“If anyone kept records, she did.”
I pushed myself away from the table.
“I think I know where to look.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“Walter.”
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
One thought followed me during the entire drive home.
Carol hadn’t asked me to forgive my mother.
She’d asked me to forgive her.
So what exactly had Carol done?
—
By dawn, I was searching my mother’s attic.
At the bottom of an old box, I found a shoebox sealed with tape.
PRIVATE. DO NOT OPEN.
Inside were yellowing letters exchanged with a woman named Marjorie.
I read the first letter twice before I understood what it meant.
‘Dear Ruth, the young woman arrived Tuesday. She is nearly six months along. She still asks whether Walter knows about the child. I assured her, as you instructed, that contacting him would only make matters worse.’
My hands began to shake.
The next letter was dated four months later.
‘The girl has finally signed the surrender papers. She remains convinced Walter has begun a new life and does not want to be contacted.’
I stopped breathing.
But Anna wasn’t the only person my mother had deceived.
Another letter came next.
‘A local couple has come forward for the private placement. Carol seems especially eager. I understand Walter has been told only that the birth mother requested a closed adoption. Discretion will be maintained as you requested.’
I sank against the attic wall.
Rebecca.
My daughter Rebecca.
Anna’s eyes.
That was why Anna’s eyes had seemed so familiar.
Rebecca had Anna’s eyes.
For all those years, I’d looked into them without ever knowing whose they were.
Then I found another envelope.
The handwriting on it was more familiar to me than my own.
Carol’s.
It was addressed to my mother.
‘Ruth, I can’t keep doing this. Walter still believes Anna left because she stopped loving him. I heard what you said to her that day, and I should have told him then. I didn’t. Part of me was afraid that if he knew the truth, he’d go after her.’
I had to stop reading.
Then I continued.
‘Now there’s a baby involved. You keep telling me Anna has signed the papers and wants the child placed somewhere else, but that doesn’t make what we did right. If Walter ever learns the truth, he’ll never forgive either of us.’
Below Carol’s letter were four words written in my mother’s handwriting.
‘Then make sure he doesn’t.’
I couldn’t tell Anna over the phone.
—
It was after eleven when I stood at her door again, clutching the letters.
