A weird look came over Dizzy’s face. Shock and confusion all at once. She kept blinking. I thought, This was what you wanted. Georgia wants to be part of our lives, so why aren’t you saying anything? Why aren’t you jumping at the chance she’s giving you? Georgia’s words hung in the air, suspended, while Dizzy tried to make sense of them.
Georgia was willing to put her career on the line, make herself a target for reporters, tabloids. I knew we were going to have it bad, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her.
Dizzy didn’t say anything. She went to her backpack, fished something out, and walked back to Georgia. Seeing the two of them so close to each other, I realized how much they looked alike. “Here,” she said and handed Georgia a photo and something else — a birth certificate.
The beeping on the machine by Dad’s bed was the only sound in the room.
“Take it.” Dizzy’s mouth was set with grim determination. I’d seen that look before. Georgia held up the photo. It was the one of our family. In it, I stood in front of Dad, who had his arm around Georgia, her belly round with Dizzy. She held it up and gave a soft moan. Then, she looked at the birth certificate. “Georgia Hay,” she murmured and sighed.
“I was going to show this to people, to prove who I was. But I know who I am. I’m Dizzy Doucette. Ray’s daughter.” Georgia looked up at her. She swallowed, her eyes swimming with tears. Dizzy balled up her hands into fists, as if summoning the strength for the next words. “You should go.” Dizzy’s voice cracked. She went to Dad, bending over the bed so she could rest her head against his chest. His arms encircled her as her shoulders shook with sobs. Dad rubbed her back with the hand not attached to the IV. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
Georgia opened her mouth to say something to me, but I shook my head. A silent don’t hung between us. She picked up her purse and took out a business card, held it up for me to see, and left it on the table by her chair. She slid the photograph inside her purse and composed herself. There were tears in her eyes, too. I shifted to let her pass by, an arm’s length away but still unreachable.
Dizzy didn’t see Georgia leave. Probably heard her heels tap across the hospital room floor, but she didn’t look up. Didn’t say goodbye. She stayed beside Dad until I went over and wrapped my arms around both of them.
I glanced back at the card she’d left behind and the empty chair where Georgia had been. She’d come in and out like a ghost. Like a memory of a mother we didn’t know. Like we’d never know.