I begin the story of my life with my mother from my earliest memory, playing in the snow on a wintery day. I might have been around three. My mother and I built a small snowman and made snow angels.
I share bits and pieces of my childhood with her, all of them revolving around my mother. How we didn’t have two dimes to rub together at times, but my mother loved me and I loved her. I was the more sensible one of the two of us, definitely the more boring one. She was spontaneous, where I was cautious. As I grew older, I was the voice of reason and worry, careful to watch out for her.
“She was such a carefree spirit,” Margaret reflects. “Somewhere between a flower child and a dreamer.”
“So, tell me about her death.” The mood shifts as heaviness fills the space. “I need to know.”
“Her boyfriend shot her during an argument,” I say.
I leave few details out about my mother’s murder and Margaret cries through much of my story, distressed knowing I witnessed something so horrible. She asks me if I’ve had counseling since my mother was killed. It’s the perfect grandmother question. I appear at her home, out of the blue, and deliver devastating news, and she thinks of me.
I should’ve talked to someone, or anyone, for that matter, but James banned any mention of my mother. He pushed me to move on, but I moved on as a numb, frozen version of myself. I became dead inside.
I’m trying to find myself again in all this mess, though I’ll be a different person than before. The events I have endured over the last few months have changed me forever, but I survived, unlike my mother.
“You’re a brave, young woman, Harlow,” Margaret says. “Sinclair, the young man with you, is he your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.” I lower my head as my cheeks heat. “But I think I want him to be.”
“He was the person who led you to me, though?” she asks.
“He was, but that’s another long story.”
“With a happier ending I hope,” Margaret adds.
“Me, too.” Though it’s only our beginning.
“Would you like to see your mother’s room? I’ve kept it as she left it years ago. I dust and clean it, but it’s basically like the day she left.”
“Did you try to find her?”
“I searched for a while, but I was a widowed high school English teacher at the time. I hired a private detective for a few months, but my money ran out before he found a trace of her or you.” She tilts her head and lovingly rubs her hand over my arm, like she’s telling me how sorry she is for not finding me.
“She feared for your life and mine. Yesterday, I found a letter she wrote to explain why she ran away from here. My father didn’t want me. I was a liability to his marriage and career.”
“Did she tell you his name?” The way she asks the question makes me wonder if she knows his name and wants me to confirm it.
“She was afraid to share his name. She feared he would harm you or me if he were discovered. At this point, I’ve found you. I don’t need to find a man who cares nothing about me.” I don’t tell her I’ve known enough crazy men to last a lifetime.
“A man came to visit me a few years ago where I taught high school. I was walking to my car at the end of the day and he stopped me. Said he knew my daughter years ago and asked if I’d heard from her.” Margaret shakes her head at the memory. “I wasn’t about to tell a stranger anything concerning my daughter, so I asked who he was. He gave me his business card and said to give it to Marie if she came back home. He needed to talk to her. He didn’t seem angry. I think he was sick. He looked as pale as a ghost with sunken eyes, and his hair was falling out like a cancer patient. He said for Marie to call the number if he was gone. I think he meant if he died.”
Who is this man? Could he be my father? What would he do if he finds out my mother didn’t abort me after all? A chill of fear races over my skin.
“Do you still have the card?” I ask, wondering what I’ll do if she does.
“I put it in my safety deposit box at the bank. I’ll go get it tomorrow. I think we need to find out who he is. I believe his name was Thomas. I don’t remember details like I used to.”
I need to speak to Sin about this situation and get his advice. Contacting this unknown person may not be wise, and could be dangerous. Fear drove my mother from here and this man may be connected to the reason she left.
“Let me show you her room.”
Margaret and I get up from the table and walk down a short hallway. “It’s a modest house, especially for this area, but it’s paid for now.”
She stops in front of a closed door and opens it. I follow her into the room while holding my breath. I smile when the blue walls come into view. They’re a serene, calming shade—the same color she used to decorate our small apartment. She called it robin’s egg.
“I’m going to let you explore the room alone. I’m not ready to be in here after knowing she’s gone.” I nod in complete understanding.
“Thanks.” I give her a small hug, and she returns it.