Chapter 36
For the next week Lauren was on autopilot. The content of that letter had shaken her world. She had few memories of her mother
or her life before foster care. She only remembered feeling safe and loved, and then that terrible sense of the rug being
pulled from beneath her.
She didn’t remember her mother’s work-related accident. Knew nothing of her addiction. Just that one day she was there and
the next she was gone.
But as the days passed, her emotions swung from anger to sorrow and back to anger again. She reread the letter until it was
soft with her tears.
And then she opened up to Sydney.
“My mother wrote me a letter,” Lauren blurted the moment her friend answered the door.
“Oh, honey.” Sydney grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “You’re shaking. Go sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”
Lauren settled in the living room and her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket to retrieve the letter. When
Sydney rejoined her, Lauren handed it over. She didn’t think she could relay the contents without melting into a puddle on
the floor.
She waited as Sydney brushed away a tear or two, flipped to the second page. Lauren had a knot in her throat the size of Texas. She’d sat on this for a week, trying to process. Her job had become little more than a distraction, and she’d made some mistakes this week. Given a caterer the wrong dates, missed an appointment with a client. She couldn’t even bring herself to care much.
Finally Sydney lowered the letter. “Wow, Lauren. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling.”
“ I don’t even know how I’m feeling. It changes from one moment to the next. I’ve been a hot mess this week. I didn’t know she
was an addict. I didn’t know about the accident. They didn’t tell me any of this. I only knew she left me for a man because
he came to our door and off they went and she never returned.”
“Oh, Lauren. How awful for you.”
“Sometimes I’m so angry I want to slap her. And other times, when I’m reading that letter, I start feeling sympathy for her,
and then I don’t want to feel sympathy because her actions caused all of this—everything that transpired afterward.”
“I can only imagine that mixed emotions are completely normal under the circumstances. She abandoned you and you’ve gone without
answers for all these years and now here they are.”
Lauren’s eyes filled with tears and overflowed. “I was just a little kid.”
Sydney wrapped her arms around her. “It was so unfair. I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s truly a miracle you turned out
to be such a wonderful person.”
“I have these little flashes of memory from when I was really young. I feel safe and loved in all of them.”
“I guess she gave you a good start at least. Maybe that was enough of a foundation to get you through the tough stuff you
had to face. I admire you so much for overcoming all those challenges.”
Lauren leaned back and fixed her gaze on Sydney. “But have I really? When a letter from her rocks me like this... have
I really overcome my past?”
“Look at you, honey. Your chances of being a successful adult probably weren’t that great, statistically. Yet you’re a good person. Kind. You’re strong and resilient. You put yourself through college and now you’re working for a prestigious company. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”
And yet that job wasn’t exactly feeling the way she’d expected it to. Maybe she’d just been too overwhelmed by the letter.
Once she got past this, she’d feel more like herself.
Wouldn’t she?
“I think I need to go see her.” The words blurted out, releasing a weight from her chest.
After a moment of silence, Sydney nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk about that. What do you hope to get out of a meeting with her?”
“I don’t know.” Lauren collected her thoughts. “I guess I need to tell her how I feel. Maybe I need more answers. But I can’t
go on like this, wondering and feeling angry. I’ve hardly been able to do my job.”
“Well, no wonder. This is traumatic stuff. If my long-lost dad resurfaced, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Would you want to see him?”
Sydney paused as if considering the thought. “I don’t know. I think I’d be too mad at first. But later... maybe. Take some
time if you need it. Or go see a counselor and talk things over. I went to that good one a couple years ago—Liz. I could get
you her information.”
“I might do that. But I really think I need to see her.” Her heart quivered at the thought.
Sydney squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need to do. I’ll go with you if you want company. Just know I’m here for you.”
It was two days later, a Saturday and the first day of February, that Lauren got up the courage.
She pulled her car to the curb in the run-down neighborhood. The two-story apartment building was made of faded red brick, but someone was trying to keep it up. The paint on the black shutters and front door seemed fresh, and even though it was barely eight in the morning, the walkway had already been shoveled. The yard boasted a few nice trees, and shrubs crowned with snow crouched along the exterior walls.
She stared at the face of the building, her hands wrapped around the cold steering wheel. Which of those apartments was her
mother’s? Apartment B, so the bottom floor probably. The one with the dead hanging plant on the patio? Or the one with the
covered grill? She didn’t know anything about her mother. Probably wouldn’t even recognize her.
She’d searched for her on social media this week and found nothing. Her mother apparently kept a low profile. Like mother, like daughter , she mentally scoffed. The woman had probably given up on hearing from Lauren since she’d sent the letter months ago.
She watched as a young woman exited the building with a toddler. Maybe Lauren shouldn’t have come here. Maybe she should’ve
reached out by letter instead. But she was so unsteady, her emotions raw. The element of surprise would give her an advantage,
and she needed that. Would her mother even know her?
She drew a deep breath and blew it out. Time to face this head-on. She turned off the engine and exited the car. Huddled against
the cold, she rushed toward the building. A plane roared past overhead. Down the street a garbage truck beeped, then emptied
a can into its depths. The smell of freshly fallen snow filled her lungs.
When she reached the building she opened the door, stepped into the well-lit entry, and wiped her feet. She’d worn her Prada
suede ankle boots—she needed all the bolstering she could get—her matching leather moto jacket, and a pair of gold hoop earrings.
She wasn’t going into this feeling like that foster kid in someone else’s castaways.
She snorted at the thought because in actuality she’d bought her entire outfit secondhand.
And then there it was. A black door with a big gold B on the face. She stopped, but her heart thudded ahead like a galloping horse. She wet her lips. Swallowed hard. Then knocked.
As she lowered her hand, she scrambled to remember what she’d planned to say. But everything seemed to have vanished from
her mind.
A noise sounded from behind door. Someone was home. And then a lock clicked and the door swept open to reveal a woman with
wavy light brown hair worn just past her shoulders. “Can I help you?”
Darcy Wentworth. Her mother. Lauren saw herself in that petite face, in those green eyes fixed on her.
Her mother must’ve seen it too. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth. “Lauren?” she asked softly. “Is
that you?” Tears erupted and streamed down her face.
Words caught in Lauren’s throat, jumbling together like a twenty-car pileup.
“It is you. Oh, honey! Come in.” She opened the door wider. “Will you come in? Please?”
Lauren stepped tentatively forward, her pulse racing, her lungs working to keep up. She passed her mother and the door clicked
shut behind her. She glanced around at the homey living room, complete with area rugs and plants and candles.
I’m standing in my mother’s apartment.
A yellow tabby cat slinked forward and wound around Lauren’s legs.
“Sorry.” Darcy snatched the cat away. “He—he’s a very curious little guy. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Her mother stared while Lauren perched on the closest seat, an armchair. Then she covered her mouth again with trembling fingers.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe you’re here. I’d given up all hope.”
It helped a bit that her mother was more shaken than she was. It seemed only fair. “I got your letter.”
As if losing a war with gravity, Darcy sank onto the sofa across from Lauren. It was so strange seeing her familiar face again. She looked older. Her eyelids were hooded, and thought lines creased her forehead. She got by with little or no makeup.
“I hope it didn’t... make things worse for you. I prayed so hard that I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to disrupt
your life. And then when I didn’t hear back, I feared I’d made yet another mistake.”
Lauren wet her dry lips. “I don’t think it was.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” Darcy’s eyes seemed to drink her in as her face softened. “You’re so beautiful. Far prettier than I ever
was. Lauren, are you happy? Has life been good to you?”
Lauren thought of her disjointed, unsettled childhood, and anger burst to the surface. A snort erupted. “No, it really hasn’t.”
The light extinguished in Darcy’s eyes just before she closed them. “Oh no. No. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“You apologized in your letter. It doesn’t make everything right.”
Her mother swallowed hard. “No, it doesn’t. How can I help you, honey? What can I do for you?”
There was a question. What could her mother do for her? Did she want to rail at her for leaving? Curse her for the string
of events that came afterward? She searched the face of the woman across from her. The woman who was wringing her hands and
staring bravely, eyes full of regret.
The woman who’d been ensnared by an addiction she’d acquired from an accident. She’d been only twenty when she’d had Lauren.
And a year younger than Lauren was now when she’d left. She’d missed out on most of her daughter’s childhood. Was now in her
midforties and had little to show for her life but regrets.
The sympathy the letter had conjured up bloomed once again. Darcy Wentworth had already paid a high price for her mistakes.
“You can yell at me if you want. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Lauren wasn’t sure what she felt. But the negative emotions were draining away as if someone had pulled a plug. She didn’t want to throw her tattered childhood in her mom’s face. Maybe she’d wanted to earlier, but not now. Not seeing her and looking into her war-torn eyes.
“How can I help you then? I’ll do anything you want.”
Lauren thought a moment. Thought about those happy little flashes from her earliest years. They were short and vague and left
so many gaps.
“I’d like you to tell me about when I was little,” she said.