“How else are we going to save this neighborhood from the Pepto-Bismol house?”
Anna was feeling pleased with the way things were shaping up at her house. Jessie and Mike had been over on Sunday evening; they ate pizza and decorated the house. With Mike carrying the boxes in from the garage and Jessie pointing and ordering placement and Mr. Wriggly running around in circles, occasionally stealing a decoration, it took only a few hours. There was still pizza left when Joe showed up. Anna’s children put the boxes in the garage and left as soon as possible.
How grown-up and discreet Jessie and Mike were, Anna thought.
Anna had done the whole DNA search and had received almost a catalog of connections in return, but she honestly hadn’t given it much hope. All she really cared about learning was if she had an actual brother she’d never been told about. Wouldn’t it be ironic if her husband had kept a child secret from her and her mother had done the very same thing. But when her chart of ancestral heritage came along, she began to lose all faith in the project. Her DNA was supposedly French, Bulgarian, Irish, Portuguese and a large part Chinese. The Chinese just threw her. Oh, there was a smidgen of Native American and it seemed that everyone with any experience in this kind of search reported the same sort of thing.
The catalog of possible familial links didn’t seem to offer anyone who could possibly match with her.
But then Phillip Winston contacted her. He’d been looking for family members because he’d been adopted and had never known any biological family. As an attorney, he specialized in estates—wills, inheritances, trusts, foundations, that sort of thing. And he’d spent nearly his entire life on the east coast. His adoption records, which had been sealed and were anonymous, had originated in Modesto, California, which was the only real plausible connection Anna and Phillip had to each other. He shared only a couple of the ancestral origins—a little French and Irish. But he did want to explore all possibilities and he asked her to please resubmit her sample and he said he would do the same.
“Haven’t you been curious?” he asked her in a phone call. “I know you had your mother and could ask her questions, but didn’t you wonder about extended family?”
“For no reason I can explain, it was never that important to me, until recently when my mother, who suffers from dementia, remarked on having given away ‘the boy.’ By the way, that came into the same conversation when she told me if I saw her daughter to please ask her to come and visit.”
“I’m so sorry, Anna,” he said. “That must be so difficult.”
“It’s very hard at times, but she was a wonderful mother,” she said. “She had a hard life but she was fearless.”
She did absolutely like Phillip on the phone. He was a very nice man; he asked all the right questions and welcomed her questions, as well. They got off the subject now and then and discussed a little politics and other things. He was widowed but had three grown children and a couple of grandchildren, and had only lost his parents a couple of years before.
Their second DNA submissions came back. His was the same as before but hers showed more French, Irish, Portuguese, a small amount of Native American ancestry, the Chinese connection was miniscule and it triggered an even stronger connection to Phillip Winston.
“It’s possible I’m your half brother,” he said.
Blanche had lived in Oakland when she was born, but it was possible she had once lived in Modesto or maybe gone to Modesto for medical treatment.
“Have you tried asking your mother if she had a son?” he wanted to know.
“Yes, but after that one mention she didn’t seem to recognize me or the question. Sadly, I don’t know how much longer Blanche will be with us. She sleeps much more than she’s awake lately.”
“I know it’s very close to the holidays and I probably couldn’t ask for a more inconvenient favor, but I’d like to take a chance on seeing her. In case, you know. In case I learn that she’s my mother. Would you allow it if I promise not to get underfoot? I’ll get a hotel and rent a car.”
“I understand your desire to do that and I won’t ask you not to, but given my position in the court, first I’m going to have to ask my clerk to vet you.”
“Of course. I’ll email you my information. I’m very easy to find and research. I’ve lived in the same house for twenty years, I have no criminal record and am in good standing with the bar.”
“I’m just afraid you could be disappointed,” she said.