Authors: Amy Hatvany
“I don’t know where she came up with that name.” She nuzzled Macy’s neck, and the little girl shrieked with laughter and held Chuck tightly to her chest.
“Mama, don’t
tickle
!”
Kelli couldn’t speak. She watched Jenna hold this child who could have easily been Rebecca. Her daughter would have had Kelli’s hair and her blue eyes . . . wouldn’t she? Or would she have looked more like Jason? Her throat closed as she was reminded of what she’d never know, the child she’d never see.
“Kelli?” Wendy prompted. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Kelli said, realizing she hadn’t responded to the introduction. “Oh, sorry. I’m so tired.” She forced herself to smile at Jenna. “Nice to meet you.” She looked at Macy, who was twirling a lock of her mother’s hair around a stubby finger. “She’s beautiful.” She hoped she didn’t sound as close to crying as she felt.
“Thanks,” Jenna said. “We think so.”
“We?” Kelli said, keeping her eyes on Macy, who smiled shyly back at her.
Oh, my heart
, she thought.
“Jenna’s husband works the night shift over at the hospital,” Wendy said. “He’s going to be a doctor.”
“Oh,” Kelli said as a sharp pang of jealousy began to knit itself together in her chest.
Jenna couldn’t be much older than me, and look at all she has. Look at her
daughter.
It isn’t fair.
“Well, good night,” she said, and quickly made her way to the safety of her room.
Over the next few weeks, Kelli tried to avoid seeing Jenna and her family in the building. She stopped hanging out with Wendy on the front porch. The times she came home to find Jenna playing with Macy in the front yard, it was all Kelli could do to keep from dissolving into tears right there on the sidewalk. She held her breath as she walked by, unable to look at this beautiful little girl.
“Hi, Kelli!” Jenna said one sunny but humid Saturday afternoon. She was running through the sprinkler with Macy, who
wore a tiny pink and white polka-dotted bikini and matching hot-pink sunglasses. “Want to join us?”
Kelli shook her head and kept on walking, accidentally colliding with Burt as she raced up the front steps. “Whoa there, missy!” he said. “Where’s the fire?” He stank of alcohol and cigarettes; his white T-shirt had a brown stain on the sleeve. “Rent’s due Monday. Want some company?” He leered at her, and Kelli had to hold back the bile in her throat. She heard her father’s voice:
Whore
.
That was it. She needed to leave San Francisco. She couldn’t stay there a minute longer. Her past was nipping at her heels. She pushed past Burt and ran down the hall. “Hey!” he said. “Where you goin’?”
“I’m leaving,” she called out over her shoulder. “Moving out.” She was on a week-to-week lease; she didn’t need to give him notice.
“Wait a minute! You still owe me for this week. At the
full
rate!”
Kelli grabbed her suitcase from the closet and opened the lining where she kept her cash. Burt appeared in her doorway. “You hear me?” he bellowed, and she practically threw a stack of bills at him.
“There,” she said, her voice breaking. “Now, please, just leave me alone.” She slammed the door in his face and began to pack her bag. She would start again. She’d create the best version of herself, only showing people the bright, happy side of who she was. She’d work hard, fall in love, and maybe even have a family of her own.
When the taxi she called arrived, she strode out to the street, keeping her eyes on the ground, not answering when Jenna and Macy asked her where she was going. She climbed in the backseat of the yellow cab and told the driver where to take her.
Twenty minutes later, she was at the bus station and she stood in front of a bulletin board, wondering where she should go. A brochure caught her eye, a picture of the Space Needle and a snowcapped mountain against a dazzlingly blue sky.
Seattle
. All Kelli knew about the city was how wet it was always supposed to be, and so she closed her eyes and imagined the clouds, the lush green grass, wondering whether if she lived there long enough, all that rain might finally wash her sins away.
December was generally a dark month in Seattle, and along with everything else that was happening, I couldn’t help but think it was contributing to my foul mood. It was the Monday morning after Victor and I fought over Ava’s stealing, and I’d arrived at the office early to catch up on some of the work that was piling up. I had client files to review, grant requests to compose, but instead of accomplishing any of that, I sat at my desk, staring out the window at the cloud-laden sky.
“Okay,” Tanya said when she entered my office to bring me a stack of checks to sign. She gave me a stern look and tucked her thick mane of curls behind her ears. “What’s up with you?”
I averted my eyes from her and forced a short laugh. “Nothing. Just feeling a little overwhelmed by the workload.”
“I don’t think so.” She peered at me. “Something going on with Victor and the kids?”
I kept my eyes on my computer screen and my fingers poised on the keyboard, thinking about how easily I’d been frustrated by Ava’s poor behavior, how a better, more loving woman wouldn’t have been. “I just don’t think I’m very good at this mothering thing,” I said. Tears pricked my eyes as I spoke those words. It was hard to admit, even to myself, but over the years I did question whether there was something fundamentally wrong with me
because of my decision to not have kids. I talked a good game—blaming the years I spent taking care of my brother, citing my drive to have a career and the insecurity around whether I could be a good mother—but deep in my belly there was a seed of doubt that any of this was true. Maybe the consensus about women who weren’t naturally maternal was true—I was heartless. Or, at the very least, the heart I
did
have wasn’t built for the kind of selfless existence motherhood demands. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to share my life. Maybe I’d be better off on my own.
Tanya gave her head a quick shake, and her springy black curls bounced. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” She smiled at me thoughtfully. “Do you remember when we first met at the thrift shop? I’d been living at the safe house for about a week with my kids, and Stephanie brought me in to fold clothes with you. You weren’t the boss yet, just volunteering your time.”
“I remember.” I pictured Tanya the first time I saw her. She was barely a shadow of the bright woman sitting before me now. Her face bore the evidence of a man’s fury in a mottled mess of purple and black bruises against her dark skin. Her brown eyes were lifeless; she looked at me, bewildered, like a prisoner who had suddenly been set free and didn’t know what to do with her newfound liberty.
“Well,” she said now, “then you’ll remember how you sat with me for hours, just listening and letting me cry. I think we managed to fold about three shirts. You were so calm and collected. You held my hand and you told me over and over again that I didn’t have to live the way I’d been living anymore. You told me I was stronger than I knew. You said I could be anything I wanted to be, and the way that you said it with such conviction, I believed it might be true.” Her full bottom lip trembled as she spoke. “You may not get all gushy about your
feelings
, but if I’ve
learned anything over the past couple of years, it’s that any fool can learn to talk a good game about how they feel. It takes real strength to show up and prove it.” She paused. “You hear me? You understand what I’m saying? Love is a
verb
.”
My own lip trembled then, and I nodded, too afraid that if I spoke I’d burst into tears. “Thank you,” I finally whispered.
Tanya smiled and picked up the file next to her. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get you to work!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a smile, and she went back to her desk, quietly closing my door behind her. For the next few hours, I poured myself into writing the proposal that, if approved by the state, would bring Second Chances almost half its operating funds for the next fiscal year. I described the women we helped, their desperation and fear; how our counselors worked with them to build their confidence and a support system that would keep them from ever going back to their abusive partners. Putting the words on the page, I felt better than I had in a month.
This
I was good at. This was where my talents were—helping these women. Running this organization in a way that made me proud.
As I was typing up a list of all the different services we provide for our clients, I went into great detail about how many of the women who came to Second Chances were without family in the immediate area—how their abusers isolated them both emotionally and physically. Oftentimes we’d have to do a nationwide search to locate relatives our clients could connect with for support, and it suddenly struck me that I could utilize those resources to confirm if Kelli actually
did
have a baby in high school. In fact, we’d even had a few women who’d given up babies for adoption and asked our assistance in finding them. But before I could do this for Kelli, I needed to make sure I wasn’t headed down the completely wrong path.
I opened my Internet browser and did a quick search to bring up the California census website. Our staff had access to databases that included all births and deaths for every state so we could find out if the women had surviving family members. I could run a search for California and see if any babies were born under Kelli’s maiden name during 1993 or 1994. That would at least be a place to start. “Hey, Tanya?” I called out through my open office door. “Can you help me with something for a minute?”
She appeared a moment later, notepad and pen in hand. “What’s up?”
I turned the monitor of my computer so she could see it. “I need to log in to Vitalsearch for California and I can’t remember my password.”
She strode across the room and came around behind my desk, then leaned over and typed in the right combination of keystrokes. The site opened up and she straightened, smiling at me. “Do we have a client looking for family there? The counselors usually tell me before you.”
“This is a little more personal,” I said, then explained to her about the doctor’s letter and my suspicions about Kelli.
“Wow,” she said. “What does Victor say about all of this?”
I lifted one shoulder and looked away from her, focusing my eyes on the screen. “I haven’t exactly told him yet.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “That’s not good.”
I sighed, drumming my fingers on my desk. “I
know
. I just feel like it’ll be better to talk with him once I find out something for sure, either way. Right?” I looked at her again, eyebrows raised, hoping she’d agree with me.
“How long have you
not
told him?” Tanya asked, and my hope vanished.
“Too long.” I sighed again and leaned forward, quickly clicking
on the links that would lead me to the birth databases for the time frame I was interested in reviewing. Tanya pulled up a chair and sat next to me. I typed in the words “Baby Reed” for both 1993 and 1994, then waited to see the results. There were over four hundred babies with that last name born in California during those years.
“You’ll have to narrow your search by county,” Tanya said. “Where did she live?”
“San Luis Obispo, I think.” I ran another quick search and confirmed that the city was located in the county of the same name. The result this time was zero.
“Well, so much for that idea,” I said.
“Hold on,” Tanya said. “Maybe her parents sent her somewhere else to have the baby? If it was such a big secret, then that would make sense, right?”
I smiled at her. “You’re a genius.”
“True,” she said. “But don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.”
I chuckled and brought up a map of California, noting there were fifty-eight counties in the state. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Try San Francisco and Sonoma,” Tanya suggested, so I typed in Sonoma first, thinking we’d get fewer results because of its smaller population. I was right—there were only ten. I had to click through six “Baby Reed”s before I looked at the screen and my stomach flipped over. “Mother, Kelli,” I read aloud. “Father, unknown.”
“Well, there you go,” Tanya said. “Finding out about the adoption won’t be as easy as this, you know. Especially if it was closed.”
“I know, but her baby would be eighteen now, so maybe he—or she—is looking for Kelli.”
“You could start by posting her name on the international reunion registry, if you want. That worked well for Laurel, remember? She found her birth mother pretty quickly that way.”
“I think I’d better talk with Victor first,” I said. “I’ve been keeping it from him long enough.”
* * *
A few hours later, I arrived at the Loft to pick up the kids after their respective activities. In what I was sure was his attempt to make up with me, Victor had left the restaurant early so he could do that afternoon’s shuffle between basketball and dance practice. I wrestled with a vague sense of anxiety as I waved at the servers who were sitting at a table folding black cloth napkins, wondering how seeing Victor would feel after the way we’d left things the night before. And now that I needed to confess I’d been rooting around in Kelli’s past, I worried that I was about to erase any progress we’d made.
I walked toward the kitchen, surprised when I entered the swinging doors to see both Melody and Spencer standing there. My best friend hurried over to hug me, and I glanced over at Max and Ava, who were sitting in the chef’s-table booth, where Victor and I had shared our first meal. Ava was leaning over Max’s schoolwork, looking like she was trying to explain something to him.
“Hey, you,” Melody said. “I was just dropping Spencer off.”
I must have appeared confused, so Victor explained. “His physical therapist said he can be out of the sling a few hours a day, so I asked if he would come in at night to help expedite and close things up. No heavy lifting or cooking, of course, but I thought it might help if I came home a few hours earlier.” He searched my face, his expression hopeful.