I’m not sure what to do. Her distain for me is clear. When I don’t move, she starts shrieking, “Get out. You’re not hers.”
“Ivy”—Aunt Kathleen runs into the room—“you can’t be in here.”
Grandma yells at my aunt, “Take her back. Give her back.”
“What the hell is she talking about? Please tell me,” I beg Aunt Kathleen.
“She’s out of it. Her medica?—”
I pull out of her arms, my shouts mixing with Grandma’s as I yell, “Stop lying to me.”
Aunt Kathleen gawks at me like I’m a monster, like she doesn’t recognize me as she says, “She is sick, Ivy. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. When your uncle gets back, you can speak with him about this. But you can’t go by anything she’s claiming. The accident made her decline faster and she’s seizing nonexistent reasons to rationalize what happened to your mother.”
So, I did hurt her too. “I just want to know the truth.”
Guiding me out of the room, Aunt Kathleen cries as she tries to speak, “She lost her baby. It would drive anyone insane. Don’t blame yourself. Your mother loved you more than anything else on this planet. Don’t forget that. Ever.”
I know Mom loved me. I just don’t believe the rest. Why would Grandma come up with such a random thing?
“Okay,” I say but I can’t shake the feeling even as I drive home.
Going straight to my father’s office, I dig through the cabinets and drawers. “Can I help you find something, Ms. Walker?”
“Yes, Anthony. Do you know where the paperwork is where I was registered at Belgrave?” There was a copy of my immunization records and birth certificate. And I need to see it with my own eyes.
“Yes, miss. It’s right over here.” He retrieves a folder and passes it to me.
I take the documents out and scan over my birth certificate. Underbirth motheris my mother’s name. Why even seeing with it my own eyes, I can’t believe it?
Anthony lingers nearby as he hesitantly inquiries, “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Are you certain?” Anthony asks.
“Yes, it’s just been a long day.” Like really long. “Is my father home?”
“He was in the media room the last time I saw him.”
“Thanks.” I make my way there, figuring what I’ll find. Sure enough, he’s passed out, sleeping in the clothes he more than likely has been wearing for days.
“Dad,” I repeat a few times before he finally wakes up.
“What is it?”
I don’t even know how to say it so I just do. “Grandma said mom wasn’t my mother.”
He watches me before he yawns and stretches. “What else did the crazy battle-ax tell you?”
“Nothing, but is she telling the truth?”
He spots the birth certificate in my hand. “Of course she was your mother. Why are you questioning that? She’s gone.” Dad resumes his reclined position and seems to drift back off to sleep.
I leave the room with the words of my grandmother ringing in my mind. Studying over the conversation, I debate whether it’s her that’s crazy or everyone else who’s lying.
There’s one way to find out. I need to request an original birth certificate and get my hands on it directly from the state.
After requesting the document and paying the fee, I’m waiting anxiously. When the clerk hands me the paper, I can’t help but immediately read over it.
