but—”
“I did. I felt it.” She looked at Jane. “I’ll think of you, too. And hopefully you’ll know it when I do.” She turned around and walked out of the park.
Jane sat there for another half hour, waiting. She waited for answers that never came. Her mind was as blank as the miles of desert that stretched around her. She waited for direction but nothing happened. Saul assured her that when the time came, she’d know exactly what to do. But sitting there with the spring sun beating on her face, she was clueless. Her mind was toast. All the strategies and clever manipulations had vanished. What was left was an aching heart that willed her forward, even though she had no idea where it would lead her.
Returning to the van, she found Harlan seated in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Propped up in front of him on the dash was the last card.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“I will be.”
He turned to her. “I want to go home, Jane. It’s time.”
“Home?”
He nodded, reaching for the postcard of Chimayo. “Home.”
The eleven-mile drive took twenty-two minutes as the road narrowed and they snaked along Highway 76. The territory turned rural with low rolling hills and the occasional house tucked to the side. When they drove up to the adobe chapel, the parking lot was full. A crowd mulled around the front entrance and inside the front patio area. This was a good sign, Jane told herself. Sliding her 9mm in the rear waistband of her jeans, she got out of the van and walked alongside Harlan. As they wove in and around the tourists, Jane’s eyes never stopped observing everyone. She was keyed into locating black suits but she knew they could have sent anyone to do the job. So, she started looking for faces that she felt held bad intentions. But every face she stared into seemed to hold pain and hope in one breath. They were all looking for a miracle as they reverently filed into the church. Some of them took a seat and cried; others knelt in prayer.
“Over here, Jane,” Harlan whispered to her, pointing to a side room.
She followed him up a short incline and ducked through a narrow entrance. The room was small and packed with visitors. In the center, was a hole about eighteen inches across that was called El pocito or “the little well.” Ins
ide, was the coveted sand every pilgrim wanted to take home from Chimayo. As guests knelt by the “miracle sand,” they filled their plastic baggies and crossed themselves, giving thanks to God for the gift. The crowd dispersed and eventually, Harlan and Jane were alone. Harlan removed his head wrap and, twisting it into a modified knapsack, he bent over and scooped a handful of sand into it. Jane watched as he gently secured it and then tucked it in the pocket of his overalls.
“It’s magic dirt, Jane,” he said with a soft smile. “And as long as you’re holdin’ it, you can be invisible.”
She regarded him with a curious face. “Invisible?”
“That’s what you need to be, right?”
Jane knelt by the pit of dirt. She cupped a handful of the sandy soil and let it filter through her fingers. Standing up, she touched his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“But there ain’t nowhere else to go, Jane. This is the end of the road.”
She fought back emotion. “I won’t leave you, Harlan. I don’t care what I said. I won’t leave you for the wolves.”
He looked off to the side, lost for a moment in another world. “I know you’ll do right by me, Jane. I know I can count on you.”
Jane turned to Harlan. His voice was completely different. “Harlan?” she asked, sensing another soul.
He didn’t turn to her.
“Harlan,” she said with more effort.
He looked at her. “I’m here, Jane. Come on.”
They moved through the crowd and back to their van. Jane made a visual sweep of the surrounding area, even checking beneath the van for anything that looked out of place.
“Come on, Jane,” Harlan insisted, hefting his frame into the driver’s seat.
“You’re driving?”
He nodded. “I figured it was about time.”
He drove down the soft dirt road and back onto Highway 76.
Jane checked the map. “If you turn right, we’ll eventually get to Taos.”
“Nah,” he softly stated. “I’m turnin’ left.”
Seven miles down the road, Harlan pulled over to the side and parked the van. He stared in front of him for a few long seconds. “I gotta use the facilities.”
