Chapter 45

45

June

The sound of a dog barking reaches me. I heard it as I walked up the garden path toward the house. I stare at the doorbell next to the pale blue door of what could be my birth mother's place. It's nice-looking, with a well-maintained garden and flowers lining the short walk to the doorstep. And the neighborhood seems like a typical middle class one. So, she's not struggling. I'm grateful for that. But it also raises the question: if she's a woman of some means, why didn't she try to track me before this?

Gosh, I have so many questions. About her. About my father. One of the big issues of not knowing where I come from is that I have no answer for the inevitable questions related to my medical history when I go to the doctor. I hope she'll be able to shed some light on this. I probably won't be able to ask about this in our first meeting, but hopefully, if we cultivate a relationship, I'll be able to get more information about this… I draw in a breath.

I've waited for this moment for so long, but now that it's here, I'm filled with trepidation .

Once I knock on the door, there's no going back. My past will no longer be what I'd imagined it to be. Once that door opens, everything will change. I'll know the truth of who I am. Where I come from and... I'm ready for it.

I raise my hand to ring the doorbell, then lower it. My stomach ties itself in knots, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. Instinct has me turning to glance over my shoulder to where the car is parked on the other side of the sidewalk.

My husband's leaning against the side of the car, and when our gazes meet, he nods at me. His expression is reassuring. Seeing his broad shoulders and his hewn-out-of-stone features sends a shiver down my spine. Guess I'll never be impervious to his charms. It also fills me with confidence to know he'll be at the car waiting for me.

He held my hand all the way here, and his presence filled me with confidence. It took the edge off what could've been a nerve-wracking few hours. And the fact that he remembered to contact the adoption search specialist and help me in tracking down my birth mother? Honestly, I'm so taken aback he remembered. Sure, he said it was one of the conditions for our getting married, but I didn't expect him to act on it so quickly. He must have realized how important it was to me to find her. He insisted on coming with me. And he didn't speak or ask any questions. I'm so grateful for that.

He wanted to come in with me...but I... I knew this was something I had to do on my own. My first meeting with my birth mother has to be just the two of us.

My husband wasn't happy, but he acquiesced. Still, having him there gave me the courage to get out of the car and walk to the door. And now, I'm here. Oh god. I swallow. He must sense my apprehension, for he places his fingers to his lips and blows me a kiss.

It's such a non-Knox thing to do, such a soft romantic gesture, that I can't help smiling. The tension inside me fades a little. I blow him a kiss back, then square my shoulders. I turn and ring the doorbell.

The dog starts barking more insistently. It's countered by a woman's voice saying something. The words are muffled. Is it her voice? My birth mother's voice? My heart begins to pound behind my ribcage. My palms grow sweaty. My stomach heaves, and I take a step back. Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohgod. I can't do this. I can't. Then I hear his voice in my head: You can, wife. You can.

The confidence I've always felt from him reaches out to me, bridging the distance between us. I feel his presence, even though I know he's not standing next to me. I sense his watchful gaze on me from where he's standing beside the car.

I sense his strength supporting me. I sense…that he's with me. That he'll be there for me, no matter what happens inside this house. A calm descends on me. I firm my spine, square my shoulders, and when the door opens and I meet the gaze of the woman who I intuitively know is my birth mother, a resilience pours though my veins. I can see myself in her features. Oh. God. Finally, after all these years, I'm seeing someone who looks like me . It's surreal. It's also so grounding. Something clicks into place inside of me. I feel a little more complete than I was before I met her. I'm also surprised by how young she looks. I made up all kinds of images of my mother in my head, but nothing prepared me for the fact that she doesn't look that much older than me.

She searches my face, and her eyes light up. She knows who I am. The German Shepherd, whose collar she's holding onto, barks again. He pulls at her, and she must be taken aback by seeing me, for he breaks away and springs forward.

"Bruno no," she yells. But the mutt's excited. He's wagging his tail hard as he lunges toward me.

He's not attacking, but I instinctively step backward and lose my footing. Seeing the woman who's my birth mother must have weakened my sense of equilibrium, for I find myself stumbling back.

I throw my arms up to try to hold onto something and catch air. I keep falling, only instead of hitting the ground, firm hands descend on my waist. Then I'm rightened. Heat flushes my skin, and I know it's him.

"Bruno, no! Get back." My birth mother grabs at Bruno's collar and wrenches him back. He whimpers and looks up at her innocently.

"I'm so sorry." She looks to my husband, who has his arm around me, then back to me. "He's normally better behaved. Bruno, sit."

To my surprise, the German Shephard parks his butt on the cement. He continues to wag his tail and look at me with melting brown eyes .

"It's my fault; sorry, he took me by surprise." I hold out my palm, and he sniffs it. Then he licks my fingers, and I smile. "He's adorable."

She looks at her dog. "He's a rescue, and from the day he arrived, he changed my life." Her features soften. Then she clears her throat and looks at me. "You're my daughter."

Her words hit me in the chest. I take another step back, or would, if not for my husband's grip on my shoulders stopping me. He must sense the turmoil in me, for he holds out his hand. "Knox Davenport, and this is my wife June Donnelly Davenport."

She buries her fingers in Bruno's fur and scratches behind his ears, crooning, "It's okay; it's okay." I can tell, it's as much to calm her nerves as it is for him. Slowly, she smiles and reaches out to shake my husband's hand. "Claire Gilbert."

So, that was my original surname? It doesn't feel familiar, at all. In fact, I don't feel anything for it. My mother's name, though… That was in the 'life story book' Irene once handed to me. She'd pieced it together, based on the file she'd received from social services. That book was part of my nighttime reading throughout my growing years. Every time I had questions, Irene would read it with me. She explained how I came to be with her, and that primal wound inside me would be filled, temporarily. Only, it never went away.

Now, I follow the woman who possibly has answers to so many of my questions. She leads us to the living room, which is an open plan, separated from the adjoining kitchen by a breakfast counter.

The decor is modern and comfortable. Wooden floors, deep sofas with cushions, a modern television hung on the wall above the fireplace. There are white and blue curtains at the windows of the living room, through which a backyard is visible. There are paintings—all abstracts—on the walls, but no photographs of family. One wall has a bookshelf overflowing with books, and there are more books in a stack next to it, pushed up against one wall.

There's no sign of dust anywhere. Everything is sparkling, and there's a vase full of flowers on one end of the breakfast bar. The scent of roses and lilies fills the air. It's not overpowering, but soothing. In fact, the entire space has a peaceful feeling about it. Some of the tension drains from my shoulders .

She walks straight through to the kitchen and begins to fill a pot with water. "I'm going to makes us some tea." She flicks the kettle on and busies herself with taking down cups from the shelves, then turns to look at us. "You will have some tea, won't you? Goodness, I should have checked first. I just assumed"—she shakes her head—"I'm sorry, I'm more thrown than I realized."

"Me too." I walk over to join her. "Why don't I make the tea?"

Standing so close to her, I realize, I'm a couple of inches taller than her, probably because I'm wearing stilettos. But our frame is similar. I'm not a slim person, and neither is my mother. She's not overweight either, and her figure is youthful and curvy, similar to mine. She wears her blonde hair piled it on her head in a fashion I often prefer. And her eyes—her brown eyes—so like mine, gleam with intelligence. She's also wearing spectacles. I've always hated that I was short-sighted, but now it makes me feel a kinship with the woman who birthed me.

She looks well put together. And I... I'm not sure what I expected? That she'd be a sad, lonely person? Someone who spent her every waking moment thinking about the daughter she gave up? Did she think of me at all?

Perhaps, she sees some of my questions in my eyes, for her own grow watery. She sniffs, then blinks away her tears, and her lips curve in a gentle smile. "The teabags are in that shelf"—she gestures to the one above me on my right—"and the milk is in the fridge. If you need sugar?—"

"I don't."

She looks at me with a hint of surprise and recognition. "I don't either. I have a sweet tooth, but when it comes to my tea, I prefer the natural bitter taste."

"Me too," I swallow. This…this is what I've been looking for. This feeling of being recognized. Of seeing myself in the face of another. Of being mirrored in some form. All my life, I've searched for this feeling of kinship. No matter, that I love Irene and my siblings, I've always felt something was missing. Despite the fact that I've resented my biological mother for giving me up, I've always known I needed to meet her face-to-face, in order to move on. Now that I'm here, though, all those questions have vanished. Everything I thought I wanted to ask her? All of that seems so unimportant .

My husband clears his throat. "Why don't I take Bruno for a walk while the two of you catch up."

"Thank you." She gazes at Knox with a grateful look on her features. "If you don't mind…" She disappears inside the house and re-emerges with a leash that she hooks onto his collar. She hands the leash over to Knox. "There's a park at the end of the road."

"I'm sure I'll find it okay. Come on, boy." He hooks the leash onto Bruno's collar. The dog woofs and prances about, evidently sensing the outing and happy to follow him.

My husband leads him over to me. He kisses my forehead. "I'll be a phone call away, if you need anything." He surveys me closely. "You okay?"

"Yes." I lean up on tiptoes and, not caring that Claire is watching, I press my lips to his. "Thanks."

He kisses me back, then heads for the door.

"He's a good man," Claire says softly. "He obviously loves you very much."

"He does." Even though he hasn't said it to me yet, I know he does. I could see it in his features when he wanted to accompany me in here. I've seen it in his eyes when he makes love to me. And I knew it when he said, As you wish . So, why hasn't he said the actual words yet? Tears prick my eyes, and I realize I'm much more emotionally fragile than I thought.

My husband was right; I couldn't have done this on my own. Just knowing he's nearby gives me the strength to keep this conversation going. Never mind the fact that he hasn't come clean about his feelings which, along with the shock of meeting my birth mother, is making me feel too vulnerable. I clear my throat. "I'll uh—make the tea."

I hear her move away, then the scrape of a chair against the floor as she seats herself.

I'm conscious of her watching me as I pour the hot water onto the teabags, then retrieve the milk from the fridge. I pour a little milk into both cups, then take a spoon and stir the tea.

"Leave the teabag in," she instructs.

I stiffen, then turn slowly to look at her. "That's how I also take my tea," I whisper.

A teardrop rolls down her cheek. I hold back a sniffle and carry both cups over to the dining table. We sip our tea for a few seconds. I look up. "I?—"

At the same moment she says, "I'm so sorry, June."

I bite the inside of my cheek.

"I really am sorry for what you must have gone through." She swallows.

I hook my fingers through the handle of the cup and raise it to my lips, "I haven't had a bad life. Far from it. Thanks to Irene?—"

"Irene?"

"She adopted me when I was seven. If not for her, I might not have turned out the way I did."

Claire's lips firm. She seems to digest what I said, then nods, "I'm glad, she turned out to be good people."

"Irene's the best." I feel compelled to share about my adoptive mother, perhaps, as a way of drawing a contrast between everything she did for me and Claire didn't? Honestly, I can't say, but I don't curb my instinct to speak. Not when I've waited so long to have this conversation with my birth mother. "After me, Irene also adopted Jillian and Ethan. She gave us a family. A home. A sense of identity. She's always encouraged us to find our own way. She ensured our past didn't hold us back."

Claire winces, then seems to compose herself. "I'd love to meet her," she says in a soft voice.

I look at her in surprise. "You would?" I certainly hadn't expected my birth mother to say that, and within minutes of meeting her, too.

"Why wouldn't I?" Claire half smiles.

"Just... I—," I try to form the words in my head. "Don't you feel threatened by her?"

"Why should I be?" Her smile turns sad. "She did everything I couldn't do for my daughter. I might have given birth to you, but she's the one who guided you through life. She made you the woman you are today."

Something clenched inside of me loosens. I didn't realize how conflicted I was about searching for my birth ties. In a way, it felt like I was being disloyal to Irene. While that wasn't my intention, I was never able to fully rid myself of that feeling.

"I wanted to find you…so many times," Claire admits .

"Why didn't you?" I cry. Some of the anger I thought I'd resolved bubbles up to the surface. "I thought about you every single day."

"So did I," she says softly. "I never forgot you, June. But I also didn't want to risk turning your life upside down. I convinced myself that you were better off wherever you were without me."

My thoughts ricochet around in my head. "I made up all these stories about you. I told myself you were a princess in a tower somewhere, and some villain was keeping you away from me. As I grew older, I was sure there was a reason you didn't search me out. I was angry with you one second, and the next, I would have given anything to see you." Emotions choke my throat, and I take another sip of tea to try and keep my tears at bay. Gosh, I don't want to turn into a case of waterworks.

"I am truly sorry for everything." She reaches out to place her hand on mine. I want to shake it off, but the warmth of her touch feels so right, I don't.

It's this contradiction in emotions that drives me crazy. This, wanting her to be in my life and loving her simply because she gave birth to me, and yet, always wanting to hold a grudge for how she cast me out of her life.

"Why did you do it? Why did you give me up?" The words burst out of me. "Why, Claire? Why?"

She winces, maybe because I called her by her given name. But what did she expect? Irene is my mother. And although this connection between Claire and me will always remain, I realize, I'm not ready to welcome her back into my life. Not without getting some understanding of the circumstances behind what led to her casting me out of her life.

"I was sixteen and pregnant. My family were devout Catholics. I went to a convent school for girls, where it was drilled into us that sex was a sin. I was rebellious. I couldn't accept what they told me. I always pushed boundaries."

Like me. I, too, was rebellious and hated restrictions being put on me, but I attributed that to being in the system and acting out to gain attention. But maybe, there's more to it. Maybe, it's part of my personality to test boundaries.

But maybe… That's because I secretly craved to be controlled. Which is why I'm so attracted to Knox. And his natural dominance invites me to pu t myself at his mercy. The relief that he'll recognize my needs and do what's right for me… Is something I appreciate even more now. It allows me to find a space where I can relax into myself. The limits he imposes on me, his commands, his orders—all of it gives me permission to let him take care of me. And that…is so incredibly freeing. I bring my attention back to what Claire's saying.

She leans back in her seat. "I always challenged authority and was often punished by my parents and teachers for it." She laughs without humor. "And once I hit puberty, I couldn't stay away from boys. I would sneak off on dates, which was forbidden by my parents, so I had to do it even more. And when I found myself pregnant. I knew my parents would disown me, so I never told them."

I frown. "What did you do?"

"I ran away from home. Being a minor, I was picked up by social services, and after I gave birth, relinquished all rights to you. It wasn't a decision I made easily, but I thought it was the best chance to give you a better start in life. I was sure you'd be adopted right away." She shakes her head. "I never imagined you'd be in foster care for so many years." She peers into my face. "You have to believe that what I did was done out of love. But I hoped you'd find me. I prayed you'd find your way to me."

"You did?" I rub at my temple. "You wanted me to find you?"

"I wanted to give the Council my address when I gave you up. I knew you'd get access to your records when you turned eighteen, and I hoped you'd find me then. Unfortunately, my mother found out what I'd done, and she removed any information that could be traced back to me. And I didn't find out for many years."

That's why the Council's file on me is so lean.

"But I thought of you every day." She takes another sip of tea and sets down her cup. "It's why, when the adoption search specialist reached out to me, I told her I'd be happy to meet you immediately."

"You were?" I swallow.

"I've been expecting you." She half smiles. "The adoption search specialist didn't give me more details about you, but I've been hoping you'd turn up on my doorstep. And when I saw your face, it was like I was looking at a younger version of myself. "

Tears well up again, and I swallow them back. "And my father, what about him?"

Her features grow sad. "I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I didn't know him. I'd sneaked into a nightclub, met him there and had sex with him in the back alley." She rubs at her temple. "I never met him again. I didn't know his name or who he was so I couldn't tell him I was pregnant. I'm so sorry, June. I wish I had better news for you."

My chest tightens. I glance away. It's a lot to take in. I spent so much time thinking about my birth mother that my birth father was this shadowy figure who I hardly gave as much importance. And chances are, I'll never find him, even with the services of the best adoption search specialist in the country.

She reaches over and takes my hand in hers again. "You have no idea how many times I regretted my choices. How many times I questioned my actions. But looking at you today, at the woman you've become, at how beautiful you are and how intelligent and so full of promise, I don't regret anything."

I peer into her face, and the calmness and the love in her eyes are a soothing balm. That place inside of me yearning for my mother so much and for so long relaxes. I turn my palm over and grip hers. "It's so incredible, finally meeting someone whose features resemble mine. It's like I've finally found an anchor. A thread that connects me to this earth. Like I've found an explanation for my being here, you know?"

She nods, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "I'm so sorry for all the years we lost. So sorry for everything you went through. I wanted to go in search of you, but also, I wanted to believe you were happy. And I didn't want to intrude on your life. It had to be your choice to find me."

I suppose, I understand. But also, I don't. Maybe, a part of me will never be able to understand why this happened to me. But it is what it is. What I do know is that I'm lucky now to have two mothers: Irene and Claire. Now that I've met her and have the opportunity to get to know her, I'm not going to squander that. I choose to heal. I choose the positive side of life. I choose to be happy. That much is in my hands. I allow my tears to flow and smile through them.

"You were too young when I was born, and you didn't have a choice in relinquishing me. Neither did I." I turn my palm face up and clasp her fingers with mine. "I understand, you did what you thought was best. I forgive you."