Chapter 9 - THE PICTURE OF THE WOMAN WHO DIDN’T EXIST
One evening, an envelope arrived at my nonprofit office.
No return address.
Inside were three things.
A copy of my original psychological evaluation.
A photograph of Rebecca at eighteen.
And a recent photograph of a woman around twenty-nine.
Brown hair.
Green eyes.
Something unmistakably Whitaker around the mouth.
I called Elaine.
“Did you send this?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
Silence.
“Elaine?”
“Maybe.”
“Who?”
“You need to speak to her yourself.”
Two weeks later, I received a text from an unknown number.
I’M NOT READY TO SEE REBECCA. BUT I WANT TO MEET YOU.
Claire.
We met at a public café.
She was already sitting near the window when I arrived.
Twenty-nine.
Married.
Occupational therapist.
One child.
A complete adult life that had unfolded while my sister mourned an infant who was never dead.
“Claire?”
She nodded.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Finally she asked:
“Did Rebecca really think I died?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“I know.”
“My adoption file says voluntary placement.”
“I know.”
“She signed.”
“She did.”
Claire studied me.
Maybe she expected me to defend Rebecca.
I didn’t.
She continued.
“She was eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t erase a signature.”
“No.”
Something in her face softened.
“You aren’t going to tell me I have to forgive her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody in this family has spent too much time deciding what other people owe them.”
Claire looked out the window.
Then she reached into her bag.
An old photograph.
My mother.
My father.
Elaine.
A newborn.
And another young woman.
I had never seen her.
Claire pointed.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Who?”
“She visited my adoptive parents every birthday until I was eight.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“She helped pay the adoption legal fees.”
“Who is she?”
Claire looked directly at me.
“Your mother’s sister.”
I almost laughed.
“My mother doesn’t have a sister.”
Claire’s expression did not change.
“That’s what she told you?”
Before I could answer, the café door opened.
Elaine walked in.
Beside her was a gray-haired woman in a dark coat.
She stopped when she saw me.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“Oh.”
I stood.
Elaine whispered:
“Daniel, this is Margaret.”
May you like
The woman smiled sadly.
“You have your grandmother’s face.”
