Secrets and Lies

Note: This story was published on Vocal several years ago for The Little Black NoteBook Challenge, but there wasn't a fiction category. After some heavy editing, I decided to publish the updated story in Fiction.

After the internment, I sat alone on Mama's 1980 gold and brown floral fabric sofa sleeper. Cat claw marks, worn fabric, broken springs, and the odors of smoke and greasy food enveloped me. I curled up on the smelly couch, my mother's scent emanating from the crocheted afghan comforting me.

When a loud knock awakened me, I saw streams of sunlight sneaking through the haphazardly closed velveteen curtains. I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a plastic glass imprinted with lemons, and guzzled the entire glass of water to clear the fuzz from my tongue and brain. I let the 1-800-Junk crew in. Mama's buffet, a king-sized bed frame, and the new Lazy Boy recliner I would take to my place. I directed them to load everything else into their truck.

After finishing the house, the crew began the backyard and detached garage, and by five o'clock, Mama's house was cleared out.

"SIRI, call Janey!" I watched the truck drive away.

"Emily! How did it go? "

"It was fine. A cleaning crew comes tomorrow and will be finished by three o'clock. I need these odors gone so I can list the house for sale. I hated the odors and rarely visited her.

"Leave a key for the cleaning crew and come spend the night with me. I'll take tomorrow off."

After dinner, I noticed a tiny black object behind the turquoise Betty Boop cookie jar I had gifted Mama. Climbing onto the step stool, I pushed it aside and pulled out the small black notebook.

I flipped through unlined pages with names, phone numbers, and comments in Mama's perfectly slanted cursive handwriting. She hadn't included last names.

< George, Topeka, April 1966, a fabulous quickie.

< Frank, Chicago, May 1966, weekend, so sublime.

< Jimmy, Indianapolis, June 1966 weekend, charming, married, new dad - too much guilt, never again will I meet him.

< Henry, St Louis, Christmas Day through January 6, 1967. He is tall, all muscle; I love him. He was drafted into the Army and is heading to 'Nam in the Spring, and I'm so scared. Dad would be angry, and Mom would be ashamed. They think I'm with Janey and her sister. I'm twenty-three, and they're still trying to control me.

< May 1968. Henry writes letters from 'Nam when he can. I write him every day.

< April 1969, I'll meet Henry in San Diego with Emily.

I gasped. Was she meeting him with ME? Mama said they adopted me at six weeks old. Did she lie to me?

I grabbed my keys, shoved the book into my purse, and headed to Janey's. I arrived at Janey's in tears, and she led me to the kitchen. "She lied to me! Lied. Dad isn't dad. Dad is Henry!"

"What?"

I shoved the little black notebook at her. "She lied. She didn't adopt me. Damn her." I quietly sat as Janey skimmed the book.

"Henry's name was all through it and then disappeared."

I nodded. "Yeah, and in November, along came Charlie."

I watched Janey's facial expressions changing from puzzlement to astonishment. She read aloud:

November 14, 1969, Charlie, Chicago, ultra-rich, gave me an emerald ring.

December 5, 1969, Tom in Schaumburg, pilot, a real jerk, but I got a diamond bracelet and $3,00 in my bank.

In January 1970, Bert, a stockbroker from Cincinnati, who was older but so sweet, had $4500 deposited in my bank.

February Valentine's Week, 1970: I had dinner with Clancy from Los Angeles. He's an attorney who gave me a ruby choker necklace AND put $10,000 in my account.

April 1970, Clancy made another $10,000 deposit to the bank. He is sweet; I'm falling for him, but he's fifteen years older.

In May 1970, Clancy flew us to Paris on a leased jet. I brought Emily and the three of us toured France for a month. He adores Emily. Once home, twenty-five thousand dollars was deposited into my bank account.

August 1970. Clancy had a heart attack and died in early July! I am depressed. I loved him.

Marked with a black ribbon - I married Lawrence, a corporate attorney from San Diego, in September 1971. He is adopting Emily.

"Oh my God, Emily! Your mother was like a high-priced call girl!"

"Shut the hell up; she wasn't!"

"All the jewelry and money? What did she do with all of it?"

"She paid my college. Our house, the vacation home, our autos, and her overseas trips after Daddy died. All the titles were in her name, and her bank account contains five hundred thousand dollars."

"So you think Henry is your real father, and because he was mixed race, your mom said you were adopted?" Emily nodded. "Maybe Henry died in Vietnam, or they broke up."

"There's nobody to ask!" I threw my spoon across the room.

**

"Daddy's law partner needs to see me. Will you come?" Janey nodded.

George Pritchard had his papers neatly stacked in five piles. "Emily, condolences about your mother. I have instructions in this envelope."

The thick manilla envelope contained letters, various documents, and baby photos of me and some unknown adults. A photo of a handsome man with caramel skin, hazel eyes, and a sparkling smile, with a note on the back: "Christmas 1967, Henry." There was also a spiral pocket notebook. She handed that to Janey, who flipped through it, then pushed it back. "Read it."

"My darling daughter, Emily. I'm leaving all the money I have to you. Twenty thousand dollars. I returned from Vietnam, hooked on drugs, an addict, and your mother tried to help me for a while. Later, I ended up in prison, and she left me to protect you. It wasn't easy for her, and I ask that you not judge her. When she met Lawrence, your daddy, they fell in love. Enclosed are the photos she sent me of you and our letters so that you will understand. We were joined in our commitment to you. She sent a lawyer to help me with my end-of-life matters and to make a will after I became ill in prison. Be happy now - no sadness about this. Lawrence knew about me, and together, the three of us decided not to burden you with a father in prison. We all agreed on the adoption cover story. Don't be angry. You made all of us so proud. Love you, my precious girl, Henry."

I looked at his notarized one-page will. "Mr. Pritchard, I don't need money. Let's honor my dad with a foundation to help people. After we settle my Mom's estate, we'll meet."

We went to Starbucks and ordered Grande Triple Shot drinks, and I left a twenty-dollar tip. "These little notebooks held quite the secrets, didn't they?" We toasted family secrets and everlasting love with our super-charged caffeine drinks.