Her mother took a step toward her and placed a single hand on Natalie’s forearm. She stared at her daughter’s face as though trying to memorize something. “You said you want to know more about the girl who gave birth to you,” she said. “When you open that folder you’re going to see something I hope doesn’t upset you too much.”
“Mom, please. Just tell me.” Natalie’s thoughts spun with worst-case scenarios. Was her birth mom a prostitute? A victim of rape? Did she already know her? Natalie’s mom didn’t have any siblings, but her father did. Did her aunt Vicki get pregnant and then let Natalie’s parents adopt her? Was this some big family secret they’d been keeping all these years?
Her mom reached into the box and picked up the folder, holding it out for Natalie. “You already know she gave you up because she couldn’t take care of you,” she said. She held very still, a muscle twitching just under her right eye. “But what you don’t know . . . what your dad and I never told you . . . is that she gave up your sister, too.”
Brooke
The Hillcrest Home for Girls was located on the outskirts of Georgetown, an industrial area in South Seattle. The four-story, blue square box of a building was set against a steep hillside; its locked windows, worn linoleum floors, and buzzing fluorescent lights screamed the word “institution” the instant someone walked through the front doors. It was the place where Brooke and Natalie were first separated; babies were kept in a different part of the building than the older kids.
Gina tried to explain what was happening. She dropped down, squatting next to Brooke, and looked her straight in the eye. “I know it’s hard, sweetie. But believe me, I’m going to do everything I can to help you two find another home to be in together. Right now, though, you have to be away from each other a bit. You still can see her every day while you’re here. Okay?”
Brooke bit her bottom lip and nodded, slowly. Gina was nice, even if she was the one who took her from her mom. Thoughts of her mother stung like tiny splinters trapped beneath Brooke’s skin. Sometimes she picked at them, trying to dislodge the pain of missing her. Brooke didn’t understand why her mom hadn’t come to get them yet, why her time-out was lasting so long.
Gina led her around the building, and Brooke was relieved to see the cafeteria, where other children sat at long rectangular tables, eating from trays filled with spaghetti and green beans. It seemed like eating was the only thing Brooke could think about since she’d begun having regular meals with Rose and Walter. Now that she was somewhere new, she had worried it might be like living in her mom’s car again, and the gnawing ache in her belly would come back. One of the first things she had done at Rose and Walter’s house was to stand in the middle of the pantry, touching all the boxes and cans of food, counting them. “This is for us?” she asked Rose, her voice edged with wonder. “Pineapple and spaghetti? We get to eat it?”
“Yes,” Rose had said, gently. But after they’d stayed there a few weeks and she discovered that, not for the first time, Brooke had hidden a jar of peaches and packages of cookies and crackers under her bed, Rose got angry. “We feed you more than enough. You don’t have to take it.”
Brooke didn’t know how to explain why she took the food—she only knew that she found herself sneaking into the pantry every night, stealing away bits of anything she could save for later, just in case. After that, when Gina came to get Brooke and Natalie from the house, Brooke knew it was her fault, even though Gina told her it was because Walter’s boss had unexpectedly transferred his job to another state.
She thought it was her fault, too, when two weeks later, Gina had returned to Hillcrest to inform her that her baby sister was being adopted. “We are?” Brooke asked, confused by the way Gina shook her head and frowned.
“She is,” Gina said. “Only Natalie. I’m sorry, honey. For now, you’re going to stay here.”
Thirty-five years later, Brooke recalled the cloudy, fractured moments of that morning at Hillcrest. If she wanted to—if she let them escape—she could still feel the rough sobs that tore at her chest when Gina told her she wouldn’t get to see Natalie anymore. Back then, she didn’t understand that most couples looking to adopt only wanted babies, not older children, like Brooke, who were more likely to have behavioral issues. It was only 1980, and the system was less likely to take into account how important sibling bonds were for healthy development. She remembered the last time she saw her baby sister, in a room not much different from the one where they’d last seen their mother. She remembered Natalie’s big, brown eyes and wispy blond curls, her chubby pink cheeks and the way she grabbed Brooke by the ears and gave her gummy and wet, openmouthed kisses.