Somewhere Out There(7)

“Mommy!” Hailey yelled. Natalie turned to her right and smiled at her little girl, who at seven, was not so little anymore. Her long curls bounced as she ran toward the car; Natalie couldn’t bring herself to cut them more than an inch or two, so they looked like a mass of slender, brown Slinkys coiled down Hailey’s back. Her hair color she got from Kyle—Natalie was blond—but Hailey was petite, like Natalie, with delicate features and startling violet-blue eyes that weren’t a gift from either of her parents. Both Kyle’s and Natalie’s eyes were brown. At five, Henry’s previously light mop of hair was beginning to darken to match his eyes, as well. He was looking more and more like his father.

“Mommy!” Hailey said again as she jerked open the car door and swung like a monkey into the backseat, dropping her backpack beside her. She quickly fastened her belt. “Guess what!”

“What?” Natalie asked, still smiling as she pulled away from the curb and onto the street. “Guess what” had recently become the preface to everything Hailey told her. “Guess what, Mom? I saw a bug!” and “Guess what? My socks don’t even match!” Kyle found it a little annoying, but it amused Natalie, especially when Hailey and Henry got going on the “Guess what” game together. “Guess what?” Henry would ask his big sister. “My feet smell like farts!” Hailey would giggle, then reply, “Guess what? Your face smells like farts!” Basically, any mention of farts sent her children into hysterics, but regardless, it filled Natalie’s heart with unspeakable joy when the two of them laughed and played. As an only child who tended to keep to herself, Natalie had always wished for a sibling; she’d promised herself that if she ever had babies, she would have more than one.

“I got an A on my spelling test!” Hailey said now. “I didn’t even miss one!”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Natalie said, glancing in the rearview mirror at her daughter. “You studied hard with Daddy. Good job.”

“Um, Mommy?” Hailey said. “I think you’re going the wrong way.” She peered out the window at the stores lining California Avenue. “Did you forget where we live? Are you getting Olds-heimer’s?”

Natalie laughed. “No. I need to drop off a cupcake order before we pick up Henry. I’m running a little late.” She pushed down on the accelerator, keeping a watchful eye out for cops.

“Ohhhh,” Hailey said. Natalie heard the rustling of paper, and then her daughter spoke again. “Guess what else?”

“What?” Natalie came to a slow stop at a light, pumping her brakes, not wanting to jostle the boxes in the back and risk smashing the frosting she’d spent hours perfecting. She bit her lower lip, silently willing the light to turn green again. Her wipers squeaked across the windshield, sending goose bumps across her skin. Natalie was always the person who showed up fifteen minutes early to appointments or events. Being late went against everything her parents had taught her about respecting other people’s time as much as her own. Kyle, who had a tendency toward tardiness—except to court—didn’t always appreciate her persistent prodding to get him out the front door.

“Mrs. Benson says we have to do a family tree this week! I have to make a big poster and draw a tree on it and the names of all the people in my family!”

“Oh,” Natalie said. “That should be fun.” She attempted to sound enthusiastic, but her words came out stilted.

“Yeah,” Hailey said, seeming not to notice her mother’s reaction. “But I need to get some new markers so I can do it.”

“What happened to your old ones?”

“Henry left the caps off. He’s always messing up my stuff.”

A block past Hiawatha Park, Natalie took a left turn onto Admiral Way, deciding that now was not the time to get in a debate with her daughter over who was at fault for the dried-out markers. She remembered how she’d had to complete a similar family tree assignment once. It hadn’t gone well. She felt a sharp twinge in her gut, as she always did when she was reminded that there was a woman out there somewhere in the world who had given birth to her, and then had given her up.

Natalie hadn’t known that she was adopted until she turned ten. She wasn’t aware of it at the time, but what had spurred her parents’ decision to finally tell her about her lineage was an article that her mother had read in Parenting magazine. The author, a child psychologist, suggested that in the long run, adopted children ended up emotionally better adjusted if they were told about their adoption—if they understood that someone else had given birth to them, but they had been chosen by their parents.

Natalie’s mind still held the vivid memory of the night her parents sat her down in the living room and told her the truth. She remembered that the greasy smell of the Chinese food her mother had ordered for dinner hung in the air; she recalled the peach-and-blue–swirled pattern of the couch upon which she sat. She saw her father’s black suit, his broad shoulders and dark, wavy hair; she remembered the long jean skirt and blue oversize cardigan her mother wore. She could still hear the way her mother’s voice shook. “We need to tell you something, honey,” her mother said. “Something important.”

Natalie kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. She thought about the stash of candy she had hidden beneath her bed and wondered if her mother had found it. But before she could say anything, her father spoke.