Chloe
I stared open-mouthed at the small camera screen, where I was standing behind the set, with Jerry, Jay, Katie, and Hal. Jerry’s expression went livid, and Jay stared surprised. The entire news set went silent.
Virginia Jorgensen looked taken aback, “It is true?”
“Yes. That’s what I said. I have a daughter.”
“Well, would you care to explain?”
“I would. My mother died when I was a kid, and . . . I’d never had to go through anything like that. I dealt with it in a way that some would call a cliché, and I repressed everything. Turns out, that’s not the best idea. One day, I realized that the hard way, when that strip turned pink.”
Virginia nodded understandingly.
“She’s playing the sympathy card,” Jerry said, “Genius.”
I frowned. Sarah looked so sincere; that couldn’t just be for the cameras.
“In a world where so many people are dying to have children, I certainly wasn’t going to get rid of my baby. I was young, yes, but there was a family somewhere who could do things that I couldn’t just yet, and who wanted to. I’d made mistakes, and it would be hard to let go, but I had to. My father and I were mourning. It would have been completely unfair to bring a child into that mix.”
“Of course.”
“Right now, I’m not ready to share her with the world yet. I have a past, like everyone else, and I’ve kept my life as private as I could manage, considering the family I’m from. But it catches up. I can only say that I am glad that I didn’t make any rash decisions.”
“You mean an abortion?”
“Of course. That’s . . . murder. It is something that will haunt a person for the rest of their life. Which is why my father’s campaign is going to be partnering with St. Mary’s Home for Children, to find a way to reach those young girls who are so lost that they think there’s only one way. Together, we will give them options. It is something we are very passionate about, and with the help of hospital programs and the assistance of the Catholic Church, we will find away to scrap that word from our vocabulary entirely. Life is a beautiful thing; to take it away . . . well, that’s criminal.”
“She’s amazing,” Katie breathed.
Jerry shook his head slowly in disbelief and turned to Jay, “She should have run for president.”
I smiled to myself.
Virginia turned to the camera, “Well, you heard it here first. Sarah Barron, daughter of Governor Barron, presidential candidate, does indeed have a child, but furthermore, is pro-life.” She turned to Sarah, “Thank you so much for talking to us here at Wake Up, America, Sarah. We look forward to seeing you and your daughter here soon.”
“It would be my absolute pleasure,” she replied with one of her camera-perfect smiles.
Everything seemed so . . . perfect. The way she sat, the way she tilted her head and smiled, the way she spoke – so camera-perfect.
“And that’s a wrap!” the cameraman said.
Virginia said something to Sarah, who gave her a beam and a hug, and walked off the set.
The minute she walked past the camera crew, the smile was off her face, and she shook her head in exasperation.
Had it really all been for the camera?
“That was great, Sarah,” Jay said beaming.
She barely glanced at him, as she took the Macchiato Katie was handing her.
“You should really consider running for office,” Jerry added, and she gave him a blank look and turned to me, “You ready, Chloe?”
I wasn’t.
“Where are you going?” Jay asked.
“I’m taking my daughter to school, and then I’m going to have to talk to St. Mary’s Home for Children, because we’re pro-life,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Strategy. It was all strategy.
Her expression softened as she turned to me and whispered, “I am, I promise.”
With that, she led me out, my heart racing a mile a minute, even as I began to think: Am I strategy?
*
We arrived in front of the large gates of Fairless High a couple of minutes later and Sarah pulled out an ID card, scanning the barcode over the reader on her side. I felt my heart ram against my chest as the gates swung open slowly. There were four guards standing around at the car park entry – if I wasn’t nervous before, I certainly was now; all the security was making me edgy.
Ryan eased the car into a spot between a Lincoln town car and a Range Rover. Who were these people?
“Nervous?” Sarah asked.
I bit my lip and nodded slowly, looking out of the window as a few people milled around a convertible across the lot. The crowd and their equally glossy selves filled up the parking lot little by little, like drops of water trickling into a glass. I already felt out of it.
I took in my appearance for the hundredth time. I really wasn’t sure how people on this side of the world dressed to school, and had spent almost forty minutes changing and getting dressed, before Sarah had come to my rescue.
Uniforms! Genius.
I’d just assumed the tartan skirt, blouse and blazer combination was another one of the outfits that seemed to keep popping up in my closet.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, after a long pause.
“Can I have a minute?” I asked.
“You can have as much time as you want.”
I looked up, “Don’t you have to go to work?”
She shrugged, “Not just yet. I kind of figured this would happen,” she replied, with a half smile.
“What, that I might freak out?”
“This is you freaking out?” she asked her brows raised, with a laugh.
I smiled, “Internally.”
“What are you most nervous about?”
I swallowed, “It’s high school. Everything’s daunting. I just . . . one minute.”
So, we sat.
One minute.
Six minutes.
A bell went off.
The crowd thinned.
Thirteen minutes.
It was better to be new than to make an uncomfortable entrance, so with a breath, I said, “Okay. I’m ready,” taking my bag off the seat and pushing open the door.
Sarah grinned, “Have a good day.”
I stepped out and turned to the open window, “Four-thirty?”
“I’ll be here at four,” she replied.
I smiled and with all the courage I could muster, made my way across the elongating sidewalk and up to the grandness that was Fairless High. I didn’t look back; I didn’t need to. I knew she was still there. She always was.
*
It wasn’t half bad. Actually, it was kind of cool.
After the awkward entry – heads turned, people glanced, I was introduced: This is Chloe Lane. She’s new – I found a seat on the side, where I proceeded to make myself as small as possible.
History.
It was beautiful.
After a rehash of all the things I already knew, I was starting to figure that the point of a lot of the classes was for the upcoming May SATs and basic advanced classes, with some intertwining classes set aside for – besides appealing to those few who actually chose to take further classes – people who were behind or simply failing.
If the latter was the case, the classes were surprisingly full.
We had an hour of History, and then, there was a swap, and another teacher came in – English.
I was introduced again. So was another guy at the back. I tried not to look around too much, but honestly, I could barely help myself. They were all so . . . what’s the word? Polished? Clean? Glamorous?
Apparently, the uniforms could be customized somehow, because there was nothing uniform about the class in any manner. The skirt, yes. But that was about it.
The girl next to me turned and said, “Would you like to share?”
I stared blankly in confusion.
“Yeats,” she said, holding up a book, “You don’t have one.”
“Oh, thanks.”
She moved her chair over and put the book down, “It’s fine.”
And she didn’t say another word for the next hour of alliteration, metaphors and oxymorons. In my head, I was thinking, ‘do I have a friend in the bag?’ It was the grade school scenario all over again – ‘would you like to share my sandwich?’ and suddenly, you had a best friend.
However, high school is very different. Because, when the bell went off, she picked up her book, her purse, and with a polite smile, she was out the door.
Maybe people were just that cordial?
I made my way out through the door, wondering just what to do with myself. Everyone was heading towards the open rustic picnic-tabled space outside at the end of the hall, but I wasn’t entirely sure what following the crowd would do for me in this scenario.
So, I made my way over to sofas in a café-like place – called ‘The Fairless Hub’ as I gathered from the signage, and tried to look busy.
This was going to be so much harder than I thought.
I already had a text from Sarah. Suddenly, I missed the bliss of her apartment; my lazy days spent lying on the cushions in front of her library of books; my room, and my time at Jay’s campaign headquarters.
Hey. Checking in. How are you?
I replied: I’m fine. Thanks.
What else was I going to say? I’m nostalgic for the bliss of idleness. She’d gone through the trouble of trying to better my life; there was no way I was going to complain. Not for any reason whatsoever.
She replied within minutes: Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound so good.
I smiled.
I replied: I’m fine. Really.
Three minutes: Okay. I’ll check in again in another couple of hours. Try, okay? Try to make friends, try to talk to people. I promise you’ll love it. And if you don’t, I will make up for making you go at all. See you later.
I smiled to myself. It was very hard not to like Sarah. So, I could understand how her days here must have been – perfection. But me, I was a whole other story entirely.
“Oh my God. Is that the new Balenciaga?”
I turned to the exclamatory voice a distance away. A girl in a much shorter skirt, tank top, blazer and what I assumed were very painful heelless shoes stood staring right at me. I looked behind me wondering if there could be somebody else that she was talking to.
There wasn’t, so I replied, “Sorry?”
She walked over. A dark-haired girl with a fringe that practically covered her eyes in tow, not looking up from her phone – she’d modified her uniform with a see-through shirt with a rather low-cut neckline and of course, the heels as well. I was starting to think the heels were the uniform.
“It is!” Girl #1 said, stopping in front of me and staring at my bag.
I had no idea what we were even supposed to be talking about.
Girl #2 looked up and smiled at me, “Ignore her. She’s a label whore.”
Girl #1 glared at her friend, “No, I’m a Balenciaga whore. There is a very big difference.”
Girl #2 sat in front on the chair across from mine, “You’re Chloe Lane, right?”
I found my voice, “Yeah.”
She smiled, “I’m Megan. This is Courtney. And those two guys over there checking you out are Vinnie and Cameron.”
I looked up at where she was pointing – two guys were standing a distance away, in the other direction, staring at our table. Before I could reply, they started to walk over.
Courtney sat next to her friend, “Oh God, they’re coming over. I can’t deal with Vinnie right now,” she said, with a groan.
“Hey guys,” Megan said, as they arrived, “This is Chloe. She’s a person, not an object for you to ogle. Now, are you going to sit?”
You know those people who you meet and you know right in that instant you’d love to have them as friends? Megan – she was one of those people.
Vinnie chuckled and turned to me, “Don’t listen to her. We were just saying we’d never seen you around before. I’m Vincent – everyone calls me Vinnie; and this is Cam.
“What’s up with you, Court?” Cameron sat next to me, prying Courtney’s hands off her face.
I was literally in the middle of all this. I don’t think I’d ever felt more uncomfortable in my life. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. They were nice. I was just . . . shy, I guess. And in complete awe – they were acting like they’d known me forever!
“Courtney hates Vinnie. Chloe’s new, and I’m starving,” Megan replied, turning back to her phone.
Courtney turned to me, “I love your bag, Chloe. I am so jealous. How do you even have it? It came out like two days ago. It’s barely on shelves anywhere. I wanted to be first.” She pouted.
This had to be an alternate universe. We were talking about a bag. At length.
I gave her a wry smile and shrugged, “It was a present.”
Oh, Sarah.
“Lucky you. Your parents must be so cool. My mom said I have to get my grades up before she gives me back my credit cards. Can you imagine?” Courtney replied.
Megan looked up at her, “Really? Your mother wants you to come to school for the purpose of getting good grades? Wow! Who would have thought?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Vinnie laughed, “Shut up, Meggie. Not all of us want to be here, you know.”
Megan shrugged, “I have to be. I’m applying to Harvard.”
Cameron rolled his eyes, “It’s not like you have to. You could just go to Columbia; your dad’s the freaking Dean of Admissions!”
“My point exactly,” Megan replied, “Anywhere but Columbia.”
“Do you know where you’re applying, Chloe?” Vinnie asked me.
“For college?” I asked. Stupid question.
“No, for dance class,” Megan said sarcastically. “Yes, for college.” I was starting to gather that this bored sarcasm was her thing.
I shrugged, “Don’t know yet.”
Yet. Right. I had never even given it a thought.
“Do you know where you want to go?” Megan asked.
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
Cameron laughed as a bell went off, “Well, you better start thinking. If your parents are anything like mine, they’ve applied for you – probably their alma maters. Seriously, my dad actually suggested a state school. Honestly, I should have just gotten emancipated last year.”
They all stood up, gathering their bags. I followed suit.
“Do we all have Algebra right now?” Courtney asked; her eyes glued to her phone as she led the way from the hub. I wasn’t sure whether to follow or walk slowly behind. Honestly, friendliness was a foreign concept to me.
“What are you doing? Come on,” Vinnie said, turning to me, “Rothman hates it when we’re late.”
I walked over to them as they stood waiting for me. Little old me.
My irrelevance was starting to waver.
“You have a lot to learn, Lane,” Megan said, throwing an arm over my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Courtney laughed, “Learn Lane.”
I couldn’t help but smile. They were a rather amusing, and I was far out-of-my-depth but I had to admit, I was hooked.
Try, Sarah had said. I’d barely done anything. Whoever this Balenciaga person was – he or she deserved an award.
Hours later, as the parking lot emptied out, I slid into the back of the car, as Sarah sat looking expectantly at me.
I wasn’t giving anything away.
“Hi. How are you?” she asked.
“I’m okay. You?”
Ryan eased out of the parking lot, and Sarah gave me look that said, ‘really? That’s how you’re going to play this?’
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she replied, staring fixedly at me.
“What?”
“Aw, come on. How was your day?”
“Good,” I said, but I felt my lips quirk up involuntarily and soon, there was a smile playing on my lips.
She grinned, “It was good?”
I grinned, “It was good.”
She let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat.
“So, we’re coming back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I feigned nonchalance.
“I knew you’d love it. Okay, tell me everything. Minute by minute.”
I smiled, “Sarah.”
“Fine, hour by hour, then.”
I laughed, “I’ll tell you later. I’m starving.”
“What do you feel like? Fine dining? Sushi? Katie can get you a change of clothes. I’m not sure you want to go into Sushi Yasuda in your uniform.”
“Let’s just go home. I’d rather have leftover pizza.”
She stared at me for a second and nodded. Yeah, I heard it too.
Home.
Well, what else could I call it?
“What are you thinking of?” I asked, as she got a faraway look on her face.
She smiled nervously, “College.”
I raised a brow.
“I know, I know, one step at a time. But this could be great. I’m thinking Columbia even. I actually loved it there. I think I know the Dean of Admissions. You would need to get transcripts and all of that, but that should be easy. I hope.” She was talking to herself.
I laughed and shook my head.
She smiled, “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Get through high school first.”
I watched her face transform – deep in thought. I smiled to myself.
“Sarah?”
She turned.
“Thank you for my bag.”
“You’re welcome. You like it?”
“I love it,” I answered, leaning my head against the window.
“That’s good.”
“I didn’t know what to call you.” I said, as my eyes began to glaze over, and the drowsiness began to engulf me.
I opened my eyes and looked at her as her forehead crinkled into a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Somebody said: what do your parents do? And I was going to say they’re dead, cause that’s my go-to line, but . . . I didn’t know what to call you. I just said . . . law.”
She gave me a half-smile as I moved across from her and lay down on my back on the seat.
“Guardian. Abductor. Bill payer. Sponsor. Landlord. Host,” she said slowly, “The options are limitless really.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re right. I’m an idiot,” I slurred as I felt the sleepiness return. Everything was fading.
Slowly fading.
I opened my eyes, to find Sarah bending over me. She brushed my hair off my face, “We’re here.”
She picked up my bag in her other hand and got out of the car, as Ritchie stood holding the door open.
Slowly, with as much stability as I could manage, I followed her.
“Afternoon, Miss Lane,” Ritchie said.
I smiled, “Hi Ritchie.” He was a thankful change of pace from Hal.
Sarah was at the elevator when I got into the building. I caught up to her as the doors slid open and walked in.
She was tapping away at her phone. I smiled to myself and said, “I think I’ll go with abductor. No questions asked.”
She glanced up at me, her face contorted in worried amusement. “Whatever floats your boat, Chloe.”
She stepped out of the elevator and into the apartment foyer, but not before I saw the amusement fade. Like a flicker, the sadness came and went.
She turned to me with a grin, “Now, start. How was your day? Minute by minute, please.”
*
“Sarah?”
“In here,” she answered immediately, as if she’d been expecting me to call.
She was in the kitchen, rummaging through her top shelves and she knelt on a stool, which was perched rather precariously on top of a wooden box.
“What are you doing?”
She stretched further, and pulled at something – a cookbook. Slowly, and cautiously, she got down, “I wanted to make something. I haven’t cooked in like two months; I hate it when I do that. I feel like I learnt for nothing.”
“You know how to cook?”
“See? Yeah. I learnt years ago,” she replied, dusting her hands on her pants. She looked down at the overnight bag in my hand and frowned, “Going somewhere?”
She probably didn’t mean to, but her face showed a hint of worry – if only for a millisecond. I think it was always going to be a thing with us – Is she going to leave?
“The Hamptons. I told you last night. Your dad invited me; I’m playing poker.” I gave her a cheesy grin.
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen.
“I’ll be back on Sunday,” I added.
She nodded and gave me a smile, “Yeah, okay. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Phone, credit card, keys?” she asked.
I grinned, “Yes.”
She walked me to the door, “Okay, good. Well, call me if you need anything, or if you want me to sneak you out of there, just say the word.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine.”
She held open the door, and nodded at Hal, who was perched in his usual foyer seat. He stood up and called the elevator.
“Chloe, don’t let my dad talk you into anything publicity-related, okay?”
I frowned, “Are you still not talking to him?”
She said nothing, but pushed the elevator button again, “Somebody probably moving stuff. Probably Mrs. Kramer again.”
“You can’t possibly be mad at him.”
It was her turn to give me the taken aback frown, “Why? He used you for his own personal gain – political or not. That damn Mrs. Kramer.” She pushed again.
“Well, it’s a little hypocritical. It’s no different from what you’re doing,” I said quietly. Hal was looking very uncomfortable.
“Me?” She stopped pressing the button.
I shrugged, “Yeah, the whole pro-life thing. I mean, you wouldn’t be able to say that if I were dead; it works to your advantage and you used it, because, well, why not? I’m not complaining. I just don’t think you should be mad; he did what he had to do. So did you.”
She stared at me dumbfounded for a moment. The elevator finally arrived.
“You think . . . you think I’m using you as strategy?”
“Aren’t you?”
She scoffed and let out a breath, “You should go. You’re running late. Poker usually starts about nine.”
I stared as she turned and walked back towards the apartment door.
Was this Sarah mad?
I’d seen her angry, but not at me; who knew if it was any different? But she had her blank lawyer face on, as she turned back to me and said, “Mayor Forbes, he has a tell; he runs his hand across his forehead when he has a good hand.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and then, she was gone. Ritchie met me on the ground floor, and down to the parking lot, so that I could avoid all the . . . well, strategic effects.
*
Hours and hours and minutes and minutes later, I lay back on the couch, feeling the tension in my shoulders subside, waiting as Jay said goodbye to his friends. It had been a rather interesting night. I still knew absolutely nothing about Poker – if I had to play it again, I’d probably lose – but I’d been lucky this time.
For me though, it was more the conversation.
The cast: Jay, Jerry, Mayor Forbes, Harrison Cain – a talk show host, Senator Winchester – Cameron’s dad; I’d learned that before this evening – the world gets smaller and smaller by the hour; Michael – one of Jay’s bodyguards; Anton Nabokov – a friend of Jay’s, and me.
They talked about Sarah a bit – apparently, I was in her usual position. She was usually their eighth. They all seemed mildly relieved that a novice had taken her place. In fact, pre-novice.
They had stories to tell; so many stories. They knew things about people that I’d never dreamed of hearing; things about this city’s past that some would call fallacy. I was so drawn in; I was surprised I even won a dollar.
War. Crime. Family secrets. Drama. Tragedy. Wealth.
Honestly, the things people in power do to get ahead.
They knew the past, the present and they were predicting the future – it was going to be a beautiful mess.
They didn’t once ask me a thing about mine. Jay must have warned them beforehand or maybe they simply didn’t care, because after the introductions, they welcomed me, made jokes about how they’d take all my money – not that I had any, and it begun.
A person could have sat in their midst and written a whole book tonight.
The front door slammed shut and I sat up.
“Did you have fun?” Jay asked as he walked in, sitting on edge of the coffee table.
“Yeah, it was great. How often do you get to do this?”
“Not often enough. I ask myself sometimes, why I’m even doing this presidency thing. I could just spend my days drinking wine and not caring about tomorrow.”
I smiled. “Because you want more?”
“I’m just not finished yet. I’ll know when I am, but not just yet.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Your winnings,” he said, with a smile.
Inside was a check for a hundred dollars. I grinned. The first thing I’d ever earned. Or won.
“Forbes. He’s a cheapskate. Come on, I’ll show you your room,” he stood up and I tagged along. Up the stairs and down the too-long hall.
I smiled as we walked past the living room where Sarah and I had . . . I should stop right there. Jay glanced awkwardly at me, but said nothing. He was remembering it too. At least it wasn’t seared into my brain alone.
He opened up a door and led me into a large perfectly color-coded room. Beiges and browns and the occasional gold. Not a single thing out of place.
My bag was already at the foot of the bed.
“Is it okay?” he asked, stepping in and turning on the lamps.
“Yeah, it’s great.” I walked in and perched on the edge of the bed. My fingers simply melted into the sheets.
I looked up the find Jay smiling and watching me.
“What?”
“You remind me of Sarah.”
“Really?”
“Very much so.”
“I don’t think she’ll be mad at you for much longer,” I said quietly.
He smiled, “Oh, you don’t know her very well, then. Besides, she’s not really mad. She’s . . . I’d say she’s worried about you and wondering about me. But she’s not mad.”
“How do you know?”
“She still calls me to say good night. ‘Good night, Dad. I love you,’ and she hangs up right away. She’ll get over it. Sorry you’re in the middle of all this.”
I shrugged, “I’m okay. I think Sarah’s the one in the middle. Trying to let you get what you want, and trying to make sure I’m okay.”
Suddenly, I regretted my earlier foyer decision greatly. It was way over the line. And it was simply unkind. Even if it was true, I had no right to mention it; here I was being given a life. One that I wasn’t even sure I really deserved.
“Yeah, I suppose. Okay, go to bed. It’s nearly two a.m. Not healthy.”
I smiled, “Good night Jay.”
Roxy bounded into the room and climbed onto my bed.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” he said to her as she placed her head in my lap.
I grinned, “She’s just being welcoming.”
“Right. Good night honey.”
I ran my hand along her back, as the door was shut. She stared into my eyes as if waiting for me to do anything else, but I simply smiled. She sat up and moved to lie across the foot of the bed, settling down to sleep.
My phone buzzed in my bag – two missed calls, one voicemail message -Sarah.
“Hey Chloe, I just wanted to say good night. I hope you had fun. See you Sunday.”
I smiled. It was weird to realize you missed somebody you barely knew. Especially someone I’d been so adamant not to know.
*
Like life, perceptions change in an instant. As do attitudes. As do feelings.
I was rummaging through Sarah’s closet drawers for a pair scissors. Jay said I’d be sure to find one there and it was proving pointless. We were trying to cut off the cable ties on a package he’d just gotten, and there wasn’t a single pair of scissors downstairs.
“Can’t find it,” I called back.
“It’s okay. Got one,” he answered.
I shut the drawers and stepped back. The closet was so packed, and it was a little hard to believe that she didn’t actually live here anymore. I was pretty sure she’d long since outgrown nearly everything in there. I ran my hands along a long silk dress; it still had the tags on. I cringed at the price.
Honestly, all this was a little uncomfortable.
Shaking my head at the sheer craziness of all of this surrealism, I walked away.
The drawers were still sticking out a little lopsidedly. I walked back over to the cabinet beneath her shoe racks and pushed it in. It barely budged. Pulling the entire thing out, I tried to find what was stuck behind it, but it was bare.
Then, I spotted the problem. The bottom of the drawer itself was sliding out. I crouched and tried to slide it back into place, and only then did I spot the false bottom right above. I stopped.
Beneath the false bottom, which had been covered in clutches of every size, color and shape, there was a manila folder.
Again, I stopped.
This was absolutely none of my business. I knew it, I thought it, and yet I still held on to it, staring at the blank cover.
“Chloe?” Jay’s voice came from downstairs.
I jumped.
“Coming!” I replied.
Who had false bottoms and hidden files? Who?
I sighed and slid it back in, putting everything back as I’d found it. It was none of my business.
When it was, I’d know.
Except . . .
The picture was lying face down on the ground as I slid the drawer back in. The back read: Chloe, 2005.
Uh-oh.
And because I’m human, and we are programmed to think that everything is about us alone, I pulled the drawer back out, false bottom and all, and opened up the folder, before I could talk myself out of it.
Boy, did I regret that.
First were the forms. Hospital forms. Innocent enough, right? Then the words began to swim.
Attack.
Rape.
Coma.
Brain hemorrhage.
Broken arm.
Bruised abdomen.
Internal bleeding.
My eyes widened with every word, my mind closed itself from every thought. Then I saw the second page.
Date: June 29th, 1995
Patient 1: Sarah Amelia Barron-Parks
Sex: F
Date of admission: June 28th, 1995; 22:34 p.m.
Reason for admission: Labor
Treatment: Caesarian Section Delivery
Patient 2: Infant (Barron)
Sex: F
Date of birth: June 29th, 1995; 01:07 a.m.
Health: No health problems were discovered. Infant is perfectly healthy.
___________________________________________________________________________
Child’s name: Chloe
Age: Two days old
Biological mother: Sarah Amelia Barron-Parks
Age: 17
Adopter(s): Harold Joseph Lane & Annabelle Chloe Lane
Place of residence: Toronto
This is to certify that, I Sarah Amelia Barron-Parks relieve all duties of raising this child to Annabelle & Harold Lane and sign off any rights to future contact or information about his/her welfare and whereabouts.
My life. Summarized.
It was only then that I realized that the wetness on the sheets wasn’t part of it. I was crying. And I really couldn’t stop.
My heart was racing and I could hear it loud in my ears.
I couldn’t really find a specific thought in my mind; all I knew was I could see the words, and the sight of every single one of them hurt like hell.
I tried to steady my breathing.
“Chloe?” Jay’s voice was closer.
I stuffed the folder back in the drawer as fast as I could forgetting about the false bottom, and I wiped my eyes, trying to scratch the words off my mind, and failing.
I shoved everything back into the drawers and tried to return it to its initial state. But everything was absolutely broken. Everything. There was no fixing this. I wiped my eyes and tried so hard to compose myself, as Jay walked into Sarah’s room, “Chloe?
“Sorry, I got carried away looking at the clothes,” I lied, avoiding his gaze.
He smiled, “You should take whatever you want; I’m sure Sarah won’t mind. She’s outgrown most of it anyway.”
It helped that his eyes were scanning the room, so he didn’t see my eyes watering up. I couldn’t stop; it was all I could think about.
“Um, I just remembered I have a paper to write for Monday. I think I have to leave,” I said, walking towards the door, “Is it okay if your driver takes me?”
He looked surprised, “Are you okay?” he asked walking after me.
I turned and nodded, not looking him in the eye.
“No, you’re not. What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown, peering into my face.
With all my might, I plastered a smile on my face and said, “Really, I am. I just forgot about my paper, and if I don’t do it . . . it’s really long.”
He looked skeptical, but I was already walking towards the stairs.
“Well, at least let me take you,” he said.
“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Thank you. I had a lot of fun,” I mumbled quickly, as I felt my eyes starting to smart again.
What the hell had I done?
This was heavy, just so heavy, and I was starting to think I didn’t even have the right to unburden myself.
I pulled open the front door, before he could attempt to get his car keys or get to me.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, looking back at him as he stood at the top of the stairs, staring down worriedly at me, “I’m really sorry.”
For everything. I had caused everything. I was the cause, and I was the problem. How could that possibly be fixed?
I walked out to the car.
Only then did I fully allow myself to break down – right in the middle of the backseat of a car filled with the most stoic people in the world, and nobody moved an inch. Like it was normal.
For the first time, I was grateful for that.
Sarah was in the kitchen when I walked into the apartment.
She was on the phone, and as I entered, she looked up, “Yeah, she’s here,” she said into the phone, “I’ll call you later, dad.”
“Hi,” I muttered, as she hung up.
“Hi,” she said softly, “Have you been crying?”
She walked up to me and peered into my face, and the tenderness with which she threw her concern on me made me break down again.
I just kept thinking, why would anyone do that to her? And what the hell had I done?
I mean you can understand that I’d throw all the blame on myself, of course. I was the effect of a horrifying event, and yet, here she was wiping the tears making their way down my cheeks.
So, I did something that was very unlike me; I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist and hugged her. I felt her freeze, but I didn’t care. In fact, I wasn’t thinking enough to care.
Slowly, she raised her hands and held me to her gently, running her hand down my hair.
It was my very own heartbreak. And yet, amidst that, I felt something that I hadn’t in a really long time. In fact, for a second, I wondered if I was simply having déjà vu.
It was a realization, of sorts. Or acceptance, if you will.
She was my mom.