Thrown Away/Twisted Roots

Chapter 2

Chapter 2





She drove home with the box on the seat next to her. It seemed to grow into the proverbial two hundred pound elephant as the blocks to her home disappeared in her rearview mirror.


What is in the journals her Aunt left her? Why are the pages ripped out of the journal left to her by her mother? Who in the world is she??? That last question ran in a loop through her mind.


Over and over she asked herself. If the life she's living isn't real, what is? Who can she call and find the truth?


The brakes squeal as she came to a stop in front of the garage. Taking the box from the seat next to her she ran through the misty rain to the back porch. Propping the box on the ledge she punched in the door code. It screeched at her and she took a deep breath and with precision pressed the correct buttons. After a single beep and she heard the door unlatch. Inside she dropped the box and her purse to turn off the alarm.


The house felt cold. She shivered, flipped on the light and pressed the button to the coffee maker. Maybe a cup of hot coffee would warm her up.


Walking down the hall to the library, she set the box on the floor in front of the chair.


Shaking fingers lifted the lid of the box. The journal with the ripped pages lays on top, slightly between two brightly colored journals. She pulled it out and tugged on the laces. It fell open to the first page with the torn edges. She counted them-four. Four pages ripped out. The edges jagged and one has a little ink on it. A letter with a dark ink stroke. No clue what it might have been. She held the book to the light for any sign of indentations, but none are visible. In a moment of desperation, she reaches for a pencil in the holder on the counter and gently rubs it across the paper. No words or letters appear different than the indentations of the block letters making up the phrase that cuts through her heart.


A little beep in the distance announces the coffee appliance is ready for a pod. She plucks one from the drawer and set a cup on the holder. Soon the sound of hot coffee dripping filled the silence.


When her cup is full th call of the box of journals pulls her back to the library.Pulling a few of the journals out, she sees the dates, in her aunt's elaborate style, on the covers. The bold flower covers books are from a number of years previous. The leather bound, parchment style has dates closer to the year before her aunt died. The one she's looking for is near the bottom.


Before removing all the journals, she used the remote to turn on the antique replica heater. Even in the summer, the afternoons can get cool, or what the chill she felt, deep within her body.


She called Cullen but it went straight to voicemail. She left a message." Cullen I'm back from the attorney's. It was as I suspected, Mom's left me everything. Lots of form signing and then he gave me a journal. Quite a surprising revelation. We'll talk about it when you get here."


She picked up the journal for the month she'd been born and curled on the couch under an afghan. Thumbing through the book to the date a number of days before her birth date. Skimming the perfect penmanship, she read about her aunt's daily duties and how excited that Diane was on her way home. She missed her sister. She'd planned a welcome home and congratulations-on-the-new-job party. Her aunt's famous list included food and the number to the caterer. The next day or two were snippets of their phone conversation and then Casey read on the day of her birth. "Diane didn't call last night or today. I hope she's okay. I'm worrying. She isn't like that. She always calls when she travels."


Casey turned the page "Diane called. She said overslept and was on the road. She'll be home tomorrow and they could talk then. I can't wait to see her. She said she brought a surprise home. I wonder what it is? I love surprises."


The next page was dated was three days later. Whatever happened in those three missing days had not made it to the journal's page.


"I don't know where to start. Diane brought home a baby. She has no explanation. She didn't adopt it. She says she didn't steal it and there would be no police or FBI knocking at the door to take her and little Casey away. I pressed her to tell me how she came to have this child. She refuses to talk about it. I asked her if the mother is dead? She glared at me and told me if I didn't stop asking questions, she'd take the baby and move out. I stopped asking. Who is this baby? Where are her mother and father? I'm so scared the police are going to show up any moment and haul us off to jail."


A few pages later Tammy had written, "I don't know how she did it and I don't want to know. Casey has a real birth certificate. It's been registered. We'll get the actual stamped one in the mail. For now, we have the little one the hospital gives with the baby's footprints and fingerprint on it. No police at the door. I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. This is a criminal act. You can't just take someone's baby as your own."


Casey held the journal to her chest, clutching it as if the words would disappear. Her heart raced as the meaning of the words registered in her brain.


Somewhere before her mother, check that, Diane, arrived in Portland she'd acquired a baby. When? From the day she told Tammy she'd left Austin, Texas to the day on her birth certificate was three days. How could she have found a baby and taken her? Had she stolen a baby?


Turning a few more pages she reads. "Everyone at the hospital thinks she's a wonderful mother. No one has asked me about how she came to have a baby and how I kept her pregnancy a secret all this time. A secret from me too. The birth certificate arrived and I saw the envelope. She got a call and left it on the table. I took a quick look. It registers a live birth and Diane as the mother and blank for the father. It's just another lie, another slam of the jail doors when we get caught."


Dropping the journal, Casey closed her eyes. Nothing she'd ever known about her mother would indicate she was a thief. Especially one who would steal a live child. This woman who loved babies and children also ran the Neonatal division of Emanuel Hospital . She and her team had been awarded commendations for their work with babies in their care. Some of the other hospitals had better PR agencies, but under Diane's administration, they had a larger success rate. How could this woman have a child that wasn't her own, and had no papers of adoption?


There had a story here. Someone had to know who she was and how she came to be with Diane.


Her phone rang and she saw it was Cullen.


"Hello."


"What happened? Why the mysterious message? Did you find out you weren't the recipient of your mother's will?" His concerned voice didn't give Casey a moment to respond. "I have lawyer friends. We'll contest the will. You'll get what you're owed." His voice rose with the last words.


"Cullen, calm down. There isn't an issue with the will or the money.”


“That’s good, then what’s the big deal?”


“My mother left me a cryptic note." She read the words to him. They didn't have the impact now, they’d had earlier.


She heard the quick intake of breath and then the loud. "What? You're not her real daughter? What is going on?"


"I have no idea. Look I have a little more information. We can talk when you get here."


Cullen shot back,"No, you have me hooked. Tell me or I'll be in a state by the time I get there."


Casey held back the smile. "The attorney gave me a box of journals my Aunt Tammy left for me. After reading that note from my m-Diane, I searched through the box for the journal of the year I was born, then the days before and after. Aunt Tammy wrote Diane brought home a baby. Then a while later she wrote my mother had somehow registered me as her daughter and I got a valid birth certificate. Aunt Tammy doesn't know how she did it, but I do have a valid Oregon birth certificate that states she is my mother."


"What about your father?" Cullen asked.


"That space is blank."


"I'll have to think about this. I'll see you in an hour or so depending on traffic. You know how I-5 gets at this time of the day. By the way did Abby make dinner for us?”


Casey didn’t think of dinner. “No. You might want to pick up chinese on your way.”


A bit of a pause came through the phone and he finally answered. “The ususal?”


“Yes, please.”