Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS, 2019
With a sigh, I let myself fall into a chair, the din of the “Family Wednesday” crowd seeping through the door. Thank goodness my coffee break was finally here. Usually a ball of energy, the monotony of waiting tables was sapping the life out of me. I hadn’t taken a day off in… I couldn’t remember. And today, of all days, I felt it. It was my twenty-first birthday and I was on my third double shift in a week.
Rummaging in my rucksack, I took out some college brochures to cheer myself up. Not long now. A couple of years at the most and I’d have enough saved to quit and go to college. Maybe I could be a teacher? Or a lawyer, a physiotherapist – better still, a librarian! I have no idea. I was so jealous of people who felt a calling, but at least I was heading in the right direction.
The Windmill Café had been my lifeline when I’d come out of the care system. It’d given me structure, allowed me to rent a place of my own and make a little family of my co-workers. It wasn’t all bad, I supposed, but it was so time to move on. As soon as I could afford it.
“Callie?”
I mustered a smile for my friend, Kirsten, as she entered the breakroom beaming. Her waist-length blonde hair and her braces made her look so much younger than her twenty years, those big blue eyes and bright smile distracting everyone from her sometimes bossy, stubborn streak until it was too late. Beside her, when we were both wearing the black, knee-length cotton uniform, I looked extra tall, dark, and serious.
Following Kirsten came Shanice, our manager, and then Latesha, one of the other servers. “Hey,” I said, confused. Then I did a double take – Shanice was carrying a slice of cake decorated with a lit candle.
“You didn’t really think we’d forget?” Kirsten said, and they broke into “Happy Birthday”, making me smile properly for the first time that day.
“Guys, you shouldn’t have!”
“What? It’s your twenty-first birthday, of course we should have!” Shanice protested.
“Did you make a wish?” Kirsten asked.
I closed my eyes briefly and tried to wish for something practical – enough funds to go to university, a divine sign to show me which path to take – but something else entirely came out. Not to be alone in the world . My deepest desire bubbled up from the depths of me, an unwanted guest among the clapping and cheering of the makeshift party.
My parents had died when I was ten, in a house fire. Neither of them had had any surviving immediate relatives, so I was raised in foster care, and, in my heart, I was a family of one. As far as I knew, nobody else carried my blood in their veins. I made a point of not feeling sorry for myself, but… well, sometimes the loneliness was too much to take. And so, caught unawares and with enough time to feel, but not to think, I’d let my deepest wish come up for air.
“Okay, now go,” Shanice said, with her hands on her hips.
I stilled, unsure of what she meant. “Go where?”
“You’re taking the afternoon off. And I will not take no for an answer.”
“I don’t need an afternoon off, honestly?—”
“Here she goes again!” Kirsten rolled her eyes.
“Well, you’re getting it,” muttered Shanice. She had the gentlest soul inside, but outside – well, you wouldn’t want to cross her.
“I don’t really need?—”
“Yes, you do. You’re going shopping. That’s the plan. There.” Shanice handed me a bright pink envelope. “From all of us.”
“Oh, guys.” I slipped out the card inside: Auguri! it said in Italian, my parents’ native language. I brought a hand to my mouth, laughing in surprise and delight.
“I hope it’s correct,” Kirsten said. “I had to google that!”
“It’s perfect.” With the card there was a gift voucher for Francesca’s, one of my favorite clothes stores.
For Callie, from everyone at the Windmill
Not to be used for anything practical
NOT TO BE USED ON YOUR COLLEGE FUND
Awesome new clothes and cocktails only!
(We’ll check!)
“This is awesome .” I was so touched; I didn’t know what to say.
“We will check, Callie!” my boss repeated, a manicured finger tapping the card’s last two words.
I placed my hand over my heart. “I solemnly swear your gift will be used for something completely unnecessary.”
“Good girl. That’s what we want to hear. Now, give me that apron and get out of here. Happy birthday, Callie,” she said again, and hugged me before heading back into the café, followed by Latesha. Kirsten and I were left alone, and I began getting changed.
“I’ll make you coffee. Have your cake,” Kirsten offered with a smile.
I hadn’t thought to organize anything for my birthday. Almost everyone in my little life worked here at the Windmill. So I don’t know what made me say what I said next.
“Kirsten, I was wondering… Oh, never mind. Come, share my cake.”
“Hey, silly, come on, tell me.” She smiled and fished out a spoon from our cutlery drawer.
“Maybe tonight you’d like to do something? Go out for dinner, or…”
“Oh, Callie, I’m sorry, I can’t! I’m going to my sister’s for something. Her husband got a promotion, and we’re all?—”
“Of course. Of course.”
Kirsten had a huge extended family, and they often got together.
“Remember you said you didn’t want to celebrate, and?—”
“I did. It’s fine, honestly.”
“Tomorrow? I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t disappoint my sister.”
“It’s fine. Please don’t worry.” My cheeks were burning. I regretted asking her so badly, now. What had possessed me? I never asked anything of anyone. It always ended in tears.
Kirsten laid a hand on her chest. “I feel terrible now.”
“Don’t. I’m going to have a movie marathon.”
“Well, you do love that kind of thing,” Kirsten said.
That’s so sad , she meant.
“I most definitely do,” I said, finishing the last of my bit of cake. “Thank you so much for the card, and the present. You’re the best.” I grinned, then wrapped my arms around Kirsten, and she returned the hug.
“So are you! Now, go and enjoy shopping! Sorry I can’t come with you. Shanice would be too short-staffed.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” There was a weird lump in my throat.
“You will be buying a dress, won’t you? I want to see you in pink!”
“You’ll never see me in pink! But I might go for red. It goes with my coloring,” I said, pretending to fluff my black hair. “Bye,” I called, and opened the back door onto the warm spring day. I slipped on my sunglasses and stepped outside, then turned around to give Kirsten one last wave, but she was gone already.
The River Walk was buzzing with people, and the water shone under the Texas sun. Even though it was midweek, everyone seemed to have gathered here to shop and eat and chat. I stopped at a clothes-store window beside two women. “This will look lovely on you, darling,” the older lady said to the younger one, pointing at a peach-colored, off-the-shoulder evening dress on one of the mannequins. I quickly turned away, almost tripping over a young man, crouching with his arms around a wayward toddler. He picked her up right before she toppled over. “Careful!” he said, and then placed a kiss on her chubby cheek. She seemed so small in the tall man’s arms, so safe. I wondered where I would be now if my parents had been alive, what I would be doing. Losing them so young had changed everything for me.
I shook myself and walked on. Callie, enough. It’s your birthday. Enjoy the moment. You’re safe. You have a roof over your head. You have a job. Everything is looking good. And if you keep saving there is a better future out there for you. There’s no reason to be sad. No reason at all.
But my mind was scattered, and my thoughts raced all over the place. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that nothing would ever change for me. That I might make it to college, learn to open up, maybe even fall in love, but this deep black hole of loss in my heart would never be filled.
To distract myself, I stepped into Starbucks for my favorite, a mint latte, when my cell phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize stretched across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Callie?”
A croaky, husky voice. A voice I instantly recognized. Hearing it again after all these years made my heart gallop.
Brenda was ‘a good apple’, as my mom would have said. She was a capable, dedicated social worker and a fierce advocate for the children in her care. Yes, she was all that, but she was also the living reminder of some of the worst times in my life, which was why I hadn’t visited her since the day I’d left the system. But here I was, on my twenty-first birthday, taking a detour from Starbucks to Child Protective Services.
Stepping into the Starfish Outreach headquarters made me break into hives. Everything in that building made my stomach tie in a knot, from the automatic doors, to the elevator that always smelled of instant coffee and disinfectant, to the green-walled hallway that led me to Brenda’s office. I should have asked to meet somewhere else.
How many times had I walked that hallway, each time a little older, each time a little closer to eighteen, the magical age when I could escape the system for good? How many times had I sat in that tiny waiting room, on those orange chairs among the worn-out plastic toys and sticky children’s books, reading the posters on the walls for the hundredth time – the dangers of smoking, coffee mornings for single moms, reach out to your elderly neighbor – bracing myself for Brenda’s most recent scolding?
I took my sunglasses off as I reached the door to Brenda’s office. There was no reason to be anxious. I wasn’t a little girl. I was an adult, and nothing she said would change things for me. They couldn’t take me away from my own apartment or make me live with strangers. They held no power over me anymore.
No reason to be anxious at all.
And yet, I brought a hand onto my heart for a moment to steady it before knocking at the door. Somewhere inside me, the little girl I used to be trembled.
“Come in,” a voice rasped, and my breath caught. Hearing Brenda’s voice after so long was almost good. Almost. Had I missed her?
I opened the door just enough to slip in. “Brenda?”
There was stuff everywhere, as always – children’s drawings tacked to the walls, framed motivational quotes, books, folders, tins of cookies, and half-empty bottles of hand lotion scattered over her desk. In the middle of all that sat a small, gray-haired woman of color, still wearing her trademark vibrant hues, just as I remembered. She’d always pushed the office dress code with a bright shirt or big earrings, or a tropical-colored scarf. When I was in care, she always got me a psychedelic T-shirt for Christmas. I never wore any of them, but I did keep them out of gratitude.
“Callie!” My heart did a somersault when she rose from her chair with difficulty and limped towards me. Her arthritis had just begun to take root when I was in care, but it must have grown worse. I instantly felt guilty for having put off visiting her for so long. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one! You still have a baby face.” She rested a fresh hand on my cheek, and my anxiety almost dissolved. “Like when you first came to us.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. The face of a porcelain doll.”
I smiled. “The face of a doll and the temper of a devil!”
There it was, her laugh. That part of her, cheery and loud, hadn’t changed at all. “Hardly. It was strength, that’s what it was. You’re gutsy. It was one of the things I loved the most about you.”
I smiled and handed her the tin of peanut-butter cookies I’d grabbed on the way. “For you. You still love them?”
“Oh, I certainly do! Thank you! Let’s open them together. Coffee?”
“Sure.”
We sat in front of our mugs, the biscuit tin open, and, almost subconsciously, I prepared myself. I could feel she was going to tell me something – yes, there was a specific reason why she’d called me here. But what she did next was unexpected.
“I have something for you too,” she said, and handed me a bright yellow gift bag.
“Oh, thank you… you shouldn’t have.”
That was why she’d asked me to come over? To give me a birthday present?
“And… this.” She handed me a large white envelope.
“A card! Thank you again, Brenda. Really, thanks for remembering.”
“You’re welcome. But that,” she said, pointing to the envelope, “is not a card. It’s a letter for you. From a law firm.”
I tilted my head to once side, staring at the piece of paper. “A… what?”
She shook her head. “I only got it this morning – FedEx, you know – and I called you at once. Let’s just say, this is a first.”
I examined the letter. In the corner of the envelope I read: Baird and Associates, Law Offices.
Brenda continued, “They sent me a note to go with the letter. It said they were entrusted to give this to you when you turned twenty-one.”
“By my parents?” I looked down at the envelope, then back to Brenda.
It was impossible. Surely I would have got it long before today?
“I assume so.” She shrugged her shoulders; she seemed as bewildered as I was. “Whatever it is, it’s horrible that it’s stirring up these memories for you. I promise you nobody told me about this. The firm had specific instructions to only give it to you when you turned twenty-one, which is why, I suppose, they had it FedExed today.”
“Weird,” I muttered. I didn’t trust myself to say anything more. I was swallowing my feelings back, as I usually did, but I knew Brenda could see how spooked I was.
“I’m not happy at all with the way this has been handled, Callie.” The look in her eyes made me think that she’d probably given the law firm a piece of her mind already, or if not, she would do so as soon as she got the chance.
“So… you really have no idea what the letter says?” I asked.
“No idea. And no clue it existed, I promise you, hon—” She stopped herself. She’d remembered that when I was in care I’d hated being called honey, or sweetheart, or any other pet names. Only my parents could call me that – and my parents were gone. For everyone else, it was Callie.
“Brenda, if you don’t mind, I’d like to open this at home.”
“Of course. Do drink your coffee. And let me share these cookies with you.”
I nodded. I had a lump in my throat, but I forced myself to take a sip. I didn’t want to disappoint Brenda or make her feel like I was trying to leave quickly.
“Open your present,” she said, and I did. Inside the bag there was a multicolored, tie-dyed T-shirt. I had to smile. “D’you like it?”
“I love it. Thank you. Really, thank you.”
She reached across the desk and put her small, rigid hands over mine. “You’re welcome, hon— Callie.”
“Honey is fine,” I said, surprising myself. There was no reason to be wary, to be the abrasive, wounded child I’d been. “It’s a nice thing to be called.”
Back in my tiny studio apartment, my legs curled underneath me on my second-hand IKEA couch, I fiddled anxiously with the unopened letter in my hands. I couldn’t wait to open it, and at the same time I dreaded it.
I went to open the window for some air, and a small, furry body made its way inside. “Hi, baby,” I said as my white cat, all snow but for one black paw, jumped straight onto my lap, rubbed herself against me for a moment, then made a beeline to the corner where I kept her bowl. She didn’t exactly belong to me; she lived in the small park beside my building and took food and shelter when and where she chose. She was an independent creature, and I loved her for that. I’d named her Misty, but I was pretty sure she had a few different names, depending on who she was with. I knew that the elderly lady next door called her Ribbon – because of the black stripe she had around one leg – and fed her freshly grilled fish and bowls of cream. Misty-Ribbon was one lucky cat.
I looked back to the letter, my hands resting on the cat’s soft fur, and swallowed. “Here we go,” I said to myself.
Carefully, making sure I would not tear anything that was inside, I opened the envelope. The paper I drew from inside was heavy and expensive-looking. I unfolded it and saw that and it was printed, not handwritten. On the upper left corner there was the name of the law firm again, and a flowery, elaborate logo. I imagined an office furnished in dark wood, with old-fashioned prints on the walls – a lawyer’s office like you’d see in the movies.
My heart was jumping out of my chest; I began to read.
Dear Miss DiGiacomo,
We are writing to you on behalf of Mr. Joseph DiGiacomo and Mrs. Carol Elisabeth DiGiacomo. We are in possession of some documents Mr. and Mrs. DiGiacomo deposited with us, to be given to you on, and not before, May 24, 2019, your twenty-first birthday. Mrs. Brenda Thibodeaux, social worker for the state of Texas, was the only contact we could find for you. We were sorry to find out that your adoptive parents have passed away…
I blinked. I must have read that wrong. I was probably tired, confused. I re-read the last line. We were sorry to find out that your adoptive parents have passed away.
There had to be a mistake. I’d never been adopted, only fostered. They must have got it wrong. Child Protective Services were flooded with work and chronically understaffed, so it was entirely possible. Of course, it was all a mistake.
Still, I kept going over that sentence, zooming in on that word “ adoptive ”.
Had we known of their sudden demise, or had we been given specific instructions for such an eventuality, we would have contacted you earlier. However, no provision had been made for such circumstances .
I stood, much to Misty’s annoyance, and paced the room a few times. My parents had entrusted something to a law firm, to be given to me on my twenty-first birthday. They had died, and nobody had told the firm – so there had been no change to the plan, even if I was now an orphan. I forced myself to take a breath, sit back down, and finish the letter as calmly as I could.
We should be grateful if you would phone our offices to make an appointment with us; we’ll be delighted to supply you with the documents in question and discuss any questions you may have. We imagine there will be many.
Our sincere condolences for your loss and our very best regards. We remain at your disposal,
Anthony Baird
Baird and Associates
For a moment, I was tempted to scrunch up the letter and forget all about it. Maybe it was some sort of scam.
But…
Doubt.
The niggling lie that I could be adopted also had to be squashed, as far-fetched as it was. Misty jumped on the couch, looking outraged at the lack of attention. I poured some more dry food into her bowl, and set out some milk for her, working on autopilot.
Climbing onto the kitchen counter, I read the letter all over again. It had to be some strange misunderstanding. “Garbage,” I said aloud.
On impulse, I grabbed the phone and dialled Brenda’s number.
“Brenda? It’s Callie,” I said, pacing the room as best I could. My apartment consisted of one room that served me as a kitchen, living room and bedroom, and a bathroom where I had to shower sideways.
“Hey, did you open the letter?”
“I did. There’s a mistake. I don’t think the letter is for me.”
“Are you sure? Because they specifically said it was for Callie DiGiacomo, that the only contact they could find was me. Callie, I’m pretty sure there was no mistake.”
I shrugged. “Then it’s a joke.”
“What did it say?”
“Are you sure you don’t know? Because how can it be—” My voice was shaky.
“Callie, you’re not under our care anymore. It would be illegal for me to open your mail. We have nothing to do with those lawyers or whatever is in that letter.”
“It mentions my parents. But it calls them my adoptive parents.” I hoped she couldn’t tell that my voice was breaking a little, and tears were gathering in my eyes – but of course she could, she’d known me since I was a child.
There was a pause. “What?”
“I have never been adopted, as far as I know.” It was more of a question than anything else.
“That’s absurd! When you came to us we decided, together with you, that fostering would be a better option for?—”
“I know. I know,” I cut in. “Somebody messed up, that’s all.”
“Us? The lawyers?”
“Someone! I have not been adopted.”
“Unless… unless this happened long before we came on the scene. Which is why we had no idea. Maybe…”
I closed my eyes. “Don’t say it.” I didn’t want to hear.
“Maybe your parents kept it from you. Maybe they were planning to tell you, but then the fire happened.”
“It can’t be.”
“It could be. It’s unlikely, but it could be.”
“No. No. It makes no sense. You would have known!”
“Not if the adoption happened somewhere else entirely, or if it was an informal arrangement. Sometimes there’s no official record of an adoption, even birth certificates can be deliberately filled with wrong information. I’m not saying that’s what your parents did, but it is possible.”
I swallowed as Misty settled against me, purring softly, happy after her meal. From the road came the rattle of a bus stopping, then moving on – my hair quivered slightly in the breeze coming through the open window. Everything felt unreal.
“Let me help you.” Brenda’s voice came from the cell phone, as unreal as the rest. “Please, come to the office tomorrow, and?—”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“We can look at it together, we can meet the lawyers together?—”
“It’s fine. Thank you though.” I couldn’t face another trip to Starfish Outreach.
“Okay. I’m here for you if you need me.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Call me as soon as you speak with the lawyers. Please.”
“I will. Thank you, Brenda.”
I put the phone down, took my face in my hands and, finally, allowed myself to cry.