Kaitlyn was sympathetic at first. How could she not be? And it made her feel useful. Like she was helping Eileen get better. Providing her an outlet. A sympathetic ear. It helped Kaitlyn put some things in perspective, too. Her own life wasn’t that bad. She should try to appreciate it more. Maybe her family, motherhood, hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. But that didn’t mean it was all bad. That it couldn’t improve. If telling someone her problems helped Eileen, then it could help her, too. She went to see a counselor. She got medication. The clouds lifted.
Then Eileen had written: You’re my mother, aren’t you?
No, Eileen, Kaitlyn had written back. I’m sorry, but I’m not.
But I feel so close to you, you know? I feel that tie I was missing, that bond. It’s you. I know it’s you. Please can we meet so we can verify?
Verify how?
A DNA test.
I’m not your mother.
But I have the record. My birth certificate from the hospital.
Eileen didn’t seem to have understood her. She could get like this sometimes, a dog with a bone. Denials wouldn’t dissuade her.
I’m not doing a DNA test, Eileen. Subject’s closed.
But no subject was ever closed with Eileen. It might recede for a while, but it was bound to come back. And since she wasn’t going to do a DNA test, it would become a loop. One they’d spin around over and over until Kaitlyn was sick.
Kaitlyn had tried to help her, but there wasn’t any way out.
A few weeks later, when Kaitlyn’s boss asked her some pointed questions about whether she was ever going to come back to work, she took the plunge and said no. A few weeks after that, her work e-mail account was shut down.
She didn’t tell Eileen.
INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
TJ: There seem to be some inconsistencies in your story, Franny.
FM: Oh yeah? Such as?
TJ: Sherrie said that you often asked if you were adopted as a child, but your parents consistently denied it.
FM: I told you. I asked them not to tell her.
TJ: If you didn’t want your sister knowing you were adopted, it doesn’t make any sense that you’d bring up the possibility with your parents when she was around.
FM: I was a kid. I said stupid things. Maybe I was testing them, you know? Seeing if they’d respect my wishes.
TJ: Then there’s the stint in juvenile detention you failed to mention.
FM: I told you—I did some stupid shit, stealing and such. I went to juvie for a couple months. What does that prove?
TJ: Nothing in and of itself, though I do find it revealing that you didn’t tell me about it.
FM: I told you the big stuff. The relevant stuff.
TJ: And you spent time in a mental health facility.
FM: I suffer from depression sometimes. I’m not crazy. There’s lots of reasons people go to those places. They helped me get better. I take my medication and I’m mindful or whatever, and I don’t have those low moments anymore.
TJ: But it’s another thing you didn’t tell me.
FM: Why would I tell anyone that? You try telling people you spent time in a funny farm, and they’re all thinking it’s that Cuckoo’s Nest book, you know? Like I was talking to walls or wearing tinfoil on my head. It wasn’t like that. It was peaceful. Restful.
TJ: You told me you got a copy of your birth certificate and your birth mother called you Marigold. Is that right?
FM: Yes.
TJ: Well, I have a copy of your birth certificate right here. Eileen Marissa Warner. Born on October 10, 1994. That’s your birthday, isn’t it?
FM: Yes.
TJ: Strange coincidence about the date.
FM: I guess. I never thought about it.
TJ: I find that hard to believe.
FM: I never cared about my birthday. Why are people so fixated on getting older and celebrating that? It seems stupid to me. And then my mother died on my birthday, and it just made it that much worse. So I didn’t mention it.
TJ: I looked back at the paperwork you filled out when you signed the waiver to participate in this film, and you put a different birth date down.
FM: It was this thing I did when I changed my name. I gave myself a new birthday, so I was starting over completely.
TJ: I see. Coming back to your birth certificate . . . It clearly doesn’t say your name is Marigold.
FM: That’s the one with my adoptive parents on it, right?
TJ: Yes.
FM: It’s not my real birth certificate. They give you a new one after you get adopted.
TJ: I see. Do you have this other birth certificate?
FM: Not on me. I don’t carry things like that around.
TJ: If you could send me a copy when you have a chance, I’d appreciate it.
FM: Sure, I’ll do that. Are we done here?
TJ: There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss. Why did you insist on having DNA matches to the wreckage for families to get compensation?
FM: I told you. To keep people from defrauding the fund.
TJ: It wasn’t to distract away from your own fraud?
FM: What? I’m not a fraud.
TJ: You’re sure about that?
FM: Of course I am.
TJ: Because I do have a copy of your DNA test.
FM: Why didn’t you say so before?
TJ: I was giving you a chance to tell your own story.
FM: Uh-huh.
TJ: As I’m sure you’re aware, your DNA didn’t match to anything in the site. They used Kaitlyn’s daughter Emily’s DNA to match to her mug.
FM: No, that’s not right. There was a match—there was.
TJ: I have the results right here. Would you like to see them?
[Pause]
FM: All this shows is that they forgot to test both samples when they found the mug . . . That doesn’t prove anything.
TJ: Well, yes, that’s technically true, but . . . We could run the test again. Would you agree to do that?
FM: You can run whatever tests you like. The lab has my DNA sample. They’ll tell you. They’ll tell you Kaitlyn Ring’s my biological mother.
TJ: All right, Franny. Please calm down.
FM: Don’t say that to me.
TJ: I’m sorry.
FM: We talked about that. I told you I hate that. I told you.
TJ: Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?
FM: [Muttering] Stupid, stupid girl.
TJ: Franny?
FM: Are we done?
TJ: Yes, of course. I can’t keep you here.
FM: This is such bullshit. And you know what? I revoke my consent. I take
