Part 26 (1/2)

”I am,” I agreed without shame. ”That's why you hired me, Destiny Greaves. You needed some caretaking.”

At that, she burst into wild laughter.

”What's so funny?” I asked, concerned by the edge of hysteria that I heard in her laugh.

”Nothing's funny. Absolutely nothing,” she muttered as she stood up abruptly.

”Where are you going?” I asked in a voice that must have revealed alarm.

”Calm down, Kris. You're like a mother hen. I'm just going to go swing for a while. Right over there.” She pointed to the swings. ”You can watch me the whole time. You can even join me if you'd like.”

'Thanks, I think I'll watch.”

”Suit yourself,” she said as she sprinted off.

Once she got to the swing, she didn't waste any time. She started swinging fast and furiously. In her frenzy, she was almost graceful. Seeing her fly high up into the sky, I remembered all the times I'd jumped from swings when I was a kid, always seeing if I could jump just a little farther. As I watched Destiny swing, I hoped she wouldn't jump. Surely she would have hurt herself from that height.

”Do you think I look like her?” she shouted at me.

I didn't know what to answer. I tried to think of the reply that would cause her the least amount of pain, but I couldn't imagine what that would be. In the end, I opted for the truth.

”A little.”

That obviously didn't please her. She continued to frantically pump her legs, her long blonde hair streaming behind her.

She didn't say anything more after that.

I moved to the merry-go-round and tried to think of what I could say to this woman who had lost and found so many mothers in such a short period of time. Not surprisingly, nothing came to me, so I just sat there for the longest time, feeling very alone.

The playground reminded me of my first girlfriend. We met in the third grade. Her name was Sharon Seabaugh, but I called her Sharon s...o...b..ll. By the time we were in sixth grade, she'd had three different names. She was Sharon Seabaugh, Sharon Smith and Sharon Cavanaugh, and by her third name, she was getting into all kinds of trouble. Today, her uncontrollable behavior would be given a fancy name, and she'd be put in a special learning program for disturbed children. Back then, we just thought she had a screwed-up mother who got married too often.

I wondered how Sharon had turned out.

And what her name was.

I was hunched over, arms folded, elbows resting on my thigh s, when I felt Destiny's hand on my shoulder.

”Hey, aren't your feet cold?” she asked.

I looked up. ”A little,” I said and smiled. Much to my relief, she smiled back.

”Don't they freeze in the winter when you don't wear socks?”

”You get used to it after awhile,” I said between sniffles. ”Like the first day you go barefoot, your feet are tender, but by the end of the summer, they're rock hard. Same thing with temperature. I get so I don't notice.”

”Why don't you wear socks?”

”I don't know. I never have. Probably related to my dysfunctional childhood somehow. I haven't made the connection yet, but I'm sure it's my parents' fault.” I smiled.

”Isn't it always? All parents fail their children, Kris. They should have the nurse tell you that the second you're born.”

”Good idea, it's true isn't it? And I suppose children fail their parents. By the way, don't your legs hurt from swinging?”

”Not as much as the rest of me.” She hopped on the merry-go-round and sat with her legs straddling the silver bar and her chin resting on the cold steel. She started to move the merry-go-round, but I asked her to stop.

The motion surely would have made me sick.

I was going to ask her if she thought the pain would ever go away, but she spoke first, and I never did get the answer I desperately needed.

”It's funny, Kris, when I was growing up, every time someone remarked how much I looked like her, it made me sick because I knew I couldn't possibly look like her a” she wasn't my real mother. My mother, the one I looked like, was dead. I wanted to tell everyone who said that to me. But I never did. Every time they'd comment on the resemblance, I'd wish I was her real daughter so she wouldn't look so sad. She tried to hide the hurt look in her eyes, but I always saw it. And you know what a” those looks couldn't possibly compare to the look I saw in her eyes today when she found out I was her daughter. That's a h.e.l.l of a note, isn't it?”

”I think she was just shocked, not disappointed,” I lied.

”Did I look hurt, too?”

”A little.”

”Of course, I did. How could I not? For years, I wanted her, Liz Greaves, to be my real mother. And obviously, she wanted me to be her real daughter. And now that we've found each other, we feel horrible. Isn't that just the most f.u.c.ked up thing you've ever heard of?

”This is the end of the line a” no more mothers to track down. She's the only one I'll ever have, and blood ties or not, she's not enough. Just because I discovered today that I came from her flesh, she didn't magically become enough mother. I still desperately miss this 'fantasy mother' that I think would have given me all the things she couldn't.”

She paused.