Somewhere Out There(31)

“Are you sure I can’t help you?”

“I’m sure,” Natalie said. “She was well acquainted with the guardian ad litem, so I really need to speak directly with her.”

“Let me see what I have on file,” Shelly said. Natalie heard the clacking of the other woman’s fingers on her keyboard, and before she knew it, Shelly was reciting Gina Ortiz’s phone number.

“Thank you so much,” Natalie said as she read back the ten digits, to make sure she’d gotten it right. “I appreciate it. Have a great day.” She hung up, feeling more than a little pleased with herself. Then, after opening another page on her browser, Natalie punched Gina’s name and phone number into a reverse directory and came up with her current address, which she jotted down, as well.

Staring at the numbers, she debated whether or not she should call Gina, or if she should just show up at the woman’s front door. What if she slammed the door in her face? Natalie wondered.

But then again, what if she didn’t?

? ? ?

Natalie’s cell phone buzzed just as she pulled into the parking lot of the Shady Palms apartment complex in Des Moines, where Gina Ortiz lived. It was an older collection of buildings, likely built in the seventies, with cedar roofing and painted like a cake—chocolate siding with chocolate trim. “Hey, babe,” she said when she answered the call, after seeing Kyle’s name and picture pop up on her screen.

“Hey,” her husband said. “I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to check in. Are you and your mom okay?”

Even though Natalie would have preferred to have this conversation in person, she gave her husband an abbreviated account of the morning’s revelations along with her current whereabouts.

“Holy shit,” he said when she’d finished. “You have a sister.”

“I know,” Natalie said, feeling like she might cry. “I can’t believe they kept it from me.”

“I can.”

“Kyle,” Natalie said, feeling another flash of irritation. His negative thoughts about her parents’ behavior were the last thing she needed right now; she was having enough difficulty dealing with her own.

“Sorry,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem right that they waited so long to tell you.”

“I know,” Natalie repeated. “But we can talk about that later? I want to find out what I can from the social worker.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should take more than a minute to digest all of this.”

“I’m not sure about anything,” Natalie said. “But I do know I’ll drive myself crazy if I wait. Hailey’s going to Ruby’s house for a playdate and Henry’s going to Logan’s. I’ve got until five o’clock.” Natalie’s plan to spend the afternoon working had evaporated; par-baking mini–chocolate lava cakes and making fresh lemon curd to fill bite-size tarts didn’t seem important. She’d stay up all night finishing the order if she had to.

“The woman might not even be here,” Natalie told Kyle. She had thought of this possibility on the drive over, but banked on the likelihood that since the social worker was retired, she’d be home.

“Okay,” Kyle said. “I have to get back to work. Text me and let me know what happens, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Natalie said. They hung up, and Natalie’s belly twisted. She wondered what she would do if Gina didn’t remember anything about the situation. It had been thirty-five years, after all.

“Only one way to find out,” Natalie muttered as she yanked the keys from the ignition and opened the driver’s side door. She locked the car, glancing at the letters on the buildings, eventually landing on the large letter D painted on a sign. She strode across the lot, entered the building, and even though there was an elevator, used the stairs to reach the third floor. Standing in front of the unit labeled D-302, Natalie hesitated, then raised her hand and knocked.

“Coming!” a woman’s voice called out. A second later, the door swung open and Gina Ortiz stood before Natalie. She was a heavy woman, and had wavy, shoulder-length hair that looked as though it had once been black but was now a peppery shade of gray. Her caramel skin was etched with a map of deep-cut lines, and she wore a colorful, bold-print caftan that skimmed the round shape of her upper body. “Can I help you?” she asked, appraising Natalie with a skeptical look.

“Are you Gina Ortiz?” Natalie said, in a rush.

The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she said, in a manner that made it clear she was wary. “You’re not trying to sell me something, are you? There’s a ‘no soliciting’ sign downstairs.”

“No, no,” Natalie said. “Not at all.” She gave the woman what she hoped was a friendly smile. “I’m so sorry to bother you at home, and I’m not even sure where to start, exactly, but I literally just discovered that you were the social worker on my adoption. I also found out I have a sister I didn’t know existed. I’m here to see if you can help me find some answers.”

“I don’t know,” Ms. Ortiz said, drawing out the words.

“Please,” Natalie said, and her eyes filled with tears. She hoped the woman wouldn’t turn her away—that it would be obvious how much Natalie needed her help.