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“Hey, aren’t you going to go for a run this morning,” Steve asked on Tuesday morning.
Liz pulled the covers over her head. “No, I don’t feel like it today.”
Steve leaned down, pulling the blankets away and kissed her temple.
“OK,” he said. “I’m going to make breakfast... I’ll make a breakfast burrito for you.”
“No thank you,” she mumbled. “I’m not hungry this morning. I’ll just fix myself coffee and toast.”
Steve frowned and sat down next to her on the bed. He pulled the covers back and looked at her with concern.
“Are you feeling sick, babe?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Then what’s going on?”
She looked up at him, tempted to tell him. But it was too uncertain, the information too new. She needed time to find out what it meant, and how she felt about it.
“Nothing is going on, Steve. I’m just not very hungry and I don’t feel like running today. Aren’t I entitled to take a break?”
“Sure,” he answered. “You’re entitled.”
He leaned down and kissed her again. Liz got up and showered while Steve ate breakfast. She then dressed and made the bed. Steve was just getting ready to leave for work when she made her way into the kitchen. He pulled her into an embrace, kissing her deeply before leaving. She saw that he had already made coffee and there were two slices of bread in the toaster. She smiled to herself at his thoughtfulness.
She tried to read the newspaper while she ate, but she could not concentrate. She was only able to eat half of one piece of toast. Too much nervous energy was thrumming through her; she regretted now that she had not gone on her run. Finally, she called the police station and found Alice already at her desk.
“Hi Alice, this is Liz. Can you let Sarge know that I’m not coming in this morning?”
“Sure, I’ll tell him. Are you sick?”
“I’m fighting a migraine. I’ll be in later if I can.”
“OK, hon, you get better now.”
“Thanks, Alice.”
She took her badge and gun with her, not certain if she would be going in to work later or not, and locked them in the glove compartment of the car. She drove to Kingsburg and parked in the lot of the Kingsburg Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. Liz nervously ran her hand over her French braid before picking up her purse and getting out of the car.
Elaine Roberts had just been given a shower by a nursing assistant, and dressed in a clean shirt and pants. She was sitting in her wheelchair by the window when Liz walked in. She looked up in surprise to see her daughter so early on a workday.
“Liz,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning. Why aren’t you at work?”
Liz sat down in a chair next to the window. “I had the morning off and I wanted to see you, Ma.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad you dropped by.”
“Ma... ” Liz looked down and rubbed her hands over her thighs. “I wanted to ask you about something.”
“What is it?”
Liz folded her hands in her lap and looked at her mother. “Tell me about the day I was born.”
Elaine’s eyes widened in surprise. “The day you were born? Why?”
“I just haven’t heard the story in a long time and I wanted to hear it again.”
“Well... I was in labor for 20 hours... ”
“I thought you said you were in labor for 16 hours with me,” Liz interrupted.
“Yes, yes... that’s right...16 hours with you and 20 with Stacy. It’s been a long time,” she said ruefully. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“Isn’t it kind of unusual to have a longer labor with the second child? I always thought they were supposed to get shorter with each one.”
Elaine gave her a quizzical look. “Well, I don’t know... I only know what happened with me.”
“Was Dad in the delivery room with you?”
“Yes, he was. I remember pushing and pushing and your father telling me what a great job I was doing. Then suddenly you were there, all wet and slippery. They took you over to this warmer bassinet and cleaned you up. Then they wrapped you up in a pink blanket and brought you to me. I thought you were the most beautiful baby in the world. You had this head full of black hair and your eyes were so dark, even then.”
“Pink blanket,” Liz murmured. “You know, Ma, that’s a great story. I’ve got one to tell you.”
Elaine smiled and said, “What story?”
“It’s about this doctor I’m investigating... an OB/GYN. It seems that for years and years she was selling newborn babies, whose mothers were young and unmarried and unable to care for them. She sold them to couples who couldn’t have children and who, for one reason or another, couldn’t adopt through legitimate agencies.”
She waited for her mother to respond, but Elaine had gone very still, watching her closely. “This doctor admitted the whole thing to me, just up and confessed. Of course, she won’t tell me the names of the birth mothers or babies or who they were sold to.”
The color drained from Elaine’s face and her eyes seemed very big. Even her tremors momentarily seemed stilled. “She did tell me about this one baby, though. She says that back in 1971 she sold a baby girl to a cop from Kingsburg and his wife. Funny thing is,” she said, pulling her birth certificate from her purse and spreading it flat on the bedside table, “the name of that doctor is right here on my birth certificate.”
“Lizzy,” Elaine whispered.
“Tell me it’s not true, Ma. Tell me it’s some other Kingsburg cop, that it’s some other baby. Tell me it’s a coincidence that same doctor just happened to deliver me in that very same year.”
Elaine’s face was white now, and a tear leaked from the corner of her left eye, slowly trickling down her cheek.
“Lizzy, you don’t understand,” she said softly.
“So tell me,” Liz said, her voice harsh.
“We tried and tried. I actually got pregnant four times, but I miscarried during my first trimester. Every time it happened, I just sunk deeper and deeper into depression. Some days I couldn’t even get out of bed. I heard about Dr. Goodman from a friend, who knew someone whose cousin had gotten a baby from her. I begged your father. He didn’t want to. He said he couldn’t live with himself if he broke the law. The more he refused, the more frantic I became... I just had to have a baby. Finally... I threatened to leave him if he didn’t do this for me. And he... he gave in. We went to see Dr. Goodman and she said that she didn’t have one... available right then, but she would put us on the list. A couple months later, she called and told us that she had a young girl who was pregnant and wanted to put the baby up for adoption. So we started buying baby furniture. We told everyone I was pregnant, but because of my previous miscarriages, I was staying in bed and couldn’t see anyone. Then one evening, we got a call. We drove to Fresno, to Dr. Goodman’s clinic, with the money... and she put you in my arms.” Elaine looked at Liz pleadingly. “I wanted you so much, Lizzy, and you were so beautiful.” She swallowed and waited a moment, but Liz said nothing, just continued to stare at her stonily. “Then, when you were about a year and a half, I discovered I was pregnant. I went to Dr. Goodman and she took care of me... and delivered Stacy.”
They stared at one another for several minutes. Finally Liz leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees.
“So is that why I got the worst of the beatings? Because I wasn’t really yours?”
“No, no... of course not! I... I... I just wanted you girls so badly. But then when I had you, I wasn’t prepared for how hard it was. The crying and midnight feedings and lack of sleep and constant dirty diapers and laundry. And when you got older, I just didn’t know how to cope with the noise and the questions and the arguments. I had pictured these perfect, quiet, little girls who did everything they were told.”
“And you got real children instead.”
“Yes... God help me, yes. I didn’t know how to deal with either of you. But you, Lizzy... you were so head-strong, and I just... I just... .”
“You just beat us!”
Elaine wiped at the tears flowing freely down her face, and nodded. She could not meet Liz’s gaze any longer so she looked at the floor.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know I was a horrible mother.”
Liz stood up, towering over her mother, rage contorting her face and her voice.
“No, Ma, you were a horrible mother to Stacy. As it turns out you were no kind of mother to me... you were just fucking horrible!”
She snatched the birth certificate off the table, turned and stormed from the room, ignoring her mother’s sobs and the surprised looks the staff gave her. She stalked out to her car and got in, slamming the door closed. She sat for several minutes, trying to control her anger. What she really wanted to do was to pull her gun out of the glove compartment, get out of the car, and shoot out all of the windows and tires.
Finally, still seething, she started the car and drove back to Fresno. She drove straight to Flor Rosada and parked. She got out and locked the car. She could feel herself shaking as she walked into the lobby, and down the hallway to Room 324. Ellen was in bed, head elevated. She was awake, but she looked worse than she had the day before.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing,” Liz yelled. “You knew who I was all along, didn’t you?”
Several nurses and aides appeared in the doorway, concern on their faces. Ellen, eyes still half-closed waved them off.
“It’s all right. The detective is just overcome with sorrow at the prospect of my death. You can go.” The staff looked from Liz to Ellen, then at each other, before moving slowly away. Ellen smiled but it looked more like a grimace, as though her skin and muscles could not quite fight gravity. “Of course I knew who you were, my dear.”
“And what was this all about? Are you just trying to hurt as many people as possible before you kick off? Are you so angry at the world because you couldn’t marry the man you wanted and couldn’t have his children, that you are going to punish as many people as possible?”
Ellen gave a weak laugh. “You really should stick with police work, Detective. Psychoanalysis isn’t your forte. As for why... I believe you wanted to know the identities of all the babies I placed. Didn’t you say they had a right to know where they came from? I give you the identity of one, and now you're angry. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor form, don’t you think?”
“Who is my mother? What is her name?”
“What are you going to do, Detective? Search her out, show up on her doorstep and announce yourself? Throw her life into turmoil?”
“Who is she?”
“She was a young girl, scared and alone. I gave her a place to live and I provided her with food and clothing and I found a home for the baby she couldn’t care for. She did change her mind.”
“What do you mean,” Liz asked. “She wanted to keep me?”
“Yes. A few weeks after you were born, she came to me with this story about wanting you and knowing that God wanted her to keep you. She even gave you a name... Rachel.”
“And what happened?”
“I convinced her that it was a mistake, of course. She was only 16 years old. She hadn’t finished high school, had no family support at all. It would have been a disaster if she had kept you.”
Liz walked over to the bed and leaned down, her face inches from Ellen’s.
“What gave you the right? You didn’t care about what happened to me... all you cared about was the money my parents paid you. You weren’t concerned about what would happen to my mother or to me if you had to give me back to her. You were only concerned with the money you would have to give back.”
“You know nothing about my motivations. Every baby had a better life because of me.”
“Every baby? Really? You're the one who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You don’t know anything about my childhood. You don’t know anything about the hell I had to survive.”
Liz straightened and turned away. She stood looking out the window. She had to strain to hear Ellen’s next words, but she kept her back to her.
“No, I suppose I don’t know what hell you lived through. But I can guess at the hell you would have lived through if Janie had kept you.”
Liz slowly turned to face her. “Janie?”
“She was only 15 when she became pregnant. Her family arranged for her to go east to have the baby. Only after she had given birth and the baby was adopted, would she be allowed to come home. Instead she chose to come to me. She didn’t want to return to her family. I gave her an opportunity to get away from them and begin a new life.”
“Janie what,” Liz asked quietly.
“Jane Aronian,” Ellen said wearily. “Now leave me alone.”
“Where did she live,” Liz asked. “Who was my father?” But Ellen’s eyes were closed and she did not answer.
Liz left and for the second time that morning, nursing home staff watched her warily as she made her way through the halls. She sat in her car for a long time, just staring out the window at the lawns and shrubs. Beyond Flor Rosada was the peach orchard. By February, the trees would be bursting with pink blossoms.
Jane Aronian. She had a name... now what? Did she want to find this woman? What would she say to her? She started the car and drove to the station. Alice looked up when Liz walked by her desk.
“How are you feelin’, Liz?”
“I’ve been better,” Liz said, sitting down.
Her cell phone began to vibrate... her personal phone. It was Stacy. Liz could imagine the staff had called Stacy right away to report her sister’s abusive language to their mother. She let the call go to voice mail.
Liz was not sure where to start searching for Jane Aronian, so she just put the name into a general internet search. There was one hit... a newspaper article about the Coalinga High School Girls Swim Team, along with a black and white picture of the team. Jane Aronian was the third girl from the left in the second row. The article identified her as a freshman. The age was right; could this be her mother? Liz stared at the picture of the small teenager with big, dark eyes. Did she look sad, or was Liz just projecting her own turmoil onto the girl?
Liz picked up the phone and dialed Information, asking for the number for Coalinga High School. When she called the school, she asked for the principal and was put through to Mrs. Clark. Liz suddenly realized she had not given any thought as to what she was going to say.
“This is Mrs. Clark. May I help you?”
“Uh... yes... umm... Mrs. Clark... my name is Liz Roberts. I’m a detective with the Fresno Police Department. As part of an ongoing investigation, we're trying to locate a former student of yours. She was a freshman back in 1970.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Clark exclaimed. “Why would you be looking for someone after all these years?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you any details of the investigation. But we think this woman may have pertinent information, but the last information we have on her is that she was a student at your school in the ‘70s. I'm trying to find a birth date, social security number, names of relatives... anything you can find. Do your records go back that far?”
“Well, yes, they do. But it'll take some digging. We can start with the older yearbooks and then try to find her transcripts. What's the name?”
“Jane Aronian. I know that she was on the swim team as a freshman.”
“Jane Aronian,” Mrs. Clark repeated. “All right, Detective, I'll see what we can do. But this may take a while to research.”
“That’s fine Mrs. Clark. Any help you can give me would be appreciated.”
She spent the rest of the morning trying to concentrate on anything other than Jane Aronian. For lunch, she ate a container of yogurt at her desk. Stacy called several more times, but Liz did not answer. She also did not listen to the messages Stacy left. She could imagine what her sister was saying. There were also two calls from Steve that she did not pick up. Stacy had probably called him when she could not reach Liz. At 4:30 in the afternoon, a clerk at the front desk called.
“There’s a Stacy Oliveira out here, asking for you, Roberts. Says she’s your sister.”
“She is my sister, but I don’t have time to talk to her now. Just tell her I’m not in, OK?”
“Sure thing.”
She had just hung up when the phone rang again. The caller ID showed the number for Coalinga High School.
“This is Detective Roberts,” Liz answered.
“Detective, this is Mrs. Clark at Coalinga High School.”
“Yes, Mrs. Clark. Did you find any information?”
“Yes, I did. Jane Aronian was a sophomore when she left Coalinga High in January of 1971.”
“She left? When did she return?”
“She didn’t. Her sister called and said she was moving back east to live with relatives and would not be back. The strange thing is that I don’t see that her transcripts were ever requested from another school.”
“Her sister called? Why didn’t one of her parents call?”
“Because Miss Aronian’s parents died when she was 10 years old. She lived with her sister and brother-in-law. They were her legal guardians.”
“What were their names?”
“Maria and Armen Bedrosian.”