Back in Chicago, being a mother had been part of Kate’s identity. There wasn’t a day that went by that wasn’t shaped by her children. Their needs and wants elevated above her own. But now she wasn’t a mother; she was a mother’s helper. A nanny. The babysitter, as Andrea called her because she thought it sounded less pretentious. Less like she was dependent on Kate for attending to the basic needs of her children. A babysitter was someone more temporary. Someone you called in when you had somewhere else to be. Not the help. Only, Kate wasn’t someone who was called on in an emergency. She was always there. She was upstairs every day by seven—earlier if she heard the twins clattering around the kitchen. She crawled under her expensive sheets some twelve to fourteen hours later—later still if Andrea and Rick, a lawyer who wasn’t home much, had an evening event.
Kate wasn’t complaining. This was what she’d signed up for. She’d seen enough from some of the more affluent mothers in her old neighborhood to know what it would be like. She had no illusions that the two hours she was supposed to have off every day would be respected. And she was fine with that. Scrambling after the twins kept her from having time to think. When she fell into bed at night, she was so exhausted she usually went right to sleep.
It was ideal in a lot of ways. The job came with a comfortable bed and food. She never had time to spend the money she was making. It was accumulating nicely in the box she kept tucked away behind one of the ceiling tiles. But the thing she hadn’t counted on, the thing she’d known on some level but had never accounted for, was how being with the twins would enhance her memory of her children rather than help it fade.
“Aunt Kwait,” Willie said, skipping into the kitchen in his cow-covered footy pajamas. This was what he called her, a vestige of the babysitter thing or perhaps the white thing. She didn’t look like the other nannies, so she’d been passed off as an aunt of sorts. “I am so happy to see you.”
“I am so happy to see you, too, Willie. Did you have a good sleep?”
“Good, I think.”
They had the same conversation every morning.
Willie climbed up onto one of the bar stools, being careful to reach up and place his favorite stuffed bear on the counter first. Kate watched him closely, ready to spring into action if needed. A few weeks ago, when Willie had added this independent move to his morning routine, he’d lost his grip and hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thunk. “I okay,” he’d said before Kate could get the words out. “I not mean to do that.”
Willie made it up safely this morning. Kate tucked his chair in as he recovered his bear and held it to his chest.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Pancakes?” he asked hopefully.
“Sorry, muffin. It’s not the weekend.”
He looked momentarily defeated, then said with more resignation than Kate thought a three-year-old should, “Green smoothie.”
“Correct!”
Willie giggled. He knew Kate would put as little of the “nasty” green parts into the smoothie as she could get away with and add an extra splash or two of organic apple juice.
“You know what, Aunt Kwait?”
“What’s that?”
Willie beckoned her closer. She bent over his silken head.
“You are my bestest friend.”
“What about Steven?” Kate asked, referring to his twin. “I think he’s your bestest friend.”
“No, uh-uh. He not share his LEGO.” Willie’s water-blue eyes turned dark and serious. “Don’t you want to be?”
Kate wrapped her arms around him. She was assaulted by his little-kid smell—organic children’s shampoo and warm blankets. That was all it took to kick her back. Flash after flash, like a sped-up montage in a movie of her life. Playing in leaves in the fall. Bath time. Pulling sweaters over their heads and pretending they were stuck. The way their little hands curled around hers.
“Are you crywing, Aunt Kwait?”
Interview Transcript
TJ: What do you mean by “a little Nancy Drew” exactly?
FM: I was always looking for evidence. Curious. Like her. I read all those books. I bet you read The Hardy Boys or something.
TJ: Nope.
FM: Well, my parents got all these old Nancy Drew books at a garage sale when we were small. I think we had a hundred of them.
TJ: So you started looking for your mother when you were eight?
FM: Basically. There wasn’t much I could do then, but yeah, that’s when I started looking. I had this book, like a journal? I hid it under my bed so my parents couldn’t find it. I called it my book of clues.
TJ: What kind of clues did you put in there?
FM: Hints my mother would drop sometimes. Like what the hospital had been like where they went to pick me up, though she wouldn’t tell me where it was. And she had a picture of me that was taken in the hospital, before, you know. Before my mother gave me up. I stared and stared at that picture. I even went over it with a magnifying glass.
TJ: So you didn’t have any other information about your mother? Only that you were born in Chicago?
FM: No. The adoption system . . . Well, I know there’s been some changes over the years because of all the advocacy groups, but when she gave me up? It was closed adoption all the way. I mean, I guess those records are somewhere, right, they’d have to be. But sure as shit they weren’t going to let me look at them. And once my parents died, I couldn’t even count on them to help me.
TJ: How old were you when they passed away?
FM: Eighteen. A stupid accident. My dad fell asleep at the wheel.
TJ: I’m so sorry.
FM: Thank you. It was . . . a blow. I was an orphan, but yet not, you know? It felt very . . . strange.
TJ: But you did end up finding your mother? Despite the closed adoption?
FM: Yeah, through one of the advocacy groups I belonged to. I can’t say much more than that . . . I want to protect their anonymity.
TJ: Is that because the way you found her was illegal?
FM: I don’t know about that. Is what Anonymous does illegal? Information should be free, right? I mean, look at it this way—should it be illegal to find out who your real parents are?
TJ: No, I don’t believe it should. But I am curious about how it all worked . . .
FM: Like I said, I can’t say. I found out; that was the point. And it’s one of the reasons I wanted to be involved in the Compensation Initiative.
TJ: How does one lead to the other?
FM: It’s all about advocacy. People think they know best, right? Like how everyone told my mother, my biological mother, that it would be a great thing for me for her to give me up. She was what, eighteen when she had me? That’s too young to have a baby; that’s what they said. And they’d find me a good family and all that other crap. And look, I’m not complaining. I get it. Taking all of that on when you’re that young, that’s a lot. And I did have a good home. My adoptive parents tried as hard as they could. But it wasn’t my family, you know? Not before I knew and especially not after.
TJ: So where does the advocacy come in?
FM: At these adoption support groups I used to go to, that was one of the themes. We’d had all these people make these major decisions for us—our biological parents—and then we weren’t even allowed to know who they were. I didn’t want that happening to the families of Triple Ten. Especially not the kids. Let the victims decide what they want, what they need. Not the government. Not the church. Not the celebrities falling all over themselves to appear on TV looking like they’re doing something to help.
TJ: That sounds like a worthy goal. But there’s been some controversy, hasn’t there? About who is allowed to receive compensation?
FM: You’re talking about the Identification Protocol?
TJ: Yes.
FM: Well, that was my idea, actually.
TJ: Why did you think it was important?
FM: Because people could lie, couldn’t they? There were all the people who worked there who died, sure, but there were also tons of folks going in and out of that building all day. And then those who were just around the building . . . Anyone could claim they were there, and no one would know for sure. Take Cecily Grayson.
TJ: What about her?
FM: She says she was on her way there, right? And we all know that’s true because we have the photographic evidence. You took it. But if she’d actually been in the building, what proof would we have?
TJ: Aren’t there entry logs?
FM: Not for guests. Not electronic ones. They were still using a paper system. That got lost, obviously. And you’ve heard about the cameras, right? Totally unreliable.
TJ: Are you suggesting that someone might make a false claim in order to get compensation?
FM: Don’t look so shocked. That sort of stuff happens all the time.