Cruise

New Haven is quaint. Not a word I typically use, but it fits, so there it is.

A college town.

Home of Yale University.

The word may fit, but I don’t. Maybe that’s why I was given away. I wonder if my mother was a student or my father taught here, or the reverse. Maybe they were locals who had nothing to do with the university at all. Seems unlikely since I think most businesses revolve around the campus and serving the college population.

I ride my Harley through the streets, the muffler not as loud as some, but louder than most hear around here by the looks I’m getting.

I don’t mind the attention on my bike, but on me is a different story. I look over at Alex riding like he’s king of the fucking world—smile on his face, hands light on the bar, firmly seated on the saddle. I’m going to have to give him a hard time by how much fun he seems to be having.

He takes the lead and we turn down a street that leads us to what looks to be a park. Old buildings, I assume historical, are sprinkled across the scenery, but it’s a tall white steeple that stands out. Revving, I catch up with Alex. I signal to follow and we ride around until we’re parked close to it.

Alex looks over at me as he takes his helmet off. “A baby in a basket, huh?”

“Yeah. Fuck, that sounds ridiculous.”

“Eh, sounds like they cared enough to want to keep you warm.”

“I don’t even know my birthday. Not my real one.”

He dismounts and hangs the helmet on the handlebar. “Look, man. That stuff doesn’t matter. You think it does. It doesn’t. The birthday you know now is within the realm of reason. It’s just a day. It’s not about that day specifically. It’s just a reminder to celebrate your life.”

Setting my helmet on the seat, I think about what he’s saying. He’s right. It’s not about the day I was born, but the days I’ve lived. Sometimes he’s really fucking smart. “Come on. Let’s go check out those steps.” And sometimes he’s an ass.

I roll my eyes and walk with him. When I get closer, he hangs back. Alex was always good about giving me the space I needed or the time I might want to process stuff. While I sit on the front steps of Center Church on the Green, I stare into the great lawn ahead and then glance from one side and then to the other. “We’re surrounded by churches. It could be any of these.”

He nods as he comes toward me, and props a foot up on the bottom step. “Churches might keep records of stuff like that. The guy I had looking into it said you might be right on the money with this church. Funny how you came to this one first.”

“Guess we’re about to find out. You coming in or staying out here?”

* * *

The file was sealed. Apparently off limits without official word, though the staff couldn’t provide us with whose word was needed other than “check with the local police department.”

But sometimes you meet the right person at the right time. For me, that was Annie Landers. I think she’s worked here since the church was built in 1812. She’s very calming in an odd way. The moment she sees me, she clasps her hands around one of mine, and says, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, but I’ve never attended church here. I was wonderin—”

“You’re so familiar. Surely, you’ve been here before.” Without leaving room for argument, she turns and starts walking. “Follow me.”

Alex and I exchange glances, his smile is in opposition to my confusion. We follow her down a set of stairs and down a corridor farther, and then into an office. Filing cabinets line the walls where she stops and turns around. “What year are we researching?”

“How did you know I had questions?”

“I overheard your conversation upstairs. Something about a baby.”

Stepping closer, I lower my voice, which seems caught between wanting to know my beginnings in this world to hesitation of what I might uncover. “I was left on the steps,” I start, still embarrassed, especially in front of my friend. He has his own set of issues with his past, but I still feel shame in mine. “In a basket twenty-four years ago.”

It starts slowly. First her smile grows and then light seems to enter her eyes as she clasps her hands in front of her. “Like baby Moses.”

“Not quite.”

“I knew I recognized you. Maybe not visually, but something about you.” Her cheerfulness infiltrates her voice and she looks too pleased to interrupt. “What is your name?”

“Cru . . . it’s John. John Cristley.”

“John is a lovely name. Biblical.” As if her mind ventures back to business, she stares at the ceiling tiles like she’s staring at the stars. “It was a pleasant Thursday. I remember because although I was working late, I also remember summer sweeping in on the last cool breeze of spring. My late Henry, God bless his soul, was at home waiting for me.”

Oh God, she remembers. Is this real? Am I ready for this? I feel like a piece of me is being slotted into place. It feels good, so I watch as she pulls a file and continues her story. “I was the one who found you.”

“Annie.”

“Yes, I’m Annie.”

Annie.

Annie.

My car.

Annie. I share a knowing look with Alex. I was teased so hard for naming the computer system Annie, but it always felt right. My guide in life, at least while driving. My Annie.

This Annie helped chart my course, and she describes the night she found me as nothing less than magical. “I was told I was a baby found in a basket on the steps.”

“Yes. You were. What’s interesting though is that I usually leave through the back door. That night I wanted to check on the flowers in the pots we used to keep out front. There you were. Just as content as you could be.”

“Do you remember the date?”

“June seventeenth. I sat beside you not sure what to do. You smiled and cooed. I thought you were too young to do such things, but you surprised me. Your smile now is just as charming as then, John.”

I didn’t realize I was smiling, but I’m inspired to continue smiling just for her. “Thank you.”

After she sits, she instructs us to do the same. “Let’s see what we can find.” Her attention transitions to Alex. “And who are you?”

“Alexander Kingwood the fourth, ma’am.”

“That’s a very fancy name and I’m in New Haven, the home of fancy. I think I’ve heard of a few Kingwoods, but sometimes my mind gets fuzzy. Anywho, it’s very nice to meet you, Alexander Kingwood the fourth.”

“Very nice to meet you, Annie.”

She busies herself shuffling through the papers in the file, but the smile never seems to leave her face. “I remember smells of the night, but other things seem to escape me these days.” When she looks up, she adds, “Yes, here it is. One month old. Well fed. No signs of abuse. Sweetest thing I ever did see.” She picks up a photo and sets it on the desk in front of me. The colors are dated and the photo a bit faded. A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to speak.

My parents have photos of me from when they adopted me and most of my life has been chronicled in the media in some form or another. That is, until I became the black sheep of the Cristley clan and stories were killed before reaching the public. But looking at this photo of me before I was a Cristley, before I was the me everyone sees, I feel pride in this little guy. I made it. I survived. Not just what happened last year, but life from the start.

“Always a fighter,” Alex says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Right from the start.”

Annie says, “We only have the one photo and never did get the information on your parents from the police. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes,” I reply, holding up the photo.

“Would you like to keep that?”

I nod, still struggling to wrap my head around everything I’ve found out. She picks up the phone and dials a number. Whispering with her hand over the receiver, she says, “I’m going to call Luther down at the station. See what I can find out.”

“Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. I’ve waited for this day for so long. This is like a miracle to me, knowing you not only survived but thrived in this world. I’m just glad I’m still around to see you. You are such a precious gift to the world.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I go with how I feel instead. “You don’t know what hearing that means to me.”

She starts talking to Luther, but reaches across and pats my hand.

“What if we get a name? Are we going if one or both are here in New Haven?” Alex asks.

“What do you think?”

“I think we scope out the situation and judge on the fly.”

“Sounds good.” Seems like the smart thing to do. Let’s just hope we get a real lead.

Annie hangs up the phone. “Good news.”

* * *

All the lights in the house were off by the time we tracked down this address. Alex and I checked into a motel, played pool at a local bar to pass time, and then called it a night around eleven.

He came banging on my door just after nine in the morning. I’d been awake for hours thinking about if my life is about to change or if I’ll walk away as answerless as before. I should have called Clara to help ease my mind, but I didn’t want to worry her.

Just past ten, we now sit outside a little white clapboard house. When Annie said good news, what she should have said was, “This is just too amazing to be real,” because here I am. Everything about this day has seemed too easy, but I refuse to think the good stops here. Alex hasn’t said a word, nor has he indicated impatience. He just lets me be as I stare at the house that clearly needs a paint job. And new siding, window screens, and sidewalk.

I finally swing my leg over and remove my helmet. I can’t delay the inevitable, so I walk up the path. The wood boards of the porch creak under my feet as I cross it and ring the doorbell.

Maybe I should have called first.

Maybe I should have gone home and done some online research.

I could find a million reasons to not be standing here right now, but instead, I take a step back and wait, hoping someone answers.

The door opens stopping my heart in the process.

When I see the woman, I know.

I’d recognize her anywhere—brown eyes, hair the shade of mine, olive skin, that familiar dip in my chin, and a tiny bump to her nose that’s not really noticeable, except to me since I see the same on mine.

“Yes?” she asks, but quickly adds, “It’s you.”

What do I say? “It’s me.”

Tears come from nowhere, her eyes filling as she stares into my mine. Straightening her shirt, she says, “If I knew you were coming, I would have dressed better.”

“No, you’re fine.” She’s amazing. I’ve been raised to see beauty in wealth, beautiful clothing, and other pretentious bullshit, it wouldn’t matter what she is wearing. She’s . . . pretty.

I move closer. “Do you know who I am?”

She covers her smile and laughs, and it’s a sound of joy. She’s happy to see me. “You’re my son.”

I’m her son.