In Search of Eden (24 page)

“Oh, come on now, Ma, you know it's nothing personal,” he said.

Eden had a flash of remorse, but it left pretty quickly. By the time she had finished scraping the plates and loading the dishwasher, in fact.

chapter
24

B
y Friday Miranda had been in Abingdon for nearly two weeks, and she was beginning to think the quest for a job was as impossible as that for her child. Around two she called it quits and went to the library. She had come here to find someone. Perhaps she was wasting her time looking for employment. She spent the rest of the afternoon on the Internet and in the stacks, searching on “finding people” and surrounded by every book she could find on the topic, including:
You Can Find Anybody! Public Records Online, Get the Facts on Anyone
and
Check It Out! A Top Investigator Shows You How to Find Out Practically Anything About Anybody.

She Googled every combination of words she could think of that had anything to do with searching or finding, skip trace, and private investigation. It was all very interesting, but so far there was nothing that could help you find someone you didn't know the first thing about. Almost every book assumed you were starting your search with a full name, social security number, or at least a handful of facts about habits and history. She had nothing. No name, occupation, address, social security number. She had nothing. Nothing, and suddenly the impossibility of the whole
thing hit her. She needed a psychic, not a detective.

She went outside for a breath of air and wondered again why she was here. If doors were supposed to open and she was in the right place, someone had forgotten to send the memo ahead of her.

A few kids walked past her and entered the library. They were dragging backpacks and laughing. A few more followed. The elementary school must have just gotten out. They kept coming for a few minutes in a pretty steady stream. Ten or twelve. Tall and short and in between. Cute and homely, fat and thin, boys and girls, and suddenly the hopelessness of it all overwhelmed her. Why, in just this library right this minute there were too many possibilities to guess at. In the elementary school alone were probably a hundred or so children the right age, and she hadn't even considered private school kids or home-schooled kids in the town. Or the ones that had moved away. She stared, letting her eyes go out of focus, and realized it was time she made peace with the empty aching socket that went right down to her bones. She would never find that child.

She went back inside and started stacking her books. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Two girls sitting at the table opposite her stared and looked at her curiously. It seemed like all she did now was cry. The two girls said something to each other and giggled, then turned their attention toward the door. A younger girl came in and looked for a seat. She saw the one across from Miranda. Her table was the only one with no kids. The girl looked around for a minute, then came toward her and spoke.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

“Sure,” Miranda said. “I'm going to be leaving in a few minutes, and you can have it to yourself.”

The girl flumped down and hoisted her backpack onto the table.

“Neighhhh!”
One of the girls at the other table made horse noises. Miranda looked up with a frown. They were giggling and pointing at the girl who had just sat down, and Miranda saw why.
The smaller girl was wearing a shirt with horse heads all over it. She didn't react to the taunting; instead, she unzipped her backpack, took out a notebook, and began writing furiously. They neighed again. She glanced toward them with scorn, as if they were the ones who had suddenly grown three heads.

“Whatever,” said the blonde, probably a future cheerleader.

The girl with the horse shirt turned around toward the Barbies and made an L in front of her forehead, then swiveled back around and went back to her writing.

Miranda grinned. She took a closer look at the upstart. She was a short, compact girl, probably about ten or eleven. She had freckles on her face and dark hair that was a little wild. Her eyes were slate blue. Miranda started looking for something familiar in the face or mannerisms, knowing she was being ridiculous but playing her game anyway. The girl had neat, compact hands, and the ends of her fingernails tipped slightly up, just like her own. And a million other people's, she supposed. She searched the face and didn't see much resemblance to herself. She tried to remember Danny Loomis. He'd had freckles. That was something. His eyes had been blue, hadn't they? She couldn't remember. She shook her head, and the hopelessness came over her again. She was being silly. She took out a tissue and blew her nose.

The girl looked up. “You all right?” she asked.

“Me?”

The girl nodded.

Miranda felt touched and almost teared up again. Instead she nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I'm all right. Thanks.”

The girl cocked an eyebrow, as if she didn't quite believe her, but went back to her notebook.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked the girl.

“Who, me?” She looked surprised.

Miranda grinned. She nodded. “They were pretty snotty.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “That's just the popular girls.” As if nothing else could realistically be expected.

Smart kid. She'd do all right in junior high.

“You from around here?” the girl asked her, and Miranda shook her head.

“Me neither,” she said. “I'm staying with my grandma.”

Miranda felt a disappointing lurch. She supposed she had been hoping, and she asked herself if she would ever be able to talk to a strange child without calculating his or her age and wondering.

“Have you ever lived here?” Miranda asked, knowing she was being stupid, but she felt compelled to know.

“Nope.”

“Has your grandmother always lived here?” The last hope, and she knew she was being ridiculous. She wondered if she would feel compelled to cross-examine every eleven-year-old in Abingdon.

“Nope,” the girl said. “She used to live somewhere else. She moved to town about”—her eyes cast upward in thought—“ten years ago.” She paused and gave Miranda an evaluating look. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Miranda blushed. If she wasn't careful Joe Policeman would come after her again. “Sorry,” she said, “but how else is a person supposed to find out things?”

The girl seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, as if it made sense to her.

Obviously, it was her turn to offer some information. “My name's Miranda,” she said.

“Mine's Eden.”

“Eden. That's a pretty name.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Fifth.”

“Do you like it?”

Eden shrugged. “It's better than my old school,” she said. “We had to wear uniforms there.”

Miranda made a face. “I've never been big on uniforms. It seems like deciding what to wear is a pretty basic part of being a person, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” the girl said and gave a satisfied little nod, as if Miranda had validated something important. It seemed to inspire a disclosure. “This is my favorite shirt,” she said, leaning forward confidentially. She had a look of modest pride.

Miranda looked it over. It was a fifties vintage print but probably new. It had been freshly washed and ironed stiff, but she could see a tiny tear just below the elbow that had been carefully mended.

“It's a great shirt.” She admired it without reservation. “It would be my favorite, too.”

“I tore it, but it's okay now.”

“You can barely tell,” Miranda agreed. “Did you sew it up yourself?”

Eden shook her head. “Grandma,” she said.

Miranda nodded but noticed she hadn't said Mom had mended it, as she'd expected. She wondered what circumstances had brought the girl here, but she wasn't going to ask.

“My mom and dad are at a hospital up in Minnesota. My dad got in a car wreck.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“He got hurt pretty bad.”

“How bad?”

“He might be in a wheelchair.”

Miranda blew out her breath and felt a swell of pity. “That must be really hard for him. For all of you.”

Eden blinked. “But he's going to be all right.”

“Oh, sure. Sure.”

Eden seemed to have reached her tolerance for conversation. She opened up her backpack and took out a two-way radio. “I'll be right back,” she said. “Would you watch my stuff so those losers don't mess with it?”

“Be happy to,” Miranda said and shot a stern look over at the snotty girls just in case they were thinking about it. Eden disappeared for a few minutes and then returned. Miranda got a
glimpse of the radio as she put it in her backpack. It looked authentic and expensive. She wondered why Grandma didn't just buy Eden a cell phone.

“That's a pretty cool radio,” she said.

Eden nodded and didn't say more. She took out a pencil and started doing math problems. She erased. Chewed the pencil. Twirled the part of her bangs that didn't lie straight. Scribbled something down on the worksheet and erased again. Miranda smiled, then went back to the book she was perusing on how to find anyone anywhere. They both worked in silence for fifteen minutes or so.

“You looking for somebody?” Eden's voice startled her out of her concentration. Apparently she was switching subjects. She shut her math book and took the social studies book out of her backpack.

Miranda nodded.

“Who?”

Her heart sank at being asked that question straight out, even by a child. And almost without thought, she answered, picking a name out of the blue, and it was only after she'd spoken it that she realized how right it was that she start her search with her mother. Wasn't Noreen the key to the entire mystery? She realized then that if she understood Noreen, perhaps then, and only then, would she have a clue as to what her mother had done with her baby. Once she understood the why, perhaps the what would be the logical next step.

“I'm researching my mom's life,” she said. “She just died, and I realized I didn't really know much about her.”

Eden nodded soberly. “Maybe I could help you,” she offered. “I could look your mom up on the computer at my uncle's office.”

Miranda smiled. That was cute. And sweet. “Thanks,” she said. “If my leads dry up, I might take you up on that.”

Eden nodded again, then went back to her homework. She scribbled and chewed for another fifteen minutes or so, then shut
her books with a decisive thunk. She reloaded her backpack, stood up, and slung it over her shoulder. “Well,” she said, “I gotta go. I've got things to do.”

Miranda smiled. She wondered what kind of errands Eden's day included. She would bet they were interesting and a lot more fun than what the two girls at the table across from them would be doing. She could tell from their brief meeting that Eden had personality and spunk. “It was nice to meet you, Eden,” she said. “Maybe we'll run across each other again.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she answered.

Miranda returned the reference item to the desk and crossed the room to reshelve the other books. She glanced outside the window and saw Eden at the bike rack. She unlocked her bike, got on, and sailed down the street, pedaling furiously for a minute before balancing with her arms. Miranda smiled as she disappeared from sight. What a character. She hoped they did meet again.

chapter
25

D
avid felt ground down, broken, and above all else, weary. He knew it was time to go home, but somehow he couldn't muster up the strength. The thought of going to his mother's was bad enough; the thought of going back to Fairfax with his wife and daughter seemed completely beyond him. He was just so tired. Ironic, for someone who hadn't moved for the last six months.

Sarah looked at him hopefully. She was wanting something from him, and it seemed that exact dynamic summed up the history of their relationship.

I don't know what to do with Eden, David. Please tell me.

I don't know what to do with my life, David. Could you tell me?

I don't want to marry your brother, David. Could you help me?

Was he angry? he asked himself brutally. The answer came back a weary no. He wasn't angry. He was—and there it was again. He was tired.

“What shall I tell her?” Sarah spoke now, her hand on the telephone, which she would pick up in a few seconds and use to call their daughter.

Whatever you like,
he wanted to say. He did not, of course. He
did what he always did. He turned patient eyes on his wife and loved her. All of her, including the hesitation and doubt, but for just a moment he had doubts of his own. Had he really been helping her all these years by making decisions for her? She had let him. No, had urged him. There had been only one decision about which she had stood firm. They must not tell Joseph about Eden. He wondered now why he had let her have her way in this, when it would have been within his power to dissuade her.

But there was still this decision to make now. He sighed. Of course it was obvious what Sarah should tell her. Eden could not come here. They both knew that. Their days were confined to the hospital, and Eden was a girl who needed to roam free. It would be like corralling a wild pony in the basement. But he also knew why Sarah asked him. If he said the words, then it was not her fault. She could avoid the guilt of making a choice.

“Tell her she needs to be patient for a little while longer,” he said. “Tell her I love her. I want to be with her. I just need a little more time to recover.”

He looked down at his emaciated body, his useless legs. He tried to remember what they had looked like before, but it was as if this broken body was the only one he had ever known. This was who he was now. Wholeness was something that existed only in his dreams.