Sarah’s in a great mood when she’s back on duty the next morning, though I can tell she has a hangover and is trying to hide it. She’s drinking a lot of coffee. She clearly had a good night out with Dan and is singing a track by our favorite band, Glowlight.
She’s wheeling me from my bedroom to the kitchen when I hear the clunk of mail landing on the mat. Sarah stops to pick it up and puts the small pile of letters on the kitchen table.
“Oh, look—one for you, Jemma,” she comments. As she pushes me into my place, I see that the top letter, though addressed to Mom and Dad, has my name on it too—Parents/Guardians of Jemma Shaw. I rarely get mail. I wonder what it could be.
Mom picks up the pile and glances down. Then she quickly moves my letter to the bottom and puts them all on the kitchen counter. Sarah doesn’t seem to notice.
Now I am even more curious. Why doesn’t Mom want to open it?
After breakfast, Sarah goes to get Olivia ready, and Dad gets up to leave for work. Mom follows him out into the hallway to kiss him goodbye. Their voices are muffled, but I can pick out Mom’s words. She says, “There’s been another letter. I haven’t read it yet, but I think we’ll have to tell her.”
I strain to hear Dad’s reply. “Yes—she is family. Jemma has a right to know.”
Family? What are they talking about? If only I could ask. It sounds like they’re planning to tell me. I just have to hope that they do.
Dad’s gone and Sarah’s in the kitchen with me, easing my arms gently into my coat, ready for school. I’m conscious that my letter is still there, at the bottom of the pile on the counter.
Olivia’s moaning that she can’t find her reading book.
Mom sighs. “When did you last have it, Olivia?”
Olivia shrugs. “Dunno.”
“Take a look in your bedroom,” Mom tells her.
Olivia heads off slowly toward the stairs.
“Sarah, can you go with her?” Mom asks. “I don’t see her book down here.”
“Sure,” says Sarah. “You’re ready, Jemma. That’s one down at least!” She hurries off after Olivia.
“Where’s Finn’s water bottle?” Mom mutters to herself. “I’m sure I washed it yesterday. I bet you know where I put it, Jemma.”
As it happens, I do know. I saw it fall off the dish rack and down behind the trash can.
The doorbell rings, and Mom wheels me toward the door. We never know if my minibus or Finn’s cab will come first. Today, it’s the cab that takes Finn to his special school.
Mom sighs and pushes a spare green water bottle into Finn’s bag, which is not going to please Finn, because he always has the blue one. She helps him with his coat and gives his hair a quick comb. He wriggles away as fast as he can and out the front door with his taxi escort, Jo.
“Reading book found,” Sarah says, coming down the stairs.
“I hope you said thank you, Olivia,” says Mom, though she knows full well that Olivia hasn’t.
“It wasn’t me who lost it, Lorraine!” Olivia protests. “Why do you always blame me? It’s not my fault!”
She stamps her feet, and I’m relieved when the doorbell rings again so I can leave before Olivia starts screaming.
But all I think about as the bus proceeds down the street is the letter. I try to figure out what Mom and Dad were talking about. Family? Mom has an aunt and Dad has a brother, but we don’t see much of them because they live a long way from here. Were they talking about their family? Or could it be mine—like my birth mom, the one who gave birth to me and then dumped me? Could she have finally decided she wants to see me?
I hope it’s not her. I don’t want to see her—not ever! She probably only wants to get a look at me and stare. I hope Mom and Dad tell her to get lost.
As soon as Dad is back in the evening, I start waiting for them to talk to me—but they don’t say anything. I couldn’t even see my letter in the kitchen at dinnertime. The whole pile was gone. Have they changed their minds, or are they waiting for Finn and Olivia to be in bed so they can talk about it? I’m not exactly looking forward to a conversation about my birth mom, but waiting for it is even worse.
Dad does the dishes while Mom and Sarah put Finn and Olivia to bed. It seems like it takes forever, even though I know it is probably just the normal amount of time. But then, finally, when it’s nearly my bedtime and I’m watching TV on my own, Mom and Dad both come in. Mom pauses the TV, and Dad turns me around to face the sofa and sits down, looking serious.
He has the letter in his hand. I get a surge of relief mixed with panic.
“We’ve got something to tell you, Jemma,” he says gently. “Something important.”
My heart is beating so fast. Suddenly I don’t want to hear—I don’t want to know.
“We’ve gotten a letter,” Dad continues, “from Social Services.” He pauses, as if unsure how to continue.
Mom sits down beside him. “Jemma, I know this is going to be a bit of a shock, and I will explain why we haven’t told you before…”
I wait.
Dad reaches out and touches my hand. “You’ve got a sister, Jemma.”
What?
A sister?
Mom sighs and smiles. “Her name’s Jodi.”
I try to take it in. The shock is making me breathless. A sister. I was so sure it was my birth mom wanting to see me. A sister is something completely different.
“The thing is,” Mom continues, “we knew she wasn’t told about you. So we thought it might be upsetting for you to know about her. But she found your name mentioned in some papers, and… I’m sorry, Jemma. It’s been hard to know what to do.”
They knew! All this time Mom and Dad have known that I have a sister. So many feelings are swirling around inside me. The thought of them not telling me makes me angry—but Mom’s right. It would have been hard knowing about my sister if she was never going to know about me. I am still in shock, but I’m curious too.
A sister. My sister. I start to wonder what she’s like—how old she is…
“The papers Jodi found were her adoption papers,” Mom continues. “You and Jodi were split up when you were put into foster care. Your birth mom couldn’t cope. She had a lot of problems. She was very young and on her own.”
I’ve sometimes imagined it—my mom giving me up. I could even picture her face, horrified at her own baby, unable to deal with what I was. But there were two of us, two children. That idea had never entered my head. And she couldn’t look after my sister either. Does my sister have a disability too? I’m not sure what to make of this—but I know it changes things. It changes everything.
“Jodi’s been asking if she can contact you,” says Dad, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I get a surge of excitement that quickly sinks when I think what they would have had to tell Jodi—that I can’t exactly contact her back.
“She’s been persistent, but we weren’t sure if it was a good idea,” says Mom. “It’s so hard when you can’t tell us how you feel about it… But we’ve told her about you, and we’ve said she can write to you. I hope it’s what you want, Jemma. I really do.”
My sister! I’m still finding it hard to believe that I have one. I wonder how much she’s been told about me. Will she really want to know me once she finds out what I’m like? I am thrilled, though. I can’t wait to know more about her. She’s going to write to me! My sister is going to write to me!