Mother, Help Me Live Page 6

  “You saw that?” Sarah gasped. Tina and she had been six and eight years old, respectively, when they’d put on that particular show in the clearing. “We thought no one knew about it.”

  “I crawled on my stomach and peeked through the hedge. You did a tap dance, and Tina sang a song.”

  Sarah laughed as the memory flowed over her. “Weren’t we awful!”

  “I thought you were very talented. And the teddy bears didn’t seem to object.”

  “They had no choice. I told them no supper if they weren’t a good audience.”

  “Isn’t this where I proposed to you?” Scott asked, glancing around the clearing.

  How could Sarah forget that day? He’d given her a ring from a box of Cracker Jack and kissed her. It had been her first kiss, even though it wasn’t a serious one. “We were just kids,” she said. “That seems as if it happened a million years ago.”

  Sitting in the twilight with Scott, with the sounds of laughing children coming from the far side of the hedge, Sarah felt an eerie sadness creep over her as her childhood memories returned. “Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time and be a kid again—to the time before I got leukemia, when my life wasn’t so complicated.”

  “Any news on your search?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet. I really hope we find her soon.”

  “Because of the bone marrow?”

  “Not only that. I want to meet her. I want to see somebody who looks like me. Did you know I was born in Arkansas? I’ve been reading everything I can about that state.”

  “Why? What difference does it make where you were born?”

  “Don’t you see? Everything I’ve been told about myself hasn’t been true. I’m not really a McGreggor. All the things I believed to be true, all the people I’ve ever thought were ‘mine,’ really aren’t. Somewhere out there—” Sarah gestured, “is my real family, whose blood and genes have been passed along to me. I don’t know them, but I want to know them.

  “I went to the library to read about Arkansas. I felt more connected knowing about that place. I felt like, ‘Here’s the place where the real Sarah comes from.’ I want to know all about it, because it helps me know a little more about me.” Sarah glanced over at Scott. Shadows covered his face. “I’m talking too much and not making any sense—sorry,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Ted, the guy on the track team, wonders about those things, too.”

  “He does?”

  “He says that when he gets ticked off at his parents, he imagines his real ones. They wouldn’t hassle him. They’d be understanding. They’d be perfect.” Scott chuckled. “I tell him, ‘Get serious. All parents hassle their kids. It’s their role in life.’ ”

  “Does he believe you?”

  “Sure.” Scott’s voice came out of the dark. “He knows that these fantasy people, these perfect parents, are all in his imagination. He knows that some kids pretend they were adopted when they are mad at their parents. Nobody’s perfect, for sure.”

  Sarah felt a twinge of guilt. She had spent hours imagining what her birth mother could be like. Sarah hoped she was pretty. Maybe even rich. Or famous. “I guess imaginations have a way of taking over,” Sarah admitted. “In a way that’s what makes me all the more anxious to meet my real mother. Then, I’ll know for certain what she’s like, and I won’t have to make up things anymore.”

  From the far side of the hedge, Sarah heard her mom calling her name. “I guess we’d better get back before they send out a posse.”

  Scott tossed the rind of his melon into the darkness, wiped his hands on his jeans, and helped Sarah to her feet. She was close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. She wondered what it would be like to have him kiss her again. This time, for real.

  “Sarah,” he said, “don’t get all your hopes pinned on your birth mother.”

  “What do you mean?” In the darkness, his presence felt warm and comforting.

  “Sometimes, wondering about something is a whole lot more exciting than knowing about it.”

  She thought about what he’d said. “It isn’t excitement that I’m after, Scott. It’s truth. Don’t you see? No matter what the truth is, it’s better than lies or fantasy.”

  “I hope you’re right. I hope your birth mother is worth the effort to find her. After all, both financially and emotionally—for you and everyone—this is going to cost a lot.” Scott edged closer and lifted her chin. But the spell was broken when she heard Richie calling, “Sarah! Where are you, Sarah?”

  Scott sighed. “Come on, my dad’s made his own ice cream. I’ll grab us a dish.”

  She followed him through the hole in the hedge. She almost couldn’t bear to fantasize about what might happen with Scott. He was not the usual guy; she knew that. He wasn’t afraid of her because she had cancer. He wasn’t turned off because she had problems. Maybe her luck was changing.

  Eleven

  TWO DAYS AFTER school ended, Sarah returned to the hospital in Memphis. Dr. Hernandez began new treatments. A Broviac catheter was inserted into a vein in Sarah’s chest. The semipermanent plastic tubing made it possible for her to receive her chemo without having to be constantly stuck with needles. Sarah knew it was better than having her veins collapsing from constant jabbing, but she disliked the catheter. It required constant care so that the site didn’t get infected. When she finally could go home, she wouldn’t be able to go swimming all summer.

  Dr. Hernandez listened thoughtfully as Sarah confided about searching for her birth mother. “The best we could get with blood siblings or even your natural mother would be a two-antigen match,” the doctor explained.

  “That’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” Sarah asked.

  “I’d settle for it. Perhaps your birth mother might know the whereabouts of your natural father—he and any children he might have fathered are also potential donors, you know.”

  Although Sarah had wondered about the identity of her father since she’d learned of her adoption, he seemed far more inaccessible than her birth mother. After all, the lawyer had informed Sarah’s parents that she’d been born out of wedlock. And, Sarah reasoned, if her natural parents had married, she would never have been given up for adoption. “First, we have to find her,” Sarah said.

  “The sooner, the better,” Dr. Hernandez said as she left the room.

  Sarah’s mother did not stay with her at the hospital in Memphis. “With no school for Tina and Richie, and with your father’s work schedule, I have to be at home,” her mom had explained. “Will you be all right without me? We’ll drive up for the weekend.”

  “I’m fifteen. Mom. Of course I’ll be all right,” Sarah had assured her mother in a firm tone of voice. Now, Sarah missed her presence and companionship. The nights in the hospital seemed endless.

  Sometimes, she pulled out the incredible letter and read it for the millionth time. She had brought it with her because she found the now familiar words comforting. She longed to talk to JWC face-to-face and had half hoped that while she was in the hospital, JWC might attempt to meet with her. She knew that JWC wasn’t her mother; she only wished she knew who it was. “My wish helped me find purpose, faith, and courage.” The words of the letter echoed in her mind. Sarah longed for courage to face what lay ahead of her.

  When her family came that weekend, Sarah sat with Richie while her parents were talking to the doctors and Tina had gone for some snacks. “What’re you doing this summer?” she asked him.

  “Playing,” he said, then added, “I miss you. Aren’t you ever going to get well, Sarah?”

  His question tugged at her heart. “I’m trying to,” she told him. “It’s hard.”

  “I don’t like cancer. When I say my prayers at night, I ask God to make it go away from you.”

  Sarah pulled Richie closer and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Richie. I pray for the same thing.”

  “When I grow up, I’ll be a doctor and help all the people who have cancer. If you’re not all bette
r by then, I’ll help you, too. You can live with me, and I’ll take care of you.”

  His innocence brought a lump to her throat. “I think you’ll be a great doctor. You grow up and be the best doctor in the world, all right?”

  “All right. I’ll do it for you, Sarah.” His small face broke into a grin. “Guess what? I have a secret clubhouse in our backyard.”

  “You do? Where?”

  He peeked around the empty room, leaned closer, and whispered, “Through a hole in the hedge. Now you know, too, but don’t tell,” Richie begged. “When you come home, I’ll show it to you. It’s a secret, okay?”

  “Our secret,” Sarah assured him, glad that Richie had found what she hadn’t had time to show him.

  “I learned a new song. Want to hear it?” Sarah nodded, and he began to sing in a high, warbling voice. Just as he finished, Tina swooped into the room, carrying treats.

  “I bought you some ice cream, Richie, but you have to eat it over there.” She pointed to a small table in front of a TV set.

  “I want to stay here with Sarah,” he said, jutting his lower lip.

  “You know the rules,” Tina insisted in her bossiest voice. “No eating on sofas. Besides, it’s my turn to talk to Sarah. Don’t hog her.”

  Sarah was surprised by Tina’s wanting to talk to her alone. The ice cream was an obvious ploy to remove Richie from earshot. “Go on,” Sarah urged him. “Eat it before it melts. You can come sit with me once you’re finished.”

  Richie carried the bag to the table. Tina turned on the TV for him, then returned and flopped down next to Sarah. “What’s up?” Sarah asked.

  “Dad and Mom are helping you look for your other mother, aren’t they? I can’t believe you’re really trying to find her.”

  Tina’s accusatory, angry tone caught Sarah off guard. “So, what if I am?”

  “I don’t think it’s very nice of you, that’s all.”

  “Not nice of me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, they’ve been your parents all your life, and now you’re treating them as if their feelings don’t matter. I know you’re making them help you look for her.”

  Sarah got angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Mom and Dad are helping me because they want to, not because I’m making them.”

  “You’re not at home now, Sarah, so you don’t know, but I see Mom crying, and I know it’s because she thinks you’re trying to trade her in.”

  Flabbergasted, Sarah stared at Tina. “You’re wrong,” Sara declared, trying to register Tina’s words. “If she cries, it’s because I have cancer.”

  “And that’s another thing—this bone marrow transplant.”

  “You know I need compatible bone marrow,” Sarah blurted out. “I might have brothers and sisters somewhere who can help me.”

  “What about me?” Two bright spots of color had appeared on Tina’s cheeks.

  “What about you?”

  “How come you never asked me for my bone marrow?”

  “Because we’re not compatible.” Sarah felt exasperated and confused. Why was Tina behaving like this? Mom and Dad had explained the medical facts to her.

  “How do you know we’re not? Nobody ever checked me.”

  “I’m sure we’re not.”

  “But how do you know?” Tina’s voice wavered, and Sarah saw hurt in her eyes.

  “Since we don’t have the same parents, it isn’t likely that you are,” she explained patiently, suddenly aware that Tina cared.

  “Everybody in this family treats me like a baby or worse, like I’m nonexistent. Nobody takes into account my feelings.”

  “No one meant to—”

  “I should be tested. Maybe we are compatible and just don’t know it. And how will we ever know if I’m not tested?”

  Seeing how passionate Tina felt about being tested upset Sarah. “Nobody meant to ignore you, Tina. I guess since medically you’re not a match, we didn’t ask you to be tested. I never thought you might want to be tested.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I know we’re not really blood sisters, but I’m a person close to you, and I’d like to help.”

  “It’s great of you to want to be tested, Tina. I appreciate it.” Sara felt overwhelmed by her sister’s offer. “We’ll talk to Mom and Dad about it, and they can ask Dr. Hernandez.”

  Tina sat back on the couch, looking mollified. “Sometimes, answers are right in your own backyard,” she said.

  Sarah caught the subtle message: So, why go looking for them elsewhere? It hadn’t occurred to her that the search for her birth mother would be so troubling for Tina. Why was it Tina’s problem, she wondered.

  By the middle of the week, Sarah was totally bored. She was the only teenager on the floor undergoing treatment, so she visited the younger patients and played games with them. But she still wished for something else to do.

  One afternoon, her father arrived unexpectedly. “Dad, you aren’t supposed to be here until the weekend. Is anything wrong?”

  “Everything’s fine,” he answered quietly. “I have business here in Memphis, and I have some news that couldn’t wait.”

  Sarah’s heart raced. “What?”

  “The lawyer came through for us, honey. It seems he has a granddaughter about your age, and he was sympathetic when I told him about your condition. He went through his files and sent me a copy of your surrender agreement.”

  “What’s that?”

  Her father was smiling, looking excited and boyish. “It’s the legal paper your natural mother signed when she gave you up for adoption.”

  Sarah’s mouth went dry, and for a moment she was afraid she might throw up, not from her medications, but from tension. “So, what does that mean?”

  “It means we have a name. We have her name.”

  Twelve

  SARAH’S FATHER HELPED her into bed, reached into the inside pocket of his coat jacket, and pulled out a sheet of white paper.

  Her fingers trembled as she took it. She was almost afraid to open it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that the mysterious woman who had borne her was about to take on a name.

  “Go on, honey,” her dad said. “It’s all right. This is what we’ve been waiting for so we can find a donor.”

  Sarah unfolded the paper. It was typed and looked neat and formal. At the top were the words “Agreement for the Surrender of My Child for Adoption.” The first sentence began, “I, Janelle Warren …” Her gaze flew up to her father’s. “Janelle’s a pretty name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Sarah read further, “… being the mother of a female child named (Baby Girl) Warren …” She stopped reading. Was that all Sarah had been to her—Baby Girl Warren? Hadn’t Janelle even bothered to give her baby a name? Sarah’s vision blurred, but she continued to read, “… and having sole right to custody and control of said child, said child having been born out of wedlock …”

  Sarah winced. Of course, she’d known for some time that her natural mother and father had never married, but seeing the words in black and white cut through her like a knife. The remainder of the document was full of dates and places and legal phrases about relinquishing all rights to “said child.”

  At the bottom, Janelle Warren had signed her name. Sarah studied the signature. The writing was small and neat, as orderly as the document giving her up for adoption. She ran her fingertips over the black letters, as if the act of touching them might bring the person of Janelle Warren closer to her.

  “Are you all right?” her father asked.

  “Sure,” Sarah answered with a shrug. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

  “It’s weird for me, too,” he told her. “I never thought we’d have to go back to the past in order to give you a future.”

  Sarah knew she should be happy about the discovery, and in a way, she was. She now knew her birth mother’s name. They’d moved closer toward her ultimate goal of finding her. Still, it was scary for Sarah. She’d take
n a first step down what seemed an endless road, and good or bad, there would be no turning back.

  * * *

  Sarah returned home ill and demoralized. Every period of intensive chemo left her sicker and weaker, and each recovery period was more difficult and took longer. She struggled to overcome the side effects, wanting to be ready to meet her birth mother if the records searcher was able to turn up anything. When she was strong enough, her father brought her and her mom to his office downtown. “I want you to meet the detective we’ve hired,” her father said.

  Sarah felt fidgety. Her mom obviously was upset. Tina had been right about that much. Sitting in her dad’s sun-warmed office and watching her mother toy nervously with her rings made Sarah feel sorry for her parents. Yet, they had been the ones to keep the truth from her all these years. She hadn’t asked to be born, or adopted, or lied to, and she certainly had never asked to be stricken with leukemia.

  Her dad brought in a man, who smiled and offered Sarah his hand. “Hi. I’m Mike Lions,” he said. He was a short, slim man with thinning hair, glasses, and a quiet voice. Sarah’s surprise must have shown on her face, because Mike said, “I know I don’t fulfill most people’s expectations about PIs, but all those macho types on TV and in the movies give hardworking, ordinary guys like me a false image.” He grinned. “So, I don’t look like a movie star private eye. I’ve learned to live with it. I assure you, I’m very good at what I do in spite of it.”

  Sarah flushed and returned his smile. “I need to find my birth mother,” she told him.

  “Your father’s told me. And he’s told me about your special circumstances,” Mike replied. “Therefore, your case gets top priority. While I can’t promise you that I’ll find her, I will tell you this—if I can’t, no one else can, either.”

  His confidence in his ability made Sarah feel confident, too. He acted as if he understood the urgency of her search. “What do I do now?” Sarah asked.

  “You wait to hear from me.”

  It seemed too simple. Sarah was still curious. “Once you find her, what happens?”