Dark clouds once again shadowed the sky and Layla’s heart by the time she toted her bags into the house, following a photo-lined hallway to her bedroom. She tossed the sacks on her bed, and the manila envelope slid out, drawing her undivided attention. She froze, staring at it like it was a spider with foot-long fangs. Then she gathered the guts to snatch it up, quickly marching it down the hallway so she wouldn’t lose her nerve and toss it in a closet.
Instead, she tossed it on the kitchen table and started a pot of coffee, rummaging in the refrigerator for an apple as it brewed. This was something she’d done nearly every morning for the past five years, so she’d perfected the process, finishing the last bite of her sliced and peeled fruit when the percolating came to a halt. After generously adding sugar and cream to a steaming cup, she sipped and sat in front of the envelope.
For a few minutes she just stared at it, steeling herself for what was inside, but when the steam quit rolling from her mug, she set it down, opening the envelope with fumbling fingers. Swallowing a thick lump, she reached inside, pulling out several sheets of notebook paper—a letter in her mom’s handwriting.
After a deep breath, she laid it flat on the table and read.
My dearest Layla,
If you’re reading this letter, it means my life on earth is over, and it means it ended far too soon. You must be so sad and lonely right now. I hate thinking about it. I never want to leave you.
Layla started crying on the first line, so she stood and found a box of tissues. Once back in her chair, she took another deep breath and continued.
Before you, my life was so empty and sad, but then you came along, filling me with the purest love imaginable. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect daughter. I’ve always loved you, from the very beginning, but with each passing year my admiration and love grows. You shower me in joy, purpose and peace, and I wouldn’t be complete without you. Thank you, my precious baby girl, for making my life rich and wonderful.
Layla wiped her eyes and blew her nose, thinking she’d never make it through five pages of emotional upheaval, but she had to try.
Having said that, I must reveal the true purpose of this letter and convey my deepest apologies. I’ve lied to you, Layla, over and over again.
This caught Layla completely off guard.
I’ll tell you the story as I know it and pray you’ll understand. So, here it goes. As you know, my parents died when I was seventeen, leaving me without a family. But what I’m about to tell you is something I’ve never discussed with you, and for good reason. It’s horrible, and I’m so sorry I’m writing it down for your eyes. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t feel you deserve a solid explanation. So brace yourself, and please forgive me for what you must read.
After my parents died, I lived on my own in a tiny apartment in Seattle. For three years I would walk to a plastics factory, work a ten hour shift, walk home, eat, sleep then do it all over again. I had no friends, no goals and no ambition. My life was empty and my routine was dragging me down.
The woman Layla was reading about sounded nothing like the mother she knew.
One night, on my way home from work, I was feeling careless. I wanted to do something different, something exciting, so I slipped into a bar off an alley. Stupid, I know, and as soon as I did it, I regretted it. There were only four patrons, all men, and one glance told me they were bad news.
Layla’s heart thumped harder and faster.
When they saw me, smiles lit up their drunk faces, and I knew I was in trouble. I was on my way out the door when the first one caught my arm, and the next thing I know, I was in the air, held by all four of them. The bartender came around the counter, and I begged him to help me, but he just laughed and locked the door.
No! Tears blurred the words, burning Layla’s eyes as panic churned her stomach and twisted her heart, like she was there, in that grungy bar, watching it all.
I’ll spare you the details. No one should have to hear them, least of all you. Once they finished with me, they threw me in a dumpster, thinking I’d be dead before sunrise.
Layla chocked back a sob, trying to shake the image of her mom’s battered body lying in a dirty dumpster.
I thought I was dead. I thought I was in hell, but I managed to live long enough for a garbage collector to find me. I was a critical care patient for three days, and when all was said and done, I had a new nose, a new jaw, permanently damaged vision, a few broken bones, and a barren uterus.
Layla went back, read that last sentence again… then again, head spinning. A barren uterus? Did this mean she was adopted? Was that why she never knew her father? Katherine claimed he didn’t want children, so she’d let him off the hook. Well, that would still ring true if she was adopted.
Layla was a mess—confused, shocked, heartbroken over her mom’s horrifying experience. She couldn’t put anything into perspective, so she got up and refilled her coffee. She tapped her toes on the linoleum and drummed her fingernails on the counter, scared to keep reading, but she couldn’t rest until it was over, so she sat and grabbed a tissue.
I can’t imagine how you must feel, so I have no words of wisdom. I guess I’ll just get on with my explanation.
Because I lived to testify, the five men were sent to prison . . .
Good! But they should have been severely beaten, castrated and locked in a dumpster.
. . . and I ran from city life, ending up in Ketchum, Idaho, a small town I remembered from childhood ski trips. I lucked into a secretarial position at an accounting firm, but outside of my job, I was a hermit, guarded against the world. I fell into a mundane routine, which suited me just fine. I’d learned what happens when you go looking for trouble. You find it.
But as the years crept by, I yearned for the one thing I couldn’t have. For ten years I thought of nothing but the baby I’d never be able to carry. Finally, when I turned thirty, I decided to adopt. I didn’t have the thousands of dollars it would cost, and they frowned on single parenthood, but I had nothing but lonely time on my hands and couldn’t be deterred.
Of course she couldn’t. When Katherine went for something, a little discouragement never stopped her. Layla loved that about her. Layla loved everything about her.
I’d finally found a purpose, something to work toward, something I wanted more than anything, so I began saving money for adoption and lawyer fees, and I researched every aspect of being a mom and a dad.
To help finance my goal, I put the garage apartment behind my house up for rent, but Ketchum’s a small town, and for eight months the apartment stayed empty. Finally, in the summer of ’88, a woman knocked on my door to inquire about my rental. And I have to tell you, Layla, she was beautiful, the most perfect looking woman I’d ever seen. Hair like an obsidian waterfall and flawless, olive toned skin. It was one of the hottest days of summer, and she was on foot, yet there wasn’t a drop of sweat on her. I was struck dumb as she spoke to me, like I was meeting a movie star.
She told me her son and daughter-in-law were newlyweds expecting a baby, and she wanted to rent the apartment for them. I hesitated, concerned about being a landlady to people I hadn’t met. Then she offered me two years rent money up front and I couldn’t refuse. The money was enough to hire a lawyer, which was the first step in having a baby of my own. Once the deal was made and she had the key, she told me they would be arriving late that night and insisted I not wait up for them. I was intrigued, and the next day, when I met them, I was amazed.
Their names were Sarah and Chris, and they were so beautiful and so in love. My bitter past had led me to form an unkind opinion of the male population as a whole, but Chris changed that. He was unlike any man I’d been around. He treated Sarah and their unborn child like they were more precious than the air he breathed, and not a minute went by where he wasn’t anticipating Sarah’s needs.
I must admit, I was jealous.
Of course she was, Layla sympathized. Sarah had everything Katherine wanted and lost.
But it didn’t stay that way for long, because Sarah’s heart was as golden as Chris’. She was so kind, gentle and soft spoken, and they both treated me like family, something I’d been missing for years. I found myself dipping into my adoption fund to buy Sarah and her unborn baby gifts, and I did it without any regret at all, because I loved them.
When Sarah was around four months pregnant, she fell ill, and things took a sad turn. At first she and Chris didn’t tell me what was going on, and I didn’t ask. Even though I was closer to them than I’d been with anyone in fourteen years, sometimes they still felt like strangers, like they lived in a different world than the rest of us. But as the months went by, Sarah got worse, and they finally told me she suffered from a rare heart condition that had no cure. Of course I had questions, but again, I didn’t voice them. I just watched from the sidelines as Sarah’s illness destroyed her. It destroyed Chris, too. They both waned physically, and it wasn’t uncommon to find them crying.
When Sarah was around eight months pregnant, her and Chris’ parents visited, and everyone’s mood was grim in a time that should have yielded great joy. They never said it, but their expressions told me Sarah wasn’t going to live. I prayed nightly for her and the baby in her belly, but only half my prayers were answered. A week after their parents’ arrival, Sarah died giving birth to a healthy baby girl.
Layla’s mouth fell open. Was she the baby girl? Was this woman, Sarah, her birth mother?
Chris’ and Sarah’s parents left with the body, but he and the baby stayed. What happened next changed my life in so many ways.
Chris confessed that he and Sarah hadn’t been completely honest about their lives, revealing the real reason they moved to Ketchum. He explained, vaguely, that they’d been hiding from a dangerous group of people who wanted to take their baby away. He assured me it had nothing to do with government authorities, but he couldn’t go into detail about the situation. I had to believe him, Layla. I couldn’t mistrust someone who held such an intense love and devotion for his wife and child. It was obvious how much he cared for them, always, so I didn’t press for more information.
He told me he had something important to do, something absolutely necessary, and he didn’t think he’d be able to come back. That’s when he made me the sweetest offer I’d ever been made. He wanted me to adopt his baby. He wanted me to take her and keep her as my own.
I couldn’t believe it, Layla.
Neither could she.
My own precious child. My dreams were finally within reach, literally. But I had to think about the baby’s well being, so I tried to talk him into staying. I offered to help with the obstacles of being a single father, but that wasn’t why he was leaving. It was killing him, all of it. Sarah’s death and his decision to leave crushed him. His pain and regret were obvious.
Then why? Why would he leave his newborn with someone he’d known less than a year?
So I agreed. I adopted a beautiful baby girl with soft tan skin, shiny black curls, and emerald green eyes. I became your mother that day.
Yep, that was her all right. So she was adopted. Her whole life had been a lie. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Your dad was adamant about your safety. He asked me to change my last name—at the time it was Moore—and leave Idaho without telling anyone where I was going.
This was getting weirder and weirder.
I agreed. It was the least I could do. I was getting so much in return. He provided me with birth certificates, social security cards, and enough money to live on for years. And he provided you with even more.
So that’s where the mysterious money came from. Her… she had a hard time thinking the word dad . . . had left the money before leaving her.
He wanted you to have the opportunity to meet your family someday, but he asked me to wait until you’re grown before revealing the truth. He wanted you to be a normal kid and graduate high school without carrying this burden around, and he feared your safety would be greatly compromised if you searched for your birth family as a child. Because of that danger, he couldn’t be specific about how to locate them, and I’m sure you’ll find the clues as cryptic as I found them. But he insisted too much information could lead to unsafe circumstances, so I didn’t object.
Why? Why was it so unsafe for her? What could possibly pose such a threat?
This is so hard to explain in a letter, Layla. I plan on telling you this myself someday. This is just a precaution, in case I don’t get the chance.
She hadn’t gotten the chance. The tears returned.
I love you so much, honey, and since you’re reading this letter, I know you’re without a family right now. But you do have one out there somewhere, and I promise they love you very much. I saw the love in their hearts every second I was around them, and I firmly believe your safety was their top priority. Giving you up was a desperate attempt to shield you from a dangerous and sad situation, so I know your family misses you and wants you back. I’m sure they’ll understand if you can’t or don’t want to find them, but I urge you, Layla, take what little information I can give you and at least try.
So she had a family out there, somewhere, waiting for her to find them? The absurd idea sank in slowly, very slowly.
Here’s what I know. Your parents and grandparents admittedly gave me false names, but remember them anyway, because your grandparents will. Their names, as I knew them, were Chris Callaway (your father), Sarah Callaway (your mother), Jack and Susan Callaway (your dad’s parents), and Paul and Dianne Klein (your mother’s parents).
(I chose the name Callaway as our new surname when I adopted you. I thought it fitting and fair, and your father wholeheartedly agreed.)
Chris never told me where his parents lived, but he admitted that Sarah’s parents lived somewhere near Portland, Oregon. He and Sarah had a home in the area before moving to Ketchum. Portland was where he wanted you to start your search.
“That’s not much to go on,” Layla huffed.
I know, cryptic, but according to your dad, necessary.
There’s a picture included with this letter. The two in the photo are your mom and dad on their wedding day.
Layla reached into the envelope with a shaky hand, slowly pulling out a four-by-six photograph.
The man was muscular and statuesque. His pitch black hair hung straight, shiny and smooth, and his square jaw matched his angular nose. His emerald eyes seemed to smile, and his olive toned skin was darkened further by a summer tan. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.
The woman was petite yet toned, with thick spirals of glossy, golden hair cascading to her hips. Her soft pink lips and cheeks contrasted beautifully with her flawless, ivory skin, and her round eyes were bright aqua blue. She had both arms around her husband’s waist, her body turned toward him, and he had one arm around her shoulders, the opposite hand holding her forearm. They both smiled beautifully at the camera, like it was a loving relative looking back at them, like it had said something sweet and entertaining.
Layla stared at the picture for a long time, studying every detail—the timeless clothes and carefree hair that looked nothing like other wedding photos she’d seen from the outrageous eighties. The Grecian wedding gown could have been purchased yesterday or a thousand years ago, and the man wore the ever stylish combination of khaki and white.
When Layla’s eyes roamed back to the letter, it felt like someone else turned her head. Like a dream, she had no control or influence over herself or her surroundings.
Beautiful, aren’t they?
Yes, the two in the photograph were the most beautiful people Layla had ever seen, which made it harder to believe.
And so clearly in love.
That hadn’t escaped Layla’s attention either. Chris and Sarah looked like poster children for happiness and love.
Your dad told me not to show that picture to anyone, and he wanted you to be very cautious about whom you show it to when and if you search for your family. So the best advice I can give you about the photo is use your instincts, because they’re usually spot on. If it feels fishy, swim away.
The only other clue I can give you is the oddest of them all.
“More mysteries,” Layla sighed.
Perhaps it will turn out to be the most useful.
Layla’s eyes narrowed as her interest spiked.
Your dad told me he and your mom enjoyed visiting Cannon Beach, a coastal town west of Portland. From the pictures I’ve seen, it’s a cute community with great ocean views, so you’d like it. I hope we get to go there together. Anyway, he said to tell you that if you ever make it there, a place called Cinnia’s Cannon Café has really good coffee, the best coffee.
Coffee? Out of everything her . . . dad could have told her, could have given his advice on, he tells her where to get a good cup of coffee? Well, she did like coffee, a lot, but that wasn’t the point, damn it. She could make her own damn coffee.
Rationality failed her.
So there you go. I know this is a pitiful attempt at an apology, and an even worse attempt at an explanation. Hopefully I’ll be able to tell you this in person. I hate to think of you finding out this way.
Please forgive me. Forgive me for the lie you’ve been living, and forgive your birth family, too. I know they love you. You were put in my care as a last resort, and I’m so glad you were. I know that’s selfish of me, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I would have lost myself years ago if you weren’t blessing me with your hugs and kisses and smiles. They mean everything to me. So whatever you decide to do, be happy. You deserve it, because you’ve made me the happiest woman in the world. I wasn’t the one who gave you life, but you’re the one who gave me life, and I sincerely hope I’ve been the mother you deserve, regardless of my dishonesty.
I love you so much, my dearest Layla, and I’ll miss you like crazy when I’m gone.
Love forever and always,
Mom
p.s. Good luck with your search. I know you can do whatever you
set your mind on.
Layla stared at the last sentence for several seconds, watching the words blur as tears swamped her vision and grief squeezed her heart. Then she moved the letter out of the way, laid her cheek against the cool table top, and cried. She didn’t stifle her sobs, gasps and tears. She didn’t even blow her nose. For too long she’d held it all in. The dam had burst.
She stayed that way for hours. Sometimes the sobs would turn to whimpers and the rivers of tears would dwindle into trickling streams, and sometimes her chest heaved with emotion, making it hard to breathe. By five o’clock her eyes were dry, albeit swollen and burning, and oxygen was making a steady journey to her lungs.
She peeled her face from the table’s Formica surface then slowly turned her head, careful not to upset the kink in her neck. Emotion and new found knowledge weighed heavily on her body and mind, so she lethargically rose to fix a fresh pot of coffee.
She’d have to read the letter again. There was no way around it. Disjointed information rolled in her head like marbles. She could barely make two plus two equal four, let alone add up the fact that she was adopted. It didn’t help that she was starving, so she made a sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and sat down, bravely picking up the letter.
She thoroughly read it six more times, and each time the tears flowed less and less. By the seventh, they hadn’t come at all.
The information was clear in her mind, but there were too many missing pieces to draw conclusions. Why did her birth parents hide? What, exactly, had led to her diminished safety? Where did her father go? Was he still alive? If so, why didn’t he come back? So many unanswered questions, so many mixed emotions.
Layla picked up the photograph and reexamined it, viewing it differently, with believing eyes the exact same color as her father’s. Now that she’d properly absorbed the letter’s disclosure and accepted it as true, she could clearly see the resemblances between herself and them.
She had her father’s jet black hair, emerald green eyes, and tan skin, and her eyelashes were as thick and black as his but as long as her mom’s. She also inherited her dad’s wide set mouth, but aside from that and her coloring, she looked just like her mom. Plump and curvy lips, corkscrew spirals, unusually round eyes, a small nose, a slender jaw that led to high cheek bones, and a short and petite frame. Layla wondered, though, who passed along full breasts and curvy hips, because her mom wasn’t nearly as shapely as her. Nonetheless, it was obvious these two strangers were her parents.
So what was she supposed to do about it? Go on a wild goose chase halfway across the country? What did she have to go on? Six fake names, the broad location of Portland, a photograph she wasn’t supposed to flash around, and a recommendation for good coffee.
And what if, by some miracle, she succeeded? What did she expect to find? Her mom was dead. And her dad, well, if he wasn’t dead, he was probably a deadbeat. Safety be damned; Layla couldn’t imagine one scenario that would justify a father willingly leaving his newborn with no plans to return.
Her safety—another vague and aggravating issue. It seemed she could be in danger if she tried to find her long lost family. Apparently she’d been skirting danger her entire life. If the threat was real. Katherine claimed the adoption was a last resort, necessary for Layla’s safety, but there wasn’t any proof. Furthermore, Layla had no idea if anyone in her biological family still lived. Her grandparents would probably be around sixty years old. If death hadn’t already claimed them, they were likely beset with health problems.
Grandparents . . . she’d always wanted grandparents.
No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t imagine herself with the extended family she’d always wanted. It would be one thing to go to Oregon to see what she might find, but to go hoping for a miracle—that would be begging for disappointment. The clues were too cryptic.
Layla thought her head might explode. Maybe she needed to sleep on everything. Maybe tomorrow would bring the rationality eluding her tonight.
She took a shower, letting the hot water soothe her achy neck, but it didn’t wash away her thoughts—thoughts of Oregon and the ocean; a good cup of coffee in the coastal town of Cannon Beach; a grandma and grandpa; maybe even aunts, uncles and cousins.
Layla shook her head under the spray, trying to dispel the castles in the sky.
She lay in bed looking at her parents’ faces by moonlight for hours that night, memorizing every detail. When exhaustion finally defeated her brain, she dreamed vividly.
Relaxed and peaceful, she stood barefoot on smooth rocks, facing a choppy, gray ocean and stormy skies, watching seagulls swoop and waves crash. Stones clacked behind her, and she tensed and twirled, finding the stunning faces of her birth parents. They smiled as their eyes widened, and for a moment, Layla was blinded by their beauty and the bright, golden haze swirling around their bodies. They each had an arm extended, and when Layla looked down, she found them holding out steaming cups of coffee.
Layla jolted awake, and it took her a moment to remember what she’d been dreaming about. Once the vision reformed, all she could think was, “How weird?”