Bonnie Winn - Family Found

Mitch sighed inwardly, knowing she would feel no peace until they had some answers. And it wouldn’t hurt him to fill her in. “I’m requesting a copy of your original birth certificate. With the sealed records law in Texas, we’ll get a copy of your adopted certificate, but we need the paper trail proving our intent, showing we’ve taken all the steps. We’ll have to have that once we request a court order to unseal the original.”

A contemplative expression covered her face. “You mean I have two birth certificates?”

He nodded. “One filed with the information on your actual birth parents, another with your adopted parents listed.”

“Will that one say I’m adopted?”

“No. That’s part of the sealed records process. For all appearances, the second birth certificate looks like the real thing. Unless you know about the original information, you’d have no reason to suspect it’s been changed.”

“This is a whole new world,” Laura murmured. “I feel like I’m in some sort of strange limbo and I’ll wake up tomorrow and find out this has all been some sort of bad dream.”

“Including Alex’s illness?”

“Especially that,” Laura agreed, the pain in her eyes surfacing.

“I don’t suppose your ex-husband has been much help.”

“As you know, he was willing enough to get tested for a bone marrow match.” She shrugged, a forlorn movement. “But beyond that he acts as though Alex’s illness really isn’t his concern. It’s all I can think about. I eat, sleep and live wondering how we can beat this. But Kevin acts as if—” Laura brought clenched fingers to her mouth, unable to complete the words.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to express his feelings,” Mitch suggested.

“That wouldn’t be a first,” Laura commented bitterly. “But to ignore his son, to act as though it doesn’t matter whether he survives—”

“It won’t help to torture yourself,” Mitch soothed.

“Why not? I’m the one who chose the worst possible father material as my husband. I’d have done better if I’d blindfolded myself, twirled in a circle until I was dizzy, then stabbed my finger in the direction of the first man I encountered.”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe he feels impelled to hide how worried he is.”

“He never wanted a baby,” she admitted, surprising him. For a moment even Laura seemed surprised that she had allowed the admission. “Alex wasn’t planned. In fact, I didn’t learn I was pregnant until after Kevin and I had agreed to divorce. Still, I always wanted my baby. I considered him a great gift, a wonderful blessing after so much hurt. But for Kevin it was different. He seems to have divorced his feelings for his son along with our marriage. He’s seen him only twice since he was born, and then only at my insistence. Kevin has made it clear he’d prefer to forget Alex altogether, to never see him again.” Bewildered, she raised widened eyes to meet his. “Do all men feel this way after a divorce?”

Staggered by the question, and far too aware of his past, Mitch hesitated. “I can’t answer for all men—and the truth is you could ask a dozen men and get a dozen different answers. I can only speak for myself, but if I ever had a son, I wouldn’t let anything come between us. People get divorced every day. That’s a fact of modern life. It’s not often people can stick a marriage out forever—that’s become kind of a myth. And people remarry, which is okay. But you have just one set of parents. You can’t take that away from a kid.”

If possible, her face blanched even further.

Then it struck him. “Hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the adoption thing.”

She waved away his apology. “It’s all right.”

But Mitch felt an urgent need to make amends, his own experience a painful reminder. “No. I was talking about a father’s responsibility, not being adopted. A man ought to stand by his kid, no matter what. What sort of guy deserts his kid when he’s sick?”

“The kind I married,” she answered quietly.

Mitch realized he didn’t have a spare inch left to cram any more of his foot into his mouth. He’d gone from bad to worse, then worse again. “You know, I was just thinking this might be a good time to do some of the legwork. You want to tag along?”

“Tossing me a bone, Tucker?”

“You up for catching it?”

Her smile was sad but accepting. “I opened this can of worms.”

“And I poked the jagged edge of the tin into your feelings. So why don’t we put a bandage on the morning and get the hell out of here?”

“You’ve got a way with words, Tucker.”

“Does that mean yes?”

The sadness hadn’t left her eyes, but a sliver of light penetrated the darkness. “I suppose so. Good to see you finally admit it.”

He skirted the desk, crossed to the front door and opened it for Laura. “Admit what?”

Faint slyness edged the beginning of a smile. “That you need my help.”

LAURA WASN’T SURE what she had expected. But the musty corridors of a genealogical library were a surprise. Floor after floor of books and records held a wealth of secrets.

Mitch quickly decided he needed the help of a librarian, rather than dig through hundreds of rolls of microfilm on his own.

“We need to see the birth records for March 1970,” he was telling the woman.

“Harris County?” she asked.

“To start with.” He lowered his voice a bit. “And then Galveston County.”

Laura hid a triumphant smile as they followed the librarian to the section of the library with birth records. The helpful woman then explained how they were divided and how to find certain years.

“Are you tracing your family history?” the librarian asked.

“Actually, we’re—” Laura began.

“Yes, we’re working on our genealogy,” Mitch interrupted. “I appreciate your help. After we find my sister’s records, I’d hate to be searching all over the building for Grandma Tucker’s birth certificate.”

The graying librarian laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, before moving away.

“Why did you cut me off?” Laura demanded in a quiet voice.

“Because telling people you’re searching for your birth parents closes more doors than it opens. It’s safer to stick to the story that you’re researching family roots.”

Slightly deflated, Laura studied his face. “You mean people won’t want to help if they know the truth?”

“This isn’t a black-and-white issue, Laura. A lot of people believe that digging up the truth only opens buried pain and problems. They feel the birth parents have a right to their privacy.” He held up one hand, anticipating her protest. “Some are even sympathetic to the reasons for a search like yours, yet at the same time are hesitant to cross certain lines. And most of them have heard stories similar to yours that have turned out to be ruses, so they’re cynical. While some legislators advocate opening all the records, some are equally insistent they remain sealed.”

“But the librarian—”

“May or may not be influenced by the debate. Why send up an unnecessary flag, though? In investigative work, it’s always best to be low-key.”

“No shoot-outs unless absolutely necessary?” she questioned dryly.

“Right, Watson.”

She smiled. “As in your trusted assistant?”

He pointed in the direction of an oversize cabinet. “There’s March 1970. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

Laura felt her smile draining away. “You want me to dig through the entire cabinet?”

“You said you wanted to help.”

“I do, but—”

“Then start digging.”

MANY HOURS LATER, Mitch glanced at the interior of Laura’s home. It was a modest, middle-income home. And much like her it didn’t reveal a lot. It could be anyone’s home, in Anywhere, America. It was light and airy, but with no individuality. It was so lacking in the personal bits and pieces that revealed the owner’s personality that the living room could be one in a model house.