Marilyn Peake - The Other

I asked, “Do you know where she is now? Or how I could find her?”

He said, “I have no idea. She was just a college student back then. She had pretty big ambitions. She could have gone anywhere to graduate school or to teach, if that’s what she ended up doing.”

I thought about records. The more records I could give to Hannah, the better.

I asked my dad if he knew what college she had been attending.

He remembered, so that gave me another lead. If she had gone on to graduate school, maybe the college had a record of where she’d gone.

I asked my dad for the name of the law firm that had set up the adoption. He wrote down the name. He said, “I don’t know if they’re still in business or not, but that was the firm we used. Our lawyer was Evan Hawkins. Nice man. Probably in his mid-thirties back then.

I stood up, gave my dad a big hug and said, “I’m glad you and mom raised me. You were the best parents anyone could ever ask for.”

Dropping the hospital bands back into the envelope, I headed off to my room to let Hannah know what I’d found.

I closed my bedroom door. Before contacting the search angel, I pulled my birth certificate out of the envelope. And I discovered additional papers, including one from the hospital with footprints of my newborn baby feet. They were so tiny! And information I’d never had before that day. My birth mother’s name: Cora Frost . My birth weight: 8 pounds, 2 ounces . The time I was born: 4:10 AM .

I had opened a door into a whole new world and into a part of myself I’d never known before.

The next day at work, I was scheduled to visit two homes with Andy: Max Davenport’s where one of his sons was supposed to show up after Maggie talked him into it and the home of a new client named Olivia Barrett. She apparently hoarded cats as well as things and her neighbors were quite upset because so many of her cats ran around outside, looking emaciated and killing birds.

First thing in the office, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the Staff Lounge and the files on my two clients. Aubrey was cheerful as always. Her sunny disposition clashed with my feeling close to a hangover from getting so little sleep. A migraine was dancing around my eyeballs, threatening to go full-blown headache. I tried to be civil and to get away as quickly as possible.

I asked for the charts.

Aubrey had her hair in pigtails. Star shapes had been shaved into the rainbow stripes on the back of her head. Every time she moved, the pigtails bounced with energy, reminding me of springs. Her hair had been died pink, no more blonde. She had glitter in her blush and eye shadow—subtle, but specks twinkled every time the light hit them. She was wearing a pink top with a short white skirt, hoop earrings and a bunch of bangle bracelets. Her brightness made me feel like something that had crawled out of a cave.

She said, “Hi, Jade! How are you this morning?” and flashed me a huge smile. Her teeth were incredibly white and perfect.

I said, “Good. Busy. But good.”

Undefeated by my attempted hint that I was too busy to talk, she asked, “How was your weekend?” in a rather sing-song voice.

I said, “Good. Good. I need the charts ASAP. I’m going out to visit those clients with Andy this morning.”

Aubrey said, “Sure. Sure. Just remember to sign them out.”

I scribbled my name on the sign-out sheet. As soon as I had the charts in hand, I made my escape through the maze of hallways to my office. I shut the door and pored over the files, slugging back coffee to wake up.

At 9:30, Andy knocked on my door. “Ready to go?”

We drove to Olivia’s house first. It was a white ranch-style house with red shutters and a dark blue door. When we rang the bell, someone peeked out from behind tattered lace curtains. When the door opened, we encountered a woman in her thirties wearing a gray T-shirt and sweatpants. She had short black hair with wonderful shine and well-defined muscles in her arms. She looked healthy and in great physical shape.

Andy said, “Hello. We’re here to see Olivia Barrett.”

Opening the door wider, the woman said, “That’s me. Come on in.”

This was different than Max’s house. Whereas Max had stacks of boxes that created walls around the narrow aisles winding through them, Olivia had simply piled things on top of each other without bothering to put them in boxes or containers. As we entered a cleared rectangular space about two feet by three feet, we came face-to-face with a wall built from layers of collected things: stuff like an old-style TV and rowing machine on the bottom, a coffee maker box and microwave in the middle, papers and blankets and all kinds of other things piled on top to create a jerry-built structure.

A tiny kitten suddenly appeared at the top of the mountain. It was a black ball of fluff with blue eyes. Olivia reached up and grabbed it. Holding the kitten in one hand and stroking its fur, she said, “Come in. I cleared a space for us to talk.”

Sure enough, the center of the living room was uncluttered and vacuumed. Andy and I sat on comfortable chairs. Olivia sat on the couch.

Andy started the session. “I understand that you contacted our office to ask for help.”

Olivia said, “Yes. I’d like help with my neighbors.”

Andy asked the obvious question: “With your neighbors?”

Olivia said, “Yes. They reported me to our local health department. I agreed to seek counseling in return for not being evicted from my house.”

Andy said, “Do you understand what we do?”

Holding the kitten up to her face and looking into its eyes before placing it on the couch, she said, “Yes. You help hoarders. I understand that I’ve been labeled a hoarder.”

I expected her to continue. When she didn’t, Andy asked, “Do you consider yourself to be a hoarder?”

Olivia said, “I don’t put much stock in labels. I just hold onto things for a sense of continuity. And, also, I don’t want to be part of our throw-away society.” With a defiant tone, she added, “I’m guessing you wouldn’t either if you were in my shoes.”

Andy said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. Labels aren’t always a bad thing.”

Olivia said, “You ever been to war?”

Andy said, “No, I haven’t.”

Turning to me, she asked, “How about you?”

I said, “No, I haven’t either.”

Olivia said, “Well, I have. Two tours of duty in Iraq, another tour in Afghanistan. Nothing was permanent. I lost friends.” Pulling up the right side of her sweatpants, she revealed a robotic leg. “I also lost a leg.”

Andy said, “I’m sorry.”

I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I had no idea what to say.

Olivia continued. “OK, so now I’m back home, and my neighbors think they’re going to tell me how much stuff I can have in my house or how many cats I can own? I don’t think so!”

Andy asked, “How many cats do you own?”

Olivia answered, “Twenty-six counting the five new kittens I just got. I know all their names. Do you want me to recite them?”

Andy said, “Sure.”

Olivia managed to name all twenty-six cats. She said, “I know all their personalities. They’re all very different. I’m not getting rid of any of them.”

Andy asked if we could see some of the cats. Olivia picked up the kitten from the couch. She said, “This one is Soot Sprite. Good name, huh?”

I spoke for the first time since we got there. “I love the soot sprites in Miyazaki’s movies. Is that where you came up with the name?”

Olivia said, “Yeah. From My Neighbor Totoro . I loved those sprites.”

As we worked our way through Olivia’s house, we saw a total of twelve cats, five of which were the new kittens. Most of the older ones were scrawny-looking with matted fur.