In the white room of doom, I finally have a response from Tina Goldsmith. She’s approved my friend request and responded to my preliminary message with apparent delight because she suggests we set up a time to video chat. Since I can’t fly to New York right now, this is a great solution. I’m not sure what she knows, but they were best friends, so I suspect if my mom was having Creepy Jack’s baby, Tina might’ve been looped in.
Luck finally seems to be with me, as she replies immediately. Do you have time tonight?
I quickly respond that I do, and we exchange our handles for the video-chat app. Now I just have to wait a couple of hours. To pass the time, I crack Isaiah’s notes from Chemistry; this is the last hurdle I have to leap to get my life back on track. Everything is laid out here before me, however, and this is definitely my wheelhouse. The time evaporates while I’m immersed in the new material, so I’m startled when my alarm pings, reminding me of the chat.
It takes a few minutes to get ready, as I don’t want this woman’s first glimpse of me in over ten years to alarm her. At eight, I’m in front of my laptop and I don’t think she’ll be able to tell I’ve been crying. She initiates the call; I answer. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look much older. She’s still in her work clothes, a pretty blue suit with a blue-and-yellow patterned blouse.
“Look at you, where’s the little girl I remember?”
I smile. “Time had its way with me.”
“I’m so glad to hear from you, Morgan. I thought you forgot about me.”
“To be honest, I did. Our housekeeper reminded me and showed me the card you sent when my mom died.”
Her smile fades. “I know words don’t help but I’m so sorry. You must miss her even more than I do.”
I nod. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
“Oh?” Her curiosity is obviously piqued.
“I thought you might have some fun college stories that my dad doesn’t know.” Of course that implies that he ever talks about my mother, but that wall of silence is strangely impenetrable. It’s like he deals with his grief by pretending she never existed. For all anyone knows, I might have popped out of his forehead like he was a Greek god.
“Definitely.”
For the next half hour, Tina regales me with hilarious misadventures, most of which deal with guys or drinking or both. Some of it surprises me while the rest makes me laugh. She’s just finished an anecdote and I’m still chuckling.
“Wow, I had no idea you two were so wild.”
“Don’t spread it around,” she jokes.
The conversation hits a lull. If I don’t ask my questions now, they’ll have to wait for next time, and I don’t know how long I have before someone figures out that I’m the mystery photo girl. I may not have the chance to talk to Tina again if my dad finds out about Creepy Jack. He’ll probably send me to convent school.
It’s now or never.
“I hesitate to ask this…” But my strategic pause catches Tina’s interest.
As I hope, she encourages, “No, go ahead, please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about your mom.”
Excellent.
“Okay, well, recently…” My tone is tentative. “I was looking through my mom’s things, the ones the housekeeper packed up right after she died, trying to remember more about her. I was only seven.”
“I know.” Sympathy laces both her tone and expression.
That’ll help.
“Anyway, I found some letters … and an ultrasound.” I press my lips together, though it doesn’t entirely block my nervous sigh. I’m not feigning; that’s real.
“Shit.” Tina’s muffled exclamation indicates that I’m on the right track.
Lowering my voice, I continue, “So I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I promise I won’t judge or think bad of her, no matter what you say. I just want to understand her.” Mrs. Rhodes already confirmed an affair with Creepy Jack. Hopefully Tina knows more.
“Oh, honey.” The older woman bites her lip, as if weighing the potential repercussions, then she says, “I think she’d want me to be honest with you.”
“Thank you, Aunt T.” That slips out because I remember that she loved it, as it sounded like “auntie” when I said it fast. For the briefest moment, I can feel the warmth of her arms around me. She always smelled of cinnamon and it was so fun bouncing on her knees. Aunt T would let me sit facing her so I could play with the beaded necklaces she often wore.
My head tingles. That was the strongest influx of Morgan that I’ve had since taking over her body. Though I’m discombobulated, I don’t mind. Feels like she’s still here—in a way.
“There’s not a lot to the story. She fell in love with your father in college, and they married right after graduation. Pretty soon, he got obsessed with the tech boom, determined to establish his company as one of the giants … and consequently, your mother spent more and more time alone.
“I’m not sure if you know, but she dated Jack Patterson before your dad. He was always sort of hovering around, paying court, and by the time you were five, they were … back together. I don’t think your father ever realized.”
“Probably not. He doesn’t spend a lot of time at home these days, either.”
“He’s still in love with Frost Tech?” Tina shakes her head. “That man will die alone in a pile of money and computer chips. Sorry, I shouldn’t talk that way about your father.”
“It’s okay. I’ve lived with him this long.” Then an awful thought occurs to me. “You’re sure I was five when they got together? There’s no way that…”
Please, no. He can’t be Morgan’s dad. Sickness roils in my stomach. If there’s even a fraction of a chance—
She looks horrified. “Definitely not. Jack wasn’t even in Georgia then, though I’ve always suspected he relocated to Renton because of your mother.”
Thank you. Relief hits me so hard that I feel lightheaded.
“What do you think of him?”
I have to be careful with these questions. It’s unlikely that local gossip has made it onto national news, so Tina probably hasn’t heard about the Patterson scandal.
Now I have to adjust my hypothesis slightly. I doubt Creepy Jack would kill his unborn baby, but maybe he didn’t know my mom was pregnant? He might’ve wanted her to leave my dad and when she refused because of me … well, this is only speculation. There must be a way I can get more information, now that I’ve come this far.
Was she murdered? Or was it an accident?
Once I know the truth, I can move on. I no longer think it’ll end with me floating out of this body, however. It’s just the last favor I can do for Morgan, giving her closure. Maybe then I won’t feel so guilty about taking over her life.
“He was always obsessive,” she says. “I admit, I didn’t like him because he was just so … omnipresent, one of those boyfriends who doesn’t like Girls’ Night, won’t let you out of his sight for five minutes. Once, I caught him tailing us when Lucy and I went barhopping, like he was afraid someone would steal her, like luggage at an airport, if he left her unattended.”
“Jesus.”
Yeah, I can confirm all of that. Time has not mellowed him. It’s not evidence of violent crime per se, but he’s undeniably a sexual predator, and the kind of obsessive shit Jack Patterson pulls can easily lead an unbalanced person down the darkest road. Remembering the ominous message he left in my notes app nauseates me all over again.
My expression must worry Tina because she adds, “He never hurt Lucy that I knew of, but I never liked him. Patterson or your daddy, to be honest. Your mama had terrible taste in men.”
From my perspective, there’s no arguing that. Creepy Jack is the worst of deviants and my father is so distant that he might be a stranger. “One last thing … Do you happen to know anything about the accident?”
“Like what?” she asks.
I shrug. “Anything, period. Nobody will talk about it. They whisper about suicide—”
“No,” she cuts in at once. “There’s no way Lucy would’ve done that. I talked to her two days before, and she was excited about the baby.”
“Wow. That’s a huge relief. Did she tell you who…?” I can’t make myself ask Tina about the father, but she can tell what I’m wondering.
“I did ask her because I like to meddle, but Lucy wasn’t sure, either.”
Well, damn. She’s my last hope for definitive answers, so this secret goes with my—Morgan’s—mother to her grave.
“Then I guess … any little detail might help me understand how the accident happened. I just want to know why I lost her, that’s all.” That’s the perfect tactic, I think.
“Hm … I wasn’t even there, but … oh, I talked to your father on the phone the day after, as soon as I heard. He was so rattled, he just kept rambling—” She imitates his voice, fairly well. “‘Lucy loved these flowers, so I ordered a thousand of them, and I sent her car to Mueller’s Body Shop…’” Here, she resumes her own tone. “Like any of that mattered. But maybe someone there examined the car and could tell you a little more?”
Perfect.
“Thanks so much, this meant a lot to me,” I say warmly.
After a little more chat and a promise to talk soon, we disconnect. I doubt anyone at Mueller’s will take my questions seriously, and it’s been more than ten years, so this is a long shot.
Regardless, looks like I’m breaking into a body shop tonight.