Jutta stood and adjusted her stirrup-foot stretch pants. “Well, you can follow me.”
Sophia breathed a sigh, of what she didn’t know. Relief, anxiety, joy? She was finally going to meet her mother, and it took everything in her not to push Jutta up the stairs more quickly. At the top of the landing were two gold-framed paintings of flowers on the wall. Jutta paused in front of the bedroom door to the right and turned the knob. When Sophia entered the bedroom, her heart stopped beating for a full two seconds.
The room smelled like hair spray, and the walls were covered in floral wallpaper. In the center of the room was a queen-size bed made up with a lace quilt. On the dresser was a cluster of perfumes and skin creams, and a brush-and-comb set. But otherwise, it was empty.
No Jelka.
“Is this your bedroom?” Sophia wrung her hands.
Jutta took Sophia’s arm and guided her onto the edge of the bed. “It’s for guests. I sleep here when I’m visiting.”
“Where is she?”
“Your mother, Jelka…” Jutta hesitated. “Died nearly two years ago.”
“No!” Sophia shrieked, clutching her heart.
“I’m so sorry.”
The room started to spin, and Sophia’s ears rang. She shook her head to make the nightmare stop. This couldn’t be true. Not after all she had done to find her.
“What happened?”
Jutta was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “I blame myself. I should have been here for her. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, but I went to a Sonny and Cher concert with a jerk who I thought was my boyfriend. Turned out he was married. When I got back here, she wouldn’t move.”
Sophia didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice when she asked, “Was she sick?”
“You can say that.”
“How… did she die?”
“Pills,” Jutta said. “Took too many. Her doctor had prescribed them for her sadness. He called it Mother’s Little Helper. Made her like a zombie to me.”
“Did she take too many… on purpose?”
Jutta nodded.
Sophia was quiet. Then she asked, “When did this happen?”
“September ’64. The week of your birthday was always the roughest time of the year for her.”
“My birthday is in March.”
Jutta tilted her chin. “I was there when you were born. Your birthday is September fifth.”
Then Sophia remembered thatSophiawas born in March. Herentire life was one big lie. She put her hands to her face and let the tears fall. Jutta put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Even though Sophia had just met the woman, she felt familiar. Jutta rubbed her hair and soothed her.
“Did she talk about me?” Sophia smeared snot away with the back of her hand and wiped it on her skirt.
“Oh, Katja, your mom missed you every day of her life.”
“But she gave me away. Didn’t she love me?”
“More than anything. She regretted giving you up for that horrible husband of hers. At the time, it was the only way to keep you safe. But in the end, that decision cost her her life.”
Jutta dabbed at her own eyes, and Sophia could see that she was trying not to smudge her makeup.
“When Jelka finally got away from him, she married Chuck. He’s American and a good man, but she refused to have any more kids. She brought me with her to the States.”
