The Midwife's Confession

“On my birth. My adoption. I took it. The file.”

Her mother was quiet and Noelle imagined she was trying to remember exactly what had been in that file.

“It had the social worker’s notes about my birth mother and…everything.”

Her mother was quiet once again. “Why are you bringing this up now?” she asked finally.

Noelle remembered the conversation on the way back from the birth of Bea’s first baby, when her mother told her about the girl who had given birth to her and relinquished her for adoption. “You said you didn’t know who she was. Just that she was fifteen.”

“I didn’t see any purpose in telling you her identity. Her identity was unimportant.”

Noelle shut her eyes. “Mama,” she said, “there’s a girl here. She’s on my floor. She’s a freshman. Her name is Emerson McGarrity.”

Her mother sighed. “Emerson was the surname of your biological mother, but I don’t see why that would make you think anything—”

“McGarrity, Mama. Her father’s Frank McGarrity. Isn’t that name familiar to you?”

“Should it be?”

“It was in the social worker’s notes.” She wondered if, after all this time, her mother had simply forgotten the story. “Susan Emerson got pregnant at a party. She didn’t even know the boy’s last name. But she had a boyfriend, Frank McGarrity, and she didn’t want him to know what she’d done. Her parents didn’t want anyone to know, either, and they sent her to live with her—”

“Her aunt.” Her mother sighed again. “Yes, I know all this, Noelle. I know it all very well, although I’d forgotten the boyfriend’s name. He wasn’t really in the picture. I don’t understand…” She suddenly gasped. “My God,” she said. “You think this girl in your dorm is her daughter? Susan Emerson’s daughter?”

“She’s my half sister, Mama. You should see her.”

“You can’t tell her,” her mother said quickly. “The adoption record is sealed. Her mother never wanted anyone to know.”

“Well, the social worker’s records weren’t sealed, were they? You had them.”

Her mother hesitated. “I was the midwife at your birth, Noelle,” she said finally. “I knew the aunt Susan stayed with. The family wanted everything kept quiet. You were placed in foster care for a couple of months while your father and I worked out the adoption. I was privy to the social-work notes. To the whole…to everything. But I never should have had them somewhere where you could stumble across them. You cannot do anything with this information, Noelle. Do you understand?”

“She’s my sister.”

“It was something that family needed to pretend never happened. Especially since it sounds like she wound up marrying the boyfriend—the McGarrity boy—who had no idea she had a child. It’s not your place to tamper. I know this is hard, Noelle. I know it,” she said. “When you feel a longing for a mother, call me. Please, darling. Call me. And ask to switch to another dorm. You shouldn’t be around that girl.”

“She’s my sister,” Noelle said again.

“You shouldn’t be around her.”

“I want to be around her.”

“Don’t hurt her with this, honey,” her mother said. “And don’t hurt that family. And most of all, Noelle, don’t hurt yourself. Nothing good can come from opening up the past. All right?”

Noelle thought of the girl in Room 305 and the picture of the woman who was her mother. She thought of what she probably represented to that woman. A huge mistake. Something she needed to pretend never happened, her mother had said. Something she’d wanted to go away. She thought of the love in Emerson’s face when she talked about her family. Her mother. Her grandparents.

“All right,” she said, tears burning her eyes, and she knew she would only be able to love her sister from afar.

14

Tara

Wilmington, North Carolina

2010

I had a quick break between my last class of the day and the play rehearsal with the juniors. Sitting at the desk in my classroom, I slipped my day planner into my purse and noticed the message light on my phone was blinking. I only had about thirty seconds until I had to head to the auditorium, but I hit a couple of keys on the phone and listened.

Emerson sounded frantic. “Call me right now!” she said, then added, as if an afterthought, “Nobody died. Just call me.” I frowned as I slipped the phone back into my purse. What had our lives come to that we had to add “nobody died” to our phone messages?

I headed for the auditorium. I could put one of the students in charge for a few minutes while I returned Emerson’s call to make sure everything was okay.

The kids were all there ahead of me when I walked into the auditorium.

“Mrs. V!” a couple of them called out when they spotted me.

“Hey, guys!” I called in response.

They were hanging out in the front seats, a few of them sitting on the edge of the stage, and they were smiling at me. Grinning. These kids liked me. I wished I could say as much for my own daughter.

Hunter had a fabulous auditorium with rows of deep purple seats that sloped in a graceful bowl toward the stage. The acoustics were to die for. But I didn’t walk toward the stage. Instead, I called one of the boys, Tyler, to join me where I stood inside the auditorium door.

“I need to make a quick phone call,” I told him. Tyler was a nice kid, new to the school, very artistic. He’d be