Heart of Ice

joy of finding the one positive connection to his life before Olivia.

His sister, Sarah. The exchanges between the two were tentative and emotional phone calls, then e-mails took over.

Hi Mikey,

It was fun talking to you last night. I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. You know, old, bad memories. You have a lot of those, don’t you? I really don’t have any memories of Portland, so I’ll have to trust yours. I guess I really don’t want to know, so if I ask, promise me you won’t tell me. OK? It is so strange to be talking to you again. Should I call you Mikey? We’re all grown up, but I still think of you as my big brother, but not that big. Not even a teenager.

Love always,

Sarah

Dear Sarah,

You can call me Mikey. No one else can. You are my only sister, so I guess you can get away with anything. I think it is a good idea not to talk about Portland too much. It was bad for both of us. I want you to know that when they took you away they told me that it was the best thing for me not to contact you. I fought them on it. I didn’t want you to think that I abandoned you like mom abandoned us at Disney.

Mikey,

The weird thing is, I never thought that. I just sort of imagined that you and I were on different airplanes or something, going to different airports. One day, we’d meet up at the same place. Do you know what I mean? Like we were supposed to be apart because it was part of the plan. Tell me about your wife and kids and I’ll tell you about my college plans.

Love, S

Dear Sarah,

Olivia and the kids really are my greatest blessing. I know that I don’t appreciate them as much as I should, given the kind of upbringing I’ve had it is really hard to stay positive about anything or anyone. I wonder if you’ve ever felt that way? You know, like people were disposable? Anyway, I don’t feel that way about Olivia or the kids. They are the only things that have kept me sane. Tell me more about your family.

Love, your big bro

Mikey,

My adoptive family is great. I’ve been so lucky. Dad is an aerospace engineer, subcontracted to Boeing. He’s not the most exciting person. He sometimes talks in a strange emotionless code. Whatever you’ve heard about engineers is true. Mom is an art teacher for the junior high school a mile from our house. She’s fun, pretty, and helps make dad a whole person instead of a walking encyclopedia. They couldn’t have kids of their own, and, lucky me…they picked me.

Michael remembered the day he’d heard that Sarah had been selected. He’d moved on for a short stint at the Madison Home for Boys in Chino, when the state of California sent him a letter saying that his sister had been adopted and that she’d be moving away to another state. He brought the letter to his counselor, a man with gray eyes, gray hair, and a protruding belly who thought he was the hippest man in the facility.

“Kid, you just gotta let go of this,” he told Michael. “Let her be free. Let her start over somewhere, while she can.”

“But she’s my blood,” Michael said.

“Blood doesn’t matter anymore,” the counselor said. “Didn’t your mom prove that?’

Michael glared at him. The remark was beyond cruel. He wanted to grab the pair of scissors off the man’s desk, open them, and stab out both of his eyes—which, it flashed through his mind, was exactly what he’d once done to a Jack Russell terrier.

“You think you know about all of us here,” he said. “But you don’t know shit about anything. All you can do is talk about stuff. You’ve never lived any of this.”

“I don’t have to live it to help you,” the counselor said, his tone clearly defensive. He looked at his wristwatch. It was a dismissive gesture if Michael Barton had ever seen one, and as much as he hated to admit it, it hurt. “Look,” the man said, “we’re about out of time for today. We never got to the occupational education brochure.”

He handed Michael a brochure that detailed the kinds of jobs that the counselor felt most suitable for him. Restaurant work (dishwasher), newspaper industry (pressman), retail (clerking), and so on. Most of the training would have him working on the lowest rung, the ricketiest rung, of any corporate ladder.

“I’m interested in computer science,” he said.

“You mean, data entry?”

“No, I mean programming or network engineering.” Michael had turned his anger into defiance just then, and for a second he felt his rage melt away. He was smart enough to do something more than the Madison counselor could ever envision.

“I’m afraid that’s not in our program here,” the man said stiffly. “You might be better served by taking the TV repair training.”

Michael imagined himself coming into the counselor’s living room in his crummy Chino apartment. The man bending over to point to the TV connection or something that wasn’t working properly. Michael pulling out a screwdriver from his tool kit and slamming it right into the man’s neck. Sweet Jesus! Blood spurting like one of those chocolate fountains at a chichi wedding in Beverly Hills. Twisting the handle of the screwdriver, feeling the man’s vertebrae snap as he slumped to the beige-carpeted floor.

“You listening to me?” the counselor said.

Michael snapped back. The fantasy of violence had been rudely interrupted.

“Yeah. And I’m leaving now.”

He walked out of the counselor’s office and searched for a bathroom, on the hunt for a place of relief.

If her husband had always seemed a little melancholy, even in the midst of the happiest days of life, Olivia Barton always put it off to his dark history. She knew that he was the sum of everything that happened to him. She also knew that where her life with her impoverished family was bathed in love and light, his own was fraught with abandonment and terror. After he made contact with Sarah, some of that cloud seemed to lift. He seemed to enjoy his children more, her more. He even seemed to think that her cooking was borderline gourmet even though he had once sheepishly urged her to take one of those cooking classes at a kitchenware store in the mall.

“When are we going to meet her?” Olivia asked while Michael gathered his things for work.

“Soon, I hope.”

“What’s the delay? I thought one of you would be on the first plane you could book.”

“Me, too,” he said, still very upbeat. “She’s got some issues with her folks. I understand. They adopted her. They’ve tried to protect her from her past.”

“But not from you?”

“Oh, no. Not from me. She’s just going through some things. That’s all. I’ve waited for a long, long time. I can wait until she’s ready. She’ll still be my sister.”

It was after dinner, that quiet time when the children were settling down and the sun was low in the sky. Peaceful. Hopeful. Olivia looked over her husband’s shoulder when he opened the MSN chat window to see if Sarah was online. She was. Since the first contact from the adopted siblings’ website, there had been numerous e-mails and online chats. Phone calls had been more infrequent because of Sarah’s family situation.

MichaelTech: Hi sis. Olivia and I here.

Sarah: Hi Mikey. Hi Olivia!

MichaelTech: You know you’re the only one that calls me that. Olivia says hi back.

Sarah: I’m special, huh.

MichaelTech: Yup. You are. What’s going on this week?

Sarah: Nothing.

MichaelTech: Nothing?

Sarah: OK. Something pretty big!