Familiar Strangers Read online

  Mom has fallen asleep with her hand still cradled in mine.

  * * *

  When the doctor leaves, I lay my head on the side of Mom’s bed. Lucy tidies things up, then tells me to press the red button if Mom shows any signs of being agitated.

  With the room empty of strangers I straighten up and pull the chair in closer to the bed. I look at Mom’s eyelids flickering in her sleep. I want to see her secrets, see behind the fading windows into her soul.

  ‘Tell me, Mom. What did you mean? What do you know?’

  Her breathing sounds like the second hand printing machine Dad bought when I was a kid – puff-puff, chukka-chukka, puff-puff-pow. Mom went crazy when he assembled it in the back room of the house. Said it was like living at the Boston Globe. It lasted for less than a week, then Dad had to sell it, at a loss. He moaned for a while but Mom said he would have experienced a much bigger loss if he’d kept it.

  With my head resting on the bed I close my eyes and fall asleep until a trolley passes by the door, the noise from the squeaky wheels waking me up. Jolting into an upright position, I look out the window to see shades of tomorrow piercing the darkness. I check my phone and see Jeff has sent two text messages, asking where I am, if I’m okay. I’d forgotten about Jeff, that there was someone out there who cared. I look to the parking lot below, where a nurse is getting out of a car, cup of coffee in hand, blue uniform freshly ironed. It’s not even six a.m. yet.

  Then I think of Dr. Reilly, and wonder what time she gets to her office. I doubt it’s this early. The idea hits me like a baseball bat to my unprotected head.

  Dr. Josie Reilly’s office is empty now.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Passing Barry wasn’t an issue, I told him I was going for a stroll to stretch my legs. He asked if everything was okay with Mom and I told him what happened. He sighed, shook his head, and made some comment about being in the hands of our Maker.

  Dr. Reilly’s office is the third door down. Standing outside, the keypad glows like temptation. I know this could get me into a lot of trouble, but I need to find out what’s in that report, what led to me being dropped from the trial. A loud crash echoes from the lobby. I freeze, keeping my eye on the door at the end of the corridor, but no one comes through it.

  One-nine-nine-one, the year I was born. How could I forget? Click, the door unlocks. Hands shaking, breath quickening, legs ready to give up, I step inside the dark room. If I switch on the light it might alert someone to my being here. My phone’s flashlight maps out a route to Reilly’s desk, creating an eerie atmosphere. To the left stands a filing cabinet, which also has a keypad. Doubt creeps in. This is not going to work. On her desk is a computer, so I sit down and switch it on. The silence is blasted by the musical introduction coming from the computer. It sounds like a live band doing a sound-check in the room. Banging on a few keys, I try to stop it, but I’m not familiar with this computer so I’m not sure what I should be hitting. Eventually it plays out and I slump back into the chair, staring at the door. Nothing happens, no one heard. Back to my mission.

  It’s worthless, the password is keeping me out, so I hold the phone up and shine it around the room, hoping something will speak to me. But nothing jumps out, nothing except the filing cabinet with the keypad. What if…?

  Well, who would have thought a qualified doctor with fancy shoes and gleaming teeth would use the same keypad code twice? Not me, but I was wrong. The click is loud and clear: the filing cabinet opens.

  Footsteps interrupt my progress, distant but getting closer. The slow trot makes me think it’s Barry. Probably wondering where I am. I switch off the phone and the room is plunged back into darkness. On my knees behind the desk I listen as the steps pass the door. Holding my breath, sweat prickling on my forehead, I wait.

  A minute or so later I hear him pass back down the corridor again. On with the phone flashlight. The first cabinet drawer holds a bunch of folders. None of it means anything to me. It’s mostly brochures, information booklets, courses Reilly must have to attend. The second drawer opens with a slight squeak and I find myself telling it to hush. Medical things – syringes, swabs, scissors, all sorts of intrusive apparatus. Nothing of interest. The third drawer doesn’t open at first. Jammed. I give it a hard tug, and it flies open, landing me on the ground. Crawling over to the treasure inside, I see a load of files, brown manila files, just like the ones Josie Reilly had on her desk on that first day. The day she blackmailed my conscience into taking part in her charade.

  The OCD order of things speeds my search. ‘W’ is right where it should be at the back of the pile.

  One by one I lift them out: Wakai, Webster, Williams, Wall. Taking it out of the cabinet, the folder shakes in my trembling hands. I rest it on the ground reminding myself to breathe, to calm down. Stay focused, Becca. It might be nothing.

  It’s not nothing: it’s me, Rebecca Wall, all my details, the forms I filled in, details about Mom. Then a small slip of paper slides out onto my lap. Blood results. My eyes peel the information from the page.

  * * *

  Conclusion: not the daughter of eFAD patient Nancy Wall.

  * * *

  There’s a bomb in my head, tick-tock tick-tock, thumping inside my skull, blurring my sight. Grabbing the bin by my side I throw up until I’m empty. Then I drag myself to the water cooler in the corner and drink. And then puke again.

  My body is numb from head to toe, my soul too. What does this mean? Am I not me? Who am I?

  Her words arrive like a swarm of bees attacking.

  ‘I took you, Becca. You’re not my daughter.’

  My mouth won’t close. I’m sitting on the floor trying to get my body to move. Down the corridor activity is growing. More footsteps, more secrets. I have to get out of here, leave it as I found it, but it’s taking all my energy just to breathe. Closing my eyes, I pray, please God, help me.

  * * *

  The lobby has come to life in my absence. The change of shift. Barry is still behind the counter. He stands to speak as I pass, but I lift my hand to stop him. I can’t think straight. Squeezing the piece of paper in my pocket, I press the elevator button and wait.

  A thousand questions whirl through my mind. Is it true? Could there be a mistake? Am I adopted? I took you, Becca. The elevator crawls to the second floor. Who else knows? The Walls? Bert? She came here looking for you. The door opens to the sound of another day starting. Another day of keeping the dead alive. Down the hallway I smell the decaying lies, the secrets, the past. Mom’s door is open when I get there, her head still, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. Are they the eyes of a liar? Is this the shape of a liar? I sit down beside her. Breathe, Becca, breathe. Nurse Lucy walks in just as I’m about to speak, and I order her back out the door.

  ‘But I have to change—’

  ‘Get out,’ I shout this time, louder, more guts, more hate.

  * * *

  Mom jolts in the bed when she hears my shout, eyes scared, fluttering. I take her hand in mine, her bony hand. The hand that held me, fed me, soothed me, guided me. The hand that squeezed mine on that first day of school. The hand that wiped the tears when Scott McCarthy broke my heart. This is the hand.

  ‘Mom, Mom,’ I say, squeezing her hand softly hoping to make contact with her other side. ‘Mom.’ Tears slide down my numb face, an iceberg surrendering to the sun. ‘Who am I, Mom? Did you take me, Mom? Am I adopted?’

  There’s no reaction, no confession. Unraveling the piece of paper burning a hole in my hand, I lay it on the bed and read it.

  ‘Nothing makes sense, Mom. You have to help me. Does Dad know, does Danny know?’

  Her eyes move slightly, her lips part. My heart is going to explode. Leaning forward, I hold my ear close to her lips.

  ‘Tell me, Mom. Tell me.’

  ‘Woof-woof.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘It must be completely gone now.’

  ‘What’s gone?’ Jeff says, handing me a mug of coffee.<
br />
  ‘Her memory. She barked at me, for fuck’s sake. The woman thinks she’s a dog.’

  Jeff sits facing me from the opposite side of the kitchen island. The piece of paper I took from Dr. Reilly’s office sits on the counter between us. Jeff thinks it’s self-explanatory. Mom is not the woman who gave birth to me, according to these results. Unless, he says, there’s been a massive mistake.

  I’m holding out for the mistake. Hoping that maybe the blood samples got mixed up or something. I don’t care if I get into trouble for breaking into Reilly’s office. I’ll make up some shit. Actually, I’ll tell the truth.

  ‘You’ll have to face your dad, Becca,’ Jeff says, swiveling on the stool. The coffee is doing very little to invigorate me. Missing a complete night’s sleep has dulled my ambitious plans. I need to sleep, to put the night between yesterday and today.

  * * *

  The rain crashes against the window like it’s trying to break in. For a split second I forget where I am. This room, the beautiful decor, the crisp white sheets – this is not my home. Blood, blood results. My body slumps into the pillow, heart racing, palpitations putting a beat to my fear. It all comes flooding back: Oakridge, the office, the results, Mom, not Mom.

  ‘Jeff!’ I fly into a panic, jumping out of the bed and running into the living room. Jeff is sitting with his back to me on the couch, strumming his guitar, headphones on.

  ‘Jeff,’ I say, lifting the earpiece of his headphone. He hears my fear, pulls the headphones from his ears, wraps his arms around my trembling body.

  ‘It’s okay, Becca. It’s going to be okay.’

  Nothing is going to be okay. I don’t know who I am. Taking comfort from Jeff’s embrace, I try to calm myself, taking deep breaths. Pulling away from his hug, I wipe my eyes and notice the big moon lamp switched on in the corner of the room.

  ‘What time is it?’ I say.

  ‘It’s after six. You slept for hours.’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Do you want me to go with you?’

  ‘No, Jeff. Thanks but no. I have to do this by myself.’

  * * *

  After changing my clothes and taking a quick shower I head to my dad’s. Is he my dad? I think about what I’m going to say to him. ‘Dad, am I adopted? Dad, did Mom abduct me?’ What if she did abduct me; what if Dad doesn’t know? What if it happened when he was away in the army? What if she lied to him too?

  But the photos, my birth, the happy smiles, Mom, Dad, me, all huddled together on that hospital bed. Nothing is making sense.

  * * *

  The rain slows me down, making it twice the usual time to drive to Dad’s. Sitting at traffic lights I consider going back to Jeff’s. This is probably all a big mistake – it happens all the time in hospitals, I’ve seen it on TV, things get mixed up in the labs. People get diagnosed with diseases they don’t have or given the all clear when they’re practically dead. I should have waited, asked Dr. Reilly about it, asked her to do the test again.

  Dad’s truck isn’t in the driveway when I pull up at the house. He’s probably down in Sam’s bar. Across the street Bert’s house lies empty. Pulling my hood over my head I get out of the car and rush to the front porch, my slippery hand struggling to get the key into the lock, like I’m not welcome. Like the house does not want me to enter, does not want me to discover its secrets.

  When I get inside I take my jacket off, shake like a dog and go to the kitchen where Mom is standing by the stove singing ‘Mad About the Boy’. Dad is sitting at the table, screwdriver in hand, replacing the back cover of a Sony Walkman. Danny has his schoolbooks spread all over the floor in the corner and is kneeling down reading. I’m not here, I can’t see me. Opening the window to let the steam escape, Mom smiles. She is still singing when she goes to the cupboard, takes out some plates and calls Danny to the table. Dad shoves his tools to the side, making space. One, two, three – three places, three plates, three glasses. No Becca.

  The room is empty when I switch on the light. No steam. Sitting at the table with my head lowered, I let the magnitude of my loss eat away at me. Time passes. I go to the window and watch the rain grease the darkness. Pools of water shimmer in shadows. The sky is barely visible when I look up. Armies of clouds charge past. No stars. The pipe below the sink gurgles like a scared animal. As I lean against the counter with my back turned to the threatening night, my cell phone beeps. Danny.

  I look at it, his name, Danny Wall, flashing in my hand. There’s nothing he can say that could make this day any worse but I’m not going to take the chance. I cut the call, let him wait.

  * * *

  I’ve been here for over an hour and there’s still no sign of Dad. One part of me is glad, the nervous part that doesn’t want to have this conversation. The other part is anxious, hoping he’ll arrive soon. The first thing I’m going to ask is if I’m adopted. Which I know I can’t be, because Mom has photos of me taken the day I was born. Which also means she couldn’t have abducted me. Maybe, after all, the blood tests are wrong. Maybe I’ll go home, talk to Dr. Reilly before I add any more fuel to this blazing fire.

  Taking my drenched coat from the back of the chair I decide to leave. Dad might not be home for hours and he isn’t answering his cell. Resolving to do a bit more investigating before blowing up his world, I walk to the window to pull the blinds. Lightning cracks through the air, flashing onto the white cross at the bottom of the yard. Shivers travel up and down my spine, Mom’s words shout inside my head.

  ‘Put Rover in the ground, Danny. Rover’s gone to heaven.’

  My legs seem to buckle so I grab the chair for support. The room is spinning. I see the glass circling around in front of me, full of water, but I can’t seem to put my hand on it.

  Her eyes were fixed on mine; she was trying to tell me something.

  Woof-woof.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  My body weakens with every breath. The giant hand squeezes tighter. My thoughts fly off the grid. What was Mom trying to tell me? Sinking onto the chair, I rest my head on the table, trying to calm myself. I go back to that day, the day she said she took me. Her eyes were staring into mine, not floating around the room smiling at nothing, she was definitely focused on me. And she gripped my hand. Something she hadn’t done since she’d entered that place. I should have paid more attention. Should not have dismissed her so easily. I remember her need to talk, the words flying out of her mouth, her eyes alive, familiar even.

  ‘I took you, Becca. You’re not my daughter.’

  I clench my hands together and look towards the sky. God, God, God, help me here. Dragging my body from the chair, I go back to the window and look out at the yard. Lightning cracks again, illuminating the white cross at the end of the yard like a super trooper highlighting the star performer. I flinch.

  ‘Put Rover in the ground, Danny. Rover’s gone to heaven.’

  Mom was trying to tell me something about the dog. Directing me to where the dog is buried. Woof-woof. There’s only one way to find out.

  Pulling up the hood of my jacket, I walk into the storm. The wind howls, rain crashing like gun pellets into my face. Pulling my jacket tighter, I make my way to the end of the yard. The storm whirls around, pure energy flying in all directions, touching everything in its path. Just like the dangerous storm inside me.

  Strength comes from somewhere, dragging me to the cross at the bottom of the yard. Kneeling down, my knees sink into the softened soil. My heart too. Grabbing at the soil around the cross, hands, nails, caked in muck, I make my first hole. It quickly fills with water, so I reach for a plant pot close by and use it as a bucket. Digging, emptying, digging, emptying. The rain has drenched my whole body, seeping in through any open gap it can find. But I don’t care, I need to dig this hole, need to find out what lies beneath.

  A loud crash echoes through the air, closely followed by a flash of light. Near the center of the hole something glistens in the light. It’s a wet plastic bag. It’s dark no
w, a black dark that brightens slightly when the clouds shift from blocking the moon. The bag is difficult to uproot, so I move into a sitting position, my legs spread out, feet each side of the hole. The rain is falling into my open mouth as I pull and tug. Eventually it moves slightly. Pushing my body forward, I feel the soil shift under my feet. The bag is almost free. I look up at the tormented sky and pray. Help me, God, help me. One more tug and it’s free. I place the torn bundle onto the ground beside me. What is it? What am I going to find here?

  The plastic comes away in pieces. A pile of bones lie on the ground. There’s a skull, a dog’s collar with a rusty disk attached. Holding the disk to wash in the downpour the letters slowly appear. R.O.V.E.R. My shoulders slump. Put Rover in the ground, Danny. What did she mean?

  Wiping mud from my face, I stare at the hole. The storm continues unabated, the rain filling the hole. In the distance I hear a siren howl with the winds. Annoyed at myself for thinking stupid things, imagining crazy scenarios, I stand and kick the water from the hole. What did you expect to find, Becca?

  My foot slips, sending me sprawling on the ground. But I felt something hard below my shoe; something moved when I slipped. Crawling on my knees, I move my hands around in the mud. Something else is in there.

  Another crash, another flash. More pulling and tugging. Then I feel it. Something hard. A box of some sort. Scraping the soil from the edges, I tug at it. Slowly, it begins to shift. With a sucking sound it comes away from the hole. It’s made of tin, an old storage box. I place it on the ground beside the dog’s remains and pull at the lid until it opens. Something leaves me, flies out from my body into the angry night. Placing my hand on the bag inside, I feel the bones beneath my touch.