Empty Arms: A Novel (34 page)

The telephone rings and sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. My eyelids fly open, but I’m surrounded by darkness. I feel around for the portable handset, but it isn’t next to me. I feel around on the end table, knocking over the photo of me and Paul on our wedding day and a half-empty glass of water. I jump off the couch and crawl across the hardwood, my arm oscillating like a metal detector. The ringing is so close but I just can’t find the phone.

S
UNLIGHT SLICES THROUGH THE WINDOW
, jarring me awake. Paul is asleep next to me, and our clothes are scattered across the floor. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips when I notice the empty wine bottles on the coffee table. I press my hand against his chest and his eyes open slowly. He sits up, glances around the room, and looks at me with a guilty grin.

“That was fun,” he says.

“Thanks for taking my mind off things.”

He leans in and kisses me. “My pleasure.”

I leave him in the living room as I scamper upstairs to the shower. I set the portable just outside the shower stall in case Detective Walsh calls, but it doesn’t ring. I get dressed, dab on a little makeup, and head downstairs to find that Paul has made us western omelets.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day,” I admit.

“You’ve just got to keep your mind off it. If you need some help with that, come see me over at the sewing factory.”

I’
M SMILING WHEN
I
WALK
into the hospital. Instead of heading up to the fifth floor, I stop at the business center and copy all the papers in Emily’s file. Then I take the elevator down to the basement and open the door to the Adoption Registry.

Harper looks surprised to see me. And he looks even more surprised when I slide the file across the counter.

“Where did you get this?” His words are cold.

“My mother recently passed away. I found it in her safe deposit box.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says in an injured tone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused over this.” I smile, but his expression is unforgiving.

I
TRY TO KEEP
my mind off Detective Walsh, but the nursery babies are a constant reminder of what’s at stake. What if the Social Security number isn’t enough? What if he can’t find her? What if she’s dead? One by one, my nerves fray, unraveling every last hope and dream I’ve carried for this moment.

I rock each of the newborns and feed them, but I’m not really with them. And they know it. They squirm and fuss in my arms, begging for my attention. But today I just can’t give it.

At lunch, my salad sits untouched as I stare out the cafeteria window at the empty bird’s nest. Its errant twigs, crumbling base, and threadbare walls are all that’s left of the family that used to live there.

“Is this seat taken?” The familiar voice jars me from my thoughts. Harper is standing next to me with a tray of food.

“You’re talking to me?”

His shoulders rise and fall in defeat. “I guess so.” He slides out a chair and sits down across from me.

“I thought you hated me.”

He sprinkles salt over his fries and squirts a blob of ketchup on his plate as if nothing has happened. He scoops a couple of fries into his mouth. “I hated you a little bit.” He finishes chewing and sips his soda. “But then I thought about all the people who send me information requests. Some of them come with a letter begging me to help them find their lost family members. I’ve heard the desperation in their voices when they call me to find out why I can’t send them identifying information. They all have different reasons for searching. One woman was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she wanted to warn her biological daughter. A teenage girl was curious to know where she got her green eyes. A young guy recently lost his adoptive parents in a car accident, and he doesn’t have any family left. A young woman wants to find her birth mother because she’s pregnant and it’s not something her adoptive mother can relate to. They plead, they offer me bribes, and they cry. I hate it when they cry. It makes me feel like such a jerk, and it reminded me what you said about the privacy laws complicating things and keeping people apart. It made me realize how desperate you must’ve been.”

“I was desperate. Knowing that she’s out there and that I’m not with her is torture.”

“I just wish you would’ve been honest with me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nods, and a smile that I assume is forgiveness passes over his lips. He takes a huge bite out of his burger and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I still don’t understand how that file ended up in your mother’s safe deposit box.”

I shrug. “She must’ve gotten it from the hospital somehow.”

He shakes his head as he chews. “The only people that have access to those files are the folks who arrange the adoption, but that information is smudged out.”

“The people in the Adoption Registry have access to it too. Maybe she had a friend down there?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe she stole it.”

I smirk. “Either way, I have Emily’s Social Security number. Now it’s in Jackson Walsh’s hands.

“Who’s that?”

“You know, Jackson Walsh: The People Finder. Haven’t you seen his commercials on TV?”

He shakes his head, and his eyebrow arches with skepticism.

“What?”

“Just be careful. Detectives are often better at increasing their fees than actually finding people.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. He’s got a commercial for crying out loud.”

He checks his watch and picks up his tray. “Just make sure you don’t end up paying a lot for nothing.”

“He’s fine,” I call after him.

W
HEN
I
GET HOME
, I make a beeline for the answering machine, but the message light isn’t on. I pick up the phone and listen. It’s working fine. I scan the caller ID and spot a number I don’t recognize. I call it.

“Thank you for calling Westlake Insurance. Our normal business hours are nine to five …” I hang up and dial Melody.

“This is killing me,” I tell her.

“You’ve got to calm down,” she says. “Take a hot bath or go for a walk, but for God’s sake, Cate, breathe.”

I take Melody’s advice and draw a hot bath. I set the phone on the edge of the tub and submerge my body beneath the bubbles. I try to still my mind, but it’s a tornado of all the things that could go wrong. The phone rings, and water sloshes around in the tub as I dive for it.

“Hello? Detective Walsh?”

“Good evening, Ma’am. I’m calling from the Lowville Emergency Squad. We’re raising money for …”

I hang up the phone and then feel guilty, since Paul is buddies with half the force. Buddies or not, I can’t have them burning up my phone line when I’m waiting for such a life-changing call.

Goose bumps cover my skin as the last of the warmth leaves the water. Downstairs I hear the backdoor slam. I drain the tub, dry off, and go downstairs to see Paul. He takes one look at me in my bathrobe and pulls me into him. “You look like you need another distraction.”

A grin springs to my lips as he scoops me up and carries me upstairs to our bedroom.

W
HEN OUR STOMACHS GROWL
hungry reminders that we haven’t eaten dinner, we tiptoe downstairs, make a couple of sandwiches, and curl up on the couch to old episodes of
The Twilight Zone.
I keep the phone tucked beside me, but it doesn’t ring all night.

It doesn’t ring Wednesday night or Thursday night either. It’s Friday evening when Detective Walsh finally calls.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” he says. “Which do you want to hear first?”

“The good news.” Paul holds my hand and leans in to listen.

“I have a couple of possible leads.”

Paul smiles and gives me a thumbs up.

“That’s great! What’s the bad news?”

“I need another payment in order to follow up on them.”

“Oh. How much?”

“A thousand.”

My fingers tighten around Paul’s hand, and Harper’s warning jumps to mind. But at this point, what other choice do I have? “Okay.”

“Stop by and see Jennifer on Monday morning. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

Paul tries not to show his disappointment, and I’m grateful because I’m desperate for Detective Walsh to find her.

I return to Detective Walsh’s office on Monday morning and give Jennifer another envelope full of money. She counts it twice and then tucks it in a safe beneath her desk. “Thanks,” she says, passing me my receipt.

“H
OW’S IT GOING
with The People Finder?” Harper asks when I see him at lunch.

“Fine,” I say, hoping he can’t hear my shaken confidence. “He’s actually working on a couple of leads as we speak.”

“Good. I’m glad he’s proving me wrong.”

“Me too,” I say, but when I get home from work there aren’t any messages.

I put it out of my mind for the rest of the week, forcing myself to focus on work and Paul. But when Friday comes, my angst has reached a tipping point, and I can’t stop myself from calling his office over my lunch break.

“He’s in the field,” Jennifer tells me.

“Is he working on my case?”

“I can’t divulge that,” she says in a tone that makes me want to reach through the phone and smack her. “But I’ll tell him you called.”

Detective Walsh returns my call that evening. “I’m following up on a couple of things. I should have something for you soon.”

“What about the leads you mentioned?”

“They were dead ends. But don’t worry, there’s another route I want to try. I’ll just need another payment to cover my time.”

“How much?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Another thousand. Stop by and see Jennifer on Monday.”

W
HEN
I
TELL
P
AUL
about the money, his apprehension is evident. “Another thousand?” he asks in a pained voice, but then he relents. “If you believe in this guy, Cate, then do what you need to do.”

As much as I appreciate his support, my last bit of faith in Detective Walsh has leaked out. On Monday morning, I speed past the faded black awning on my way to work. When I get to the hospital I take the elevator down to the basement and burst through the door of the Adoption Registry with a loud jingle, startling Harper.

“I think you were right,” I say.

“About what?”

“The People Finder.”

“What happened?”

“He keeps telling me he’s got different leads he wants to follow up on, but before he can do that he needs another payment.”

“How much have you paid him?”

“$1,500. And he wants another $1,000. I don’t know what to do.”

“Ouch. That’s steep.”

“I know. What should I do?”

Sympathy fills his eyes. “Let me try. I might be able to help you.”

“But you could lose your job.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve already seen the information we have here. I’m offering to do a missing persons search for you. I might know enough about the system to dig up something.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you so much.”

“What’s her Social Security number?”

I write it on a piece of paper and pass it to him.

“Don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

I nod.

“Promise?”

I nod again. “Thank you.”

“Y
OU’RE LATE,”
Delaney says when I walk into the locker room.

“Sorry. I’ve been here, I just had to make a quick stop.”

“Visiting your boyfriend down in Adoption Registry doesn’t count as being here.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I stammer, amazed that she knows anything about it.

“I don’t care what he is, there’s a waiting list of people who are eager for your job.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be on time.”

The other nursery attendant shoots me an irritated look when I push through the door into what sounds like a jungle. I jump in and start changing diapers and feeding hungry bellies. She might despise the noise, but I appreciate the fact that I can’t think over the racket.

T
HE NURSERY IS FINALLY PEACEFUL
when I hear a tapping on the window. It’s Harper.

I gesture for him to wait a minute and return little Shelly Ann Trexler to her bassinette. Then I tiptoe out to the hallway. “What is it?” I whisper, even though the babies can’t possibly hear me.

“I’ve got a lead.”

“Very funny.” I search his face, but he’s not smiling. “Harper, are you serious?”

“I’m not certain, but I might have found her.”

I glance at my watch. “How is that possible? You’ve only been searching for two hours.” But before he can answer, a tiny wail rises up behind me. I desperately want Harper to tell me everything, but one crier can rile up the whole nursery. “Meet me for lunch?”

A couple of other babies join in. He glances toward the nursery and nods.

I hurry back inside where Timothy Walter Pendergast’s face is angry and red, and his legs are kicking in frustration. “Come on, little guy.” I scoop him up and walk him away from the others. “It’s no day for tears.”