“Please, call me Gina,” she said. “And you’re in shock over being adopted or finding out you have a sister?” Natalie quickly clarified. “I see. Why don’t you tell me a little about what you do know, and I’ll see if I can help.”
Natalie nodded, wondering where, exactly, she should begin. “I know I was adopted when I was six months old, in November of 1980, after my birth mother surrendered her parental rights to the state. I know we lived in her car before she gave me—I mean, us—up. My sister was four.”
A shadow passed over Gina’s face. “What did you say your name was?”
“Natalie.” This was it. She was talking to the right person. Gina would tell her what she needed to know.
“Do you know your sister’s name?”
Natalie’s heart fluttered in her chest. “It’s Brooke. Or at least it was. I suppose her adoptive parents could have changed it.”
“She was never adopted,” Gina said. Her voice was quiet. “Poor girl.”
“You remember us?” Natalie’s pulse quickened and a few tears escaped her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She felt as though she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to dive off.
“I do,” Gina said. “Your sister ended up staying at Hillcrest more often than in foster homes.” She shook her head. “I just couldn’t find her the right fit.”
“Hillcrest?” Natalie asked.
“It’s a state-run facility in South Seattle,” Gina explained. “Temporary for some kids, a permanent home for others. You were there almost a month before your parents adopted you.” She folded her hands over the expanse of her belly. “But Brooke was there for the better part of fourteen years. I was her case manager.”
“Oh my god.” Natalie’s jaw dropped as she tried to imagine what that kind of existence would be like—what damage it could have done to a child. “Was she . . . what happened?”
“Well, she got into a bit of trouble when she was younger. She had a hard time accepting her circumstances. For a few years, she was certain her mother would come back to get her, and that, along with her behavioral issues, made it difficult to find her an adoptive family or even a foster home that would keep her very long.”
“How awful,” Natalie said, feeling as though awful was too weak a word to describe what her sister had gone through. Again, her mind flew to Hailey and Henry, how they might have reacted if they lost the only family they knew—if Hailey had spent four years living in a car and then was sent to live with strangers, wondering where her mother had gone. The idea of her daughter being a victim of a situation like that—picturing her curled up in a narrow bed of a group home with no one there to comfort her—made Natalie feel as though she might be ill.
All of those years Natalie thought she was an only child. All of those times she wished she had someone to talk to, someone to play with, and Brooke was somewhere out there, alone, like Natalie. Having read every child development book she could get her hands on when she was pregnant with Hailey, Natalie knew that infants under six months old can recognize their mother’s smell and their family members’ voices and faces. It was a significantly different kind of memory than recalling specific events or conversations—something that happened in the deep, primal part of a person’s brain—but Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her psyche had been imprinted with her sister’s shadow. Maybe her subconscious knew the feeling of her sister well enough to miss her after she was gone.
“She had a tough time of it for a while,” Gina said, interrupting the thoughts crowding Natalie’s mind. “But as she got a little older and learned how the system worked, she did her best to follow the rules. I think she believed if she did everything right, she’d find a family, too. Unfortunately, most foster parents who are looking to adopt prefer babies or younger children.” She frowned. “It broke her heart when you two were separated, but she refused to talk about it with anyone. Even me. She internalized everything, and mostly tended to keep to herself.”
Natalie thought about how shy she’d been as a child, wondering briefly if she and Brooke shared this trait because of their genes, or the way each of them was raised. “Do you know what happened to her?” Natalie asked. “After she left Hillcrest?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” Gina said. “But her last name was Walker.”
“The same as my birth mother’s?” Natalie asked.
“I can’t tell you that,” Gina said. “The records are sealed, so disclosing any part of your birth mother’s name would require a court order. The same restriction doesn’t apply in the case of siblings.”
Natalie took a moment to digest this bit of information. She’d visited Gina in order to gather the kinds of details that might help her find her birth mother, but now it was clear that Brooke was the one Natalie should try to locate first. “What about our father?” she asked. “The paperwork listed him as unknown, but can you tell me anything about him?”
Gina looked at her a moment before responding. “You and Brooke had different fathers,” she finally said.