Short Story - Given Persons
Tea sloshed over the edges of the fine china and onto the rattling saucer beneath. Susan bit her lip and set the cup down hastily, apologizing profusely, all the while wiping up the small spill on the kitchen table.
The reporter smiled and held up her own cup to allow Susan to get at the space below, "It's ok, Ms Crutcher, it's just a few questions, not an interrogation."
Susan smiled tightly, but threw the dishrag into the sink and settled once more across from the reporter. Knees trembling and hands just as unstable, she clasped them tightly together.
The reporter drew out a small notebook and recorder, setting both on the table before her. "Just a few questions," she explained. She paused then chuckled, "Although, I'd imagine you're an expert to this."
Again Susan gave a brittle smile.
The reporter raised her brows waiting for the author to say something, anything.a word. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the recorder on and started. "I understand you're recently finished the third installment of your, uh." She skimmed through some previously made notes, "Your Fictional Lost series."
Susan nodded and waited for the next question. When it didn't come, Susan became agitated once more, then angry. This reporter, who didn't even have her facts straight, was wasting her time! Then it clicked, this lady was a critic, she wasn't interested in her books, she was interested in the latest real life story. Susan sarcastically bit out, her voice quavered only slightly, "Yes, I just presented my third book.but why don't we talk of something more interesting?"
The woman's eye's lit up, her nose seemingly smelling out a good story, but she replied, "Oh, if that's what you want."
Susan sniffed, "You know very well, that you do, so go on. Ask away. My private life is going to come out sooner or later."
The reporter's face glowed. Settling into the hard seat, she began; going through the list she had already made. "While in Washington DC, I understand you ran into your long lost daughter. What was the reunion like?"
Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes and Susan tried vainly to quell the urge to keep them subsided, "Ah, yes. My daughter," a lone tear broke free and escaped down her weathered cheek. "Jesse, the heart of me. Yes, she's dead."
The woman couldn't hide her shock, "Dead?"
"Very dead.
* * * The knock on the door announced Susan's dear friend's arrival. Shouting down the stairs that the door was open, Susan went back to finish her packing. Carefully folding each article of clothing and placing it in her travel case just as carefully. She hated wrinkles in clothing, it was a sign of laziness.
Tracy walked up the stairs and hollered down the walls, "Suuusaaan! We've got to go soon!"
Susan called back softly, "Hold your horses, I'm almost finished here." Straightening out the sleeves of her jacket, she nodded at her reflection, happy with what she saw. Giving her room the run-over glance, her eyes fell on the small wooden box beside her bed. It held all her memories of her daughter. She sighed forlornly, and tipping her travel case over onto its wheels, walked it down the hall to where Tracy was waiting.
Tracy heard Susan coming down the hall and asked about the new bike propped up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
Susan laughed, "Doctor wishes. Wants me to start biking. Says it will help my health considerably. I suppose he's right, I really should get out soon."
Tracy laughed then looked up to Susan struggling with the case down the stairs and frowned, shaking her head slightly in good humour she admonished, "You always insist on bringing your entire wardrobe. Didn't you ever learn to pack light?"
Susan chuckled as she dragged the heavy case down the stairs with a repetitive thump. "With the size I am now, the clothes take more room!" She added sarcastically, a characteristic she only showed when with her close friends, "I only have four outfits in here."
Tracy shook her head and opened the front door for Susan. "Well, I only hope that you're not going to be late for your flight. You can't afford to take the flight after, not enough time. You're supposed to be at the store at three-o-clock."
Susan raised a brow, "You know my schedule pretty well, perhaps I should just hire you for my personal secretary."
"Don't even think about it."
Jess stared at her thin pallid face; her reflection never seemed to change. Everyday she waited for some sign that her hair was growing back, but it was never there to greet her. The rest of her body was the same. Once she had been fit and healthy, now she was thin and gangly. Sighing, she reached for the wig that was sitting on the stand. She fluffed the hair a little and settled it on her head, clipping it into place. Next came the pencilling of her eyebrows and lashes. The bangs of the wig partially covered her eyebrows, so she didn't have to worry too much about them.
It was hard to come so far in life, only to have it cut to the heart. She had once been the best of the best. Perfect in every way; looks, wit and athleticism. But after finding out that she had cancer, it had set her back. Behind in her classes at university, unable to play any sports and ghastly pale, thin and hairless. The once vain girl now had to travel the difficult path before her.
The phone rang, bringing her out of her thoughts. Shaking her head slightly to clear the lingering memories, she reached for the cordless phone. "Hello?"
"Jess? What you doing!?"
It was her boss, Jonathon.
"Getting ready for work."
"Have you looked at the time?"
Jess did and swore.
"That's right. Get your ass down here! Susan Crutcher is going to be here in half an hour for the presentation of her book."
Turning off the phone and flipping it onto the bed, Jess immediately dressed and applied the last touches to her appearance. Then running out her room she tossed a few slices of toast into the toaster and went to her mother's room. Kissing the soft cheek she whispered, "Love you mom, I have to go to work now, but the aid will be here in half an hour to help you dress."
Her mother smiled back and said sleepily, "I don't need them."
Jess grinned and played along, it was the same argument every morning. "I know that, but I want you to be safe." Pecking her on the cheek once more, she took her leave. Only taking the time to grab her toast and purse before she raced out of her tiny house.
Jonathon gave a plastic smile and presented his tardy employee. His tinted glasses hid the anger in his eyes, but he let his grip on Jess's arm tell her just how angry he was. "Ms Crutcher, this is Jess. She'll be dealing with the stocking of your books. As soon as you're almost out, just give a shout, using this," he handed her a walkie-talkie, "and she'll bring you another box of your books."
Susan smiled and nodded, but her thoughts were already frozen, before her stood her daughter. "Jesse, thank you. I'm sure we'll get along fine." She mentally shook her head. She'd been so startled when the girl had walked in. She looked just as Susan had, when she was younger.
Jess automatically corrected the woman, "It's Jess."
"Right," Susan answered vaguely, her mind asking the question that had been asked everyday since she'd given up Jesse. So many years ago. The memory was still clear as if it had happened yesterday. A crying two year-old Jesse being taken away from a nineteen year old Susan. Too sick to take care of her bastard child, she'd been forced to turn to her family for aid. They only agreed to help her if she would put the girl up for adoption. On one hand she had her daughter, on the other, she had her own decaying health to look to. The toughest decision in her life. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes.
"You ok, ma'am?" Jonathon asked.
Susan wiped at her eyes, the memory already drifting to the back of her mind as the girl walked away. "Yes, I'm fine, just something in my eyes."
Jonathon nodded knowingly, "Yeah, this place is so old, always dusty no matter how much you clean it."
Needing to know more, Susan asked Jonathon, "Jesse, do you know much about her?"
Jonathon shrugged, "Jess? Nah. Just a university student as far as I know. Wanted to work at the Smithsonian Institute, but her cancer got in the way of things. Chemo really set her back." He shrugged again, "Poor girl, her mom is at home sick and so Jess couldn't go back to school after her Chemotherapy was done, had to go work to get money. Mother doesn't have any health plans from her years of work, or any retirement savings." He glanced at his watch, then to Susan, "Well, time for me to get downstairs ready. We open in ten minutes."
Susan watched as the manager went off to work in some other part of the store, allowing her a few minutes to herself before the store opened. She walked over to a window overlooking the street, there were already great numbers of people lining up outside the store. She tried to stay focussed, going over her opening speech in her mind, but her thoughts kept on reverting to the girl. It was going to be a long day she predicted.she wasn't incorrect in her assessment.
Jess excused herself from the table and went to answer the door. It was Susan Crutcher, the author.
"Ms Crutcher, what a surprise."
Susan stared at the young woman before her, could it be? That after all this time, she had finally found her baby? "Hello Jesse."
"Jess," Jessica quietly corrected, uncertain why the author was here at her door.
Her mother called from the kitchen, "Who is it, Jess?"
Jessica turned her head and called back with a laugh tinting her voice, "Would you believe it mom? It's your favourite author!"
Her mother laughed delightedly, "Well invite her in!"
Jess put on a smile and opened her door wider to allow the woman to enter.
Susan pushed right in, startling the young Jess, heading straight for the kitchen. She came across an elderly woman, sitting in a padded seat. Sitting down beside the gleeful lady, she started harshly, cutting straight to the point. "Thank you for taking care of Jesse, but I'm here to take her home with me."
The woman's face fell, "I beg your pardon?"
"Jesse, she's my daughter."
The lady looked to her shocked daughter standing in the door, "Jessica is my daughter."
Susan began laughing hysterically, this was all to comical to her. "She's my daughter, she looks just the way I did at her age. I'm telling you, she's mine."
The now outraged woman began breathing heavily, labouring now for every breath she drew. "Jessica.is not.yours." She coughed, a rough sounding hack. "Jess."
Susan laughed again as the woman struggled to breathe. She couldn't believe the audacity of the old woman. Faking her sickness, her inability to argue her point. She looked over her shoulder to convince Jesse that she was truly her long lost daughter, but Jesse wasn't there. Glancing at the wheezing woman, Susan left the kitchen in search of her daughter.
Jess frantically beat on the door of her neighbor's. Bob, a policeman, would know what to do. When he answered, she didn't give him a chance to talk, but dragged him quickly to her house, all the while filling him in.
Uncertainly, Jess followed Bob through the front door of her home. She had been lucky, he was still in uniform having just got off work. He called out, "Hello? Ms Crutcher?"
Susan popped her head around the corner, "Oh there you are Jesse. I knew you'd come back. Who's your friend?"
"Ma'am, you'd best be coming with me now."
"Why would I want to go with you? This old woman here is having a heart attack I think. I thought she was faking it, but good lord, she just hasn't stopped convulsing. I've called the ambulance."
Jess ran to mother's side, cradling her head in the crook of her arm. Knowing that the convulsions would pass as long as she got some medication soon."
Susan watched the woman's face over Jess's shoulder. "I gave her some Diazapan. It's a muscle relaxant. I use it for sleep."
Jess hadn't heard of the drug before, but was thankful for it nonetheless, for her mother's muscles were quickly slackening.
"Ok, Ms Crutcher, what's going on here."
Susan looked over to the man, "Why I'm here to take Jesse home, she's my daughter."
Bob barked out a shout of laughter, "Laura here is Jess's mother. I can vouch for her. My father was the doctor that brought Jess to the world. We've been friends since we were kids."
Susan's face blanched, "Why are you making this so hard, Jesse is my daughter!" Sobs began racking her body as pent-up emotion was given a gate to escape. Quickly she popped the lid off the bottle of pills from her purse and swallowed a few. Then she sat down, "Jesse, my daughter. You're alive after all this time.I thought you were dead."
Bob looked to Jess, then motioned that he was going to call for aid and get her out.
The more tears that left Susan, the more heavily the came. Face red and blotchy, she hid behind her hands. The voice in the back of her head telling her that this girl was not the one, but her heart so ached with wanting the girl to be her Jesse.
Bob reached down and pulled Susan to her feet. "Come on, ma'am, I'm going to bring you down to the office. We can straighten things out there."
But Susan shook her head, crying all the harder at the thought of leaving her daughter here alone. Being separated from her daughter again, being taken away from her again with the blaring lights of the coming police cars. Red and blue, colours and images blurred into a collage of colours, bringing back the sharp pain of when this happened the first time. She moaned out, "No, not again. Don't take her away from me again." She pushed forward to wrap her arms around her daughter.
Jess felt tears of her own slide down her cheeks as the woman was pulled unwillingly from the room. Susan was pushing against the policeman in an effort to get to Jess's side; when this failed, she wailed out piteously, "Jesse!" More tears, but Jess shook her head, this was not her mother.
Again Susan called, "Jesse! My baby Jesse! I still have all your toys! They're in the toy box!" She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her age and health.
Jess straightened and wiped the rivers from her face, "My name's Jessica." She couldn't help but add, "I am so sorry, but my real mother, my blood mother, as you can see is alive. I'm not your little Jesse, I'm Jessica." She could see the defeat in Susan's eyes and clenched her hands together tightly, wondering if the woman would ever find her true daughter.
Jess could see it slowly dawn on the woman and even then, she could still detect a hint of disbelief as she was led away.
Susan looked over her shoulder before she was pushed into the police car. She looked Jess in the eye, "I was so sure it was you."
* * *
The reporter leaned forward in her seat, riveted by the sad story. Her tea sat untouched in her cup, and she gulped down the tepid liquid to wet her tongue. "Did you ever find your daughter?"
Susan shook her sadly. She had debated with herself on telling this reporter her story, but she had an odd feeling that she was talking to someone who she could trust. Mentally she scoffed at the idea, this woman was a reporter, the name meant trouble, but she finished her tale anyway. "No, after that incident, I have given up all hopes. Jesse is dead to me in life, but here," she tapped her breast, "she is alive in my heart, living eternally as the little child I have always known her as."
"And her name?"
"Her name? Jesse. Jesse Debra Crutcher. Though when she was adopted, her parents changed her last name. This is where I lost her."
The writer echoed faintly, while scribbling furiously in her notepad, "Jesse.Debra.Crutcher." She sat up, looked at her notes and nodded, satisfied with what she had obtained. "Well, I think that just about sums it up." She looked up and saw the ashen expression on Susan's face, "Don't worry Ms Crutcher. I'm going to correct that gossip column. They don't know the truth, whereas I do. I really appreciate you sharing every thing with me. I really didn't expect it. Thank you."
Hesitantly, Susan replied, "Thank you for understanding."
The reporter gathered her things while Susan watched. When everything had been placed in the woman's bag, Susan led her to the front door and let her out, thanking her once more for understanding and taking the time to hear the whole story.
Turning to face Susan once more, the reporter said, "Thanks again for your time and the tea, Ms Crutcher."
Susan smiled, "It was my pleasure. It actually wasn't as difficult as I thought it to be."
The young lady laughed heartily.
Joining in, Susan waved good bye and was about to close the door, when a thought occurred to her, "Oh, wait. I never caught your name."
Throwing her bag in the back seat of her sedan, the reporter straightened and flipped her hair behind her shoulder, "Debbie Crucher."
Tea sloshed over the edges of the fine china and onto the rattling saucer beneath. Susan bit her lip and set the cup down hastily, apologizing profusely, all the while wiping up the small spill on the kitchen table.
The reporter smiled and held up her own cup to allow Susan to get at the space below, "It's ok, Ms Crutcher, it's just a few questions, not an interrogation."
Susan smiled tightly, but threw the dishrag into the sink and settled once more across from the reporter. Knees trembling and hands just as unstable, she clasped them tightly together.
The reporter drew out a small notebook and recorder, setting both on the table before her. "Just a few questions," she explained. She paused then chuckled, "Although, I'd imagine you're an expert to this."
Again Susan gave a brittle smile.
The reporter raised her brows waiting for the author to say something, anything.a word. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the recorder on and started. "I understand you're recently finished the third installment of your, uh." She skimmed through some previously made notes, "Your Fictional Lost series."
Susan nodded and waited for the next question. When it didn't come, Susan became agitated once more, then angry. This reporter, who didn't even have her facts straight, was wasting her time! Then it clicked, this lady was a critic, she wasn't interested in her books, she was interested in the latest real life story. Susan sarcastically bit out, her voice quavered only slightly, "Yes, I just presented my third book.but why don't we talk of something more interesting?"
The woman's eye's lit up, her nose seemingly smelling out a good story, but she replied, "Oh, if that's what you want."
Susan sniffed, "You know very well, that you do, so go on. Ask away. My private life is going to come out sooner or later."
The reporter's face glowed. Settling into the hard seat, she began; going through the list she had already made. "While in Washington DC, I understand you ran into your long lost daughter. What was the reunion like?"
Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes and Susan tried vainly to quell the urge to keep them subsided, "Ah, yes. My daughter," a lone tear broke free and escaped down her weathered cheek. "Jesse, the heart of me. Yes, she's dead."
The woman couldn't hide her shock, "Dead?"
"Very dead.
* * * The knock on the door announced Susan's dear friend's arrival. Shouting down the stairs that the door was open, Susan went back to finish her packing. Carefully folding each article of clothing and placing it in her travel case just as carefully. She hated wrinkles in clothing, it was a sign of laziness.
Tracy walked up the stairs and hollered down the walls, "Suuusaaan! We've got to go soon!"
Susan called back softly, "Hold your horses, I'm almost finished here." Straightening out the sleeves of her jacket, she nodded at her reflection, happy with what she saw. Giving her room the run-over glance, her eyes fell on the small wooden box beside her bed. It held all her memories of her daughter. She sighed forlornly, and tipping her travel case over onto its wheels, walked it down the hall to where Tracy was waiting.
Tracy heard Susan coming down the hall and asked about the new bike propped up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
Susan laughed, "Doctor wishes. Wants me to start biking. Says it will help my health considerably. I suppose he's right, I really should get out soon."
Tracy laughed then looked up to Susan struggling with the case down the stairs and frowned, shaking her head slightly in good humour she admonished, "You always insist on bringing your entire wardrobe. Didn't you ever learn to pack light?"
Susan chuckled as she dragged the heavy case down the stairs with a repetitive thump. "With the size I am now, the clothes take more room!" She added sarcastically, a characteristic she only showed when with her close friends, "I only have four outfits in here."
Tracy shook her head and opened the front door for Susan. "Well, I only hope that you're not going to be late for your flight. You can't afford to take the flight after, not enough time. You're supposed to be at the store at three-o-clock."
Susan raised a brow, "You know my schedule pretty well, perhaps I should just hire you for my personal secretary."
"Don't even think about it."
Jess stared at her thin pallid face; her reflection never seemed to change. Everyday she waited for some sign that her hair was growing back, but it was never there to greet her. The rest of her body was the same. Once she had been fit and healthy, now she was thin and gangly. Sighing, she reached for the wig that was sitting on the stand. She fluffed the hair a little and settled it on her head, clipping it into place. Next came the pencilling of her eyebrows and lashes. The bangs of the wig partially covered her eyebrows, so she didn't have to worry too much about them.
It was hard to come so far in life, only to have it cut to the heart. She had once been the best of the best. Perfect in every way; looks, wit and athleticism. But after finding out that she had cancer, it had set her back. Behind in her classes at university, unable to play any sports and ghastly pale, thin and hairless. The once vain girl now had to travel the difficult path before her.
The phone rang, bringing her out of her thoughts. Shaking her head slightly to clear the lingering memories, she reached for the cordless phone. "Hello?"
"Jess? What you doing!?"
It was her boss, Jonathon.
"Getting ready for work."
"Have you looked at the time?"
Jess did and swore.
"That's right. Get your ass down here! Susan Crutcher is going to be here in half an hour for the presentation of her book."
Turning off the phone and flipping it onto the bed, Jess immediately dressed and applied the last touches to her appearance. Then running out her room she tossed a few slices of toast into the toaster and went to her mother's room. Kissing the soft cheek she whispered, "Love you mom, I have to go to work now, but the aid will be here in half an hour to help you dress."
Her mother smiled back and said sleepily, "I don't need them."
Jess grinned and played along, it was the same argument every morning. "I know that, but I want you to be safe." Pecking her on the cheek once more, she took her leave. Only taking the time to grab her toast and purse before she raced out of her tiny house.
Jonathon gave a plastic smile and presented his tardy employee. His tinted glasses hid the anger in his eyes, but he let his grip on Jess's arm tell her just how angry he was. "Ms Crutcher, this is Jess. She'll be dealing with the stocking of your books. As soon as you're almost out, just give a shout, using this," he handed her a walkie-talkie, "and she'll bring you another box of your books."
Susan smiled and nodded, but her thoughts were already frozen, before her stood her daughter. "Jesse, thank you. I'm sure we'll get along fine." She mentally shook her head. She'd been so startled when the girl had walked in. She looked just as Susan had, when she was younger.
Jess automatically corrected the woman, "It's Jess."
"Right," Susan answered vaguely, her mind asking the question that had been asked everyday since she'd given up Jesse. So many years ago. The memory was still clear as if it had happened yesterday. A crying two year-old Jesse being taken away from a nineteen year old Susan. Too sick to take care of her bastard child, she'd been forced to turn to her family for aid. They only agreed to help her if she would put the girl up for adoption. On one hand she had her daughter, on the other, she had her own decaying health to look to. The toughest decision in her life. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes.
"You ok, ma'am?" Jonathon asked.
Susan wiped at her eyes, the memory already drifting to the back of her mind as the girl walked away. "Yes, I'm fine, just something in my eyes."
Jonathon nodded knowingly, "Yeah, this place is so old, always dusty no matter how much you clean it."
Needing to know more, Susan asked Jonathon, "Jesse, do you know much about her?"
Jonathon shrugged, "Jess? Nah. Just a university student as far as I know. Wanted to work at the Smithsonian Institute, but her cancer got in the way of things. Chemo really set her back." He shrugged again, "Poor girl, her mom is at home sick and so Jess couldn't go back to school after her Chemotherapy was done, had to go work to get money. Mother doesn't have any health plans from her years of work, or any retirement savings." He glanced at his watch, then to Susan, "Well, time for me to get downstairs ready. We open in ten minutes."
Susan watched as the manager went off to work in some other part of the store, allowing her a few minutes to herself before the store opened. She walked over to a window overlooking the street, there were already great numbers of people lining up outside the store. She tried to stay focussed, going over her opening speech in her mind, but her thoughts kept on reverting to the girl. It was going to be a long day she predicted.she wasn't incorrect in her assessment.
Jess excused herself from the table and went to answer the door. It was Susan Crutcher, the author.
"Ms Crutcher, what a surprise."
Susan stared at the young woman before her, could it be? That after all this time, she had finally found her baby? "Hello Jesse."
"Jess," Jessica quietly corrected, uncertain why the author was here at her door.
Her mother called from the kitchen, "Who is it, Jess?"
Jessica turned her head and called back with a laugh tinting her voice, "Would you believe it mom? It's your favourite author!"
Her mother laughed delightedly, "Well invite her in!"
Jess put on a smile and opened her door wider to allow the woman to enter.
Susan pushed right in, startling the young Jess, heading straight for the kitchen. She came across an elderly woman, sitting in a padded seat. Sitting down beside the gleeful lady, she started harshly, cutting straight to the point. "Thank you for taking care of Jesse, but I'm here to take her home with me."
The woman's face fell, "I beg your pardon?"
"Jesse, she's my daughter."
The lady looked to her shocked daughter standing in the door, "Jessica is my daughter."
Susan began laughing hysterically, this was all to comical to her. "She's my daughter, she looks just the way I did at her age. I'm telling you, she's mine."
The now outraged woman began breathing heavily, labouring now for every breath she drew. "Jessica.is not.yours." She coughed, a rough sounding hack. "Jess."
Susan laughed again as the woman struggled to breathe. She couldn't believe the audacity of the old woman. Faking her sickness, her inability to argue her point. She looked over her shoulder to convince Jesse that she was truly her long lost daughter, but Jesse wasn't there. Glancing at the wheezing woman, Susan left the kitchen in search of her daughter.
Jess frantically beat on the door of her neighbor's. Bob, a policeman, would know what to do. When he answered, she didn't give him a chance to talk, but dragged him quickly to her house, all the while filling him in.
Uncertainly, Jess followed Bob through the front door of her home. She had been lucky, he was still in uniform having just got off work. He called out, "Hello? Ms Crutcher?"
Susan popped her head around the corner, "Oh there you are Jesse. I knew you'd come back. Who's your friend?"
"Ma'am, you'd best be coming with me now."
"Why would I want to go with you? This old woman here is having a heart attack I think. I thought she was faking it, but good lord, she just hasn't stopped convulsing. I've called the ambulance."
Jess ran to mother's side, cradling her head in the crook of her arm. Knowing that the convulsions would pass as long as she got some medication soon."
Susan watched the woman's face over Jess's shoulder. "I gave her some Diazapan. It's a muscle relaxant. I use it for sleep."
Jess hadn't heard of the drug before, but was thankful for it nonetheless, for her mother's muscles were quickly slackening.
"Ok, Ms Crutcher, what's going on here."
Susan looked over to the man, "Why I'm here to take Jesse home, she's my daughter."
Bob barked out a shout of laughter, "Laura here is Jess's mother. I can vouch for her. My father was the doctor that brought Jess to the world. We've been friends since we were kids."
Susan's face blanched, "Why are you making this so hard, Jesse is my daughter!" Sobs began racking her body as pent-up emotion was given a gate to escape. Quickly she popped the lid off the bottle of pills from her purse and swallowed a few. Then she sat down, "Jesse, my daughter. You're alive after all this time.I thought you were dead."
Bob looked to Jess, then motioned that he was going to call for aid and get her out.
The more tears that left Susan, the more heavily the came. Face red and blotchy, she hid behind her hands. The voice in the back of her head telling her that this girl was not the one, but her heart so ached with wanting the girl to be her Jesse.
Bob reached down and pulled Susan to her feet. "Come on, ma'am, I'm going to bring you down to the office. We can straighten things out there."
But Susan shook her head, crying all the harder at the thought of leaving her daughter here alone. Being separated from her daughter again, being taken away from her again with the blaring lights of the coming police cars. Red and blue, colours and images blurred into a collage of colours, bringing back the sharp pain of when this happened the first time. She moaned out, "No, not again. Don't take her away from me again." She pushed forward to wrap her arms around her daughter.
Jess felt tears of her own slide down her cheeks as the woman was pulled unwillingly from the room. Susan was pushing against the policeman in an effort to get to Jess's side; when this failed, she wailed out piteously, "Jesse!" More tears, but Jess shook her head, this was not her mother.
Again Susan called, "Jesse! My baby Jesse! I still have all your toys! They're in the toy box!" She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her age and health.
Jess straightened and wiped the rivers from her face, "My name's Jessica." She couldn't help but add, "I am so sorry, but my real mother, my blood mother, as you can see is alive. I'm not your little Jesse, I'm Jessica." She could see the defeat in Susan's eyes and clenched her hands together tightly, wondering if the woman would ever find her true daughter.
Jess could see it slowly dawn on the woman and even then, she could still detect a hint of disbelief as she was led away.
Susan looked over her shoulder before she was pushed into the police car. She looked Jess in the eye, "I was so sure it was you."
* * *
The reporter leaned forward in her seat, riveted by the sad story. Her tea sat untouched in her cup, and she gulped down the tepid liquid to wet her tongue. "Did you ever find your daughter?"
Susan shook her sadly. She had debated with herself on telling this reporter her story, but she had an odd feeling that she was talking to someone who she could trust. Mentally she scoffed at the idea, this woman was a reporter, the name meant trouble, but she finished her tale anyway. "No, after that incident, I have given up all hopes. Jesse is dead to me in life, but here," she tapped her breast, "she is alive in my heart, living eternally as the little child I have always known her as."
"And her name?"
"Her name? Jesse. Jesse Debra Crutcher. Though when she was adopted, her parents changed her last name. This is where I lost her."
The writer echoed faintly, while scribbling furiously in her notepad, "Jesse.Debra.Crutcher." She sat up, looked at her notes and nodded, satisfied with what she had obtained. "Well, I think that just about sums it up." She looked up and saw the ashen expression on Susan's face, "Don't worry Ms Crutcher. I'm going to correct that gossip column. They don't know the truth, whereas I do. I really appreciate you sharing every thing with me. I really didn't expect it. Thank you."
Hesitantly, Susan replied, "Thank you for understanding."
The reporter gathered her things while Susan watched. When everything had been placed in the woman's bag, Susan led her to the front door and let her out, thanking her once more for understanding and taking the time to hear the whole story.
Turning to face Susan once more, the reporter said, "Thanks again for your time and the tea, Ms Crutcher."
Susan smiled, "It was my pleasure. It actually wasn't as difficult as I thought it to be."
The young lady laughed heartily.
Joining in, Susan waved good bye and was about to close the door, when a thought occurred to her, "Oh, wait. I never caught your name."
Throwing her bag in the back seat of her sedan, the reporter straightened and flipped her hair behind her shoulder, "Debbie Crucher."