The Last Thing You See (12 page)

Jeff offered me a private room to look over whatever it was he’d put in the shoebox for me, and I accepted.  When the door clicked shut behind him and I was left with it sitting in front of me on the desk, I felt my chest tighten up and had doubts about whether this was a good idea or not.

“Do you want me to wait downstairs, or outside or something?” asked Nick.

“No!”

The word came out much sharper than I intended, as if he’d checked how I’d feel about him puncturing the life raft we were floating in.  Nick nodded and stayed where he was, in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from me.

I reached into the box with a feeling of dread, as if I was being forced to put my hand into a lion’s mouth.  Whatever was in this box might hurt me just as much, maybe more.

The piece of paper on top was a birth certificate. 
My
birth certificate, apparently.  And it had names I didn’t recognize.

Child: Harper Jelka Milovanovic, born April 21 1993, Los Angeles, CA, USA.  Mother: Jelka Daliborka Milovanovic, born August 12 1969, Sarajevo, Yugoslavia.  Father: Unknown.

My heart boomed in my ears and I felt hot in the face as if too much blood was being pumped through my body.  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, not surprised that simply finding out the name of the woman who had abandoned me was enough to bring tears.

I looked at that one document for a long time, reading it over and over even though there wasn’t much information before putting it to the side and hitching in a few breaths with my head resting on my hand, hiding my eyes for the moment.  A lump in my throat refused to be swallowed away.

I sensed Nick lean forward with concern.  “You OK?”

I nodded.  “M-my mom’s name was Jelka.  Jelka Mi… Mi…” I looked at the paper again.  “Mi-lo-van-o-vic.  I might have been Harper Milovanovic.  Father unknown.”

I cried, thinking about who Harper Milovanovic might have been, what she would have done, and tried to keep up with the tears, wiping them away.  It was an impossible task, so I just let them flow for a minute while Nick reached over and held my hand.

I sniffed in through a suddenly runny nose and tried to take a deep breath around that lump, trying to summon up the hatred for this unknown woman I always thought I might feel if she turned up on my doorstep.  Hate wasn’t there though, it just hurt.  It
hurt
so much.

Sliding my hand out of Nick’s grasp, I looked in the shoebox again.  Now sitting on top was a stack of about a dozen envelopes, maybe more.  I grabbed them all at once and began flicking through them, my pulse racing faster and faster when I read the words on the front of each one.

My lips pulled back in an ugly grimace, baring teeth that I thought might begin to crack at any moment from the force I was clenching my jaw shut with.  A wave of grief not so much washed over me as smashed me against the rocks, and I let out a strangled gasp that bordered on a quiet scream.

The pain transcended the realm of emotions and cramped my stomach, making me hunch over slightly.  The envelopes were labelled rather than addressed.  I blinked rapidly and wiped my eyes, trying to clear my vision, and looked at the writing on each one.

Sweet Sixteen.  When you fall in love.  When your heart is broken.  When you lose a friend.  High School Graduation.  Wedding Day.  The birth of your first child.  When you doubt your dreams
.  So many of them.  One was simply titled
Munchkin
and had a big number one circled in the top right corner.

I pulled that one out and let the others stand in a toppled stack next to the box.  What I held in my hands absolutely terrified me.  I looked at Nick as if for some kind of reinforcement, but there was nothing he could do beyond sit there and offer silent support.  If I was going to fight this battle, I was going to have to fight it myself.

The envelope was slightly yellowed with age and when I slid my finger under the flap, the nearly-two-decade-old glue offered only token resistance.  The folded paper inside was only marginally off-white and covered in densely packed writing.

With a nose that wouldn’t stop running and quivering hands that made it difficult to unfold the letter and hold it still, I began to read.

*****

Dear Munchkin,

I don’t even know how to start a letter like this.  I don’t know how to even talk to you now that you’re big, practically all grown up.  You probably wouldn’t like to be called Munchkin for a start, but I hope you don’t mind me saying it one last time.

As I write this you’re in your crib having a nap, letting me have some rest.  It feels so strange to be writing to you like this, when I’ll be blowing raspberries on your tummy in about an hour.

I left instructions that you were to be given this letter when you turned twelve, so Happy Birthday Harper, I hope your day was magic and your new family made you feel like the special girl I know you are.  I guess by now they aren’t so ‘new’ anymore.  I hope they fill your days with love, though.

You probably know some of your history by now, but I wanted you to have it in my own words.  I wanted you to know how much I love you, now and forever.  I love you my baby, I love you, I love you.

I came to America alone in 1992, a refugee because things were not so good in Sarajevo where I was born.  Maybe the world has forgotten about it by the time you read this, but believe me when I say it was truly terrible, something that should be remembered so we don’t make the same mistakes again.

Like a lot of the girls I met when I moved to Los Angeles, I had stars in my eyes. I could be an actress or a model, because I used to do some of that back home.  Like a lot of the girls I met, I ended up being a waitress while I waited for my big break.

One day a man came in while I was working and flirted with me.  He was so handsome, so charming, and said all the things I so desperately wanted to hear.  I was only with him one night and then I never saw him again.  It turned out that the name he gave me was false.

The best guess was that he was some man travelling to Los Angeles on business and he took advantage of a silly, naïve girl.  That’s me.  I had dreams of being so much more though.

Almost nine months later I met you for the first time, and you met me.  It was scary being a single parent in a foreign land with no family or friends but plenty of neighbors that didn’t like hearing a baby crying in the middle of the night through their walls.  Very scary.

But I wouldn’t give up.  When you came into my life, you didn’t end my dreams, you gave them meaning.  You were the very reason to even have dreams.

All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me, to give you everything you needed and wanted, to keep you safe.  I kept on trying to get roles, sometimes I even had to bring you to auditions!

I never landed anything more than being an extra in the background though.  It’s a tough business, but the worst of it was how much I worried you might be disappointed in me when you grew up.

With your help, I almost landed the role of the witch in a movie called Princess Sundancer.  I’ll never forget you helping me with my lines.  You were dressed up in your little fairy wings waving a magic wand at me and saying “Kazoosh!  Kazoosh!” as I read my lines to you.  Do you remember that?

So close, but the lady in charge of casting said I didn’t have the right look for the witch.  It wasn’t long after that that I started feeling unwell.

I fought and fought and fought.  I’m still fighting, but I still have lung cancer.  I don’t have anybody to help me look after you, and I can’t give everything a bundle of energy like you needs right now.

That’s why I decided I had to leave you in a group home.  I visited ten of them, and I hope I made the right decision with Tipton.  I made them promise to tell you all the time, it wasn’t because I didn’t want you, it’s not because you’re not my whole entire world, it’s not because you’re not the most loved little girl that ever walked the earth.

I’m having surgery soon.  There’s a chance that I might get better, that I might beat this.  If that happens, then I’m coming for you, baby, I promise Mommy is coming for you.  I’ll pick you up and never let you go, I’ll burn this letter and all the other letters I’m thinking about writing.  I hope you never read this.

I might not beat it.  The doctors use big words and promise nothing.  That’s why I’m writing this, and why I will write the others.  So maybe you can know me a little bit, maybe I can be there on all those special days a mother is supposed to be there, so you never feel totally alone.

It’s not fair.  None of this is fair.  But I won’t stop fighting for you, Harper, right to the end.  If it comes to that.  They say the last thing you see before you die is your whole life flashing before your eyes, but for me I hope it’s just going to be you, looking at me for the first time, and me looking back.

I love you so much.  Be good.  Have dreams.

Mommy

Watching Harper read that first letter was heart-breaking.  She went from bright red when she was fighting to hold back the sobs to having most of the color drain from her face when she couldn’t stop them anymore and she read on.

To look at her, you would have guessed that a terrible horror movie was playing out on the piece of paper in front of her.  Finally, with eyes all red and puffy like she’d been hit with a mild pepper spray, she folded the letter and put it back in the envelope as delicately as if it might disintegrate at any moment.

She packed all the envelopes and the other piece of paper back into the shoebox and stood, holding it to her chest and staring straight ahead.  Her gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere in the distance.  Even though she was looking right at me, I wasn’t even sure if she was seeing my face.  All she said was ‘take me home’.

I tried to put my arm around her shoulder when I opened the door for her, but she shied away  We passed Jeff in the hallway but Harper didn’t even pause to say goodbye, heading straight for the stairs.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand completely as I made the briefest of apologies, explanations, and farewells on behalf of both of us.  Maybe he had to deal with people looking up their pasts semi-regularly as part of his job, and maybe it was always an emotional experience.

The whole ride back to her house, I couldn’t get a single word out of her.  She just held that box against her chest like it would fly away if she didn’t and stared ahead with those eyes that seemed focused on something only she could see.  She looked broken, and I had major misgivings about whether my big idea to help her had been a good one.

Harper undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car the instant I came to a full stop in front of her house.

“Do you need me to come inside?” I asked.

“No.”

“Oh.  OK.  Harper…”

She closed the door, not angrily, just in the same fashion she was doing everything else.  Zombielike, as if she was going through the motions but hardly comprehending anything.  I wound down my window.

“Harper.  Call me later, OK?  Or I’ll call you.  I love you.”

She walked in her front door and gently closed it behind her without saying anything.

*****

For two days, I didn’t hear anything from Harper.  When I went to her place, the gates were locked and there was no response from the intercom.

I tried to kill time with trips to the gym, with grocery shopping, with a few hours at the gun range.  I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom again.  Most of the time, though, I sat on my couch wishing Harper was there and hoping she was OK.

On the evening of the second day, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and heard the beep of the text notification.  That phone was whipped out faster than a six-shooter in a duel.  It was a text from Harper.

‘
You home?
’

I replied that I was, and a few moments later her message said she was on her way and she would be here soon.  Thankful as I was to hear from her, the complete radio-silence for the past couple of days had me on edge.

There was no telling what had been in those letters, no telling what Harper had been thinking or doing since Monday.  Had her thinking gone as far as reconsidering her feelings for me?  Had my dumb idea traumatized her out of love?  Panic stations.

In the brief time between buzzing her up and the knock on my door, the creeping sense of finality bloomed like an awful flower.  My apologies were flowing out of my mouth before the door to my apartment was even fully open.

“Harper, I’m sorry.  I’m no therapist, I didn’t know what I was talking about taking you to Tipton, it was a bad idea.  Are you OK?  Tell me you’re OK…”

Harper reached up with one hand and put a finger over my lips, stopping my ramble mid-plea.  I saw she was carrying her overnight bag and dared to hope.  It was so good just to feel her touch again.

“Shh.  Take it easy,” she said.  “I’m OK.”

“What… what about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are
we
OK?”

Harper’s brow furrowed for a second, and then her touch moved from my lips to caress my cheek.  “Yes.  Yes, we’re fine.  I’m sorry about the last couple of days, Nick.  That visit, all those letters, were really hard for me to get through.  I feel like I’ve been in a daze since Monday.  Uh… can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Harper ducked under my arm, and I closed the door behind her while she put her bag in my room.  When she came out, she slipped her arms around me and rested her cheek against my chest.  The butterflies in my stomach settled and I hugged her back for a moment before she turned her head up to me, fixing me with those dark eyes that still made my knees weak.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” she asked.

“No.”

“I found her.”

“Who?  Your mom?”

Harper gave the tiniest of nods, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Really?  Is she still in L.A?”

“Yes, but she… she isn’t alive.  I found her grave.  I visited it.”

“I’m sorry, Harper.”

“So am I.  But not for me.  All this time I thought… well, you know.  I was so ready to hate her, hate both of my parents, if they ever tracked me down.  Anything would have been better than secretly hating myself for whatever it was that made them wash their hands of me.  You’re right.  Tipton was my hell and I guess, in my mind, my parents were the demons.”

“But, remember, it’s not…”

“I know.  I know.  I do.  It’s OK now.  I didn’t just find her grave, I found
her,
too.  She’s no demon, she was a girl, a young woman, a real person.  She wanted something better for herself and for me.  She was a fighter.  Someone who loved all the way.”

Harper’s eyes took on a glassy sheen.

“She was a mother. 
My
mother, Nick.  You gave her back to me.”

Tears fell simultaneously from both of her eyes and I quickly wiped them away with my thumbs, my hands on her cheeks.  Even upset, she was beautiful.

“I’m sorry I scared you over the past few days,” she said, “I love you, and you’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me.  I love you, I love you.”