Somewhere Out There(30)
“Sweetie, please,” her mother said, reaching out and touching Natalie’s hand.
Natalie jerked away. “I need some time to think. I’ll call you.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She knew what her mother had told her was the truth—her parents had only done what they always did—what seemed best for her at the time. In her mother’s mind, Natalie could see how the decision made sense. Chaos upset her, so choosing not to tell Natalie about Brooke likely seemed the right thing to do. Her father tended to go along with whatever kept the peace, whatever kept his wife happy, so he wouldn’t have argued the point.
But then Natalie thought about Brooke, her sister, who was left alone, separated from the only family she had, and Natalie’s heart squeezed inside her chest. She remembered Hailey at that age, only a few years before, Henry just last year. How vulnerable her children were then, with their delicate feelings and fragile, birdlike bones—how they still needed Natalie so much. What had happened to Brooke? Was she adopted, too? Did she wish she could find Natalie? Did she wonder why Natalie never tried to find her?
As she sat in her car in front of her parents’ house after having left her mother inside, Natalie’s stomach ached and her thoughts zipped through her brain so quickly she felt dizzy. She wanted to talk with Kyle, to process everything she’d just learned, but she knew he was still in court and a brief recess wouldn’t be enough time for the kind of detailed conversation she needed to have. This wasn’t the sort of news to break to her husband via text. Instead, she decided the best thing she could do was head home and sort out her next steps.
Once there, Natalie did her best to steady the turmoil she felt and let the skills she’d learned as a lawyer take over. Having a breakdown wasn’t going to help her find her birth mother. She told herself that if Kyle could focus on the facts of a situation, she could, too. She’d just pretend she was researching a case.
Feeling determined—hungry for more information—she sat down at the kitchen table and lifted the folder out of the box, flipping through it again. There really wasn’t much detail on the pages, mostly legal terminology and discussion of fees paid to the state for the adoption. Her birth mom was referred to as the “surrendering party.” Is that what she had done? Natalie wondered. Surrendered her daughters? Did she surrender her feelings, right along with her rights?
A moment later, her eyes landed on the name of a social worker, Gina Ortiz. Natalie wondered if this woman could help—if she knew more about the situation than the file held. She got up and grabbed her laptop from the coffee table in the living room. Back at the kitchen table, she turned on the machine, and after it had booted up, she opened the browser, then typed, “Gina Ortiz Washington State social worker” into the search engine. She had no idea how old this woman might be, if she was working or if she’d retired long ago. For all Natalie knew, Gina Ortiz could be dead. But if her days as a lawyer had taught her anything, it was that almost every person left a paper trail. All she would have to do was find Gina’s.
Natalie scanned the results on the screen. A link to the Washington State Department of Health’s website was the first to come up, so she clicked on it, wondering if there was a list of individual social workers on the site. She found none, so she navigated back to the results page, where she clicked on another link—an association for social workers who were accredited to provide supervision to those new in the profession. But Gina Ortiz was nowhere to be found on the alphabetized list.
Discouraged, Natalie opened another page and brought up the Department of Health website again, deciding she would just pick up the phone and call them. She pulled her cell phone from her purse, punching in the appropriate numbers. An automated system answered, so Natalie pressed 0, knowing that would at least give her a real person with whom to speak. “I’m looking for a current, or possibly former, social worker,” she explained to the operator. “Her name is Gina Ortiz. I need her address and cell phone, if possible.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I don’t have access to that information.”
Natalie hung up, frustrated, and drummed her fingers on the table next to her computer, staring at the screen until another idea struck her. She hit redial on her phone, and waited for the operator to answer again. “Hello,” she said, in a much louder, more nasal voice than the one she’d used on her initial call. “Can you connect me with Shelly Philips, please?” Natalie used a name she had seen on the top of the association of social workers list, where Shelly Philips’s title included lead caseworker at the Department of Health. She would have asked to speak with Human Resources, but Natalie worried privacy laws might prevent them from giving out an employee’s personal information; Gina’s supervisor wouldn’t be held back by the same restrictions.
“Of course,” the operator said. “I’ll transfer you.”
“This is Shelly,” a woman’s voice answered.
“I’m wondering if you can help me,” Natalie said, switching back to her normal voice. “I’m a family law attorney who worked with Gina Ortiz on a custody case, and I’ve lost her contact information. Do you know how I can reach her?”
“I’m sorry, but Gina retired several years ago.”
“Oh,” Natalie said. “I didn’t realize. Do you happen to have her forwarding information? I need to touch base with her on some specifics of the case. It’s being revisited by the court.”