Chapter 2: Memories
"Is that really you, Stella?" the father of the church and orphanage asks.
"How did you guess?" she hugs him.
"The hair gave you away. So what brings you here? I haven't seen you in many years."
"We came here for some information for a case. This is Mac Taylor, my partner."
The two men shake hands, "Nice to meet you. I was wondering if you happen to have any records of her parents."
He turns to her, "You're not trying to find them, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I could care less right now. But the DNA from one of his cases came back as a partial match to me. It would help him a lot to at least know my father's name so he can ask him some questions."
"Your mother brought you here when you were only a few days old. I can't recall a man with her. If she knew who your father was, it'd be in the paperwork. Let's go to my office." They follow him into a small, crowded yet organized room. "Hasn't changed much, has it?"
"Not that I can remember."
"You spent a lot of time in here?" Mac asks curiously.
"Stella had a way of always finding trouble," the father smiles at her. "We spent many afternoons together, and I became quite fond of her."
He smiles at his partner and takes the file, beginning to look through it. "Do you need this back?"
"Yes. I can make a copy of whatever you need."
"Do you know why her parents didn't keep her?"
"I'm going to leave you two alone," Stella stands. "Mind if I look around?"
"You don't have to leave. I think you should stay. Unless he needs you to," the father says.
She looks at Mac. "Whatever you want to do," he tells her. She sits back down.
"Her mother was only about twenty. She didn't have money in order to take care of a baby. I'm not sure whether the father didn't know or left her or just didn't have any money either."
"The father wasn't here at all?"
"No. I only saw the mother once when she dropped the baby off. I hate to say it, but I think she was better growing up in the system than with her parents. Of course, for all I know, they could have become rich."
"I'm right here you know. And if they did get money, they would have searched for me if they really loved me."
They sit silently for a few moments before Mac speaks. "I can't think of anything else."
"Let me copy this for you," the father leaves.
"Stel, don't be so difficult. I'm sure they loved you. Maybe they thought you had been adopted and you were happy so they never looked for you."
"Did you get your names?"
"Yes. Your birth certificate is even in there."
"Can I have the keys?"
"Why?"
"I need to get out of here. I'll meet you at the car."
"Okay," he hands over his keys. "Don't leave without me."
"Tell him it was nice seeing him again and that I'll try to visit again soon," Stella leaves.
A few minutes later the father enters again. "Here you go. Good luck with your case. I sure hope her father isn't involved; she doesn't need to meet him like this."
"I noticed you had her birth certificate in there. Shouldn't she have that?"
He opens his folder. "Yes, I suppose she should. Let me take the copy."
They trade papers. "Thanks for you help."
"No problem. Always glad to see former children again."
A/N: Gee, you guys must not like this story. I only got one review so far. Or the usual people that review are gone. Nothing new really... we didn't get anything more done at band yesterday. But we did play all four songs last night during full band. It wasn't as crowded as it normally is when we're all together so either the band got smaller or lots of people weren't there. And we're suppose to get two more songs Thursday when we go. I think I want to have four or five memorized by August when we go back. But if I memorize that many, it'll be like last year when I knew all by like one and we only play four songs all season. We had eight songs I think last year and only six this year. Plus contest... which we still don't know. I'm almost done with Beowulf. Then I think I'll read Eaters of the Dead. Then Ivanhoe. And I have to turn in Calculus stuff Thursday when I go to school. I should post again on Thursday sometime. Please review.