I was so happy to get your letter. We didn’t really have a proper goodbye. Man, do I miss you. It’s dreadfully dull here. Ratchet et al. are especially surly without your sunny disposition. They miss you, too, I think. I hope they didn’t let you out too soon. I’ve been so worried about you. Are you well? Still no cuts?
We had crafts today—guess what day it is? Yes, it’s Tuesday, give that girl a prize!—and I swear if I see one more stupid painted doormat I am going to jump off the roof. I told them that, then fainted spectacularly, in a dead heap, right at their feet, which is why I’m writing you instead of sitting in group. They locked me away again, five hours in the box, and only let me out if I promised to stop being so dramatic.
Isn’t that why we’re stuck in here in the first place? Because we’re overly dramatic? Except for you. I mean, you had cause.
I’m supposed to be sans roommate for a while. We’ll see how long that lasts.
What are you doing out there in the big wide world? Is the sky bluer when you’re free? Does the sun shine brighter? God knows they’ve pumped you full of every imaginable drug, so maybe you’re just asleep. Which I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll dream of my mom again. That was cool. Write me!
Love and stitches,
V
31
CURRENT DAY
Mindy uses her crutches carefully as they leave the hospital. She gets in her mother’s car; her dad follows in his. She puts on her headphones, and they ride in silence up the hill, lost in their own thoughts, until she finally breaks, pulls the headphones down around her neck.
“You seriously adopted me?”
“I did.”
“And you have no idea who from? I find that hard to believe.”
Her mom glances over, then shakes her head. “Oh, sweetheart. I know this is scary and a huge shock. It’s terrible that we had to share it this way, out of desperation. But in the long run, we’re going to be blessed, I can feel it. Dr. Oliver and Dr. Berger know exactly what they’re doing. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
“I don’t feel fine, and I’m talking about your lying to me my whole life.”
“I understand you’re angry at me. I don’t blame you.” Her mom pats her arm. Her touch is foreign and unwanted.
“Stop.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll tell you this. Dr. Oliver is excited about the possibility of being able to find you a match in the database through something he called ancestral genetics. Your birth mother was Hispanic. Knowing that will help them narrow the choices. It was important that we be honest with him.”
“But you don’t know where she is?”
“Unfortunately, no, we don’t. Not yet. But Aunt Juliet is looking for her right now. We’re going to find a match for you, sweetheart. I promise.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“I believe it, Mindy. I believe the universe is going to give us what we need right now.”
“Since when are you all mystic?”
“Since when are you such a smart-ass?”
Mindy jerks her arm away. “You have no idea what this is like. I’ve worked my entire life to make the US team, and now that I’m there, this happens. I get cancer. I find out I’m adopted. I might die before they find a match. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Why didn’t you tell them before? Why did you wait so long?”
“Because I was being a coward, Melinda. I was afraid I might lose you. Not only your life, but your heart, and your love. And I know you don’t believe me, but I do know what it’s like, sweetheart. I’ve had unfair things happen to me, too.”
Her mother sounds lost, and alone. The letter. Ask her about the letter.
But they are home, and the moment passes. Lauren pulls into the garage and turns off the engine. “Look at me.”
Mindy glances over, then away. She feels tears threatening. She hates to cry, hates it. It’s the ultimate weakness, and Mindy doesn’t show weakness.
“We are going to get through this. They’re going to find you a match, and you’re going to get well. In time for the trials. I feel that in my heart.”
Mindy can’t speak without the tears falling. She nods.
“Good girl. Now, let’s get you upstairs.”
Mindy navigates the stairs from the garage to the main floor, noticing for the first time she is out of breath at the top. She tries not to panic. Dr. Oliver told her the chemo was going to sap all her energy and strength.
“What would you like to do, sweetheart? Are you feeling up for something to eat?”
Mindy shakes her head. She is feeling woozy and wants some time alone. She needs to adjust to this news, to the idea that she belongs to someone else. “I just want to lie down. I might watch the rest of the races. You recorded them, right?”
Lauren’s face clouds, her eyebrows draw together into a single line. “Is that such a good idea, honey? You watching the team move on without you?”
Without me... “Of course it is. By the way, Coach texted me, said I have a spot as soon as I can get back on my feet. He wants to come talk to you when he gets back from France.”
“I don’t think we’re quite ready for visitors, do you?”
“Mom, cancer isn’t catching.”
“But we have to keep your immune system strong, and Coach has been traveling. I think it would be best to keep you isolated, just until the transplant. Okay?”
“Is the adoption what was up between you and Aunt J?”
Lauren’s eyes flash and she turns away, heads into the kitchen. “We had a disagreement, that’s all. Your father will be here any minute, and he has a work call to make. If you’re going to take it easy in your room for a bit, I think I’ll go to King Soopers and get a few things. Low sodium broth? Sugar-free Jell-O?”
Mindy makes a face. Life-changing moments and her mom wants to go grocery shopping. “Fine. But pudding. Chocolate. Don’t get the low-cal sugar-free stuff. I probably need it with sugar. I’m losing too much weight.”
Lauren’s face registers a moment’s shock then she rearranges her features into a smile. “Of course. Real pudding it is. Anything for my sweet girl. I’ll be back in an hour. Sleep some, and tonight, we’ll watch a movie.”
“Okay.”
She waits until she sees Lauren’s Lexus sweep out of the drive, then quietly edges into the master bedroom. Lauren’s strong allusion in the car—unfair things have happened to me, too—might have something to do with the letter. Mindy gets the sense she still doesn’t know the whole truth about her birth.
Her dad isn’t here yet; she’ll hear the door beep when he gets home.
The letter isn’t in the drawer. It’s been hidden away. Where might her mother keep it?
Mindy searches the remaining drawers, the closet, the bed, and finds nothing. The office is off-limits. Besides, her dad will need to hang there to take his call. Where else? Where does no one go, not even the maid?
The attic—but there’s no chance of her making it up there with her crutches. Her mom doesn’t like it either, it’s cold and dark, and Mindy remembers Lauren complaining about how creepy it is once.
What if...
Back to the dresser. She pulls it from the wall—it slides easily, felt pads on the feet so as not to scratch the wood flooring—and is rewarded. There is a manila envelope taped to the back, in between the supports.
Mindy’s heart is racing.
She puts the dresser back and takes the envelope to her room, and into the bathroom. She takes a book with her, too, as cover. She closes and locks the door.
She sits at her dressing table, thankful for the soft chair, and opens the envelope. There are several letters inside. All handwritten, all old and soft. They are in chronological order—and she realizes the letters are a correspondence, between this Liesel person and someone named V. Why would her mother have these?
She glances through them, confused, then starts to read.
January 1994