My father said, “Yes.”
I asked, “Why don’t I have a last name on my baby bracelet?”
My dad said, “Because we were planning to adopt you right away. This was all prearranged.”
I asked, “You mean through an adoption agency?”
My father said, “Well, kind of. The process was actually called an independent adoption. It was arranged by a lawyer rather than an agency. Your mom and I desperately wanted a child. With an independent adoption, we were responsible for paying all the medical and living expenses for the pregnant woman and all the legal fees involved in the adoption.”
I tried to absorb all that. I’d never even heard of an independent adoption before that moment.
I asked, “So, did you know this…” I looked down at the band again. “…Cora Frost? Did you know her?”
My dad said, “Yes.”
I was shocked that I’d never heard of this before. My parents had known my birth mother. I’d never even heard of her. I’d just assumed my parents had gone through an adoption agency and had no knowledge whatsoever about who my biological parents were.
I asked, “So what was she like?”
My dad said, “She was twenty years old when she had you. She was very smart.” He smiled. “You obviously inherited that from her.” Drumming his fingers on the table, another sign that he was nervous, he continued, “She was in college. She got pregnant by a boyfriend who took off as soon as he heard she was pregnant. She had big dreams. She planned to go on to graduate school, get her doctorate degree and eventually become a professor.”
I liked the sound of that. I asked, “Do you know where she is now?”
My dad seemed surprised by the question. He said, “Oh, no. We didn’t stay in touch. We visited her during the pregnancy.” My dad got a wistful look in his eyes. He said, “Your mom bought newborn outfits and baby blankets for the day we got to take you home from the hospital. We were so excited about the new baby we’d soon have. We were worried that Cora might change her mind after you were actually born, but we didn’t need to worry about that. She wanted a good home for you, but she made it very clear over her entire pregnancy that she didn’t want to be a mother. Your mom was there for the birth. The hospital set it up that way, so that your mom would be part of the birthing process and so that she could hold you right after you were born, to begin the bonding process. We never saw Cora again after she was discharged from the hospital. She seemed ready to move on with her life. And we were ready to begin our lives as new parents.”
I asked, “Do you know where she is now? Or how I could find her?”
He said, “I have no idea. She was just a college student back then. She had pretty big ambitions. She could have gone anywhere to graduate school or to teach, if that’s what she ended up doing.”
I thought about records. The more records I could give to Hannah, the better.
I asked my dad if he knew what college she had been attending.
He remembered, so that gave me another lead. If she had gone on to graduate school, maybe the college had a record of where she’d gone.
I asked my dad for the name of the law firm that had set up the adoption. He wrote down the name. He said, “I don’t know if they’re still in business or not, but that was the firm we used. Our lawyer was Evan Hawkins. Nice man. Probably in his mid-thirties back then.
I stood up, gave my dad a big hug and said, “I’m glad you and mom raised me. You were the best parents anyone could ever ask for.”
Dropping the hospital bands back into the envelope, I headed off to my room to let Hannah know what I’d found.
I closed my bedroom door. Before contacting the search angel, I pulled my birth certificate out of the envelope. And I discovered additional papers, including one from the hospital with footprints of my newborn baby feet. They were so tiny! And information I’d never had before that day. My birth mother’s name: Cora Frost. My birth weight: 8 pounds, 2 ounces. The time I was born: 4:10 AM.
I had opened a door into a whole new world and into a part of myself I’d never known before.
Chapter 8
The next day at work, I was scheduled to visit two homes with Andy: Max Davenport’s where one of his sons was supposed to show up after Maggie talked him into it and the home of a new client named Olivia Barrett. She apparently hoarded cats as well as things and her neighbors were quite upset because so many of her cats ran around outside, looking emaciated and killing birds.
First thing in the office, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the Staff Lounge and the files on my two clients. Aubrey was cheerful as always. Her sunny disposition clashed with my feeling close to a hangover from getting so little sleep. A migraine was dancing around my eyeballs, threatening to go full-blown headache. I tried to be civil and to get away as quickly as possible.
I asked for the charts.
Aubrey had her hair in pigtails. Star shapes had been shaved into the rainbow stripes on the back of her head. Every time she moved, the pigtails bounced with energy, reminding me of springs. Her hair had been died pink, no more blonde. She had glitter in her blush and eye shadow—subtle, but specks twinkled every time the light hit them. She was wearing a pink top with a short white skirt, hoop earrings and a bunch of bangle bracelets. Her brightness made me feel like something that had crawled out of a cave.
She said, “Hi, Jade! How are you this morning?” and flashed me a huge smile. Her teeth were incredibly white and perfect.
I said, “Good. Busy. But good.”
Undefeated by my attempted hint that I was too busy to talk, she asked, “How was your weekend?” in a rather sing-song voice.
I said, “Good. Good. I need the charts ASAP. I’m going out to visit those clients with Andy this morning.”
Aubrey said, “Sure. Sure. Just remember to sign them out.”
I scribbled my name on the sign-out sheet. As soon as I had the charts in hand, I made my escape through the maze of hallways to my office. I shut the door and pored over the files, slugging back coffee to wake up.
At 9:30, Andy knocked on my door. “Ready to go?”
We drove to Olivia’s house first. It was a white ranch-style house with red shutters and a dark blue door. When we rang the bell, someone peeked out from behind tattered lace curtains. When the door opened, we encountered a woman in her thirties wearing a gray T-shirt and sweatpants. She had short black hair with wonderful shine and well-defined muscles in her arms. She looked healthy and in great physical shape.
Andy said, “Hello. We’re here to see Olivia Barrett.”
Opening the door wider, the woman said, “That’s me. Come on in.”
This was different than Max’s house. Whereas Max had stacks of boxes that created walls around the narrow aisles winding through them, Olivia had simply piled things on top of each other without bothering to put them in boxes or containers. As we entered a cleared rectangular space about two feet by three feet, we came face-to-face with a wall built from layers of collected things: stuff like an old-style TV and rowing machine on the bottom, a coffee maker box and microwave in the middle, papers and blankets and all kinds of other things piled on top to create a jerry-built structure.
A tiny kitten suddenly appeared at the top of the mountain. It was a black ball of fluff with blue eyes. Olivia reached up and grabbed it. Holding the kitten in one hand and stroking its fur, she said, “Come in. I cleared a space for us to talk.”
Sure enough, the center of the living room was uncluttered and vacuumed. Andy and I sat on comfortable chairs. Olivia sat on the couch.