Not My Mother

by Miranda Smith

  “How bad is it?”

  “Could be better, could be worse. Isn’t that how most cases go?”

  “I need you to start being honest with me. I need you to tell me everything that’s going on in your life, regardless of how you think I might react. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Okay?”

  She nods. “Okay. I know how capable you are, but even as an adult, I feel this need to protect you. You’ll understand, when Ava is older. All I wanted was to enjoy the time I have left. If I’m lucky, I’ll spend it with my girls.”

  She squeezes my hand as a tear rolls down my cheek.

  I’m not sure she’ll be that lucky. Even if she receives a small sentence for Bruce Parker’s murder, she is likely to spend the rest of the years she has left in a prison cell. It doesn’t seem fair. After everything she has done for me, hiding away from the world all those years, she still might end up alone.

  44 Amelia

  Then

  She has it all.

  That’s what people thought when they looked at Amelia Boone Parker. Sometimes they said it, openly complimented her looks or accomplishments. Sometimes she could tell they were thinking it. She recognized the way eyes would dance around her body, at her expensive shoes, her immaculate ensemble, her delicate string of pearls.

  They thought she was perfect. Hell, maybe they were right. But what they didn’t know was that the things Amelia wanted most in this world always eluded her. She had experienced her fair share of loss, but she didn’t feel capable of admitting that to anyone without sounding like a spoiled brat. That’s the difficult part about being a member of the elite—the pool of like-minded peers is small.

  From the first time she begged her father to postpone a business trip, and he denied her, she had understood what it felt like to not get her way. It was an icky feeling. Making her feel full and empty all at once. Amelia’s deprivation wasn’t the same as others—she still dined at five-star restaurants and visited illustrious resorts, but her emotional needs always came last. Does it really matter what is dangled in front of your face? Whether it’s a necessity—a warm meal, shelter, a father’s hug—or some frivolous thing? Amelia didn’t think so. She felt as unfortunate as any young child would, being surrounded by a world of luxury where she could never find fulfillment.

  When she got married, it wasn’t Amelia’s Big Day… it was the Boone heiress tying the knot. No one wanted to celebrate with Amelia for her sake. They wanted to say they had attended the event. An outsider watching the affair unfold would have assumed she was lucky to marry Bruce Parker, even if he wasn’t her first choice, or second, or third. He possessed the necessary qualifications: good family, handsome smile, decent degree, even if he was wasting it as a teacher at some private school.

  It was enough, sure. He was the type of man most of her peers aspired to marry, of course. But to Amelia, like everything else in her glass house of a life, it wasn’t quite right. Wasn’t quite right was not enough to do anything about it, though. Not when you were a Boone. Not when you were a Parker. No, she’d been raised to persevere, march through the difficult times in life with her chin high, her shoulders back. She would arrive on the other side, shining.

  That’s why she didn’t react the first time a young woman made a complaint about Bruce. This woman, a colleague, alleged he’d groped her—a completely ridiculous claim considering he wasn’t particularly lustful with his own wife. He ended up taking a job at Phillips Academy, which was the solution to that—all the teachers there were male. Only the students were female, far too young to grab his attention.

  When the first complaint came in, she knew it was nonsense. Not only would her husband never be attracted to a teenager, but the allegation had come from the girl’s lawyer. The family offered to be discreet about the matter, as long as the Parkers could agree upon a certain sum. Complete money grab. Amelia had seen this before, had overheard her father handling scandals of his own. People hear Boone or Parker, they get all sorts of greedy ideas.

  The second complaint came from a known friend of the first girl. What were the odds? Did they really think her husband would be so stupid? No, it was clearly another attempt to rob them blind. Amelia had wanted to fight them on that one, show people they weren’t to be fooled, but Bruce and the lawyers had assured her it would be in their best interest to avoid scandal. And really, the amount the accuser was asking for might have made a difference in her pitiful life, but barely dented the Boone-Parker trust.

  Besides, Amelia had bigger things that required her focus. She was unable to get pregnant. Had never been, actually. They kept trying; after a few months of inaction, they would try a different doctor, a newer drug.

  As the years passed, Bruce was becoming less engrossed with her. Less interested in babies. When she mentioned adoption, he would get antsy. Wasn’t his thing, he said. Don’t we do enough charity? He had no desire to prove himself to a bunch of strangers. Beg them to choose him. And if those sexual misconduct allegations kept being raised against him, it would be impossible for even a Boone or Parker to adopt.

  Amelia realized Bruce wasn’t going to try anymore; if she wanted a family, she would have to make it happen herself. And if she couldn’t get pregnant, something would need to fall into their laps. That’s what she was thinking that day at the center as she stared out the window, watching the falling rain.

  That’s when she saw her. Young. Modest. Pregnant? It was hard to tell.

  “Yucky day today,” she’d said. “Sarah, right?”

  The girl was all too eager to respond.

  45 Marion

  Now

  Carmen knocks on the door before opening it. Mom and I both turn in her direction.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Marion, do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.” I give Mom another smile before exiting the room. I follow Carmen to the lobby, where I find Des waiting with Ava. She wanted to join us on the off-chance Mom would be allowed other visitors.

  “Have you read the letters?” I ask Carmen.

  “Yes. I’ll have to dig into them a bit more. Is that okay?”

  “Do what you need.”

  “She filled me in on the big parts,” Des says, balancing Ava on her knee. “One hell of a story.”

  “Do you think these letters can help Mom’s case?”

  “They could. I was hoping to talk with Eileen about them,” Carmen replies.

  “That Amelia sure is something,” Des says, staring ahead at nothing. It’s like she’s working something out in her own head, not fully tuned in to our chatter.

  “I know.” I’ve not fully acknowledged my anger toward Amelia. “Given what we know now, why do you think Amelia was pushing for a DNA test?”

  “After all this time, I think they found Sarah Paxton and Baby Caroline and she couldn’t just act like none of it mattered,” Carmen says. “What exactly did she say to you about taking a test?”

  “She told me all she needed was a cheek swab, and she’d be able to sort everything out.”

  “Sort everything out. She wanted you to hand over a sample,” Des says. “She never asked you to join her at the facility?”

  “No.”

  “Amelia Boone Parker has enough money to fabricate results,” Carmen says. “She wanted to be the one to run the test so she could alter the findings.”

  “What about the police test?” I ask. “At some point they’d find out I wasn’t her biological daughter. She must have thought of that.”

  “I’m sure she did, and she has enough money to tinker with the system, too. That must be why there is no mention of an adoption anywhere. We have to remember the bulk of this crime took place in the eighties. It was a lot easier to fudge paperwork back then.”

  “But hiding a birth? An entire pregnancy?”

  “Eileen wrote in the letters she didn’t tell anyone else about the pregnancy. She quit working after Cliff died. She didn’t even go to a doctor until late on, and that was arranged by Amel
ia.”

  Carmen is chasing theories; it’s what she’s paid to do. What she’s saying makes sense on the surface, but I still don’t fully understand Amelia’s motive now, all these years later.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Des says, looking down at Ava. “All that matters is Eileen is awake and she’s safe. And we finally have a shot at proving her innocent. She’s not the monster people are making her out to be.”

  The monster I thought she was, I think, a guilty knot writhing in my stomach.

  “Do you think she’s up for a quick conversation?” Carmen asks me. “She didn’t have the best reaction the last time we tried to bring up the case.”

  “Yeah. I think she can handle it now.”

  My phone pings with a message.

  It’s Amelia. Reading her name on the screen sends a shiver down my spine.

  “What is it?” Des asks. She must notice the strange look on my face.

  “Amelia texted me. She wants to meet up again. She called yesterday, too.”

  “Tell her she can go to—”

  “Wait,” Carmen interrupts Des before she can go into a rant. “You don’t want to say anything disruptive. Does she know about the DNA test?”

  “No, I never told her.”

  “Good. Make up an excuse. Tell her you’re having company over or something. Make her think you still want to meet with her later in the week. It’s better for us if she doesn’t know we’re on to her.”

  I nod, typing out a response. I punctuate my message with emojis, hoping she’ll continue to think all is well. I slide the phone into my pocket.

  “Let’s talk to Mom.”

  I bend down, giving Ava a quick kiss on the cheek. It feels, in some ways, like the hardest part is almost over, although there is still a long road ahead. Before leaving the waiting room, my heart fills with gratitude for both Carmen and Des. That they’ve stood by me, and Mom, through all of this. They are my pillars, lifting me, providing stability. Mom who raised me. Des as backup. Carmen, my defender. I realize how lucky I am to have been surrounded by strong women my entire life.

  When we enter Mom’s recovery room, she is sitting upright, fiddling with the television remote. She presses mute. We let her know that Carmen has read the letters.

  “All we have to do is validate your claims about Bruce and Amelia,” Carmen explains. “There might be someone willing to support what you say. Maybe if Jamie—”

  “No,” Mom says, trying to sit up straighter. “I don’t want her getting involved.”

  “Maybe she wants to get involved,” I say. “That’s why she told me about the letters in the first place.”

  “I never wanted any of this to come out,” Mom says.

  “It’s out there now,” Carmen says. “If you haven’t realized, you’re a victim in all this. All we have to do is present your side, and people will see that.”

  Mom looks back to me. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’ll be better when I know you’re not going to prison.”

  Which, I realize, is still a long shot. Warranted or not, Mom committed several crimes. It’s hard to think they’ll all be swept under the rug. Still, I have to cling to some small morsel of hope.

  “I don’t care about that,” Mom says. “I made my mistakes, and if I’m punished for them, so be it. You know the truth, and you don’t hate me. That’s what matters.”

  “I could never hate you,” I say. “Knowing Amelia, she’s not going to let this go. She’s going to support her own story, and the sooner we start denying her claims, the better.”

  Mom tilts her head to the side, her eyes bouncing between me and Carmen. “Knowing Amelia. You haven’t talked to her, have you?”

  I look at Carmen. Her shoulders are scrunched, her eyes wide, awaiting my response.

  “She reached out to me shortly after your arrest,” I say, cowardly. “She’s staying in North Bay.”

  Mom makes more movement on the bed, struggling to sit upright. “No, Marion. You can’t be in contact with her.”

  “She reached out to me. I was struggling to make sense of things—”

  “No, you can’t,” Mom says. And there isn’t jealousy or hurt in her voice. There’s fear. Uncontrollable fear. “You can’t let her around you. Or Ava.”

  “I won’t, Mom. I won’t.”

  This seems to calm her. Mom rests back onto the mattress, exhaling several quick breaths.

  “Promise me you’ll stay away from her, Marion. Please.”

  “I promise.”

  We talk a little bit longer about the case, about Jamie and her likeliest whereabouts. The visit lasts the majority of the day. I speak with doctors about Mom’s condition. They are hopeful she’ll be discharged by the end of the week, although she’ll be sent back to the county jail. In light of recent events, I’m hoping she won’t be there long, but there are no guarantees. Carmen assures me she’ll try her best to set her free. She insists these letters are our best shot to make that happen.

  Before we leave the hospital, Evan calls.

  “How is she?”

  “Better,” I say, peering into the lobby, where Des is helping pack up Ava’s things. “We’re about to head out for the night. Des and I are going to run by The Shack, make sure everything gets closed up properly.”

  “Good.” He pauses. “Did you get to talk with Eileen about the letters?”

  “Yeah. She opened up a lot.” I check the time, trying to predict how long we’ll spend at The Shack. “You could stop by tonight, if you’d like. I’ll fill you in on everything.”

  I hold my breath. I’m not sure if we’re in the best place for a reconciliation. All I can think about is how good it felt to talk over everything with him last night, how it grounded me. I want that feeling again.

  “Sounds great. Text me when you leave The Shack, okay?”

  I hang up the phone and place it in my bag. As I’m zipping up compartments, making sure I have everything, my fingers brush against a sheet of paper. I unfold it, realizing it’s the check Amelia gave me. For a few seconds, I stare at it. The amount. Her signature. Then I tear it in half and dispose of the pieces in a nearby trashcan.

  I look out the visiting room window. The skies are darker than they should be this time of the evening, which means a storm is settling in. And yet, I smile. For the first time since Mom’s arrest, I feel like everything is shifting back into place.

  46 Amelia

  Then

  Sarah. She was young, pretty. Amelia could sniff the girl’s eagerness during their first conversation. She admired Amelia, like so many others did. How extraordinary it was that this quiet girl might be the answer to Amelia’s problems.

  The two sparked a conversation, a short one. It wasn’t until later, when Amelia looked in Ms. Lang’s file, that she confirmed her initial suspicion. Sarah was pregnant. At first, she felt a hot rage. Why did this girl, who was in no position to be a parent at all, get to have a child? She wasn’t even married. The file listed the unborn child’s father as Cliff, a boyfriend.

  The next time Amelia saw Sarah at the center, she didn’t speak to her. Afterward, she followed her, trying to get a glimpse into this girl’s life. She saw the paltry restaurant where she worked. The young man who was always laughing and bouncing about, like he’d just told the best joke. The tiny brunette girl who smoked like a chimney. And there was Sarah between them, that ignorant smile on her face. She envisioned what Sarah’s life must be like. Poor. Uneducated. But with a child? Resentment filled Amelia, hardening her bones and souring her soul.

  At dark, Amelia would return to her massive house in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of New Hutton. She would park her expensive car in the garage. Whatever she desired for dinner, she could have. Whatever she wanted to drink was available in the cellar. Before bed, she’d change out of her designer clothes and into satin pajamas.

  And she’d spend the rest of the night sleeping beside a husband who refused to touch her. Love
had left their marriage long ago; perhaps it had never been there. Regardless, the Parkers were civilized people. Sure, Bruce and Amelia sought different things in life, had different dreams, but they were stuck on this journey together. Amelia desired a child more than anything, and even though Bruce was no longer interested in doing his part to make that happen, she knew he wouldn’t deny her the opportunity if she could create one.

  Amelia arranged for Ms. Lang to take a job at another counseling center across town. It wasn’t hard convincing her to leave; Ms. Lang never cared much about her work, could not remember which of her patients were pregnant or not. Amelia shredded any files Ms. Lang had kept on Sarah, any documented proof of the pregnancy torn to shreds. The girl was so overwhelmed she hadn’t even gone to a doctor. Amelia knew she could arrange one when the time was right. Then she became Sarah’s new counselor.

  Sarah opened up faster than Amelia ever expected. It was obvious how lonely and insecure she felt, especially after the boyfriend died. Amelia pitied her, becoming increasingly convinced she was doing what was best for both of them. And of course, she was doing what was best for the baby. As she listened to the girl babble about her future desires for her child—Caroline, she might call her—the wheels in Amelia’s mind turned. When she first suggested the possibility of adoption, she was surprised to hear Sarah had already considered it. Maybe this girl knew she wasn’t fit to be a mother, which only strengthened Amelia’s resolve to continue with her plan.

  Once they started visiting the horse track, the two were more like friends. Of course, Amelia had to open up about her life, too. She told her about her struggle to conceive. The details in her story might have been fudged, but the crux of the story remained: Amelia wanted a child more than anything, and Sarah just might be the person to make that happen at last.

  Then, finally, Sarah said it.