Until There Was You(110)
“I know what you mean,” Posey murmured.
“But with you, I was so scared. All the time. Maybe it got in the way of me being a good mother, I don’t know.”
“Oh, Mom. You’re a good mother. A great mother.”
Stacia blew her nose again. “Mostly, though,” she continued, her voice rough, “I was afraid that your birth mother would show up one day and ask for you back. And she’d be so much more than I was…she’d be young and pretty and fun, and you’d want to be with her. And you’d leave me.”
The words cut Posey’s heart right in half. “Mom! I would never leave you! I love you. How could you think that?” She gripped her mom’s hand. “Since it’s true confessions time, I’ll tell you one of mine.”
“You broke Glubby’s antler, didn’t you?”
“Oh…um, yes. Sorry about that.” Posey smiled, then grew serious. “No, what I wanted to say was that I always thought… I was always afraid that every time you looked at Gretchen, you wished she was yours.”
Stacia jerked back. “Gretchen? I mean, I love her, she’s my sister’s child…”
“Well, it always seemed like she could do no wrong. The German chef, your twin sister’s daughter. The way she calls you Mutti…constantly reminding me that I’m adopted. She’s the real reason I hate to cook. Because I didn’t want to be compared to her and come up short.”
Stacia shook her head. “Oh, honey. It’s just that sometimes you love a kid just because they need it. Not because they deserve it, not because you really like them…just because they need love. And that’s Gretchen. The truth is, she drives me crazy half the time. Your father and I were so glad when she moved in with you, we got a little romantic on the couch.”
Posey grimaced. “Feel free to keep that to yourself, Mom.”
Stacia smiled, then grew serious. She squeezed Posey’s hand, her grip almost painful. “I’m sorry I never told you about that letter,” she whispered. “It was selfish of me, and that’s not what a mother is supposed to be. If you want to find her, you go right ahead. I’ll help you.” She wiped her eyes and looked at Posey, her face blotchy. “Do you?”
Posey didn’t answer right away. “Maybe. I’m not sure.” She looked into her mother’s face, that strong-boned, handsome face, and noted, maybe for the first time, the web of wrinkles under her mother’s eyes, the heaviness of the skin. “And maybe she’d be great. But she’d never be you.”
Stacia looked down at the table. Nodded. “There was something else in that letter, Posey,” she whispered.
Her heart twisted. “What? Am I a twin or something?”
Stacia managed to smile. “No. Oh, honey, I wish I’d kept it in a safer place. I’m so sorry about that.” She sighed, then looked at Posey. “You don’t know this, but your birth mother…she was the one who picked your name.”
“What? What about Great-Aunt Cordelia?”
“Who’s that?” Stacia frowned.
“Gretchen said we had an aunt…” Leave it Gretchen to tell her some idiotic story. “Never mind. My birth mother picked my name?”
Stacia nodded. “The social worker who handled the adoption told us that even though we didn’t have to keep your name, the birth mother hoped we’d think about it.” She stared at the table, lost in memories. “And we were so grateful to her for giving us her baby, that we did. We didn’t really love it, to be honest. When Henry called you Posey, it just seemed to fit better, and I have to tell you, I was relieved. Cordelia. It’s not even German.”
“Was there something about my name in the letter?” Posey asked. A sudden weight pressed on her heart, as if she knew what was about to come.
Stacia took her hand. “She said her favorite play was King Lear. By William Shakespeare.”
“I know,” Posey said. “I read it in college.”
“Well,” Stacia said, her voice now a whisper. “She said she picked it because Cordelia’s the daughter the king sends away.”
Posey swallowed and pressed her lips together.
“But,” Stacia said, her eyes filled with tears, “she’s also the daughter he misses for the rest of his life.”
Cordelia. Not a great-aunt who was blind in one eye. Not the naive girl murdered by her evil sisters.
Cordelia, the precious, beloved daughter.
What a gift to have such a name.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Stacia said, her eyes streaming. “Please, honey. Please forgive me. I should’ve told you the other day. I should’ve told you when the letter came, and I didn’t, and I’m so sorry. Please tell me you still love me.”
Posey gave her head a little shake. How could Stacia have not told her this? How could… And yet, Stacia had fed her and bathed her and soothed her and read to her. She’d baked goodies every day; she had never missed a teacher conference or track meet. She’d walked her to school, driven to Boston to find clothes that fit, told her she was beautiful, smart, funny, gifted. She thought Posey was the best turnip that had ever been.
“Oh, Mom,” Posey said, slipping out of her chair and kneeling next to her mother. She put her head in the soft, familiar lap, felt Stacia’s hand on her hair. “Of course I love you. I loved you since before I could say your name. Nothing—and no one—could ever change that.” She smiled and looked up into her mother’s face. “Let’s not even talk about those dumplings you make.”