Chapter 81 Ivy
IVY
I haven’t left the motel in almost two days.
But I need to grab a few things, so I shower then pull on some clothes and walk next door to the convenience store.
The cashier greets me before I grab a few bottles of water and energy drinks, then some chips.
As I head to the front of the store, a lady walks in the door with a little girl on her hip.
She goes to approach the counter then spots me, but I motion for her to go ahead.
She puts down a few bills on the counter before she pulls some more change out of her pocket. “I need eight dollars on pump four.”
“And chocolate milk,” the girl gleefully states.
“It’s early for that.” Her mom responds but continues to dig in her pockets.
The little girl squirms and twists as the mom looks back at the money on the counter then checks her pockets again as she pulls out some change.
It’s not that it’s too early for a sugar rush, it’s that she can’t afford it. I recognize the worried-mom face where she wants to give her child the world but doesn’t have the means to.
I move to the counter, placing my things on it and instruct the cashier, “Ring us up together, please. And add whatever she wants to it.”
The mom is surprised as she tells me, “Oh, no. That’s not necessary.”
“Please.” It’s the only word I can get out, not able to say anything else because I’m holding on by a thread.
“Are you sure?” the lady asks as I nod. She sets the little girl down and tells her, “Chocolate milk. That’s it.
” Then looks at me. “I greatly appreciate it.” Shame and embarrassment are in her expression.
I recognize those too. But her smile returns when her daughter runs up giggling as she places her milk on the counter.
“Thank you again. You really made her morning.” She swallows, clearing her throat before she adds, “And mine too.”
I grab the money off the counter and pull every single dollar I have on me and give it to her. And it still doesn’t feel like enough. “She’ll hardly remember the material things you couldn’t give her. She will cherish the love you had for her when she looks back and she’ll thank God for you.”
There’s shock and wonder on her face as I hurry away.
I know it’s what I want to tell my mother but will never get the chance.
But it’s the closest opportunity I’ll ever have.
The affection she gave me meant more than anything she couldn’t afford.
I lost sight of what was important because I was angry with her and my father.
She did the best she could, and it was more than enough.
I rush out, heading for the motel and don’t look back even when I hear the woman shout another, “Thank you,” along with the little girl doing the same. Because I will lose the little self-control I have remaining.
When I get to the room, I drop the items on the bed and let myself feel the pain and take several deep breaths as the tears fall.
I’m in the same position about twenty minutes later when I get a message from Brooke.
Brooke: I’m at the hospital with my mom if you want to stop by. They said she’ll be here for a few more days.
I stare at the screen for several seconds. The hospital is the last place I can handle right now. The gas station almost did my emotions in.
The moment when the woman and her husband were leaving with their baby boy flashes through my mind.
The sight was picture-perfect. That’s when I recognized that people in the same building are having the best day of their life while others are experiencing the worst. Some leave with a new baby; others depart without their loved one.
I pull my birth certificate out of my pocket and study the document.
The hospital. I do a double take at the place of birth—Marrero. Then read the hospital name again. That’s on the other side of the river. Why would Mom drive to the Westbank to have me?
It’s probably another dead end, another glitch in my head that’ll make me think I’m crazy. Like I’m wishing my mother away. I just need something to make sense. Something real. The truth. Even if it hurts. Again.
The following morning, I’m waiting as the doors finally open to the records office. There’s only one person ahead of me, so I approach the clerk soon after.
“I need my birth records.”
My gut says she’s going to tell me no but I’m so relieved when she requests, “Name, date of birth, and I need to see your identification.”
I provide everything she requires then wait until she verifies a few more details.
Afterwards, she hands me a folder. “Here you go.”
I peek at the first page. My breath catching as I read a name I don’t know—Freya Frugé.
“Is there something wrong?”
Yes. Very. I’m not crazy. But I’m still debating that detail as I pull out the paper.
“This isn’t my mother’s name.”
The lady seems a bit flustered for a second as she asks me to verify the information then says, “That’s your file.” She skeptically asks, “Were you adopted?”
“No. The birth father’s name is right but that’s not my mother. Is there any more information? Any paperwork on Freya? I don’t know who she is. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”
“Her maternal chart is confidential. Only the files pertaining directly to your birth are available to you. I can’t give you any other records on her without permission.”
This is unbelievable yet finally making things make sense. Like what Grandma said, what Dad said. Everyone is really lying to me.
“Do you need to sit down?” she asks. “I can get you some water or something.”
“No, thanks.” I need answers, not a water break.
The entire ride home, I call Dad over and over, but there’s no answer. When I arrive at the house, he’s not there. Would he even tell me the truth with the concrete proof I have in my hands?
“Ms. Walker,” Anthony calls my name just before I make it to the door, but I don’t stop as I yell over my shoulder, “I have to go.”
My next stop is Uncle Shawn’s. But there’re no cars in the driveway. I call, waiting for him to pick up. When he does, I say without preamble, “I’m at your house.”
He doesn’t sound thrilled. “We’re around the block but will be home in a few minutes. Just wait there.”
I don’t mention anything before I disconnect the call, not wanting him to prepare a lie before I can ask and see it on his face when I do. It’s a short wait before he arrives at the house. Aunt Kathleen helps Grandma out of the vehicle and goes directly to the door.
Uncle Shawn has a forced smile slapped on his face as he goes to hug me.
I hold up the first page of my birth record. “Tell. Me. The truth.”
His hand covers his mouth as he studies the paper in my hand. He reaches for it, looking over it before he says, “Let’s go inside.”
“No. Just say it.”
He huffs out an extended breath. “I’ll explain. But let’s go sit down first. I’ll tell you every single thing that I know.”
I trust that he will, so I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the table.
Aunt Kathleen passes through as Uncle Shawn gives her a nod.
Her sympathy is clearly directed at me before she leaves the room.
I watch as my uncle sits across from me.
It’s several minutes before he speaks, “My sister loved you more than life itself. But she was not your birth mother, Ivy.”
“I don’t understand.” I’ve seen the paper. I hear his words. But I can’t wrap my head around it.
“Your father had an affair, and the woman ended up pregnant.” He shifts in his chair, his hands resting on the table.
“Jennifer threatened to leave him when she found out. And almost did. But the woman had already given birth to you by the time she found out. And as soon as my sister laid eyes on you, she fell in love. My sister swore that Freya was neglecting you. Jennifer said you were always in a soiled diaper that was probably days’ old from the looks of the rashes you’d have.
And she swore you weren’t getting fed. She said you were innocent in the situation, and she couldn’t abandon you.
So, she begged Freya to let her keep you.
“Your father’s gambling got worse. I pleaded with Jennifer to leave and told her we’d find a way to keep you with us, but she was too scared Chad would take you.
She had no legal rights to you at first. Then Freya agreed to let my sister adopt you.
But there was always a fear in the back of her mind that he would get custody if he took her to court. ”
I feel like I’m about to puke as I ask, “She stayed with him because of me?”
Uncle Shawn replies, “Yes. She claimed that she loved him and said she was content with her decision. But she wasn’t leaving because it wasn’t worth the risk of losing you. So, she stayed.”
“No, she could’ve left.” Please, no. God. No. Please don’t tell me this is true after what I said to her. And she was with him because of me.
My hand clutches my chest as the tightening increases.
No. My mom sacrificed her happiness, stayed with him because she didn’t want to risk losing me.
I can’t breathe.
“I told her I’d never be her.” I pull at the necklace restricting my neck, but nothing is there. I yank at my T-shirt, tugging the neckline away. “I told her I’d be better off without her.”
“Ivy, take a deep breath.”
“I’m trying,” I gasp, my lungs refusing to fill with oxygen. “It really was my fault.”