JAMIE sat up half the night making a written list of all the reasons she should not place the call, a list she tore up and tossed into the trash over coffee in the morning. Even as she touched the keypad on her phone, she was questioning the wisdom of ignoring her own good advice to sleep on it a few more days.
“Enright and Enright. How may I help you?”
“I was . . . ah . . . wondering if I might speak with Mr. Enright.” Jamie forced the words. “Mr. Curtis Enright.”
There was a pause before the woman responded. “I’m sorry, but Curtis Enright is retired. Would you care to speak with either Jesse Enright or Sophia Enright?”
“Ah . . . no. No, thank you. I was hoping . . .” Jamie bit her bottom lip. Just what had she been hoping?
“May I ask what this is in reference to?” the woman on the other end of the line asked gently.
“I was hoping to . . . to touch base with him. He was a friend of my father’s—he went to law school with my dad—and I just thought . . .” Jamie heard her own voice begin to fade away. She should have thought this out more clearly before making the call.
“Oh?”
“Yes, and my mother passed away recently, and I thought perhaps he’d like to know that.” There. That sounded reasonable enough.
“And your father was . . . ?”
“Herb Valentine.”
Another pause, almost imperceptible. “Oh, of course. I recognize the name. Your father passed some time ago, if I recall correctly?”
“Yes, it’s been almost ten years.”
“Why not leave your number, and I’ll contact Mr. Enright and give him the message. He may wish to personally offer his condolences.”
Jamie repeated the number of her cell twice.
“I’ll be sure to pass this along as soon as I speak with him,” the woman assured her. “In the meantime, please accept the firm’s sympathy.”
“Thank you, and—”
The call disconnected before she could finish her thought.
Jamie wondered when or if Curtis Enright would return her call, and if he did, what exactly would she say to him? She figured she had plenty of time to think of something while she packed up kitchen items to be donated to a thrift shop that supported a local shelter for battered women. She had just finished wrapping a shelf full of unmatched glasses when her phone rang. Expecting Sis to be calling right about then to check on her state of mind, Jamie tucked the phone under her chin and reached for paper to wrap around a blender she’d found in a bottom cupboard. “Hello?”
“This is Curtis Enright.” The man sounded old and just a little gruff. “I was returning a call from Jamie Valentine.”
“Oh. Mr. Enright. This is Jamie Valentine.” She set the blender on the table. “Thank you for returning my call.”
“Do I understand correctly that your mother recently passed away?”
“Yes. Four weeks ago.” Her heart began to pound.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His tone softened. “I was fond of Lainey. She was a lovely woman.”
“Yes, she was. Thank you.” Jamie paused, wondering how to keep the conversation going long enough to find an opening to ask the questions that were on the tip of her tongue and fighting to tumble out.
“Had she been ill?”
“No. It was very sudden, very unexpected. She had a heart attack.”
“May I offer my condolences? I knew your father for many years. He was a good man.”
“Yes, thank you. He was. And I was aware of your friendship, Mr. Enright. I called because I thought perhaps you’d like to know . . .”
“Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Jamie took a deep breath before adding: “. . . and because I found a letter that you’d written to them.”
“A letter? From me?”
“A letter you wrote many years ago. Thirty-six years ago, actually.”
The silence that followed was so long and so complete, Jamie thought he’d hung up.
Finally, he said, “Ah, so that’s what this is really about.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another silence.
“There’s nothing I can tell you that your parents haven’t already.”
“That’s the thing, Mr. Enright. My parents never told me anything.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, they never told me anything.”
And yet another silence.
“Mr. Enright?” Jamie wondered if the man was still on the line.
“Yes, yes. I’m here. I just . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’m . . . well, surprised, certainly. Beyond that, I hardly know what to say.”
“Neither did my aunt when I showed her the letter you sent them after my adoption was finalized.”
“Jamie, I’m very sorry, I truly am, but if you’re calling to ask me any questions about your birth parents . . .”
“Actually, yes, I was.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. I have an obligation of confidentiality to my client not to reveal the details of your birth, and I am bound by that.”
“Your client being my birth mother?”
“That’s correct.”
“I respect your position, Mr. Enright. But surely you can understand that there is certain information I should be privy to. Medical history, for example.”
“I do understand your concern, but I’m sorry. There is nothing I can tell you.”
“So I have no way of knowing if I carry the gene for heart disease or cancer or—”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to tell you that I know of no such illnesses in the family. And I believe that in Pennsylvania, the law does permit adopted persons access to their medical history as long as any confidential information is redacted, so you could find out that sort of information on your own.”
“So you did know her family? My birth mother . . .”
Curtis Enright sighed heavily.
“Yes. I know the family. And I know her. St. Dennis is a very small town, Miss Valentine.” The switch from the more familiar Jamie wasn’t lost on her. Nor was the fact that he used the present tense rather than the past. I know her.
“Your letter mentioned an attorney named Parsons . . .”
“Scott, yes.”
“May I ask who he is and what his involvement was?” she pressed.
“Scott Parsons was the attorney who handled the paperwork at the local level.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The adoption was finalized in Pennsylvania. I’m not a member of the bar in that state.”
“So he was the attorney who actually handled the legal proceedings.”
“Yes.”
“Was he also a friend of my father’s from law school?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Was?”
“Scott passed away about eight years ago.”
Jamie made a mental note to see if the firm was still in existence. “The birth certificate said Lehigh County,” she said.
“Correct.”
“So this was a private adoption?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I understand what your involvement was, Mr. Enright.”
“I’ve represented the birth mother’s family on many occasions over the years. This was one of them. As much as I’d like to help you, I’m afraid I can’t give you any information other than that which we’ve already discussed, and all of that is public record except for the fact that I facilitated the adoption. I knew the expectant mother, I knew your parents wanted to adopt an infant, both Herb and I knew Scott. It was a matter of putting the pieces together.”
“I understand the position I’ve put you in, Mr. Enright, and I apologize, but please try to understand my shock at learning that I am not Herb and Lainey’s natural child. When I discovered that letter last night—”
“You just found out yesterday?”
“Yes.” Unwanted tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and her voice tightened. “My aunt said that my father wanted to tell me long ago, but my mother always had a reason why the time wasn’t right. I was very close to my parents, Mr. Enright, so I’m sure you can appreciate how devastating this news has been.”
“Please don’t think I’m not sympathetic to your situation, but I can’t give you what you’re looking for.” His voice dropped slightly, and his sincerity was evident. “I truly am sorry.”
“If I could just ask you one more question . . .”
“I’ll answer if I can.”
“Has my birth mother ever expressed any interest in finding me? Has she ever asked about me?”
“Actually, Miss Valentine, she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.”
“And my birth father?”
“I know nothing about him. He wasn’t involved in any way.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Enright.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be of any more assistance,” he said. “Thank you for letting me know about your mother’s passing. Again, you have my condolences.”
Jamie held on to the phone long after the connection had been broken, trying to process the information. Finally, she hit “end” and put the phone down on the table in front of her. What had she learned from her conversation with Curtis Enright? Other than the fact that he was a man who valued his commitments.
I know the family. And I know her.
Not I knew her but I know her. To Jamie’s mind, that suggested that she was most likely in or around St. Dennis.
Actually, Miss Valentine, she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.
Not I wouldn’t know but she’s never in all these years mentioned you at all. Didn’t that seem to imply that Curtis Enright had seen her and spoken with her, though never about the baby she’d given up? Again, the woman was likely to live in close proximity to St. Dennis.
And she’d learned that her birth father was unknown even to the man who helped to arrange her adoption.
Jamie tapped her pen on the notebook. To her mind, the chances that her birth mother was alive and living in St. Dennis seemed pretty good.
Jamie couldn’t help but think about the sixteen-year-old girl who’d given birth to her, the girl who’d had choices made for her that she may or may not have made for herself. Choices that changed the course of both their lives forever. Did she ever think of me, worry about what kind of home I was raised in, what my parents were like? Did she wonder about what kind of life I had and whether or not I was alive? Healthy? Happy? Where I live or who I am? What kind of person I grew up to be?
Jamie couldn’t help think the fact that she’d never mentioned her baby to her parents’ lawyer—the same lawyer who had facilitated the adoption—didn’t necessarily mean that she never thought about her lost child.
And what kind of life did she have? What kind of person did she grow up to be? Was she happy? Did she marry? Have other children? The thought that Jamie might have siblings somewhere out there in the world—even half siblings—stopped her in her tracks. If so, did they know about her, or was she someone’s deepest, darkest secret?
Jamie knew in her heart that she’d ended up where and who she was supposed to be: Herb and Lainey Valentine’s daughter. The shock of the truth had caused deep anger, but her love for her parents trumped every other emotion. She might still be angry at having the truth withheld from her for so long, and she’d always wish she’d had a chance to discuss it with her parents, but she never doubted their love for her or her for them. Nothing could ever change that. No one would ever take their places. But the truth had opened a tiny hole inside her, and as much as she loved Lainey, she could not ignore that there was a piece of her that was unknown, a piece of herself missing from her life. The decision to find that missing piece was easy after that.
THE EVENING AIR had the sweet smell of late spring easing into early summer. Jamie sat on the back porch, her iPad in her hand. She’d found sites on the Internet where birth parents searching for their lost children could go to reconnect, sites where adoptees such as herself could go to search for their birth parents. She’d checked out several as she scrolled from page to page. This was a whole new world to her, so much to learn. She wanted to proceed one step at a time, because she knew that starting on this journey, she would follow through to the end, wherever that might lead her, even if the end were to be a dead one.
She was born in Pennsylvania, that much she knew. Was Pennsylvania a state that permitted access to adoption records? Hadn’t Curtis Enright mentioned that her records had been sealed? She knew from online conversations she’d been reading that the laws in several states had changed, in some cases opening all previously closed records. Had the law in Pennsylvania been modified since her birth thirty-six years ago?
Though Jamie had graduated from law school, she knew nothing about the adoption laws in her home state, so she had to do an online search of the commonwealth’s statutes. She was more than a little disappointed to learn that the law, while under discussion, had remained the same: Her records were still sealed. They could be accessed only if her birth parents had signed a form consenting to the release of identifying information. Had such a consent form been signed by either or both of her birth parents? If that were the case, would Curtis Enright have told her?
She visited a few more sites before turning off the device. Unless she was prepared for the consequences, she dared not proceed beyond clicking on the link that led to the Orphans’ Court Division of the Lehigh County Court of Common Pleas and its adoption registry.
Adoption records are sealed by statute, and the contents thereof cannot be released without a court order.
Let it be, she could imagine her mother saying. Like the song. Just let it be. But unlike the song, there would be no answers unless Jamie pursued them.
Even if she could somehow unseal her records and locate the woman who had given birth to her, there was no reason to think she’d want to see Jamie. She had read enough of the Pennsylvania statute to know that sealed records could be available only if the birth parent consented, but there was no guarantee that this unknown woman would agree. Jamie wasn’t sure she could handle further rejection on the heels of discovering that her parents had kept this secret all her life.
She’s never in all these years mentioned you at all.
Had this woman tried to forget Jamie’s very existence? Had she blocked out the fact that she once gave birth to a daughter and handed over that baby to strangers to raise as their own?
And should Jamie somehow manage to learn her identity, what next? Should she try to find the woman? How would she react if Jamie contacted her? Would she welcome her long-lost daughter with tears and open arms, or would she accuse Jamie of trying to ruin her life? Certainly there was much more to consider than what Jamie wanted.
Then there was the matter of her birth father. Curtis Enright had said he wasn’t involved in the proceedings, but what did that really mean? Had he died? Deserted her mother when he found out she was pregnant? Maybe her birth father hadn’t known about her. Aunt Sis had said that her birth mother was very young and that her parents had arranged everything. Curtis may have confided those details to Jamie’s parents, and Jamie’s mother must have passed the information on to Aunt Sis.
Darkness crept around her while she was staring at her feet, deliberating her options. Nothing could—nothing should—be decided on a whim. While she knew this was a matter she wanted to pursue to find that missing piece of herself, she had to proceed cautiously for the sake of the woman whose identity she sought. If her birth mother had put the matter of Jamie’s birth behind her, as the attorney intimated, what right did Jamie have to remind her?
Even if she chose to pursue the truth, she still had obligations in Caryville. After much soul-searching, she came to two realizations: She would sell the family home once she’d finished with the task of sorting through it and cleaning it out. The second thing she realized was that the matter of sorting could not be done in one visit; nor did it have to be completed immediately. It had taken her family many years to accumulate the contents: It wasn’t practical or logical that she could make so many decisions in this one visit. But holding on to an older home indefinitely wasn’t practical, either, especially one so far from her own home in Princeton. There were the issues of maintenance through the seasons—lawn and garden care in the spring, summer, and fall, snow removal in the winter. Someone would have to check on a regular basis for water leaks, roof damage, vandalism, and break-ins, and after speaking with her parents’ homeowners’ insurance company, she learned that, after a year of vacancy, the only insurance coverage would be for fire damage. That pretty much sealed the deal. Then, too, was the matter of keeping the house heated in the winter and all the utilities turned on.
Unless she planned to live there or rent out the house—which she would never do—it would be best to make a plan to sell while she had time to make the right decisions.
It seemed that everything she touched had a dear memory attached, from the furniture that had been passed down from family members to the Christmas ornaments she found in boxes in the attic to the little gifts Jamie had bought for her mother over the years. The inexpensive ceramic baby animals Jamie had loved had been treated by her mother with as much care as the Lladró figurines of dancing ladies in their flowing dresses purchased by Jamie’s father.
“Mom, you can put away those little baby lambs and fawns and puppies,” Jamie once said. “I know they’re not fine china.”
“Bite your tongue.” Her mother had grinned. “My baby girl bought those for me with money she saved from her allowance. I cherish every one.”
Jamie’s throat constricted at the memory.
The new plan was to tag all the furniture—yellow tags for the eventual estate sale, blue tags for the pieces that would go into storage until she was ready to take them, green for the pieces that Sis had expressed an interest in. Next up: Box household items that neither she nor Sis wanted or needed, some things to be sold, others with more sentimental value to be shipped to her home. She’d been surprised to find that so much of her father’s clothing had remained in the house, as if her mother had been preparing for the possibility that at some point Herb would be back and looking for his favorite blue-and-white-striped sweater or his slippers.
Donate clothing to thrift shop made it onto her list at number four.
By the end of the week, she’d moved through most of the first floor, making what she considered were the best decisions, reminding herself that there wasn’t room in her home—or her life—for everything. It made more sense to pick out the items she loved best. She’d find room in her house for those that made the cut and would make arrangements for the rest. Having made a firm game plan, Jamie felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She had headier matters to deal with than what to do with a cabinet filled with unmatched dishes, old appliances, and several years’ worth of bath towels and bedsheets.
She’d work one more week here, then she’d focus on the other task she’d set herself.
She called her literary agent, Lynne Manning, to say she’d finish that last week of her tour, but after that she’d need more time to recover from her mother’s death. Another month might be better, she told the woman. She was even thinking about taking a vacation.
“Of course I understand,” her agent sympathetically replied. “I think a vacation is absolutely in order right about now. Go someplace where you can relax, let go of the stress, enjoy yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Some time off where I can relax.”
“Take all the time you need.” After a brief pause, she added, “Maybe you’ll come back with an exciting idea for that new book that’s been giving you so much trouble.”
“That’s part of the plan,” Jamie assured her.
Her laptop sat on her dad’s desk, open to the page she’d bookmarked earlier. She read through the avenues for information available to adoptees:
There are procedures whereby an adult adoptee (age 18 or older), or the parents of a minor adoptee, can petition the Orphans’ Court Division for access to either non-identifying or identifying information from their adoption files. The latter information can only be released if the Court successfully locates a birth parent and obtains his or her consent thereto. If the court determines that the birth parent is deceased, the name of the deceased birth parent can be released to the adoptee.
Jamie was sure that her birth mother was alive, since Curtis had spoken of her in the present tense. Non-identifying information would not answer any of her questions, so she scanned several pages for instructions on how to access identifying information.
The path to the truth was clear. All Jamie had to do was to send a written request for her birth mother’s identifying information. The court would have thirty days to notify Jamie if an authorization form was on file. If her birth mother had signed a consent form authorizing release of her information, the court would have 120 days to send Jamie a copy of the record or to “use reasonable efforts” to locate Jamie’s birth mother and try to obtain written authorization, if none existed in the file.
Jamie was pretty sure the latter would be the tricky part. Assuming that she chose to request the information—and assuming that reasonable efforts resulted in locating her birth mother. If she were the person doing the search, she knew where she’d begin.
She clicked on the link to the website extolling the wonders of St. Dennis, Maryland. Scenic views of the Chesapeake, beautifully preserved historic buildings, an active arts community, fine dining at world-class restaurants, etc, etc, etc. The list of B and B’s was extensive, and someone had taken the time to describe each in great detail, from history to amenities. Some of the smaller establishments oozed charm, but the beautiful Inn at Sinclair’s Point was more her style. If she were ever to go to St. Dennis, that was where she’d stay.
She found herself scrolling from page to page on the town’s website, reading about the historic sights and following the links to several of the restaurants. When she realized that her casual wanderings had left her wondering if her birth mother dined out in St. Dennis and, if so, whether she preferred the elegant Lola’s Café to the more casual dining ascribed to Captain Walt’s, Jamie turned off her laptop and closed it. There was no point in thinking along those lines if she wasn’t going to follow up.
It could take the court all of the allotted time to complete reasonable efforts to locate her birth mother, but Jamie knew exactly where she’d begin her own search. Her decision made and her path no longer in doubt, she picked up the phone and entered the number for the Inn at Sinclair’s Point.
“Yes,” she replied when her call was answered. “I’d like to make a reservation . . .”