Perhaps because I already felt foolish standing there.
Nora passed her to me carefully.
Maisie was warm and heavier than I anticipated.
For about five seconds, she simply examined my face.
Then she seized the edge of my collar and held on.
Nora smiled.
“She is quite friendly.”
I laughed softly.
“I can see that.”
Maisie made a tiny sound that was somewhere between a hum and a sigh.
Then she turned her face toward me.
That was when I saw it.
A pale brown birthmark high on her left cheek.
It was small and nearly oval.
My chest tightened.
Rachel had one in almost the same place.
When we were 19, she used to complain about it.
I would kiss that spot and tell her it was my favorite thing about her face.
Maisie reached for my chin.
I nearly dropped her from the force of the memory.
“Are you okay?” Nora asked.
“Yeah.”
I was not.
I remained there longer than I intended.
Then I asked, “Can I see her file?”
Nora hesitated.
“I can show you the nonconfidential placement summary if you’re seriously interested in learning about her. Some information is protected.”
“That’s fine.”
She led me into an office.
Maisie stayed with another staff member.
Nora placed a folder in front of me.
“It’s mostly medical and placement history.”
I opened it.
Date of birth.
Weight.
Diagnosis confirmed shortly after birth.
Cardiac screening.
Early intervention notes.
Developmental evaluations.
Then I turned to the second page.
I read one line twice.
Mother: Rachel.
I could not breathe.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked.
Nora looked confused.
“My phone’s in the car.”
She pushed the desk phone toward me.
I dialed a number I had not called in nine years: Rachel’s.
I still knew it.
It rang and rang, and no one answered.
There was no voicemail, nothing.
I hung up.
Then I called again.
The same thing occurred.
Nora watched me carefully.
I looked at the file.
“What happened to Maisie’s mother?”
Nora’s expression changed.
“She died during childbirth.”
I stared at her.
“That’s tragic.”
I do not recall sitting down, but suddenly I was seated.
For several seconds, I heard nothing except the hum of the air conditioner.
Rachel had been dead for 14 months.
The Rachel with the same birthmark Maisie carries.
The Rachel who was my first love.
Her daughter had been sitting 20 feet away from me.
And I had learned of it because Greg happened to mention a baby nobody wanted.
I covered my face.
Nora gave me time.
Eventually, I asked, “What about family?”
“Her maternal grandmother was contacted.”
“And?”
“She declined placement.”
That did not surprise me as much as it should have.
Rachel’s mother, Marlene, had been drinking for as long as I had known her.
Sometimes she remained sober for months.
Then something would occur, and she would vanish into alcohol again.
Rachel had spent half her childhood caring for the woman who was supposed to care for her.
Her father had walked out when she was eight.
