Not My Mother

by Miranda Smith

  “The condos are great,” he said, picking up a picture, then letting it drift back down to the table. “That’s not what bothers me.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you this.” Evan never kept anything from me, and I could see the stress corrupting his features. “I’ve been accepted to law school.”

  “That’s great,” I said, hugging him. His acceptance didn’t come as a surprise. Thankfully, there were at least three options within a few hours’ drive. “What’s the lucky school?”

  “Sanderson.”

  “Sanderson?” I asked, like I hadn’t heard him right. A pocket of air seemed stuck in my throat. “But that’s out west.”

  “I know.”

  “What about the schools around here? The ones where you could drive to campus during the week and be back here for the weekend.”

  “I’m still waiting to hear back from those.” He stared at me, like he was waiting for the rest to sink in. Now I knew why he looked sick.

  “But you want Sanderson?”

  “Honestly, it’s always been my first choice. The schools around here would be nice, but I guess there’d be a part of me that would feel like I’m settling.”

  We’d discussed long distance relationships in the past. We both agreed they didn’t work; we wouldn’t even want to try. But those conversations had been ages ago. I never knew his moving so far away was still an option. I thought we were more committed than that.

  “Settling for the school? Or settling for me?”

  “I definitely am not settling for you,” he said, holding my hands. “I want you to move with me.”

  “Move with you? To another state?”

  “It could be our fun little adventure.”

  “But what about the restaurant? My family?”

  My mind immediately pictured my mother. The earlier version, the woman who barely trusted me to go to the local cinema without her supervision. I was an adult now, of course. But still, moving that far away would crush her.

  Evan looked down. He knew what my answer would be before he even suggested it, but he continued to try. “It’s not like we won’t visit. Your mom and Des can handle the restaurant on their own. They did it before.”

  But whenever people make these types of decisions, those promises tend to fall apart. Plans change. Things happen. I couldn’t move away from a business I’d worked so hard to revamp. Besides, I didn’t want to live anywhere else. North Bay had always been my home. I loved everything about it. Had never wanted any place else. And I thought Evan had wanted those same things, until he said the word Sanderson.

  “Are you saying you want to go to Sanderson, or you want to leave North Bay?”

  “Both.”

  But they had different meanings. “Do you see yourself living here? Eventually?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. He exhaled, shakily. “I don’t know. For the longest time, it’s like North Bay was my only option. It’s all I’ve ever known. But with Dad gone and the business out of the way… it feels like this is my one shot to live life on my own terms. Decide what I want for myself without being influenced.”

  On one level, I understood his conflict. Evan had the right to live life on his own terms, find a place and career that completely fulfilled him. The difference was, I’d already made those decisions for myself. And I’d believed he was a part of that. That very day, I’d been showing him options for our future home. He was taking that all away with this decision, unbothered by how his choices might impact my life.

  “I’m not leaving The Shack just because you got into school. You can’t expect me to uproot my entire life. That’s never been part of the plan.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Sanderson is on the table. It’s an option.”

  And yet, it must have been important to him otherwise he would never have mentioned it. He would have gladly taken one of the other offers from the nearby schools, as we’d discussed, instead of trying to convince me to move halfway across the country. He wanted this, even if it meant losing me.

  “Be honest with me. Is this because of the house stuff? Does it freak you out?”

  “No, of course not. Why would you even think that?”

  “Because guys get nervous when you start talking about the future. I’ve not been trying to pressure you with any of it. I’m doing this all for me.”

  “I know. I understand completely. I even admire it. But I feel the same way about Sanderson.”

  It hurt to hear our life together wasn’t enough for him. Six years of happiness had led us to this fork in the road. We had our opposite directions, and neither of us was going to get what we wanted without sacrifices. I felt it immediately, everything I’d be losing.

  The conversation overshadowed everything we did in the months that followed. My decision to buy the condo. His acceptance to Sanderson, and eventual move. Just like that, my relationship ended in the most anticlimactic and heartbreaking of ways.

  It was one of those breakups that seemed to impact everyone in our social circle. Des was devastated. Carmen was pissed. Mom didn’t say much; she’d always believed Evan and I would end up together, and she never liked admitting when she was wrong. I was upset over the breakup. He’d chosen Sanderson as clearly as I’d chosen North Bay. As the months passed, that heartbreak morphed into anger. Evan cheated me, allowing me to believe we could build a future together, only for him to take off when I was at the precipice of having everything I’d ever wanted.

  I remind myself, if our relationship had worked out, I would never have had Ava.

  Does it make me less of a mother to sometimes dream of that alternate life? One where Evan exists, and Ava doesn’t? Except, even in my daydreams, she does exist in some capacity. Evan and I have a child together, and it’s her. I know that’s not possible. That’s not the outcome life gave us. Sometimes I wish it had been. Evan and Ava are the two greatest loves of my life, separated by the choices I made in between them.

  The doorbell rings, and suddenly I’m back in the present. As I walk to the door, I worry it might be a reporter, but Carmen has already ordered the press not to enter the complex property. It would have to be a brazen reporter to ring my doorbell this early in the morning, and if they did, they’d be slapped with a huge fine.

  Pulling back the curtain, I see a woman standing outside. Alone. She’s wearing white capris, a floral blouse and gold sandals. Her hair is cut short, and large sunglasses cover half of her face. Still, I can tell she looks nervous. There’s that anxious fidgeting of her hands, the impatient tapping of her foot.

  “Who is it?” I ask, waiting for her to answer.

  My eyes scan the living room, landing on the baton Rick gave me. It’s sitting next to the bureau by the breakfast table. I’ve not thought about it since he gave it to me. Was he right about being cautious of people following the case? I peer out the window again.

  The woman looks down, then back to the door. “Does a Marion Sams live here?”

  “I can’t speak to the press if that’s what you’re after—”

  “I’m not from the press,” the woman says, a catch in her voice. “My name is Amelia Parker.”

  I wait a beat, knowing the name sounds familiar. Then it hits me, and I swing open the door.

  Amelia pushes her sunglasses into her hair and stares at me, her mouth agape. Behind the smile lines and makeup, I can see the resemblance. She’s the same woman featured in those pictures from long ago. The woman who lost her husband. The woman who lost her daughter. A daughter the rest of the world refers to as Baby Caroline.

  16 Marion

  Now

  There’s an awkward air between us. I’m afraid to inhale. Amelia, standing in front of me, also appears to be holding her breath, like she’s not sure this moment is real. Finding her daughter. Seeing her again in the flesh. This must have been only a fantasy, but
now she’s here. I’m here, right in front of her.

  “I don’t quite know what to say.” She starts to say more but stops. Her eyes dance around my face. “I should have called.”

  Although I only learned about this woman a few days ago, she has wondered about me for years. She’s worried for me since the day I was taken away. There must have been a large part of her that feared she would never know what happened to her daughter. Her life has been defined by tragedy; it’s not in my nature to shut the door on her.

  “Would you like to come inside?”

  She nods, looking over her shoulder before entering. She looks around my living room as though it’s a playhouse or a movie set. Taking in each item, committing it to memory. She sits at the breakfast table, her handbag still hanging from the crook in her arm.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “I do.”

  Ever since Mom admitted her real name is Sarah Paxton, I’ve been struggling to accept the truth about my childhood. Part of that means admitting this woman in front of me, Amelia, might be my biological mother.

  “You have to understand, it’s been over thirty years. After so many false leads and dead ends, to hear that they’d actually found you… that they’d actually made an arrest…” She stops, struggling to put her feelings into words. “I just had to see you. It’s like I couldn’t stop myself.”

  Found you. Baby Caroline. Her daughter that was taken. My shame at being at the center of this lifts momentarily, and part of me hopes it’s true. If, for no other reason, to spare this woman more pain. Seeing the grief on Amelia’s face makes the horror of what Mom did all those years ago much more real.

  “I didn’t know about any of this until a few days ago,” I say, looking away. “I’m still in shock, really.”

  “That’s understandable. You must have so many questions.”

  I do have questions, and with Mom in the hospital, I’m not sure if they will ever be answered. And yet, Amelia sits in front of me. She’s a stranger, but she would know at least a little about my past. About the life I could have lived, if I hadn’t been taken.

  “I’m getting most of my information through Eileen’s attorney.” This seems like the best way to address my mother. I’ve never known her as Sarah, but calling her Mom in front of Amelia seems cruel. “If what the police are saying is true, I’m your daughter.”

  Amelia nods. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look sad. There’s a smile spreading across her face.

  “I know how bizarre this must seem. There’s a lot I don’t know, too. But at least I know you’re all right. You’re safe. That’s what’s most important in all of this.”

  We lock eyes, as though we’re each trying to decipher the details of the other’s face. Just then, Ava’s crying breaks through the silence. It’s so jarring, I don’t need the monitor to hear it, and neither does Amelia. She jumps, like she’s reliving a moment from long ago, turning her head in the direction of Ava’s bedroom.

  “Excuse me just a minute.” I grab a bottle from the refrigerator and rush to Ava’s room, shutting the door behind me. Some days she wakes up harder than others. Normally, I’d pick her up and soothe her, but Amelia is sitting in the other room. I want to continue our conversation, and yet, there’s a part of me that wants her nowhere near my child. Not until I know more.

  It only takes a few sips from the bottle for Ava to close her eyes and relax. I tiptoe back to the kitchen. Amelia is standing, looking at a series of picture frames on a nearby shelf.

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  “Not a problem.” Amelia smiles, interlocking her fingers in front of her body. “You have a child?”

  “Yes, I have a daughter. Ava just turned one.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  And yet, there’s a sadness in her expression. She may have found her daughter—me—but that doesn’t return all the years that have been taken from her. She’s missed out on my entire childhood, my adulthood. My heart breaks a little for her. Carmen said she never had other children. How tragic it must be to have your time as a mother stolen from you, an entire chapter—arguably the most important chapter—of your life swiped away, and never be given a second chance.

  Amelia lifts a silver picture frame off the shelf. It’s a photograph of Mom and me on the beach. We’re both wearing long skirts and tank tops, our skin tanned and our hair wispy. She holds the photo, using her other hand to cover her mouth.

  “Sarah looks so different,” she says, gently putting the photograph back in its place. She turns to me and offers a weak smile. It’s another confirmation. The woman in the picture might look different, but she’s familiar.

  I want to continue talking to Amelia. I want to hear what she has to say. We’ve missed out on an entire lifetime together, and even though she could have given up hope a long time ago, she’s here. Right in front of me. She wants to know me, and I’m curious to know about her, too.

  “I’d like to talk with you more,” I say. “I just need to get Ava settled first. Could we meet in an hour?”

  “Sure, sure. I have all the time in the world.”

  She offers a cool smile. She must pick up on the fact I’m cautious having her around Ava. Then again, if anyone understands my reluctance of having strangers around my daughter, it’s Amelia. Her life has been forever shaped by it.

  17 Marion

  Now

  Twenty minutes later, I’m pushing open the front door to The Shack. The restaurant is still closed, but Des spends every spare moment preparing for the reopening.

  “Well, you stopped by just in time.” Des plops a stack of pans on the counter. Her scowl drops long enough for her to make googly eyes at Ava.

  “What does that mean?” I say, lifting Ava out of her car seat and placing her in the portable playpen we leave up behind the counter. Another item untouched by investigators.

  “I just had a lengthy talk with your little friend across the street.”

  “Holly?” I collapse into a chair, bracing for the story. “What’s she saying?”

  “It’s what she’s asking. Did you know Eileen’s real name was Sarah Paxton? Do you think this scandal could impact North Bay’s tourism?” Des mocks Holly’s voice. “Someone should tell her she’s not in charge just because she runs the town’s biggest hotel.”

  “Holly Dale loves any opportunity to put people in their place.”

  I’m pretending to blow off Holly’s suggestion, but unfortunately, it has merit. This town functions on tourists in the summer months. It has crossed my mind more than once that Mom’s arrest could hurt The Shack just as our busiest season begins. Either that, or the people that do show up will be true crime sickos seeking information about the case.

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “She wants to know about the hotel’s ad campaign. I got the feeling she wants to drop The Shack from her list of recommendations.”

  “She can’t do that,” I say, slamming my hand on the tabletop. “If people start disassociating from us publicly, that will tank the restaurant.”

  “That’s my fear, too. These people have known Eileen as long as I have. I can’t believe they’re so quick to turn their back on her.”

  Unfortunately, I think Des is on her own. It’s natural for people to be shocked and outraged by what Mom did. I know I am. Des chooses to see the best in Mom, ignore the evidence against her, but not everyone will make that choice. Still, whether people’s reasons are warranted or not, if The Shack goes down, Des and I will also plummet.

  “I’ll handle Holly Dale,” I say. “This isn’t the first time she’s tried to pull a power card.”

  “Not that you don’t have enough on your plate.” Des places both hands on the counter. “What made you decide to stop by?”

  “I actually need a favor,” I say, looking around the place. She’s done a lot of work since the police search, and I feel guilty for not pitching in. My mind has been elsewhere. Right now, i
t’s across town with Amelia Parker.

  Behind me, I hear the whooshing of the front door as it opens. Michael walks inside carrying a big box. Penny and Preston run out from behind him, chasing each other to the pinball machine.

  “Michael and the little rascals are here to help me set some stuff up,” Des says, walking around the counter. “I’m aiming to open up in a couple of days.”

  Michael walks over and leans in for a hug. I’m not used to seeing him in the middle of the day like this. Now that he’s in between jobs, I’m sure he’s looking for any excuse to get out of the house.

  “Where’s Carmen?” I ask him.

  “She’s in court.” He starts sifting through the box he carried in.

  Has there been another development in the case? Events have unfolded in such quick succession, like a flapping deck of cards, it’s hard to keep up with everything.

  “Is something happening with Mom?”

  “No, it’s one of her other cases.”

  Another twinge of guilt. Mom’s case has uprooted my own life so much, I’m ignoring that people have responsibilities outside of it.

  “I forgot she has other clients,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “She spends most her time worrying about Mom.”

  “She wouldn’t have it any other way. Eileen’s case is her top priority. How’s your mom doing, by the way?”

  “Surgery went well,” I say, although he probably already knows that much from Carmen. “Doctors are keeping me updated, but she’s still not awake.”

  “She’ll pull through.” He says it like it’s a fact, not a wish.

  “So, what did you need?” Des asks, draping a dishrag over her shoulder.

  “I was wanting you to watch Ava for an hour or so, but since your hands are full—”

  “Nothing’s full here. I can do it. What’s going on?”

  I open my mouth and close it. I don’t want to tell anyone I’m meeting Amelia. Des would think it’s a betrayal. She wouldn’t understand this is my way of trying to understand what happened back then. It’s best I keep Amelia a secret for now.