eighteen

“We’re supposed to stay on the grounds,” I said as we headed to the parking lot.

“Well, that’s not happening.”

“You’re good with that?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “In fact, I’m better than fine. I’ve moved from self-loathing to outright anger. It’s a much better place to be.”

“Good,” I said. “Because you’re going to need a little chutzpah today.”

I filled my mother in on Bob’s case and how my sketching had failed me. I was like a singer who had lost her voice, and I hoped my mother understood the stress it had caused. When you rely heavily on a single strength, it’s unnerving to come up short. My mother, being an artist herself, understood this, but I could see she was distracted by my friendship with Bob.

“So you’re friends with the man who runs the recycling center?”

“Yes, but he’s an artist too. We actually met at a gallery showing on Outsider Art. His dioramas were showcased, and I was fascinated with his medium.” I described the intricacies of Bob’s work to my mother.

“Very elaborate?” my mother asked, and then added. “I actually remember seeing some of his work. It had a fantasy feel.”

“Surreal, but relatable.”

“That’s probably how you felt growing up.”

“A tortured history is required for an artist,” I laughed. “My problem now is all I’ve got is history. I can’t seem to move forward visually. I’ve got painter’s block.”

“Been there for about twenty years,” my mother said, “and it’s awful. But, let me get back to your friend Bob. Can’t Frank do his job without you?”

“Of course, but I feel responsible because Bob was my friend, and his connection to Frank was through me. And now that I’ve seen this woman, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you shouldn’t feel guilty, but I won’t argue. You’ve always tried to save the world. Charlie and I were just talking about it.”

“Charlie?” I said, laughing. “Has he been here?”

“Sure,” my mother said. “He was here a few days ago.”

I couldn’t help but grin. For all of Charlie’s bravado, he loved my family, and since half the members of my family weren’t related to who we thought they were, it was perfectly fine for Charlie to pretend he was one of us. Although lately, being a Prentice wasn’t all that cool.

“You two always had a thing,” I teased.

“It’s those t-shirts he wears,” my mother replied slyly as she rolled down the window and ran her fingers through the wind. A gust of warm air sent ripples up and down her silk blouse. “How can I help?” she said as I pulled into the driveway of a true Gold Coast mansion: the home I grew up in.

The circular driveway was empty, but I expected Norma, the housekeeper, was home. I put the car in park and turned to my mother.

“It’s not Teddy’s death that’s held me back. It’s what has come since.”

It was faint, but my I could see the muscles in my mother’s face droop. What had come since was a dangerous topic—the very last thing my mother and I spoke about before she slipped into a catatonic state. I had a suspicion, however, that until it was resolved, neither of us would truly heal.

“I can’t stop thinking I might have a child.”

“Funny,” she said, reaching for my hand. “I can’t stop thinking I might have a grandchild.”

I held my mother’s hand, and then I watched her face as she saw mine fall.

“What is it, Constance?”

“I sense this child isn’t safe, and I think it’s the root of my visual block.” And with that, I explained the Lifely fertility center and my father’s potential association. There was no reason to sugar coat the story at this point. My mother let out an audible gasp when I explained how Lifely serviced undesirable clients.

“I can’t say I’m shocked, but I have to wonder, even with your father’s horrible track record, whether he’d actually go so far as to place your eggs with an unfit parent. It would be child abuse.”

“Look what he did to Frank.”

My mother opened the car door, and we walked to the front door. “I’m not defending your father, but Frank’s parents were actually good people. They were poor and had no command of the English language, but they weren’t deficient.”

“How do you know that?”

My mother led me to a stone bench in a side garden. “Immediately after Frank was removed from our home, I harassed your father regarding his whereabouts. Of course, he wouldn’t say a thing, but your father’s driver at the time was a very nice man. At one of my lower moments, the driver took pity on me. Apparently, he’d driven your father to Frank’s new home. He gave me the address.”

“Mom!” I screamed. “You knew where Frank was all this time.”

“Calm down,” she said. “It’s not what you think. The family moved to another neighborhood shortly after, but not before I made at least one attempt to see Frank and, honestly, he was perfectly fine. It wasn’t a great neighborhood, but I saw his adopted mother pushing him on a swing, and the outside of the house and yard were well kept.”

“Why didn’t you try to find them again?”

“Your father fired the driver after he found out the man had given me the address, and that was the end of it. Your father continued to insist it was a normal adoption. I know it’s hard to see, but at the time, I didn’t understand your father had split up the boys for a study. I actually thought this was a genuine adoption.”

I frowned at my mother. “You owe me one.”

“I owe you more than one, so why don’t we start now.”

We entered my childhood home and no matter how many times I’d walked through the front door, I was always amazed at the grandeur. The house didn’t exude a homey feel, as most of the rooms were designed for large-scale entertaining, but the back of the house had a cozy atrium off the kitchen that my mother had added when I was young.

After plenty of hugs from Norma—my mother’s housekeeper, companion, and confidante—we headed back to my favorite room and settled into the patio chairs surrounding a small indoor pond.

“Mom, here’s where I need your help,” I said as I gratefully accepted a glass of iced tea from Norma. “Dr. Grovit called me earlier. He’s found one of Dad’s former lab assistants, and he’s willing to meet with us. Apparently, he’s now a doctor, and he remained on at the labs to run the Plant Biology division.”

My mother’s breathing slowed. “Go on.”

“You were there when my egg and Teddy’s sperm were harvested.”

She tried to interrupt, but there was no room or time to backpedal.

“No apologies,” I said. “I know you couldn’t stop it. Dad probably threw a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo around.”

“He told me you had fibroids and, in fact, you had bad cramps. It seemed so logical, I didn’t think twice. All I wanted was for you to feel better.”

“See, you’re remembering things that hadn’t come up before.”

“Still, I don’t know how I can be of any help.”

“If you could remember some of the people involved, it may lead us to something more valuable. Maybe meeting this doctor will spark your memory.”

“It’s possible,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Now that I’m sober, I seem to be infinitely more productive. I can’t get over how many hours are actually in a day.” My mother rose from her lounge chair and kissed me. “Let me grab a change of clothes, and then we’ll head over to the labs.”