37 Marion
Now
I haven’t gone to the address written on that slip of paper, mainly because I haven’t had the time. I’m not willing to take Ava anywhere with me, for fear there could be a sinister reason the person was calling. And I don’t want to tell Carmen and Des I received a phone call while at the hospital. I’m not sure why, but something inside begs me to keep quiet.
“She’s going to be fine,” Des says, sliding a cardboard pizza box across the counter toward me. “Try not to worry about it.”
“I know,” I say, my hands grazing the box’s smooth surface. I’m trying to stay focused, but that’s difficult. Des is right. Mom is on my mind, but ever since I left the hospital last night, I’ve been thinking more about that phone call.
“Have you heard anything? From the hospital, I mean.”
Des puts on a better front, but she is anxious, too. Mom has been her best friend for years, and I know she must miss having her around.
“No. They said they’d call when she wakes up again, but she hasn’t yet.”
Des nods and unloads another large pizza into a takeout box. This is my first day back at the restaurant. It’s not been busy, but there have been more customers than I would have predicted. Mostly tourists, and part of me wonders if they’re here because they’re completely oblivious to Mom’s arrest, or if they came as part of some morbid spectacle.
Normally, Ava would spend most of the afternoon in the back room, but neither of us are willing to take our eyes off her. I wonder if this paranoia will ever go away. The DNA test proves Mom is my biological mother, that somewhere along this path the police have gotten something wrong, but this whole ordeal is still frightening. It’s clear there are manipulative people out there, willing to kidnap children. I’m just thankful Mom is no longer considered one of them, at least in my mind.
Between the DNA test results and my time at the hospital, I’ve had little time to think about Amelia. When I do think of her, my body seizes in sorrow. This woman—a perfectly nice and respectable woman—still believes I’m her daughter. She believes that the infant stolen from her all those years ago has been found. I know I’ll need to see her again, but it weighs on me, knowing she’ll eventually learn the truth. That I’m not Baby Caroline, and the police are no closer to learning what happened to her daughter.
“Martinez!” Des yells from behind, startling me.
A young woman walks to the counter. I hand over her pizza, and she pays. As she leaves, I look around the dining room. Lunch rush is officially over, and there’s only a few customers left. This might be the only chance I’ll get to find out what’s inside that storage facility.
“I’m thinking of grabbing lunch,” I say to Des, untying the apron around my waist. “Will you keep an eye on Ava for me?”
“I can make you something here,” Des offers.
“I could use a minute alone, really.”
“Take your time,” Des says, looking over at Ava in the corner of the room. She’s playing with a stack of blocks inside her playpen.
I bend down to kiss the top of her head before I leave.
The storage facility is almost forty-five minutes away. I’m not sure why I was expecting it to be closer. Perhaps I’m used to the convenience of North Bay, everything being exactly where you need it to be. I know I’ll be gone too long if I go now, but I’m not sure when I’ll get the opportunity to return. I’m not comfortable taking Ava with me.
I drive in silence, enjoying the gentle whir of passing cars on the highway. I’m about five minutes away from my destination when the phone rings. I fear it’s Des, already irritated that I’m taking this long to “go get lunch”, but it’s not. Amelia is calling.
“Are you busy?” she asks when I answer the phone.
“No. Just on my lunch break.”
“I’m never sure whether it’s a good time to call. I’m afraid of pestering you too much.”
“It’s not a problem, Amelia.” I’m uncomfortable talking to her now that I know the results of the DNA test, but I don’t want to ignore her. I’m hoping when the news does break, it can be done gently. “Everything okay?”
“Just fine. I only wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed having lunch with you this week. Ava is an absolute doll.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Even thinking back to that lunch makes my stomach ache. When she left that day, a big part of me believed she was my mother. That we were three generations spending time together, getting to know each other. It’s part of the reason I felt so compelled to seek out the DNA test on my own. I feel guilty, knowing I know the truth and she doesn’t.
“Are you free for dinner tonight? I know we’re trying to avoid being seen in public, what with the press and all. My hotel has an impressive room service menu. I thought maybe you and Ava would like to come over.”
“Oh, Amelia, that sounds lovely. I’m afraid I can’t tonight. It’s been a busy day. We’ve just reopened the restaurant since, well… you know. Maybe another day?”
I can’t ghost this woman, but I’m not ready to tell her the truth either. At some point we’ll have this conversation. I’ll make sure Amelia knows whatever horrible ideas she’s had about Mom are unfounded. That Mom was not the woman who stole her child, murdered her husband. But it’s tragic to know that person is still out there.
“Yes, yes. That’s perfectly fine. Are you sure everything is okay?”
There’s that fear in Amelia’s voice. She’s been so careful whenever we’re together, afraid of pushing me away. That’s probably what she thinks is happening now.
“I’ve loved getting to know you, Amelia. I’m just trying to get us back to our normal routine. We’ll see you later in the week. Is that okay?”
“Completely fine. You’ll let me know if you need help with anything, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I say, pulling into the storage facility complex. “I’ll call you soon.”
I sit in the car for several minutes, staring at the series of buildings in front of me. It’s a cement L-shape with a series of red garage doors in front of each unit. There must be dozens.
I step outside, looking behind me. It appears I’m the only person at the unit. I start walking forward, following the numbers until I find 308. I can tell we’re farther away from the sea here. The air is muggy, lacking the soothing breeze I’m so accustomed to in North Bay.
I reach my unit and plug in the code. For a brief moment, I hope the numbers won’t work. I hope this is a wild goose chase, mainly because I’m afraid of what I might find inside. No such luck. The screen above the lock turns green, and when I try the handle, the door pushes open with ease.
I remember Evan used to watch a show about these places. People who don’t pay their monthly fee get their units, and all their possessions, taken away from them. The contents are usually auctioned, and you never know what you might find inside. A stack of old newspapers. Boxes of clothes, misshapen and stained. Or you might find an old record signed by The Beatles or a mason jar full of gold coins. A $200 bid could result in thousands of dollars in profit, if you’re lucky.
This unit wouldn’t have gone for very much. There’s barely anything inside. Only four plastic containers, each about four feet long. I sift through the boxes. Nothing miraculous. Clothes and papers and notebooks. Then, at the bottom of one, I find the green folder the caller mentioned on the phone.
I open the folder, holding my breath in fear that something disastrous might lie within. I look at the first page. It’s addressed to me.
Dear Marion,
I’m writing this letter in the hope you never have to read it…
It’s Mom’s handwriting. I flip through the pages. There is a series of handwritten notes, front and back. They’re all addressed to me, from Mom.
My phone beeps with a text message from Des. I don’t have to read it to know she’s probably bitching at me for being gone too long, and I still have close to an hour to ge
t back. Even though all I want to do is read the letters, I know I need to go. Besides, that paranoid part of me doesn’t want to stay in this place one second longer than I must. I don’t know who told me to come here in the first place, or who might be watching me now.
I make sure all the papers are secured inside the folder, stuffing the packet under my arms. I lock the facility back up using the code, get in my car and leave.
38 Marion
Now
As expected, Des complained from the moment I got back. I ignored her, mostly, focusing instead on the normality of being around customers again. And, of course, monitoring Ava in the back corner of the restaurant. But it was difficult pretending I wasn’t fazed by her or anything else, when all I could think about were those notes.
Handwritten by Mom.
Addressed to me.
More than once, I thought about sneaking into the bathroom and reading them, or coming up with another excuse to leave. But there’s no telling what those letters might contain, and what my reaction to reading them might be. So I waited.
Now, I’ve finished giving Ava her bath and put her to bed. It didn’t take long to rock her to sleep, and I’m hoping she’ll stay down the remainder of the night. Another annoying consequence of my lie earlier in the day is I’m starving. I scarf down the leftover sandwiches I made when Amelia visited, pour a glass of white wine and settle in on the living room sofa.
Alone in the corner of the living room, the overhead light shining down on me like a spotlight, I open the folder. I read the opening lines again.
Dear Marion,
I’m writing this letter in the hope you never have to read it…
Of course, that’s what she’d hoped. There’s been so much Mom has hidden from me over the years. She was concealing parts of my life—parts of her life. For almost two weeks, I’ve been comparing the mom I know against the person the police describe her to be. Comparing Eileen to Sarah Paxton, all the while thinking of every odd occurrence in my childhood, every bizarre story that didn’t add up. My father. My birthplace. The real reason she decided to stay here. The DNA test provided some answers, but there’s still a heavy mystery surrounding all of this, isn’t there? And despite my greatest desires, I’ve not been able to talk about any of this with Mom.
At first, she shut me out with a hysterical outburst in the jailhouse visiting room. Since then, she has been comatose, recovering from her attack. Alive, and yet, not really there.
Dear Marion…
Part of me is afraid to go beyond those words. For over a week I’ve been preparing myself for the truth, knowing on the other side of it, I might be left devastated. But heartache or relief, whatever new mysteries this letter might reveal, I have to know. I’m ready.
I begin to read.
39 Eileen
Then
By the time I exited the bathroom, I’d analyzed every possible way to handle the situation. If Bruce was dangerous, would he try to keep me here? Harm me? I even considered making an excuse to leave, call Jamie, and return, but I didn’t want to leave you alone with him if my suspicions were correct.
I didn’t want to start a confrontation. I doubted I would have the ability to fight him off. Instead, I decided I’d favor him with some more small talk. After a few minutes, I’d ask to use their telephone. I’d say I was calling someone from the rental company, when in reality I’d call the police. I didn’t have any evidence to support my claims, but at least then I could voice my suspicions to someone and not feel so vulnerable.
When I walked back into the living room, Bruce was sitting on the sofa in the room’s center. He held a wine glass in his hand. My glass, the one I’d said I didn’t want, sat on the coffee table. I took a seat on the sofa across from him.
“You know, you really look like her,” he said, getting up and picking up the glass to bring it closer to me. He sat down beside me. “You both have beautiful eyes.”
“Thank you.”
I’d come there to see you, but in that moment, I tried to push your image away. Thinking of you would only distract me, and I needed to know if my suspicions about Bruce were correct.
“What time will Amelia be home?”
“It’s unpredictable. She’s just recently started working for her father. We try to take turns, allowing one of us to stay with the baby. Hopefully she’ll be home soon.”
I wondered if that was true. What if she wasn’t coming home at all? What if Bruce was just telling me that? Jamie told me this man was dangerous; I hoped he wouldn’t be reckless enough to attack me in their own home, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Is she a good baby?”
I thought maybe talking about you would keep him distracted. It worked. He had that goofy smile most dads get when talking about their children.
“She loves bath time. Most kids hate it that young. I know my nephews were never big fans of the water, but Caroline loves it. Did you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m one of five. Big family. I’m the last one to have kids, so it’s like I’ve been waiting on this a long time. You should drink your wine,” he said, nodding at me. He took a sip and continued his story. “It’s funny we ended up with a daughter. My family has been dominated by boys for the longest time. Caroline changes things. It’s true what they say, too. I feel like Caroline has turned me into a big softie.”
The man sitting beside me might be talking about his hopes for his child, my daughter, you… but it was all a smokescreen. I believed he was the man who had attacked Jamie, and each minute I was left alone with him felt dangerous.
“That’s funny,” I said, forcing a smile. “Say, do you think I could use your tele—”
Across the way, I heard a heavy door sliding across the floor, then a lock being clicked.
“Bruce?”
It was Amelia’s voice, followed moments later by the sound of her heels clacking against the floors. She stopped walking when she saw me sitting beside her husband. I still wonder if she could detect the look of fear on my face. The terror, thickening, spreading throughout my entire body.
She scrunched her face in confusion. “Sarah, what are you doing here?”
Amelia didn’t seem particularly happy to see me. In all the times we had spent together—at the center, at the hospital, at the stables—this was my first time in her house, and I had arrived uninvited. And now, I was holding on to this secret that her husband, your appointed father, might have attacked my best friend.
He definitely attacked her, I told myself. The scar. Phillips Academy. Everything was too coincidental.
I stood quickly. “I’m on my way out of town. I tried calling you at the center, but…” The adrenaline coursing through my body made it hard to focus.
She looked to Bruce. “Where’s Caroline?”
Bruce stood. His hand rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze remained downward, avoiding Amelia and me. “Still sleeping.” He walked into the kitchen and held up the charcuterie board like it was a prize. “I thought we’d snack on some of this until she wakes up.”
“You’re staying?” Amelia asked, her attention back to me.
“I’m leaving town this afternoon,” I said. “I just wanted to see Caroline one last time.”
Amelia eased at this and smiled. “You must be so excited about your classes.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Let’s sit outside,” Bruce said, carrying the tray toward the patio doors. “It’s such perfect weather.”
I looked back at Amelia. She was watching me the way I was watching Bruce. I wondered if she was afraid I would change my mind about you. She might have been worried I’d cause a scene.
“Set up the table outside,” Amelia told Bruce.
He obeyed, stepping into the backyard and shutting the door behind him.
Amelia stepped closer to me. “Are you sure everything is all right? You look upset.”
She’d been around me enough to sense w
hen I was acting off. Even though I still felt conflicted about what I needed to do, I felt safer knowing she was here. And I felt an overwhelming need to tell her the truth about what I was thinking.
“I think… I think I know something.”
There I was again, sounding like the idiot girl I was when I first met Amelia. Before we became friends and she led me toward greater opportunities. I was back to falling over my words like a buffoon.
And yet, Amelia acted as though what I’d just said made complete sense. She seemed startled. She nodded. “What do you think you know?”
“Something about Bruce,” I said. It felt like I was running out of breath.
At this, she looked surprised. “What about Bruce?”
“He used to work at Phillips Academy, right? I had a friend who went to that school. And she…” I failed to find the best phrasing. I closed my eyes. I had to just say it. Leave no room for misunderstanding. “She was attacked by one of her teachers.”
Amelia raised her chin. She wasn’t expecting to hear me make such an accusation, but she didn’t look completely disgusted either. “Just because he taught there doesn’t mean—”
“He has a scar. On his forearm. My friend fought this teacher off.”
Amelia had a pained look on her face. “When did you come up with all of this?”
“Just now. When I met him again.”
“It doesn’t… he couldn’t…” Amelia stopped talking, raising a hand to her forehead. She looked like she might faint. She gave her head a little shake and took a deep breath. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure if it’s him, but everything in my friend’s story adds up. I’m sick to my stomach. I know he’s your husband, but… he could be dangerous. I think we should leave with Caroline. Together. Just until we find out if my suspicions are correct.”
Not My Mother Page 19
