Seeking Sarah Read online

  “The fact that I’m still here with all my faculties in order means I’m doing quite well.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “But I am wondering why you’re lying to me. Because you’ll call me without hesitation, but it’s been a while since you graced my humble abode.”

  I managed a smile as I looked around his yard. “You know all this clutter gives me hives?”

  “Which is exactly why I live alone. Don’t need no woman, no offense, in here telling me how to clean my house.”

  “I know, Uncle Clyde.”

  He grinned to let me know all was well. “You want something to drink? I can make you a gin and Coke.”

  “Uncle Clyde, it’s ten in the morning.”

  “But it’s almost midnight in China.”

  “Well, we’re not in China.”

  “Suit yourself.” He reached down on the side of his chair, grabbed a bottle, then poured some gin into a glass cup that had melting ice in it. He swirled the glass around, then took a sip.

  “What happened to the Coke?”

  “Well, the Coke is only for guests. I like my drink straight.” He downed the whole drink and I grimaced for him.

  “Now seriously, what’s going on? You missing your daddy? You need to talk?”

  “Well, you know I’m missing him. It’s just so hard.”

  “I know.” He got nostalgic and choked back his words. “I didn’t know how much I loved that old geezer until he wasn’t there for me to fight with.”

  That brought a smile to my face. And fight they did. Constantly. You would’ve sworn they were blood brothers the way they argued. But they wouldn’t dare let anyone else talk bad about the other.

  He slapped his knee, trying to snap himself out of his sorrow. “So, what’s going on?”

  I released a heavy sigh. “Uncle Clyde. I need some answers.”

  He leaned back. “You got questions. I got answers.”

  “About my mama?”

  He sat upright, a surprised look across his face. “Umm, I don’t know nothing about that.”

  “Come on, Uncle Clyde. Daddy apologized before he died. At the hospital, he just kept saying he was sorry. I didn’t know why and Grandma told me that my mother is still alive and he was apologizing for lying and telling me otherwise.”

  I had uttered those words a thousand times since I found out and they were no less painful.

  His sigh seemed to be a mixture of relief and sadness. “Yeah, I’ve been telling Jacob for years this day was gonna come.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would Daddy keep something like that from me?” That’s the question I’d been asking all night, right next to where was my mother.

  Uncle Clyde took my hand.

  “You know you were the most important thing in the world to your father. You were his life. I stayed single because I didn’t like women for too long. But he stayed single because he didn’t want to share his world with anybody other than you. He didn’t want to share his heart with anybody but your mama.”

  “So, what happened? What made her leave?”

  He dropped my hand and leaned back like he was thinking. “Well, don’t rightly know. Honestly, I don’t think she ever wanted to marry your father in the first place. She just never loved him the way a wife is supposed to love a husband. Your mother had a rough upbringing and I think she married him out of gratitude. She had been arrested and your daddy came along and was like a knight in shining armor.”

  “Arrested? My mother had a criminal record?” This was all too much. Not only was my mother alive somewhere, but she was a criminal?

  He nodded. “Yeah. He was her ticket out of poverty and that jacked-up life. Jacob couldn’t see it, though.” Uncle Clyde shook his head. “My heart used to hurt so bad for my friend. He tried so hard and your mother was so unhappy. No, she was miserable. Yep, miserable is more like it.”

  “I just don’t remember her being miserable,” I said.

  “Oh, she hid it well. At least around you. But behind closed doors, she let him have it. Behind closed doors she let him know how unhappy she was. And it used to tear his heart up. I don’t think I have ever seen a woman rip a man to his core. I’m not even going to lie. I came to hate your mama. I saw what she was doing to my friend and it burned me up. I told him to leave her many times, but love”—he tsked in disgust—“love can turn you into a bona fide fool. And your daddy was a fool for love.”

  “So what happened? Grandma said she went to visit a friend and just never came back. There has to be more to it than that.”

  “Wish there was,” he said, “then maybe your daddy wouldn’t have been so tortured. That’s what was killing him, the fact that he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t fathom what would drive her to leave y’all, especially you. Wanting out from him is one thing; leaving you is something he could never process.”

  There were no words to describe the pain in my heart. “Did he just let her go?” I asked.

  I could see Uncle Clyde reaching back into his memory. “First, he thought something bad had happened,” he said. “Your daddy called the police, the sheriff’s office, the dog catcher, everybody. He moved heaven and earth trying to find her. For about three days he wouldn’t eat, drink, or sleep. He worried the police. He searched databases. He drove up and down every street in Raleigh, camped out at hospitals. And then, she called. Just said she couldn’t do it. Said she was fine, but she wanted out. He begged and pleaded and she told him to just forget she existed.”

  “And so, she just forgot I existed?” I all but whispered.

  He shrugged. “Some people just don’t have a mother’s gene. I don’t think that Sarah did.”

  “Then why did she have me? Why didn’t she just have an abortion?”

  “Oh, not having you was never an option. Your daddy had been told he had some . . . some man problems and couldn’t have kids. Then Sarah got pregnant with you and he called you his miracle baby. Sarah would’ve had to kill him before he would’ve let her kill you. Plus, I don’t think that was in her. I think there was a part of her that hoped you could help save their marriage, bring them some happiness, and for a while, you did. But there was never that connection. He did more caring and nurturing of you than she did.”

  “I don’t remember any of that.” With the exception of a few vivid recollections, the memories of my mother had faded over the years, but I definitely didn’t recall feeling like my mother didn’t care for me.

  “Yeah, your mama was good at faking.” The anger in Uncle Clyde’s voice was palpable. “That’s why me and your grandmother went along with the charade that she was dead, because truthfully, we thought both of y’all were better off without Sarah.”

  Something was missing. This wasn’t adding up. “Was she on drugs or something?” There had to be something that would drive my mother to just leave, and the only thing I could think of was drugs.

  He laughed. “Yeah, your daddy swore she had some kind of secret cocaine habit that was clouding her judgment. So he hired a private detective, tracked her down. Found out she was living in New York. He went to see her. Found her as a backup dancer for some singer—you know dancing was her thing. And she all but told him to leave her alone. So he did. He didn’t want to drag her back. He feared that she’d just leave again, or grow resentful and take it out on you.” He spoke like it was the simplest of deductions.

  “But why would Daddy make me think she was dead?”

  “So that you didn’t have to know that she was living. Sarah didn’t want y’all and your father didn’t want you to have to live with that knowledge.”

  I sat for a moment, trying to process his words. “Where is she now?” I was no longer stunned. Now I was straight pissed off.

  “Don’t know if your father was in touch with her after that. If so, he never told me. I do know that from time to time, he’d have the private investigator track her down, take a few pics, but as far as I know, he never had contact with her again.”

  “What is s
he doing? You don’t know where she’s living? I need to see her.” I had so many questions.

  “I wish I could tell you more, baby girl. But that’s all I know.”

  I wanted to scream. How was my daddy able to live this lie and no one knew anything?

  I stood, thanked Uncle Clyde, and hugged him before leaving. I still didn’t have all the answers but I was more determined than ever to not give up until I did.

  CHAPTER 8

  * * *

  There had to be something somewhere. A picture, a letter, some indication of where my mother was. I know Daddy had never stopped loving her, so he had to keep something hidden. I just knew it. The problem was, I wasn’t having any luck finding it.

  I’d left Uncle Clyde’s and waited until I knew my grandmother was in church to come here and go through my father’s room.

  “Your mother left us long before she left us.”

  I don’t know why the words my father had muttered after an argument when I was sixteen had just popped into my head. I had been too mad about him not letting me go to a party to read into his statement. Now it made perfect sense.

  And if he knew she was alive, he had to have something around here that could tell me where she was.

  Only, I’d been here for over an hour and had turned up nothing more than an old weathered insurance form with my mother’s Social Security number. And that wasn’t much help because the last two numbers were worn off.

  I tossed a small box off the top shelf of his closet. I had prayed that I would find something in there as soon as my hand felt it in the back. I cried crocodile tears when I opened the box up and only discovered it was full of baby pictures of me. No signs of my mother anywhere.

  I was just about to return the box to the shelf when my eyes flickered to a stack of letters tied together. They were under all the photos. I pulled them out and immediately recognized my scraggly little handwriting. All of the envelopes had the same address:

  To: Mommy

  In: Heaven

  From: Brooke

  Tears welled as I remembered how for six months straight after my mother’s “death,” I’d written her letters about how much I missed her. Daddy had told me he’d mailed them and he was sure Mommy was reading them in Heaven.

  I sat on the floor to look through the letters. I stopped at an envelope that said:

  To: Sarah

  In: Heaven

  From: Brooke

  That had been the very first letter I’d written after my mother died. I remembered it well. And that memory sent my mind racing back to the past.

  ······

  “Something’s wrong with Sarah,” I told my daddy. We’d just come back from church, which my mother hadn’t attended with us because she “didn’t feel good.” I heard Daddy tell Grandma that she was just being dramatic, but maybe she really was sick because she sat on the sofa, just staring out the window. She didn’t answer me and I’d called her name fifteen times.

  “What did I tell you about calling her Sarah?” Daddy snapped at me.

  “But that’s what she wants me to call her,” I protested.

  “She’s your mother. So you call her Mommy.”

  My mother finally turned her gaze away from the window and glared at my father, like she wanted to say something. I didn’t like calling her Sarah, but that’s what she always told me to call her.

  My mother gripped the coffee cup that was in her hand. “It’s okay, Jacob. Really,” was all she said.

  “No, it’s not.” He tossed his keys on the counter and removed his suit jacket. “Children don’t call adults by their first names, especially their mothers.” He turned to me. “Brooke, go to your room.”

  “But I want to know what’s wrong with Sarah,” I said. “She looks like she’s been crying.”

  Daddy gently pushed me toward the room. “She’s fine. Having an emotional temper tantrum as usual.”

  ······

  I’d addressed this letter to “Sarah” in hopes that calling her by her name would make her happy in Heaven. I turned the envelope over, opened it, pulled out the letter, and began reading.

  Dear Sarah, please don’t be mad but I don’t wanna call you by your name any more. I’m sooooo sad. I miss you. Daddy said you are with God now but can you tell God I still need you so can I have you back? Please? I promise to eat your mashed potatoes if you will just come back to me.

  I love you. Brooke.

  My name was smeared, as if my teardrops had stained the letter. That caused new teardrops to fall.

  I opened another letter. The handwriting was so much more sophisticated and I immediately recognized the little heart at the top as the signature heart I used to do when I was eleven.

  I began reading.

  Dear Mommy, o.m.g. I got my period today and Mrs. Baker (that’s my fourth period teacher) had to tell me what to do. They called Daddy and he had to come pick me up because I messed up my clothes. It was the most embarrassing thing ever! Neither of us said anything all the way home. He stopped, bought me some Maxi pads and told me Grandma would talk to me about it when she got home. I don’t want to talk to him or Grandma about this!!! I want to talk to you!!!! I miss you soooo much.

  Love, Brooke.

  I held the letter close to my heart. That was just one of many times I’d longed for my mother. Grandma was no better than Daddy because it made her uncomfortable to talk about it. All she’d said was, “You can get pregnant now and you’d betta not bring home no babies.”

  I’d had to get the period basics from Aunt Connie, April’s stepmother. She was the same person who gave me the birds-and-the-bees talk, took me to Girl Scouts, and helped me pick out my prom dress. But Aunt Connie suffered from lupus so she was sick a lot and between taking care of April and her own daughter, Mykala, there was only so much she could do for me.

  So, I’d done so much alone.

  And that memory made me sad.

  Then it made me angry.

  Emotionally spent, I decided to save the rest of the letters for another time. I needed to keep looking for clues on my mother’s whereabouts before my grandmother got home.

  I set the stack of letters to the side, climbed back on the ladder, and kept looking in the closet. After fifteen minutes I was no closer to finding anything to help me find my mother.

  I slid to the floor as I let out a piercing, frustrated scream, just to release the pent-up stress. From the lie I’d lived. From the pain I felt.

  “You ’bout done?”

  I looked up to see my grandmother standing in the doorway.

  “Now you know Jacob is spinning round and round in his grave at the way you done trashed his room.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for my grandmother. I didn’t have the stamina or desire to listen to her lecture. So I just buried my face in my hands and cried.

  “Now, now,” she said, walking over and extending her hand. She reached down, took my hand, pulled me up, and then led me over to my father’s bed.

  “Now why are you doing all this? What is it that you’re looking for?”

  I inhaled, then shot her a sharp look, being careful not to be disrespectful. “Answers. I need answers about my mother. You don’t know anything. Uncle Clyde doesn’t know anything. It just seems like somebody should know something. I just feel like it’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I told you what I know.” She shot daggers my way. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Even in my grief, I knew better than to go there.

  “Of course not, Grandma.” I sighed. “It’s just there has to be something that can give me an idea as to where my mother is.”

  “Why?” she asked in exasperation. “What are you going to do once you find her?”

  “I don’t know. Go see her. Talk to her. Ask her why she left me.”

  “Does it matter why?”

  “Of course it does,” I cried.

  It was her turn to sigh. “I guess I don’t understand it.”r />
  “Nobody except somebody that has been abandoned can understand it.”

  “You weren’t abandoned.” She reached over, pulled me into her plump bosom, and stroked my hair. “You were very much loved by your father and by me, and I know it doesn’t seem like it, but your mother loved you, too, in her own way.”

  “Mothers who love their children don’t leave them.” I stood and faced my grandmother. My tears were now replaced by anger. “Do you know where she is?”

  Her shoulders dropped as she shook her head. “I don’t. Your dad knew she was in New York, but he later discovered she’d moved. If your daddy knew where she was he never said a word to anyone. I always thought that he didn’t want to know. Whenever he got a picture, he didn’t want to know where it was taken. I think there’s a part of him that was scared that if he knew for sure, he’d be inclined to try and go get her and convince her to come back. And he didn’t want her anywhere she didn’t want to be. He’d been there and done that for too long. Besides, he had crafted this lie, and a lie, once it starts, has to be seen through,” she said.

  “He didn’t have to keep lying to me,” I mumbled.

  “Well, he did. I won’t say that I agreed with it, but I knew how much your daddy loved you. And everything he did, he did for you, to try and make sure you had the best of everything.”

  “And lying to me was best?” I asked.

  “Well, he thought it was and then, when he felt like maybe it wasn’t, he was too deep in. Imagine when you were fifteen years old how you would have felt to find out the truth. What it would have done to you. I know that your father didn’t want that.”

  “Your mother left us long before she left us.”

  I was silent. But if the pain I was feeling now as a grown woman was any indication, I probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it as a child.

  “So what am I supposed to do now, Grandma?”

  She lifted my chin and smiled. “If you have to find her, then you do what you have to do and you make your peace and then you come back to your man and y’all live happily ever after.”

  My man. I knew Trent was getting irritated with me. He’d been trying to see me since my dad’s funeral, but I asked him to give me some time to grieve alone. He hated being shut out, and he was going to be furious when he found out I hadn’t told him about my mother. I don’t know why I hadn’t. I think because I knew he’d have a bunch of questions and the fact that I didn’t have answers would only frustrate me even more.