“I’m not … your mother.” Her mother looked at her directly, focusing on Judy through pooling tears.
“Is this a joke?”
“No, it’s the truth, the absolute truth.” Her mother wiped her eyes, leaving a pinkish streak, then heaved a final sob, trying to stop crying. “I’m not your mother. I’m not your real mother.”
Judy recoiled, not understanding. “What are you talking about? Are you saying I’m adopted?”
“In a way, yes.” Her mother nodded, wiping her runny nose on her sleeve.
“What the hell?” Judy’s mouth went dry. “What’s going on? Is this for real?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m adopted?”
“Not exactly. Your mother is Aunt Barb.”
“What?” Judy felt thunderstruck. “What are you talking about?”
“I can explain—”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, we were going to tell you later in the week, when she came home from the hospital and felt better—”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Judy jumped to her feet without knowing why. “What are you talking about, you were going to tell me?”
“Please, sit down, honey.” Her mother gestured her back, but Judy wasn’t having any.
“I don’t want to sit down. Tell me what’s going on. What are you talking about?”
“Please don’t be angry. I can explain—”
“I’m not angry,” Judy said, though she had no idea what emotion she was feeling, because she was feeling so many at once. Disbelief, shock, complete and utter bewilderment. “I don’t understand. I’m just trying to understand. If this is real, then explain it to me.”
“Okay, well, Aunt Barb had you, she’s the one who gave birth to you, when she was sixteen—”
“Are you kidding me?” Judy interrupted, knowing she was repeating herself but not being able to help it.
“This is the truth. The way it happened was that she was in high school and she fell in love, puppy love, and got pregnant by one of the enlisted men on the base. In Pensacola.”
“Aunt Barb’s really my mother?” Judy asked, like a nightmare echo chamber.
“Yes. Our father, your grandfather, you know the general, he was not about to have any of that. Neither was my mother. Appearances mattered to them, too much.”
Judy tried to listen, but all of the words got tangled up, a bewildering bolus of father, mother, grandfather, grandmother.
“I was twenty-four years old and already married, and your brother Tom was only one…”
Judy lost track when she thought about Tom, her older brother who was no longer her real brother.
“… and my parents, your grandparents, decided that the only way to solve the problem was to have me take the baby and raise her as my own. It worked out because we were doing so well and we were about to move to another base, Frankfurt, so nobody knew…”
Judy kept trying to follow, realizing that the baby her mother was talking about was Judy herself.
“… Barb took a year off from high school, then she gave birth and went back to school.” Her mother paused, pursing her lips. “Barb didn’t want to give you up, but our parents gave her no options, except have you adopted by strangers, so she went along with it. She always loved you, even from the beginning, and we all agreed that when you got older, when the time was right, we would tell you.”
Judy couldn’t believe her ears, but she knew from her mother’s anguished words that it was all true. “This is unreal.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“You’re telling me this, now?”
“Yes.”
“So what makes this time right? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“We were going to, but we just couldn’t find the right time, and to be fair, we avoided it. We knew how hurt you would be, and I knew that I would lose you then, and that when we told you, that would be … the end of my time with you.” Her mother’s voice broke, but she didn’t stop talking, as if the words were coming out with a force of their own. “We were going to tell you after college, but then you were so busy, and in law school you were working so hard, then when you moved to Philadelphia, you were on one coast and I was on the other. That’s why Barb moved here to be near you.”
Judy thought back, remembering. “She said it was because there were better doctors here, for Uncle Steve.”
“That wasn’t the real reason. He was sick a long time, but she moved to be where you were. She wanted to be close to you, to watch out for you. She loves you with all her heart, as do I.”
Judy felt tears come to her eyes, but she shook them off. She hadn’t seen this coming, in a million years, but things began to fall into place, like the way her mother seemed jealous of Aunt Barb. “So why didn’t you tell me then, after I came here?”
“We both thought you were having so many ups and downs in your new job. It just didn’t seem like the right time, and we didn’t want to add to your load, and Uncle Steve got sicker.”
“Did he know?”
“Yes, he did.”
Judy felt struck by a revelation she should’ve had before. “Then who’s my father? You mean Dad isn’t—”
“He’s not your father.”
Judy didn’t know what to say for a moment, rocked to her foundations. “He knows about this, too?”
“Yes, of course.”
Judy gasped. She’d never been close to her father, but she never doubted that he was her father. In a weird way, finally learning the truth explained a lot about her childhood. Her mind raced to consider the implications. “What’s the guy’s name, the enlisted guy? My father.”
“John Ward.”
“Where is he?”
“He was killed in action in Bosnia.”
“Bosnia?” Judy’s mouth fell open. She had written a paper about the Bosnian conflict for her American history class, never thinking that her own father died there. “Did he know, like, what happened to me?”
“Yes.” Her mother sighed heavily. “Honey, this is a lot to digest—”
“Ya think?” Judy shot back, with an abrupt, mirthless laugh. Her mother sat crestfallen on the bed, her strong shoulders collapsed and her head tilted down, and behind her, Judy caught a glimpse of the framed photographs on her dresser, smiling happy pictures of herself with people who weren’t who she’d thought they were—Aunt Barb, her brothers, her mother and father, all of them skiing, climbing rock faces, and celebrating each other’s birthdays. She looked away, because it killed her to think that none of it was true, or real, not from day one.
“I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry. We tried to solve the problem the best way we could—”
“Mom”—Judy caught herself—“or whatever I’m supposed to call you, please stop saying the problem. I was the problem. The problem was a person. The problem is standing right in front of you, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Her mother put up a gentle hand. “We agreed that we were going to tell you this spring, when your dad could get the time off and we could both make the trip east. We wanted to sit down and tell you, the three of us, together.”
“Not Dad. He’s not my dad. My dad is dead.” Judy heard the awful ring of the words and felt a loss she couldn’t begin to understand.
Her mother nodded, tacitly accepting the correction. “But the thing is, we’re all so proud of you, the way you’ve grown up, a lawyer making a wonderful living, you and Frank on your way to getting married. Barb has even been saving up all these years for your wedding, she wants to pay for everything—”
“I’m not marrying Frank,” Judy blurted out, surprising even herself.
Her mother blinked, her tears gone, though her eyes were red and puffy. “Well, whatever you choose to do, Barb and I thought it was getting on time to tell you, but then her illness shifted everything forward.”
Judy tried to follow the timeline. “Did you know she had breast
cancer before this weekend? Did you know about the chemo?”
“No, that came as a surprise to me, too. Barb thought she could beat it and she didn’t want to worry me, but when she needed the surgery, she decided not to wait any longer, to tell you.”
Judy swallowed hard, thinking of how awful Aunt Barb must be feeling, looking down the barrel at a dreaded diagnosis, and on top of that, knowing that she was keeping a terrible secret.
“Needless to say, if anything happens to her, she wants you to know the truth, while she’s still alive. She wants to be able to explain her actions and she wants you to be able to hear it from her.”
“What do you want?” Judy said, speaking from the heart. She suddenly knew how her mother must be feeling and even why she’d put off telling the truth for so long. Because suddenly, Judy was losing the only mother she had ever known.
“I wanted you,” her mother said, leaning forward urgently, her hands clasped together on her lap. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you, an adorable, blue-eyed baby girl. We were so happy, very happy, all of us together. You fit right in, and then we had Billy and John, and we became a family, a real family.”
“Not a real family. It wasn’t real.” Judy tried to process it, thinking of her brothers. “Do they know, too? Billy and John? And Tommy? Do they all know?”
“No. They thought we were a family, and I thought we were, too. But we weren’t, I see that now.” Her mother frowned deeply, agonized. “That’s why I know the problems in our relationship were my fault, my responsibility, and now you know that’s true. You’ve been a good daughter to me, a wonderful daughter. You reached out to me time after time, until you finally gave up.”
Judy cringed inwardly, because it struck such a chord. She could remember trying to connect with her mother, but after a while, she had simply stopped.
“I was holding back inside, knowing you weren’t mine forever, not like the boys. I was protecting myself, but I hurt you in the process.” Her mother shook her head, looking down for a moment. “I’m so sorry. It was a bad and selfish decision, made in a different time, for the wrong reasons. I realize now that we actually picked the worst possible choice. I was afraid to love you fully, and Barb was afraid to love you fully. You never had either of us completely. Our beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl fell between the cracks.”
Judy understood her mother and Barb, and she even understood why they’d done what they’d done, but it didn’t make it any less sad. Somehow she ended up betwixt and between, hollow and hurting, her hands empty. She felt her eyes well up.
“The amazing thing to me is the natural affinity you and Barb have for each other. You just fit together.” Her mother’s eyes welled up, too. “You two are a wonderful pair, a true mother and daughter, even though you didn’t even know she was your mother. Nothing defeats nature, not even words.”
Judy realized it was true, that she had always felt closer to her aunt, and she wondered if her heart had known something she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge. She found herself edging backwards toward the threshold, aware of her actions only because Penny bounded off the bed, her tail wagging,
“Are you going somewhere?” her mother asked, rising slowly.
“Uh, yes.” Judy didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that she didn’t want to stay here. “Just out, I think. I think I’ll just go out.”
“Don’t go.” Her mother frowned, plainly worried. “It’s late, and it’s not a good idea to drive when you’re upset.”
“I’ll drive safe, Mom,” Judy said reflexively, then turned away and walked stiffly down the hall, with the dog trotting happily behind her.
Chapter Thirty-four
Judy found herself parked in the dark in front of Frank’s grandfather’s rowhouse, without remembering having driven here. She wiped her tears with her sleeve, then went into the console and found some napkins, which she used to dry her eyes and blow her juicy nose, hard and noisily. She knew Frank was still awake because the light was on in the front window, and through the old-school sheer curtains, she could see the bright colors of the TV, undoubtedly tuned to Monday Night Football. She looked around the skinny side street and spotted Cartman’s Jeep parked under a streetlight up ahead, so that meant the boys were over, watching the game again.
She tossed the napkin aside, eased back into the driver’s seat, and tried to decide what to do. She must have wanted to see Frank because she’d driven here, but she hadn’t realized the game would be on and she didn’t know how it would go down if she went inside. The last thing she wanted was an instant replay, no pun intended, and she knew she must look a mess. She shifted up in her seat and checked the rearview mirror, taken aback at her reflection, even in the dim light. It wasn’t only that her eyes, nose, and lips were red and puffy, but for the first time in her life, she looked at her own face through new eyes, as if she had never seen herself before.
She frowned at her eye color, which she had always thought were a china blue like her father’s, but now she realized she had no idea what her father looked like. Everyone always said that her mouth was clearly from her mother, but Judy would have to start clarifying the term mother, because she was still thinking of her mother as her mother, when her aunt was really her mother.
She scrutinized her face, pondering her features as if each one were a cardboard piece from a jigsaw puzzle, trying to match her turned-up nose to her Aunt Barb’s nose and wondering where her cheekbones fit, because they could have come from a total stranger, who also happened to be dead. Judy felt tears well up again, but she pressed them away. She couldn’t sit out here forever and she couldn’t overthink it.
She grabbed her purse, got out of the car, and chirped it locked while she walked up to the front door, with its three steps of worn grayish marble. Like the other rowhouses on the street, they were of red brick, with one front window on the first floor, and two above that, then a flat tar roof with a satellite dish aimed for maximum sports reception. South Philly was Mary DiNunzio territory, and Judy didn’t fit in here, but she wasn’t sure she fit in anywhere, after her conversation with her mother. Then she reminded herself that her mother wasn’t her mother anymore, and her real mother had breast cancer, which made her sick at heart. She’d already lost one mother and she didn’t know if she could lose another.
Judy set aside her emotions and knocked on the front door, remembering the first time she had been here, when she represented Frank’s grandfather Pigeon Tony, on a case. She’d been delighted to meet her new client’s hunky grandson, who had swept her off her feet, and while she waited for Frank to answer the door, she wondered if those old feelings were still there, or if they weren’t, if she could get them back.
“Babe!” Frank said, opening the door. “Come in!”
“Hi, sure.” Judy tried to get her bearings, knowing that it was still dark enough on the stoop for him not to be able to see her clearly. She could hear the noise of the football game and the boys talking inside. “Do you think we can get a minute alone? I just want to talk to you.”
“Totally, sure!” Frank was already reaching for her, giving her a hug, and sweeping her inside the little entrance hall, which was divided from the living room by a panel of ridged glass. But when he let her go, he did a double-take, his eyes widening in surprise, then anger. “What happened? Who hit you?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Cartman called out. “WHO HIT WHO?”
“Cartman, shut up!” Frank shouted over his shoulder, then put a strong arm around Judy.
“Frank,” Judy whispered, “nobody hit me, but can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Come with me, out back.”
“Good.” Judy kept her head turned, letting Frank run interference for her with the boys and lead her through the tiny dining room and kitchen, then he flicked on the outside light and opened the back door.
“Thanks.” Judy stepped into the backyard, a small, rectangular plot of grass, surrounded by whitewashed cinderblock, with two plast
ic lattice beach chairs in front of a loft that Frank’s grandfather had made for his homing pigeons. The loft was about thirty feet long, with a white framed-wire cage on all four sides, containing forty-odd snow-white doves, and reddish-brown Meulemanns and Janssens.
“What happened, baby?” Frank asked, aghast. He touched her arm, tilting her toward him as he looked at her face. “What the hell? Were you mugged? I’ll kill him!”
“I didn’t get mugged,” Judy began, but she wasn’t sure what to say next. She slipped from his grasp, drawn to the loft. Inside the pigeons fluttered this way and that, disturbed by the sudden light and the presence of people, so late. They cooed and called to each other, their wings beating against the wire walls, shedding fuzzy underfeathers that flew around in the quiet night air, sailing on invisible currents. “God, I love these birds.”
“What happened, hon?” Frank followed her to the loft, linking his fingers through the cage wire.
“I’m fine, but it’s a long story. It’s been a long day and night, starting with Aunt Barb’s operation.” Judy watched as the birds began to find their mates, because homing pigeons were bonded pairs, mated for life. They settled down together, two by two, tucking their white wings neatly at their sides, puffing out their chests, their eyes red and perfectly round, complementing their dark pink, scaly legs. Judy used to let them perch on her fingers, surprised at the warmth of their feet.
“Judy, who hit you? Was it the guys who attacked you at your aunt’s? Are they stalking you? Because if the police won’t do anything about it, I will.”
“The police are all over it, but thanks.”
“You don’t want to tell me about it?”
“Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.” Judy felt that what had happened at the barracks was old news compared with the conversation with her mother, which she needed to hash out with somebody. She watched the birds without seeing them anymore, losing focus. “I had a weird discussion with my mother, though.”
“Tell me what happened to your lip, then tell me about your mom.”
“My lip doesn’t matter, my mom does.”