Coming Home (22 page)

Under Birth, Marriage, and Death Records, Jessie clicked on Social Security Death Index and studied the names. Here, there were only five Olivia Lehmans, each listed with birth date, death date, last residence, and social security number. None were her mother.

Jessie leaned back in her chair and sighed, remembering what Andy had said about online death records: notoriously incomplete.

Getting up, she went to the reference desk and asked for help from a blond librarian who looked to be in her fifties.

“Verify a death?” the librarian asked.

Jessie nodded.

The lady thought for a moment, then handed Jessie yet another Web address. “The information is free,” she assured her. Jessie thanked her, went back to her cubicle, and typed in the address. This time the site’s online blanks asked for extensive information including social security number, date of birth, and date of death. Jessie provided it, then clicked Search. The Web site flickered out for a second, then reappeared: No Records Found.

“Notoriously incomplete,” Jessie whispered to herself.

She heard the shuffling of shoes and turned to notice the same friendly librarian standing behind her.

“How’s it working?”

“Nothing,” Jessie replied. This time, she handed the death certificate to the lady. “I can’t seem to verify this information.”

The librarian smiled. “You know … why don’t you just call them?”

“Sorry?”

“The Social Security Administration. They’ll verify this over the phone.”

Jessie smiled. When the librarian left, Jessie found the number on the Web and did just that. By now, her expectations were zilch. If the county and state wouldn’t give her verbal information, why would anyone else?

Eventually, after responding to various recorded menus, Jessie found a living, breathing person. She presented her request as politely as possible, expecting another denial. “What is the name and social security number?” the woman asked.

Jessie gave it to her gladly. The woman clicked away for a few moments, then returned. “I’m sorry. We have no record of her death.”

Jessie was stunned. “Why?”

“Either she’s not dead or no one reported it to us.”

Jessie thanked her and hung up. She punched in Andy’s number. It rang five times before he answered.

“Hey there,” Andy greeted, his tone upbeat. “Any luck?”

Jessie described the situation, even mentioning the death certificate Bill had given her.

“I guess there’s been a mistake,” Andy said. “Like the woman said, nobody reported it to the agency.” He paused. “But you
do
have a death certificate, right?”

“Yeah,” Jessie whispered.

“So there you have it,” he concluded. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“I’m an expensive gal,” she joked, but her mind was a million miles away.

“I can dress up,” he suggested.

“I’m kidding… .”

“See you about five?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said.

She hung up the phone and continued pondering the death certificate.

Two and half hours to go before Andy came to pick her up. She studied the death certificate, noting again the blank lines. According to Betty, the urn was buried, probably in the same cemetery where her grandfather’s remains were buried.
Why isn’t this recorded on the death certificate? Why no mention of cremation?

Jessie left the library, hopped into her car, and placed the letter and death certificate on the passenger seat. She headed east on Pikes Peak to the Rose Garden Cemetery.

Coming up on Union Boulevard, she realized she was driving adjacent to Memorial Park. Just ahead was the El Paso County Health Department. She debated for a second, then turned right.

Half a block away, she turned left and parked behind the tan building with green trim. She went through the glass doors and started down a long hallway. Halfway down, she opened the door to Vital Health Records. It was a tiny room, with four cubicles behind a protective glass window above a counter. A stout woman rose from her desk and smiled. According to the name tag, her name was Linda.

Jessie made her request.

“Are you kin?”

Jessie displayed her driver’s license, and Linda scrutinized it.

“I don’t need the death certificate,” Jessie told her. “I just want to know if she’s in your records.”

Linda shrugged and reached for a pen and a piece of paper.

“What’s the name and social security number?”

Jessie handed her the death certificate. Linda examined it, seemingly confused.

“I’m not sure it’s—” Jessie struggled—“legitimate.”

Linda went to a desk piled high with papers and began typing at a computer. Jessie held her breath. Linda paused and studied the monitor. She typed again, then waited. Her head shook subtly and she glanced up at Jessie curiously. Getting up from her desk, she handed the certificate back to Jessie. “We
should
have record of this, but we don’t.”

“You mean … no one recorded it?”

Linda shrugged. “I’ve heard of the doctor. Can’t believe he would have missed this.”

Jessie thanked her and headed back down the hallway.
This is getting ridiculous,
she thought.

Located in southern Colorado Springs, the Rose Garden Cemetery was surrounded by tall ponderosa pines. Knowing her grandfather was buried here—recalling an image of a large monument—Jessie reasoned this must be where her mother’s grave was, as well.

Near the entrance, Jessie stopped to inquire of the location, as if she knew for sure it was there. “Olivia Lehman, please …” In spite of her hunch, she was actually startled when the young groundskeeper in jeans and a green button-up shirt handed her a map and gave her directions.

She drove along a winding narrow asphalt road, barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Arriving at the general location, she pulled off the road and set out on foot. The directions weren’t easy to follow. She searched the area for nearly fifteen minutes until she finally found the tiny plaque, obscured by grass and dirt. Betty was right—her grandmother had buried the urn. One more detail Jessie had forgotten.

She hunkered down, wiping away the dust, tracing the inscription with her fingers.
Olivia Lehman, beloved daughter, wife, and mother
.

Mother,
she thought.
My mother
. Anger was building again. Apparently Olivia, the beloved daughter of her grandmother, namesake of her great-great grandmother, wasn’t important enough for a large headstone, or even a larger plaque. She recalled an image of her grandfather’s nearly six-foot-tall monument. Olivia had been granted a tiny speck of granite far off the beaten track, as if Doris had been somehow embarrassed by her daughter’s death.

Jessie stood up and studied the tombstone. She’d intended to find proof; intended to convince herself. So here she was. Her mother’s grave. But the
feeling
of proof was utterly absent.

Her cell phone rang.

“Jessie?”

The voice sounded familiar. “Brandon?”

“Where are you?”

Where am I?
“I’m visiting my grandmother.”

“I thought you went to Oregon.”

“Brandon, what do you want?”

“I lost your number. That’s why I haven’t called, but Darlene gave it to me. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

She sighed.
Of course … the post-breakup-are-you-okay call.

“I’m fine,” she whispered defensively, wondering if she should inquire of his well-being, then realizing she didn’t care. Here she was, standing at the edge of her mother’s grave and her old boyfriend had called just to make sure she hadn’t hung herself over him.
Puh-lease,
Jessie thought. “I have to go,” she said.

“Why?”

“I’m busy.”

“Jessie, I didn’t call to say hello, okay?” He stammered awhile longer, until she realized why he had called. “I was wrong about us… .”

She let the words swirl in her mind for a moment. Unbelievable. Brandon was trying to patch things up. A first.

“No, Brandon. You weren’t wrong.”

“Let’s give it another …” He was still talking when Jessie removed the phone from her ear and stared at it. She considered pressing the Off button with no fanfare, no send-off, but he’d probably think they lost their connection and call again. She put it back to her ear and heard the rest of it. “… will I see you in Oregon?”

There was no point in continuing the conversation. No point countering his arguments. She was wasting precious cell battery.

“Bye, Brandon.”

“I’m sorry?”

She pressed the button and stared at the phone again. How weird. She’d actually been missing him. It took hearing his voice again to set things straight.

Maybe I never pick the right guys,
she thought, smiling to herself. Dismissing the phone call, she dropped the phone back in her shirt pocket, then looked down at her mother’s gravestone. She tried imagining the urn it was supposed to contain. Was it gold or silver? Brass? Was it heavy? Rusted? The whole thing was like trying to wrestle into a turtleneck two sizes too small. Nothing fit.

She walked to the car and headed back through the winding cemetery road as shadows of the pine trees flickered on her windshield. The groundskeeper was now eating a sub sandwich. When Jessie inquired of the burial records, he simply handed her a business card. “They handle everything,” he informed her and returned to his sandwich.

Back in her car, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed the number on the card.

A woman answered, “Rose Garden Cemetery …”

“I have a question about my mother’s grave,” Jessie began, not sure what she would say next.
Is she really buried there?
Yeah, that would be a good one.

“Concerning maintenance?”

“Uh … no. I need … more general information.”

“I’m afraid our computers are down, but may I call you back?”

Jessie closed her eyes.
This is pointless
. But she finally agreed, giving the woman her mother’s name and the site number according to the map the young man had given her.

“May I have a number where I can reach you?”

Jessie gave her cell phone number and hung up.

Her phone rang again. Looked like Brandon wasn’t taking no for an answer. She checked the ID, but it wasn’t Brandon’s at all. “Hello?”

“Jessie?” A girl was crying hysterically.

“Laura?”

Laura’s words came out hitched and labored. “Mom kicked me out.”

Jessie was stunned.
Who kicks out a ten-year-old?

“Oh, honey. Where’s Mrs. Robinette?”

“She’s not home,” Laura whimpered into the phone.

“Do you have any friends close by?”

“Noooo.”

“I’ll be right there, sweetie. Wait for me at the Rock House.”

“It’s closed.”

“How ’bout the gazebo?”

Laura whimpered again and hung up.

Chapter Twenty-Four

JESSIE DROVE EIGHTY miles an hour on I-25. Her imagination conjured the worst. Had Laura been beaten?
So help me,
Jessie thought angrily.

She found Laura huddled against the splintered wooden slats of the gazebo, dressed in faded oversized jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pink sweater. When she saw Jessie, she burst into tears. She lurched down the steps, running to Jessie and sinking into her arms. After a long hug, Jessie led her back to the gazebo. Laura began hyperventilating again.

Jessie pulled her closer. “Let it go, sweetie. It’s okay …”

Laura leaned against Jessie so heavily that she had to brace herself with her left hand against the gazebo. When Laura finally settled down, she began to tell Jessie what happened. Apparently a terrible argument with her mother had resulted in Michelle lifting Laura by her arms and plopping her outside the door. Michelle had screamed,
“Don’t come back!”
as she slammed the door.

“Has that ever happened before?” Jessie asked.

Laura shook her head.

Jessie took out her cell phone, but before she could explain,

Laura placed her hand on it, her eyes pleading. “Every time they come, I get into trouble.”

“Who?”

“The social workers.”

Jessie sighed, placing it back into her pocket. “They don’t do anything?”

“You should see my mom,” Laura told her. “They
always

believe her.”

“What do
you
say?”

“
Whatever Mom tells me
,” Laura replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Do you think I want to live in a foster home where the kids beat you up and the parents stick you in a corner and the rats chew at your ears while you sleep?” She started crying again.

“Foster homes aren’t always like that.”

“It is for Sally,” Laura shot back.

They stood there while Jessie pondered what to do next. She could almost see Laura’s future. She had all the marks of a child whose innocence was being robbed one memory at a time. At the moment, the youngster seemed mildly naïve, but eventually she would be broken, and by the time Laura reached middle school, she would have gravitated to friends similar to her mom. She might try drugs by the time she was twelve. By thirteen she’d be smoking. Sex would become old hat by age fourteen. High school, if she made it that far, would be a playground of rebellion against authority. By the time she reached eighteen, her life would be cast into its bitter mold.

“What does Mrs. Robinette say?”

Laura shrugged again. “Sometimes we pray.” Jessie was silent, unsure of what to say.

“Mrs. Robinette takes me to church. She invites my mom, but Mom doesn’t go. Mom is really mean to her, but Mrs. Robinette keeps calling anyway. Sometimes Mom drops me off at her house. Calls her my geezer baby-sitter.”

Jessie smiled, not surprised that Betty would keep trying.

“Sometimes I wonder if God even hears me,” Laura continued. She looked up at Jessie. “Do you pray about stuff?”

Their eyes met and Jessie tried to formulate an answer. Should she be honest or simply say the right thing? And what was the right thing anyway? “Honey, I just don’t pray much anymore.”

Laura’s eyes widened, and Jessie wondered if she had just done a terrible thing.

“Do you go to church?”

Jessie was about to reply when Laura said, “Mrs. Robinette said you used to go with her when you were my age.”

“She took me every week,” Jessie said. “When my mother couldn’t go and my dad stopped going.”

Laura hunkered back into Jessie’s side. “I talk to God by myself sometimes. Mrs. Robinette says that Jesus is my best friend.”

Jessie sighed softly. “What do you pray for, honey?”

“A
real
mom,” Laura finally whispered. “Just like the one you had.”

“Honey, my mom died.”

Laura pulled away, meeting Jessie’s eyes. “But you have good memories, don’t you? Mrs. Robinette told me about your mom.”

Jessie nodded. “Very good memories …”

Laura began shaking her head angrily. “I don’t
have
any good memories and I wish my mother
would
die.”

Jessie squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t blame you for how you feel, but—”

“You’d be a good parent, you know,” Laura announced suddenly. “You have all the right stuff.”

“Honey, that’s nice of you,” Jessie said, stroking Laura’s head. Without thinking, she prayed,
Dear God, please save this little girl… .

But in the next moment, the impossibility of it set in, not to mention the unlikely chance that God even gave a rip.

“You do believe, Jessie—you’re just angry,”
Andy had said.

And I’m still angry,
she thought.

“You okay?” Laura said. Her eyes were serious. “You look different.”

“I’m fine,” Jessie whispered.

“Mrs. Robinette and I have this deal when we’re eating ice cream together,” Laura said.

“What is that?”

“We don’t cry when we’re making happy memories. Crying is for afterward.”

Jessie wiped her eyes. “Okay.” It was almost humorous. After all, Laura had been crying since the moment she’d arrived.

“I’m probably going to cry when you go. So I think we should wait until then.”

“Deal,” Jessie agreed.

“Deal,” Laura repeated. Then she sighed, biting her lip, sinking into Jessie’s shoulder again. “When are you leaving?” She whispered so softly that Jessie didn’t understand at first.

“Tomorrow.”

Laura pulled away again, her eyes frantic. “Why?”

“Sweetie—”

“Stay longer …”

“Honey …” Jessie paused and then pulled out her cell phone again, displaying it like a badge. “I carry this everywhere, okay?”

Laura nodded, staring at it as if the phone had acquired super powers.

“I’m going to give you a different number for my cell phone. It won’t cost you anything, because the charges are automatically reversed.”

Laura’s eyes widened again.

“I’m your new friend. I can even be your big sister if you like, that is, until you get tired of me. And even if I don’t hear from you for months, you can always call me up out of the blue, if you want.”

“Anytime? In the middle of the night?”

“That’s the
best
time to call,” Jessie replied with a little wink. Laura’s face wrinkled. “But I don’t want you to go. Andy doesn’t, either. You should marry him and live here.” Jessie shook her head. “I can’t marry Andy, sweetie.”

“But why?”

“Well … for one thing, he hasn’t asked,” she said, thinking that such an answer should pretty much settle it for a ten-year-old.

“Maybe he will.”

“Probably not.”

“But you hope so, right?”

“Laura—”

“Oh! I know,” Laura squealed, “you could ask
him
!” Jessie laughed. “Girls don’t do that.”

Laura looked confused. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“He’s my friend, that’s all.” Jessie sighed.

Laura looked a little dejected and then her countenance brightened again. “I know. Let’s just run away. You and me. Andy too. I could save you some time, you know. Instant daughter. Skip the diaper-changing stuff. I’m not a bad kid, most of the time. I have bad moods, but I can clean those up in a jiffy. What do you say?” Her thin voice had begun to tremble, and she was looking at Jessie expectantly.

Jessie pulled Laura close. “Hey, kiddo, crying is for later, remember?”

Laura nodded and wiped her eyes.

“Nothing would make me happier, but running would be wrong, sweetie. Just call me, okay?”

She felt Laura’s head nod against her chest.

Eventually they settled into a subdued conversation about Laura’s friends at school, her favorite movies, TV shows—too many in Jessie’s opinion—and her favorite mystery stories. Laura, obviously, had no guidance. It reminded Jessie again of how protective her own mother had been. Her mother had replaced the temptations of Jessie’s life with her own unreserved, unhurried presence. Jessie had never missed what she couldn’t have desired: an empty, fake world of nonexistent video relationships. The few movies they did watch were carefully screened, and they watched them together; Jessie was still amazed at her mom’s ability to apply a spiritual parallel to nearly every Disney story. Every rescuing prince was a symbol of Jesus. Every bad guy was a symbol of the darkness beyond. And every reconciliation or redemption had its place in her mother’s view of God’s reality.

But Laura, at ten, was already “beyond” Disney. She was watching material that wouldn’t have been appropriate for a teenager. Jessie just wanted to rescue her somehow, take her back into her own childhood, a world of pure innocence. But time was running out, and the road ahead was going to be difficult. Only unconditional love would save Laura now. The influence of Betty Robinette was going to have to work miracles.

Before long they were laughing and giggling. Eventually Laura announced, “I think I should try to go home.” She grabbed Jessie’s arm. “Will you come with me?”

Jessie agreed but worried that her presence would make Michelle angry again. “I’ll drop you off, sweetie.”

“Okay.”

Jessie opened her car door, and Laura jumped in, settling into the seat as if she’d been there a thousand times before. “This is really cool!” Laura said, studying the instruments. “Is this car fast?”

“Fast enough.”

Jessie removed a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down the toll-free number. Laura accepted the paper as if it were a huge candy bar.

When they pulled up in front of the house, Laura made no attempt to open the car door. Her little mouth was working and her eyes blinking. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Jessie patted her leg with assurance and shut off the engine. She dialed Laura’s number and Michelle answered on the second ring, but when Jessie identified herself, Michelle swore into the phone.

“What do
you
want?”

Jessie looked over at Laura and smiled as if the conversation were pleasant. “Hi, Michelle, just bringing Laura home. Are you available to talk?”

“Drop her off and beat it.”

“Good. I’ll be right in.” Jessie said good-bye just as Michelle began to cuss into the phone again.

Jessie smiled over at Laura, who seemed stunned with the easy conversation. “Things are cool?”

Jessie shrugged. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the car and walked up the steps to Laura’s house. Molly began barking before Jessie got to the door. Michelle was standing at the door, cigarette in hand. “I don’t need none of your lectures.”

“I didn’t plan—”

“Beat it.” Michelle’s eyes were full of rage and a discussion seemed pointless.

Jessie began to worry about something else. “Are you loaded, Michelle?”

Again, the fury in her eyes flashed. “Do I
look
loaded? Would I be this uptight?” Michelle laughed sarcastically. “Loaded is when you answer the door and say, ‘Oh hi, how nice of you to drop by. Feel free to steal anything you want.’ ” Michelle raised her eyebrows mockingly. “Get it?”

“Just give me a minute.”

“Give me my daughter or I’m calling the cops.”

Jessie crossed her arms. She glanced down the street, calculating the risk. “Okay, Michelle. Call ’em. I’ll wait.” Jessie had started to head back down the steps when she heard Michelle unlatch the screen door and kick it open. “You have two minutes, Goldilocks.”

The stench was excruciating as she entered the house. Molly was yelping from a back room. Michelle backed into the living room as if she were afraid of Jessie. She crossed her arms defensively, taking another drag on her cigarette.

Jessie was trembling inside but tried to hide it. “I’m not here to blame you, Michelle.”

Michelle was making mocking expressions with her eyes as if to say,
Is that right?

Jessie took a deep breath. “You said you already know about me. So then you must know I lost my mother and my father. What you may not know is that I spent years in foster homes. I’ve learned the hard way—”

“So we’re trailer trash sisters, eh?” Michelle said, squinting with a ghoulish smile.

“No, that’s not—”

“You’re trying to convince me you ain’t some rich kid coming home to collect her inheritance?”