Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2) Read online

  I didn’t know what to say. She was right, of course. I couldn’t have wished for a more amazing mom than the one I already had. And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about the mother I left behind.

  “What about my birth mother?” I asked. “Do you think she loved me that way too?”

  She was silent for a moment, studying my face. I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “When you lose a child, you don’t stop loving him. I know that for a fact. I don’t know the circumstances surrounding your adoption, and I don’t know what your life with her was like before you were adopted. But I would think that you are probably still carrying around a little piece of her heart.”

  I felt a pair of arms around my neck.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” Brooke said, placing a kiss on my cheek.

  “Hey,” I replied, grateful for her arrival and immediately calmed by her presence. “You left last night.”

  “I know,” she said, sliding into the chair beside me and giving her mother a knowing look across the table. Mrs. Wallace quickly got up, patted me on the shoulder, and left the room.

  “I had to, Charlie,” she began again. “You needed to be alone with your family and I didn’t belong there. You need to work this out together, without me around.”

  “You’re my family as much as they are,” I retorted, unable to silence the hurt.

  “They are still your family, Charlie. Your parents did what they thought was best for you and...”

  “My father did what he thought was best for him,” I interrupted.

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know what he was protecting you from all these years.”

  I frowned at her. “Whose side are you on?” I asked, anger boiling to the surface once again.

  She reached across the space between us and took my hands. “I’m not on anyone’s side. There are no sides. Just the truth and how you choose to react to that truth. I’m here though. On your team. Right beside you for as long as it takes to get through this.”

  “Maybe I’ll never get through it,” I sighed.

  “Then I guess I’m stuck with grumpy-old you,” she groaned, feigning exasperation. Then she smiled, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes. I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Maybe I’ll let this thing drag out forever then, just to string you along, as long as you’re making promises about staying with me.”

  “I can’t let you do that. You need to move on.” She paused. “How about if I promise to move on with you?” She climbed into my lap, her legs straddling my waist. The kitchen chair creaked beneath our weight.

  I held her face in my hands and kissed her softly before wiping sleep from the corner of her eye. I rested my chin on the top of her head as she laid it on my chest. “I’m going to find my mother. I’m going to find out her side of the story, and you can help me react to whatever I find. But I can’t move on until I know where she is and what happened to her. What happened to us. I need to know her story because it’s part of my story too. Can we do that? Together?”

  She picked up her head and looked at me seriously, the way she did whenever she had something important to say that needed to be heard. “We can do that. And I know just where to start.”

  After breakfast with her parents, Brooke and I headed to the local branch of the public library. Neither of us had to work until later in the day, so we intended to spend the morning searching for my mother.

  “I don’t know what you think we’re going to find here,” I said cynically as we pulled into the parking lot.

  “I have some history with researching old files here. Everything isn’t completely digital yet. There are still some paper files and I know how to find them. Just trust me.”

  I wondered what sort of information she researched in the past but decided not to ask. It was a Saturday morning, and the library was full of summer school students, parents with small children, and elderly men looking for peace and quiet. She headed straight for the circulation desk and began speaking enthusiastically with the librarian. I held back, wandering through the closest shelves, grateful to her for taking the lead. I was afraid of letting my anger, which I was holding at bay just beneath the surface, come out in such a public place. Additionally, I didn’t have the faintest idea where to begin searching for my mother.

  I was flipping through a book on WWII submarines when she appeared by my side, grabbing me by the arm.

  “Come on! Let’s go downstairs.”

  “I didn’t even know this place had a downstairs.”

  “Stick with me, kid,” she said in her best gangster voice as we entered the stairwell.

  She skipped down the stairs in front of me, her hair bouncing off her shoulders, carefree as a child. Sometimes, that’s how I saw her, as a woman-child, seemingly trapped between two worlds. I knew losing her brother at such a young age forced her to grow up before it was time. His death aged her prematurely. I watched her struggle to fit in with our lighthearted classmates, knowing she could never go back to regain the innocence the others still enjoyed. And yet, watching her skip joyfully down the stairs, I was able to catch a glimpse of the girl she had been before I met her. The girl she might still be if not for Branson’s death.

  “What are you waiting for?” she called as she reached the bottom of the stairs and headed down a corridor to our left.

  I found her in a room the size of a large janitor’s closet. There was a small table in the center and the walls were lined with metal file cabinets. There was an unusual machine on the table.

  “What the heck is that?”

  “It’s called a microfiche machine. Before the internet, there was no mass digital storage but keeping actual paperwork took up too much space. So they had these instead,” she said, holding up a transparent piece of plastic. “A lot of towns still keep public records on them as back up, just in case. Ours is one of them.”

  “So why aren’t we just looking online?”

  “Because the internet can be tampered with. It’s full of information that’s wrong. And some municipalities don’t post personal information like we’re looking for online. At least using this we’ll know what we find is correct.”

  “Okay.” I sat down in front of the machine. “So what are we looking for?”

  “Your original birth certificate, of course. I assume on the one you have now, you’re listed as Charles Johnson and your mom and dad are listed as your parents?”

  She was brilliant. My birth certificate was the perfect place to start, and I would have never thought to look for anything beyond the one I already had. Of course, Phil and Karen Johnson were listed as my parents on the one I always used, but the original documentation would list my birth parents. I stood up, crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her by the shoulders to plant a kiss firmly on her lips.

  “What’s that for?” she asked when I finally allowed her to come up for air.

  “That’s because you are a regular Sherlock Holmes! My very own detective!” I laughed. “I guess that makes me Watson.”

  “Slow down, Doctor! We haven’t found anything yet. This is just a place to start. We might not be able to find anything. We don’t even know if your birthdate is your actual birthday. If you know the right channels and are motivated enough, it wouldn’t be that tough to falsify.”

  I returned to the chair in front of the archaic piece of equipment. “How in the world do you know about this stuff?”

  “I dunno. Guess I just get ideas. I like to solve problems.”

  Every time I thought I had Brooke Wallace figured out, I found something else to love. I kept waiting for the attraction to fade, the way it had with the girls I dated before her. But I found as time went by, there was more to love, not less. Not that we didn’t have our occasional disagreements. And there were, of course, things she did that drove me crazy. Like refusing to drive more than one mile over the speed limit. It took us forever to get anywhere when she drove. I solved the problem by taking us wherever we
needed to go. She was great with directions, so it all worked out.

  I watched her scanning files in the drawers of the cabinets. “What exactly are you looking for?” I asked, feeling helpless. “Can I help search?”

  “Sure. We’re looking for all the birth certificates for baby boys born in April and May of the year you were born. Why don’t you take a look in this section and see what you can find. It will be listed under the state’s vital records.”

  We sat together for almost an hour, searching through manila envelopes and file folders. Finally, mercifully, she jumped up off the floor, waving a stack of plastic cards in her hand.

  “I think I’ve found what we’re looking for. Turn that thing on!”

  The microfiche machine took several minutes to warm up. I waited nervously by Brooke’s side as she strained to see what was written on the sheets by holding them up to the humming fluorescent lights above our heads. Finally, the light on the machine clicked on and she slid the card under the projection sleeve. Images of birth certificates filled the screen. She began scrolling through, carefully reading each name and birthdate aloud.

  “Here’s Bill Perkins. And Derek Barnes. I bet we know a bunch more of these kids too. We can rule them out at least.” She grabbed her tablet from her backpack and handed it to me. “Here. Type in all the names we don’t know as I read them aloud.”

  She began calling out names of all the baby boys born in the area in the weeks surrounding my supposed birthday. We ended up knowing quite a few of them since we attended different schools growing up. However, by the time we were finished, there were still 27 names on the list.

  “That’s a lot of names,” I said. “How are we going to determine which one might be me?”

  “Well, let’s think about what we know,” she said, scrolling through the names I typed on the tablet. “We know the boy who belongs to the right birth certificate will be missing, because he’ll have been you all along. So we’re actually looking for missing boys. Boys that have disappeared. There are two ‘John Does’ in here, so we know they are possibilities.”

  “How are we going to figure out about the other 25?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned. “I guess we could just search the internet for evidence that these boys have an online presence to confirm they are who they’re supposed to be.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. What about the ones that we can’t find anything for?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s cross that bridge when we get there. Maybe it’ll be just the two John Does left and we can figure out how to deal with them later.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get to the vet clinic. Dr. Hardin is letting me assist on two dog neuters today.”

  I stood up and helped her return the files to their proper cabinets. “Neuters, huh? I don’t know how I feel about you emasculating those poor puppies. Should I be at all nervous that you’re learning how to do stuff like that?”

  “Maybe you should,” she quipped. “It’s a pretty useful skill. I’ve heard it helps keep wayward boyfriends in check.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind should I ever feel compelled to stray.” I smiled at her. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” She turned off the lights, shut the door, and I followed her up the stairs. “On the way back to my house, I’ll split up this list and email you half. Then we can each search for some of the names. I should have time to work on mine tonight after work. How late are you working at the club?”

  “I’m there ‘til close. Then I have to clean up. I won’t have time tonight. I was thinking though, now that my father’s gone… not my father, I mean, but who I thought was my father.” I groaned. “I mean, you know what I mean. Now that he’s not around to decide where I should work during the summer, I might quit the job at the country club and go see about that internship at the nonprofit.”

  “I think that’s a great idea. You’ve always hated working at the club. Plus, it would free up some evenings so I could see you more often.”

  “That it would,” I grinned mischievously as we climbed into my car, “which is always a bonus.”

  We drove in silence back to her house as she divided the list. The morning had gone better than I expected, and I felt hope, where hours before there was only despair. As always, the effect she had on me was amazing. Without realizing, I began to hum along with the radio.

  She looked at me skeptically as we pulled into her driveway.

  “What?” I asked.

  She looked at me doubtfully. “Do you think you’re ready for this?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to open this can of worms? Once you do it, you can’t undo it, you know? When you start finding out the truth, you’ll never be able to ‘unknow’ it ever again. You’ll have to live with the consequences of whatever we find. I’m just saying, you don’t have to do this. You can just go on with your life as it is now and accept that you have a mom and sister who love you and leave it at that.” She paused, looking at me with concern. “What we find may change your life forever.”

  “I think you’re being a little melodramatic, Brooke. I just want to find out what’s happened to my mother. Maybe we’ll find her and maybe we won’t. And if we do, maybe she’ll see me and maybe she won’t.”

  “Either way could be heartbreaking.”

  I considered her in the passenger’s seat. She was truly concerned for my well-being, but I couldn’t imagine a scenario I wouldn’t be able to handle.

  “You said you were on board. That you were sticking with me, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s soldier on. Can I come over for supper when you get home from church tomorrow?”

  “Of course. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “Okay. I’ll have my list done by then, and we can regroup and figure out what to do next.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she turned from me to open the door. I took her arm gently as she slid out of the car.

  “I love you, Brooke. Thanks for helping me.”

  “I love you, too.” She leaned back into the car and reached across the center console to kiss me lightly on the lips. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. See you tomorrow?”

  “Can’t wait,” I said.

  C HAPTER FIVE

  After a late night managing the wait staff at the country club, I set my alarm to get an early start the next morning tracking down the boys on my half of the list. Of the thirteen names, I was able to find information about all but one of them. Most were easy to locate from high school graduation postings or social networking sites. However, there was no online record of Corbin Brown, born to Patricia and Doug Brown in a hospital across the county just six days before I was born. As much as I was disappointed to have found another lead to explore, I was also excited by the prospect of Patricia and Doug Brown being my birth parents. I couldn’t help imagining that perhaps I was the missing Corbin.

  I found Mom and Melody eating brunch together at the kitchen table when I finally made my way downstairs just before noon. I spent a great deal of time at work the night before thinking about how indebted I was to them both. I knew they were grieving the loss of my father in their own ways, and that I couldn’t allow my anger at him to overshadow my love for them. Brooke’s mother’s words kept replaying in my head, and I knew if I was going to continue the search for my mother, it would have to be done discreetly and in a way that would be sensitive to my mom’s feelings.

  Seeing them sitting beside one another as I entered the room, the smell of maple syrup and bacon heavy in the air, made me believe if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself nothing had changed. I squinted hard, trying to pretend my father hadn’t died and I hadn’t discovered the truth about my adoption. But the truth was there and it wouldn’t be ignored.

  I watched them for several moments; my mom, mindlessly munching on a slice of bacon, looking through store circulars and Melody, finishing a glass of orange juice while she ch
ecked her email on her tablet. They didn’t know I was lurking in the doorway spying on them, and I realized in that moment just how grateful I was to have them in my life. I coughed once to alert them to my presence, and they both looked up at me expectantly as I walked across the room.

  Mom was cautious, almost wary of me as I poured myself a glass of orange juice from the carton on the table.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked, as she always did.

  “I slept some,” I replied. “How about you, kiddo?” I said to Melody. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Tired,” she responded. “And sad. And pissed.”

  “Melody Johnson!” my mom squawked. “You know we don’t use language like that in this house!”

  I looked at Melody and gave her a wink. “I’m pissed too,” I said.

  “Charlie!”

  “Mom! We’re pissed, okay? We’re just pissed. And I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re pissed too.” I paused to look at her, but she was concentrating on the Bigmart ad on the table, unwilling to meet my gaze. “Mom?”

  She looked up at me, her eyes glassy and bloodshot. “Yes,” she said with resignation. “I’m pissed too.”

  “Well. There you go,” I said. “We’re all pissed and there’s no one here to take it out on. So what should we do?”

  Melody looked suspiciously at me. “So you’re not abandoning us?”

  “Abandoning you? What do you mean? Why would I do that?”

  “Because the other night, you were so mad about not really being my brother. And then you were gone in the morning when I got up. And I never heard you come home last night. And I guess I just thought you were done with us.”

  The consequences of my impulsive actions on Friday night smacked me in the face. I was devastated that my little sister, who I loved unconditionally since the day she was born, thought I would forsake her as my sibling. Not only did she lose her father, but she thought she lost her brother as well. My stomach doubled over.