“I don’t think so,” Natalie said as she wiped down the counter. “But thanks for offering.” She appreciated her husband’s support, but she also felt like this was something she wanted to do alone.
The next morning, after she had dropped off both kids at school, Natalie used the map function on her iPhone to find the address for Hillcrest, then followed the GPS instructions that led her to the facility in a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Georgetown. Her heart thumped hard behind her rib cage as she parked in the lot next to the three-story, gray-brick building and climbed out of her car, clutching her purse in a tight grip. It was a little strange, knowing that she had stayed inside these walls for a month when she was a baby; the vision she’d had of her adoption process didn’t include a place that looked as stark as this. She’d imagined something along the lines of a daycare center, a cheerful yellow building with lots of flowers in its yard, rooms filled with chubby babies waiting for their new parents to bring them home. But visiting Hillcrest wasn’t about her, it was about finding out more about Brooke.
It was another drizzly day, typical of Seattle in early October, so Natalie held her coat over her head as she made her way up the front steps and pushed open the glass door to where a heavyset man with broad shoulders and a shaved head sat at a desk to her right. He wore a black uniform, which she assumed meant he was a security guard. Two metal detectors stood in front of her, similar to those found at airport checkpoints, as well as a machine with a black conveyor belt that looked like the ones travelers had to put their carry-on luggage through.
“Can I help you?” the man asked. In contrast to his substantial build, his voice was high pitched and nasal. He sported a closely shorn, black goatee.
“I hope so,” Natalie replied, readjusting her jacket so it hung correctly. “My sister and I stayed here when we were kids. We were separated thirty years ago, and I’m trying to find her.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Um . . . no, actually. I wasn’t sure if I’d need one. I was just hoping to talk to an administrator.”
The man looked her over, as though trying to decide something. “Let me see if anyone’s available.” Natalie thanked him, and he grabbed for the phone on his desk. “Hey, Lizzie. I’ve got a woman here needing to talk to someone about the time she and her sister stayed here.” He paused, listening for a moment. “Yeah. Okay, thanks. I’ll let her know.” He hung up and looked back at Natalie. “You’re in luck. One of our case managers is free. She’ll be down in a minute.”
“Thanks so much,” Natalie said, relieved.
“No problem. Can you sign in here, please?” He pointed to a clipboard on his desk, and Natalie took a couple of steps over so she could comply. After she had, he nodded in the direction of the metal detector. “Go ahead and walk through now, and put your purse on the conveyor belt.”
Natalie did as he asked, feeling a bit like she was entering a prison. She wondered if the kids who stayed here felt the same way, having to be checked for weapons every time they entered the building, being treated like criminals in a place they were supposed to call home. After picking up her purse, she waited for the case manager, taking in her surroundings. The floor was dingy white linoleum with several cracks and missing chunks along its surface, and the air had a stale, locker-room quality. The walls were gray cinder block, which Natalie thought only added to the jail-like feel of the building. There was nothing soft or inviting about the space; she could only imagine what spending the majority of her childhood here might have done to Brooke. What kind of person it might have turned her into.
“Hello,” a voice said, interrupting Natalie’s thoughts. She turned to see a blond woman coming toward her. The woman looked to be in her mid-to late twenties and wore jeans, a blue-and-white–striped sweater, and black Converse sneakers. Her long hair was pulled into a simple, sleek ponytail at the base of her neck. “I’m Melissa Locke.” She held out her hand, and Natalie shook it.
“Natalie Clark,” she said. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“You caught me at a rare slow moment,” Melissa said, with a smile. “How can I help you?” Natalie took a moment to explain why she was there, and when she finished, Melissa spoke again. “Hmm. Well, we can check our files, but it’s unlikely we’d know where your sister went after she aged out, unless she kept in contact with someone here. What year did you say she left us?”
“I’m pretty sure it was 1994,” Natalie said. “That’s the year she would have turned eighteen.”