Dog Whisperer (3 page)

“I think this is a good time to talk about it,” her father said. “We've probably put it off for too long, but we wanted to wait until you were a little older. But, twelve is probably a good age for it.”

Her mother nodded. “Your father's right. This is probably as good a time as we're likely to find, and—” She sighed. “Okay. Sure. Let's talk about it.”

Emily wasn't sure if she was excited—or scared, but for the first time in her life, she was actually going to learn a lot more about who she was, and where she had come from.

Wow!

 

3

Of course, now that they had decided to talk about it, there was nothing but awkward silence in the room. In fact, when Josephine yawned and stretched, Emily and her parents all jumped.

“So, you knew my mother?” Emily asked. She had almost said “my real mother,” but managed to catch herself at the last second. “My birth mother, I mean?”

Her parents looked at each other for a long minute.

“We didn't
know
her, exactly,” her mother said, after a pause. “But, yes, we did, in a manner of speaking.”

That was such an incredibly vague answer that Emily frowned.

“We had wanted a child ever since we got married,” her father said. “And we had registered with adoption agencies, and—well, so much time went by. After a while, I don't think either of us really believed that it would ever happen.”

None of that was new information, but Emily nodded receptively. It made sense that her parents might want to ease into the whole subject.

There was another silence in the room, which seemed to stretch out for a really long time.

Finally, her mother broke it. “She was a student at the college. I hadn't had her in class, and neither had your father, but she confided in—” She stopped. “A colleague,” she said finally.

Okay, that meant that the “colleague” was someone Emily knew, probably a professor friend of her parents.

“She didn't know what she was going to do,” her mother went on. “But, she didn't think she was ready to raise a child, and—well, she was leaning very strongly towards a completely closed adoption. But then, she decided that she would rather
know
something about who her child's parents were going to be. And, in the end, she was generous and loving enough to be willing to allow us to have the great honor of being your parents.”

That made it all
sound
really noble on her birth mother's part, and maybe it was—but, it certainly didn't
feel
that way.

“And then, just, what,” Emily said. “Back to her normal life, like nothing ever happened?”

She must have sounded very tense, and maybe even angry, because Zachary made an anxious little whining sound, and she quickly patted him a few times, so that he wouldn't worry.

Her father shook his head. “No, of course not. It had to have been a completely life-changing event for her. She withdrew from the college while she was pregnant, and ultimately ended up transferring someplace else. But, when she went into labor, we flew down right away, so that we could be at the hospital during the birth. I'm sorry, I meant, during
your
birth,” he corrected himself. “And then, a few days later, we brought you home.”

That was all still a lot more vague than Emily wanted it to be. In fact, other than finding out that her birth mother had been a student, it wasn't anything she didn't already know. Except, wait, maybe there was another possible detail buried in there. “Flew down
where
?” she asked.

Her parents glanced at each other.

“Atlanta,” her father said.

Okay. That was something specific. “So, I'm Southern?” Emily said.

Her mother nodded. “Technically, yes, I guess you are, although I never really thought about it that way.”

So, she was
from
somewhere. From a specific place. A
real
place, not something she had to imagine. There were so many different questions to ask that she really didn't know where to start. So, maybe she should just go with a really obvious question. “Was she African-American?” Emily asked.

Her parents nodded.

Okay. “Do I get to know her name?” Emily asked.

Her parents instantly shook their heads.

“I'm sorry,” her mother said. “But, we
promised
. So, we could never do that without her permission. It would be a violation of the agreement.”

Maybe, but who would know the difference? And she should certainly be allowed to know her own mother's name, shouldn't she? Emily frowned. “Are you guys in touch with her?”

Her mother didn't quite meet her eyes—which was very, very suspicious. “Once in a while,” she said finally. “I send her occasional photos and notes.”

“Does she answer them?” Emily asked.

Her mother shook her head. “Almost never.”

Great. That was just great. Her birth mother wasn't even interested in finding out about her. She didn't realize she had clenched her fist until she felt Zack nuzzling her hand. So, with an effort, she loosened her fingers and patted him some more, instead. “Do you think she even looks at the pictures?” Emily asked.

Her mother nodded. “I'm quite sure she does. And once every year or two, she'll send an email and say thank you.”

That didn't mean that Emily was about to nominate her to be Mother of the Year, though, did it?

“I know this is really hard for
you
, Emily,” her father said, “but I think it's also very difficult for her. She had to make some really grueling decisions, and—well, your mother and I will never stop being grateful to her.”

“Is she still in Atlanta?” Emily asked.

Right away, her parents shook their heads.

If they were that sure, then, they knew exactly where she
did
live—but, they probably weren't going to give her the details. “Do you know where she lives?” she asked.

“Somewhere near Washington, D.C.,” her mother said. “Although I think she moved a couple of years ago, and I don't have that address.”

This was so totally weird, and upsetting. “But, you know how to get in touch,” Emily said.

Her mother nodded uneasily. “Yes.”

Emily waited for her to give more details, and then realized that it wasn't going to happen.

“I don't think very many people in her life know about what happened,” her father said, “and it's always been my sense that she wants to keep it that way.”

Emily nodded stiffly. “Because she's ashamed.”

“Not ashamed of
you
,” her mother said quickly. “But, I know she must have a lot of regrets about not being able to keep you in her life, and I think she just decided to keep all of it in the past.”

Maybe another clue was buried in there, too. “Are you saying that she's married now?” Emily asked.

Her mother nodded reluctantly.

Being married wasn't that big a deal, so there must be more to it, based upon her mother's uncomfortable expression. “Does she have children?” Emily asked.

Her mother sighed.

Oh, wow. That just couldn't be possible. Emily almost gasped. “You mean, children she
kept
?”

“Yes,” her mother said. “She has twins. I think they would be about a year old now, although I'm not completely sure.”

So, she did have children—and children she
wanted
. Children she was proud of, and loved, and didn't keep hidden. “You mean, children she liked better than me,” Emily said.

“No, it's not that simple, Emily,” her father said. “She's in a very different stage of her life now. She's in a situation where she's able to take care of them, which she wasn't, when she was a student.”

All of this was really more than she felt as though she could take in, and she was suddenly feeling
unbelievably
tired, but Emily couldn't bring herself to stop asking questions, either. “So, she has like, this nice little family now,” Emily said, “and I'm this big bad secret?”

Her mother sighed. “People do the best they can, Emily.”

Maybe, but her birth mother's “best” seemed to be pretty lousy. “Do you think she would ever want to meet me?” Emily asked.

“I'm sure that, somewhere deep inside, she would want to get a chance to see you,” her mother said, and then shook her head reluctantly. “But, I honestly don't think that's something she wants to have happen.”

Oh. Emily tried not to look as crushed as she felt. “Can you ask her? The next time you get in touch with her?”

“Of course,” her mother said. “I can't promise that she'll answer me, but I absolutely will ask. That's a promise from me.”

Okay. And her mother—who was her
real
mother—always kept her promises.

“What matters the most, Emily, is that
we
get to have you as
our
child,” her father said. “That's what's important to your mother and me.”

Yeah. But, this was still all really upsetting. So, she might as well go for broke and ask the other important question. “What about my father?” Emily asked.

“She never told us,” her mother answered. “In fact, I'm not sure she told
anyone
, even him.”

What kind of person could walk around keeping total secrets like that?
Huge
, important secrets? Did Emily even want to be related to someone who could do that? Not that she had a choice, of course. “Was he a student, too?” she asked.

Her father shrugged. “Probably, but we just don't know.”

“Do you even know if he was white or black?” Emily asked.

Her parents shook their heads.

It could be either, since she was reasonably light-skinned. Now that she was thinking about it, it was kind of weird that she didn't really wonder very much about her birth father. It was always the idea of her birth
mother
that loomed in her mind. But, the truth was that half of her came from someone who was obviously a complete stranger, even to her parents.

Emily slouched back against the couch cushions, rubbing her hands across her eyes for a few seconds. It wasn't that she felt like crying, exactly, but she felt—jumbled inside. And really, really confused. “When you send her photos and all, does she ask a bunch of questions?” she asked.

“She usually just thanks me, and doesn't say anything more than that,” her mother said. “But, she was impressed by your sketch for the Faculty Contest.”

Which had been of the lighthouse down on the point, on a windy day, with rocks and waves and seagulls everywhere. She had won second prize—and still, privately, thought that the first-prize winner, a splotchy oddly-colored mass of flowers and leaves, hadn't been nearly as good.

“You got robbed,” her father said. “Those flowers were very mediocre.”

Emily grinned in spite of herself, but decided not to admit that she agreed one hundred percent.

Two
hundred percent.

“The fix was in that day, Little Emily,” her father went on.

Emily wouldn't have thought that it was possible to break the tension in the room—but, that actually worked pretty well.

“You set a very poor example, Theo,” her mother said, but she was smiling, too, now.

“Shenanigans!” her father said emphatically. “I tell you, there were shenanigans in that judging room!”

He probably really believed that, but Emily assumed that he was trying to change the subject, too. Whenever an umpire's call went against the Red Sox, her father was prone to shouting “I sense shenanigans!” at the television set. Once, when they had been at Fenway Park, he had yelled that at the field, but everyone sitting near them had stared at him. It had been funny, but also embarrassing.

“Do you have more questions?” her mother said.

Of course she did. But, they probably weren't questions that had any answers. “Yeah,” Emily said. “But—I don't know. Maybe not any more today. I'm really tired.”

Her parents nodded, both of them looking visibly relieved to hear that.

It was quiet again.

“I'm really sorry about all of this,” her mother said. “Nothing that has been happening today is
remotely
the way I expected us to spend your birthday.”

Yeah, it had been kind of a downer, all the way around, from start to finish. “I think I want to go to bed, but can we maybe eat the rest of the melted cake first?” Emily said.

Her father nodded enthusiastically. “We sure can!” he said.

 

4

So, they all went into the kitchen and ate the rest of the cake—which was delicious. They didn't talk about anything serious, either, which was nice. When they finished, her mother took Zachary out to the yard for a few minutes, while Emily carried Josephine upstairs to the guest room. Her father set up one of the battery-powered lanterns on the bedside table, but it still felt dark and shadowy in the room.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

Emily nodded. “Yeah. But, I'll be glad when we get the power back.”

“Maybe tomorrow, if we're lucky,” he said.

She sure hoped so.

When she was ready for bed, her parents hugged her good night and tucked her in—and wished her happy birthday one last time.

“You're sure you're going to be able to sleep?” her mother asked. “Or do you want to talk some more?”

Emily
wasn't
sure about either of those things, but she shook her head. “It's pretty late. I think I just want to crash.”

After her parents left the room, Emily yawned—and laughed when Zachary yawned, too. Normally, she liked to read for a while before trying to go to sleep, but tonight she was too tired. It was nicer just to lie under the covers, and let her mind wander.