Empty Arms: A Novel (29 page)

Lane and a couple of other women dab their eyes with tissues.

“That day, I named my daughter Emily. I don’t know if that’s what it says on her birth certificate, but that’s how I’ve thought of her all these years.” I shake my head. “Everyone told me I’d move on with my life, have more children, and forget about Emily. But I never did. I think about her every day. Every time I see a young woman with the right coloring, I wonder if she’s Emily.” I glance at the girl across from me, but her eyes are glued to her muffin. “It takes all my willpower not to approach complete strangers and ask if they’re adopted.”

Lane and a few others smile, but the girl across from me doesn’t look up.

“And now it turns out that I can’t have any more children. Emily was the only one.”

Around the circle, hands fly to mouths and wide eyes stare at me, shocked by the cruel irony of my life.

“I kept Emily’s existence a secret from everyone, even my husband, and it destroyed me and my marriage. I recently decided to search for her, so I can rebuild my life and move forward. I’d love to be in her life, if she wants that, but at the very least I need her to know that she was never unwanted by me. I never want her to doubt how much I love her. The only problem is my search has hit a dead end. Her records are missing from the Adoption Registry and without them I don’t have enough information to hire a detective. If you have any advice, I’d love to hear it.”

“Have you tried asking your parents for information?” Rose asks.

I nod. “I’ve asked my mom a few times, but she claims she doesn’t have anything that will help me.”

“Sounds like you don’t believe her.”

I shrug.

“What about your dad? Does he have anything that might help you?” Chuck suggests and Rose pats his arm.

“He passed away years ago.”

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Have you tried locating any of the hospital staffers who were in the delivery room?” Lane asks.

I nod. “I spoke to the doctor who delivered Emily, but he didn’t remember me or her. I found the head nurse too, but she wouldn’t help me.”

“What about the adoption agency?”

With each question, hope bleeds out of me. “It’s defunct.”

“Well, those records must’ve have gone somewhere,” the woman next to Rose says. “You’ve got to find out where.”

It seems like an impossible task. “Who would even know something like that?”

“I’d start with the Department of Human Services,” she says, and a couple of others nod in agreement.

The next morning, I find the number for the New York Department of Human Services, but, as I expected, it’s closed on Sunday. I try again the following morning before work, but no one answers. I wait until my lunch break and call again from the payphone in the lobby. Finally, someone answers.

“Hi, I’m calling because I’m trying to find the adoption records from an agency that is now out of business.” I try to keep my tone light and cheery, so my frustration doesn’t make him unwilling to help me.

“What was the name of the agency?” the man asks.

“Christian Cradle. I believe it went out of business in the late seventies.”

“Just a moment.”

Music bursts through the phone and my stomach tightens. This is going to be another dead end, I just know it.

“Miss?”

“Yes?”

“The files you’re looking for are with Child & Family Services of New York.”

I jot down the name. “Thank you so much.”

I scour the phone book, and my excitement grows when I find the listing. Finally, I’m getting somewhere. I deposit more change and dial the number. A woman with a gruff smoker’s voice answers.

“Hi, I work at Lowville General Hospital, and I’m calling to inquire about a case file from 1973. The adoption was handled by Christian Cradle, but I understand that you possess those files now.”

“We do,” she says. “I have to ask, is this request personal or professional?”

I hate to lie, but if I tell her the truth, she’ll tell me to fill out a form, and the process will take weeks, and I won’t get anywhere. “Professional. It’s for a patient who needs a kidney. None of her other family members are a match, so she asked me to inquire about a daughter that she gave up for adoption. She’s asked me to be discreet because her family doesn’t know anything about this.”

“I see. Normally, we don’t give out this kind of information over the phone.”

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask you to bend the rules, but this is a matter of life or death.”

The woman hesitates and sighs. “Let me see what I can do. What’s the patient’s name?”

“White. Catharine White.”

“And the date of relinquishment?”

“March 25, 1973.”

“Okay. Hold on while I go find the file.”

I hold my breath while the line goes quiet. If she can give me a name or a Social Security number, that would at least get Detective Walsh started. Who knows where one little piece of information could lead. With any luck, I could find Emily before the year is out. I could celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday with her.

“Miss? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing on file.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you said you have all the files from Christian Cradle?”

“We do.”

“Then why don’t you have Catharine White’s?”

“If we don’t have it, it’s because that case wasn’t handled by Christian Cradle.”

I hang up the phone in defeat. There are dozens of adoption agencies out there and probably hundreds more that are out of business now. If Christian Cradle didn’t handle my adoption, who did?

M
ELODY LISTENS INTENTLY
, despite the racket on her end, as I give her the blow by blow of my search. “Maybe your Mom asked her nurse friend to use a different agency?”

I think of Nurse Unger’s allegiance to my mom. “Maybe. But why would she do that?”

“As a safety precaution, in case you ever decided to search for Emily.”

“If that’s true, then I’ve severely underestimated her.”

“Cate, this is the woman who kept James’s letters from you. I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

E
VEN THOUGH
I
DON’T WANT
to believe that my own mother would go to such great lengths to keep me from finding my daughter, Melody’s words infiltrate my brain and taint my thoughts. Nothing can take my mind off it, not work, not sleep, not even a hot bath and a bottle of wine.

I arrive at The Adoption Circle’s August meeting fifteen minutes early and scan the room for Lane, but she’s not there yet. A few people, who I’ve seen before but haven’t spoken to, linger at the edge of the circle. Standing by the back table is the young girl who could be Emily. I approach the table slowly and fix myself a cup of chamomile while she eyes a plate of donuts. She reaches for a powered donut but decides on a glazed at the last minute.

“Hi,” I venture. “I’m Cate.”

My random introduction surprises her. “Oh, hi. I’m Natalie.” She sets the donut on her plate and licks her fingers with a smile.

“I’m new to this group,” I admit. “I’m a birth mom.”

“I’m an adoptee.”

My ears perk up, but I don’t want to pry. Maybe if I tell her my story, she’ll tell me hers. “I recently started searching for my daughter.”

She nods. “I remember your story from last month’s meeting. I was very moved by it.”

“You were?” She’d seemed so focused on her chocolate chip muffin that I didn’t even think she was listening.

A contemplative look settles on her face. “I feel like it’s fate that you randomly showed up last month.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Because I’ve been grappling with a big decision for several months now and your story helped me see the answer.”

“What’s the big decision, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My birth mother contacted me earlier this year.”

My hope fizzles. Had I really expected her to be Emily?

“I knew I was adopted, but I never thought about finding her. I never had that curious itch that so many people describe. I was happy with my life just the way it was. But then Rita came along out of the blue. We talk every now and then, but I’ve refused to meet her. I guess I’ve been worried that she might mess up my life or try to interfere with my relationship with my adoptive mom. But after I heard your story, I realized that she probably just wants to know me.”

“So did you meet her?”

She shakes her head. “We have plans to meet next weekend.”

My spirits brighten at the thought of my story helping a mother and daughter reunite.

I excuse myself when I notice Lane enter the room. “Hi, Cate,” she says brightly.

“How did things go with the Department of Human Services?”

“Not great.” I tell her the story along with Melody’s theory about my mother’s involvement. “What do you think I should do?”

“It sounds like you’ve only got one option,” she says. “You’ve got to find out what your mother knows.”

“B
UT YOUR MOM
is a tough nut to crack,” Melody says when I tell her what Lane said.

“Tell me about it.”

“Sounds like you need a plan.”

“What kind of plan? Tie her up and threaten to cut off her fingers unless she helps me find Emily?”

She giggles. “I was thinking of something a little more subtle.”

“Like what?”

“Think about the things that are most important to your mom.”

“Well, that’s easy: being right and having an immaculate reputation.”

“Bingo. You’ve got to use that knowledge to your advantage.”

“How?”

“Do something she’d never expect. Apologize for all the pain and embarrassment you caused when you got pregnant and admit that she was right to choose adoption and keep Emily a secret.”

I scoff. “Not in a million years.”

“That’s exactly why it’ll work; she’ll never expect it. And if you say it like you mean it, she might let her guard down and you may actually get somewhere.”

“Mel, my mother is more guarded than the vault at the Federal Reserve. I don’t think apologizing and admitting she was right is going to break her.”

“I’m not saying it’ll break her, but it might put a little crack in that tough exterior.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t talked to her in months. Think about how much she probably misses you.”

There have been a lot of messages I’ve deleted and phone calls that have gone unreturned. But I’d rather chop my hand off than apologize to her and let her think she’s right.

“Cate, you know I’m right. Besides, isn’t it worth a shot if it helps you get what you want?”

“I hate this, you know.”

“That’s why it’s going to work.”

“It better,” I say and hang up.

I can’t even imagine myself saying the words without sounding like a fraud. Besides, if I just call her out of the blue and apologize, she’ll know something’s awry. I pace the kitchen and bite my thumbnail, trying to come up with a good excuse to call. The pot rack catches my eye, and the answer appears in its copper shine. Of course. I’ve got to hit her where it really hurts.

I dial her number and wait the requisite three rings.

“Hello?” she answers, in her pleasant telephone voice.

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Catharine? It’s about time you called me back. I’ve been worried sick.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been in the mood to talk to anyone.”

I can hear the curiosity creep into her voice. “Why? Is everything all right?”

“No, everything is not all right.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sigh. “Paul left me.”

“What? Why? I thought things were good between you?”

“They were … until I told him about Emily.”

“Oh, Catharine, I told you to leave it alone.”

“I know, but I thought he’d understand. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Yes, you should have.” I can practically hear her self-satisfied smirk on the other end of the phone. “But now that the damage is done, you have to go after him and fix this.”

“It’s no use. He moved out weeks ago, and we already signed a separation agreement. In a year we’ll be divorced.”

“You’ll do no such thing. You know how the Catholic church feels about divorce.”