My Name Is River Blue (43 page)

After he parked
his truck, I told him that I was going to my room, and he patted my back before
walking inside the house where Tyler and Manny were watching TV. I knew that
Papa was giving me space, and I was certain that he would make sure Manny and
Tyler did the same.

In my room over
the barn, I rested my back and legs and thought of how things would go when I
called my mother. I had the same thoughts on my mind that I had when I first
knew my mother had visited me. She had stood right next to me in my hospital
room while I slept. She saw how badly I was hurt. She saw the casts, the
pulley, and the elevator. She couldn't have missed the stitches, the bruising,
the swelling, the IV, the urinary catheter, and the drainage tubes. If she
didn't want to wake me and speak to me that night, why would she talk to me
now?

I decided to
stop worrying about her reaction. I deserved answers, so I called Melissa
Harrington's number and on the third ring, a man answered. His greeting was
polite, his tone pleasant. He sounded well-educated and upper middle class. I
had always assumed that my mother was unmarried when I was born and that she
never married my father. Was I wrong? Was the man on the other end of the line my
father? I realized that I had taken too long to speak when the man repeated his
greeting. I tried to match his polite tone.

"May I
please speak to Melissa Harrington?"

The man paused
for what seemed like forever before he spoke. "Who's calling, please?"

Then it was my
turn to pause. What should I say?

"Who's
calling?" The man repeated impatiently.

"River. River
Blue."

Another pause.
Longer than the first one. Very long.

"Sir?"
I checked to see if he was still on the line.

"I'm Mr.
Harrington. Melissa was my wife. She passed away in April."

The air rushed
from my lungs. Of all the things I expected, I was not prepared to hear of my
mother's death. So many thoughts rushed through my head. So many things I
wanted to know. It seemed that minutes passed before I spoke again.

"I'm
sorry," I said. "I don't know where to start but..." I lost the
words when I tried to explain my call, not knowing how much the man on the
other end of the line knew. It didn't matter after Mr. Harrington spoke again.

"I know who
you are," said the man. "I know that Melissa was your mother."

"But you're
not my father."

"No."

"Do you
know my father?"

I could hear
voices in the background. Two different male voices. Probably young teenagers. I
heard one of them say something to Mr. Harrington, but the only word I understood
was "Dad."

"Melissa
told me that he died young. I never knew him. Listen, I don't want to be rude,
but I can't speak to you like this."

I understood
that he didn't want his son to hear. Two sons, if both of the boys I heard were
his. My half brothers. I couldn't just end the call and give up. I had to know
what he knew about my parents and me.

"I'm sorry,
sir. It's just that you're the only one who might give me some answers. I would
be very grateful. Please, sir."

"My sons
are still struggling with our loss. I won't have them badgered by anyone, and I
won't stand for anyone tarnishing the memory of their mother."

"Sir, I
know what hurt is, and please believe me, the last thing I want is to hurt your
boys, or you for that matter. All I want is information. If you could just tell
me what you know, I promise I will leave you all alone, and none of you will
ever hear from me again. Please, Mr. Harrington, I've waited eighteen years.
I'm begging you."

After a full
thirty seconds, Mr. Harrington spoke, I could hear the resignation, and what I
thought was sadness in his voice. He whispered as if his sons were near. "Where
are you?"

"Outside of
Harper Springs. It's probably about two hours from you."

"I know
where it is. About an hour below Greenville."

"Yes, sir. That's
about right."

"I have
business in Greenville tomorrow morning. Meet me there in the lobby of the Four
Winds East Hotel at ten o'clock. It's just off the interstate at Windham
Road."

"Thank you,
sir. How will I recognize you?"

"You won't
have to. I'll know you. Melissa kept an album of newspaper clippings from your football
games, and I saw shots of you on television."

"Okay. I'll
see you at ten in the morning. Thank you, sir."

"Goodnight."

My composure
vanished along with the sound of Mr. Harrington's voice.

With one phone call,
everything was different.

Feeling small
and vulnerable, I curled my body into a fetal ball atop my bed and changed into
the damaged little boy of years ago. I was the boy who learned that it hurt
less to suffer in silence than to share my pain with people who didn't care. I
was the boy who cried alone in dark places of little hope where broken little
boys lived.

I wept that
night for my mother, a woman I didn't know. A woman who gave me away to a life
that no good mother would want for her son. For as long as I could remember, I
had held onto hope that my parents, at least my mother, really loved me and wanted
me, but for a reason out of her control, she left me to the care of strangers. I
pictured her crying miserably because she could not keep me. I even dreamed that
one day the reason for our separation would no longer keep us apart and that she
would find me, claim me, and beg me to forgive her. She would tell me an
incredible story that would make perfect sense, and I would indeed forgive her.

With one phone
call, everything was different.

There was no
chance of a miraculous reunion with my mother. She would give no explanation
that would make me feel any better about my life as a foundling. She could
never offer an apology for the pain I endured while growing up as a target of
ridicule, contempt, and abuse in state care.

I could never
ask her why she was not by my side after my appendix burst. Why she couldn't
comfort me the night my best friend's shattered body heaved its last breath
against me. Why she couldn't simply hold my hand after painful surgeries that made
me wish I had died with him.

My mother was
dead. My father was dead.

I was not just a
foundling. I was officially an orphan.

I doubted that
my mother's sons were anything like me. Maybe they liked sports and the
outdoors, but I was sure that their lives had little in common with mine. From
the way he spoke, I could tell that Mr. Harrington was a successful man and was
fiercely protective of his sons. According to what Papa said, the Harringtons
lived in an expensive neighborhood, and I was sure that his boys had the best
of everything. I pictured them as popular kids in school, just like the ones I
had envied when I was a young boy. Just like Carlee and Max were.

My half brothers
knew nothing about fighting with bigger boys over food or used clothes donated
by strangers. They were never ashamed of the clothes they wore to school, and
they never had to use the free lunch pass while other kids pointed and laughed.
Maybe worst of all, they never had to run away in the middle of the night from
a nightmare that they would never really escape.

I pictured my
mother living comfortably with her loving family in their nice home in their
upscale neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood where people were unfamiliar
with kids like me. I saw her and her successful husband giving my half brothers
all that I ever wanted. All that really mattered. All that I was never good
enough or lucky enough to have, and what my half brothers probably took for
granted. To be loved as part of a real family in a real home.

It hurt to know
that the dream had ended, and that I would never so much as speak to my parents.
It was one more disappointment to bury along with the others, and one more time
I would try to put on a brave face to show the world that another defeat only made
me stronger. It was one more time that I would convince myself to be thankful
for what I had and carry on the best I could.

What choice did
broken little boys have?

***

Papa insisted on
driving me to meet Mr. Harrington in Greenville, but he left it up to me to
decide if I wanted him to come into the hotel with me or wait in his truck. I
chose the latter. I was not sure what Mr. Harrington's reaction would be if
Papa joined me, but I was afraid that the man might hesitate to speak as freely
in front of Papa.

When I walked
into the Four Winds East, I was glad that I wore a coat and tie because it was
the nicest hotel that I had ever seen. There were many well-dressed men and
women passing through the lobby or sitting on plush furniture in conversation
corners. Mr. Harrington spotted me as soon as I walked through the door, and I
saw him almost as quickly. He was a tall, white man in his early forties, and I
was sure that his suit cost much more than mine. His tanned face was
expressionless, as he motioned me towards the elevators. For privacy, he suggested
that we go up to his room.

A few minutes
later, we sat across from each other in the living area of his suite, which was
just as luxurious as the lobby. He abruptly asked me how I found his phone
number, and I gave him a short version of the story, which seemed to impress
him. We made a little more small talk, but I could see that he wanted to be
done with me as soon as he possibly could. Besides knowing that he was
understandably uncomfortable, I assumed that I was taking precious time away
from his work. I was right.

"River, if
I may call you that, I have a limited amount of time. I'll sum up what I know
and then answer any questions that I can."

"Thank you,
sir."

The more Mr.
Harrington talked, the more his story fit, and the more I wondered why I didn't
question peoples' reactions and behaviors towards me.

Mr. Harrington had
heard of me because he was a huge college football fan, and he was always aware
of which high school players were heavily recruited. He knew nothing about my
connection to his wife until after she deposited money in my bank account. Normally,
it would have taken him much longer to discover the withdrawal because she used
money from a savings account from which they rarely drew funds. Melissa
Harrington thought that she would pass away before her husband saw it because she
had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and had little time left. She had
planned to leave Mr. Harrington an explanation so that when he found the withdrawal
he would not have to wonder what she had secretly done with their money.

Melissa had an
older brother who drowned when she was a toddler, so she grew up with just her
parents in the mountains of North Carolina. After high school, she started college
at Ackers State in Bergeron County. Instead of living in a dorm, her parents
arranged for Melissa to stay with an aunt who lived in Ackers. Since her
parents were going to be taking frequent trips out of the country, often for
months at a time, the arrangement meant they could leave with less worry. During
Melissa's freshman year, her parents were on a church mission in Africa.

Melissa loved
photography, and she especially enjoyed shooting nature scenes. Soon after she began
college, she heard of some beautiful scenery in Bergeron County, but it was in
a very remote area that was difficult to find. When Melissa told her aunt that she
wished she had a guide, the older woman asked a friend who recommended a Mexican-American
boy. His name was Gabe and he lived on a large horse farm.

Gabe and Melissa
hiked and rode horses on many trips through the countryside. They even went
canoeing on the gentle Blue Bergeron River, which flowed through beautiful woodlands
that humans rarely ever saw. Melissa snapped breathtaking shots that she could
have only taken from the viewpoints Gabe presented to her. Many of the photos were
permanently displayed in the Harringtons' home.

Melissa and Gabe
grew passionate about each other and used poor judgment. She found out she was
pregnant with me a week after Gabe died, which left Melissa with only her aunt
to help her. As strict and religious as Melissa's parents were, she believed
that there was no way that she could tell them without losing them and their
support. Since her parents were to be gone for another ten months, she didn't
have to tell them. Her aunt consented to keep her secret. Since Melissa and her
aunt didn't believe in abortion, they decided that after Melissa gave birth to
me, they would give me up anonymously.

Her aunt had a
retired doctor friend help deliver me at her home. When I was three days old, Melissa
took me to the hospital and left me in the pediatrics waiting room. She left
the name she had given me on my blanket and hoped she would be able to keep
track of me that way. She was also naive enough to think that she might reclaim
me some time in the future.

Melissa transferred
to UNC at Chapel Hill, where she met Mr. Harrington and married him the summer
after graduation. They had two sons together, and built a good, prosperous life.
He was the vice president of a management consulting company, and Melissa was a
freelance photographer. Everything was great for the Harringtons until they
discovered that Melissa had terminal cancer. She had fought for two years and
had little time left when she visited me in the hospital.