Birthright Page 2

  I shut the door and drop back down on the couch, carefully avoiding the armrest and feeling completely exhausted by the encounter. I take a long breath and grab myself a cookie. I nibble it slowly as I stare into space, trying to imagine growing up with brothers and sisters, a father, cousins—all of that. It seems like the house would constantly hum with activity, conversation, and laughter.

  I had none of that.

  Love and support I had, but only from Aunt Ginny. We occasionally had visitors come to the house, but they were mostly her friends. I never quite developed the knack for friend-making, and after Aunt Ginny passed, the visitors quickly vanished, leaving me alone.

  I swallow hard, fighting back the tears.

  “This is why I’m here,” I say softly. “I’m going to find my family—my real family.”

  Chapter 2—Blocked

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  I disconnect the call and enter the given address into my phone. I’m pleased to see the app indicating the office is only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment. I’d much rather walk and not have to worry about parking in an unfamiliar area.

  “It’s pretty cool out there today,” I say to Vee. “You keep yourself nice and warm in here!”

  I grab my coat and head out the door.

  Cascade Falls is huge compared to my tiny hometown, but geographically it doesn’t cover a large area, and I appreciate that. I prefer to walk to where I need to go and find I navigate better on foot than by car. Besides, this way I get to look at my new surroundings.

  Turning to the left outside my apartment building, I head down the street, checking out another set of apartments—ones I inquired about, but no units were available—and then the single-family homes farther down. The houses are nice but not large. One neighborhood leads to another, and then to a few small shops in front of me. I recognize the hardware store where I’d purchased sandpaper to fix the arms of my couch.

  I’m pleased to see the number of trees planted along the streets with their spring buds beginning to open into leaves and flowers. I recognize the birch trees from their trunks, but it’s hard to identify tress without leaves, and very few of them have buds on their branches in February. A few trees are unfamiliar to me, and I make a mental note to look them up later.

  At one point in my life, I’d thought about going to school for botany. Despite my inability to keep houseplants alive—Vee being the only exception—I’ve always loved plants. Taking a walk through the woods has always been a favorite pastime, and I love watching the trees bloom in the summer and change color in the fall. I checked out books from the library that helped me identify plants and trees in my hometown, and it seems I’ll need to find a similar book about Ohio’s foliage.

  I was good at learning on my own though college never worked out for me. About the time I was graduating high school, it was clear money wasn’t available for higher education. Even as I saved up working at both the library and the diner at home, I knew it would take years to earn enough for four whole years at a university, and my grades weren’t nearly good enough for a scholarship. I only managed to take a couple of natural resource classes at the local community college.

  I walk a few more short blocks before I reach a large intersection and have to wait for the light to change before I can cross. I watch the traffic move by and notice that the street I’ve come to is Main Street. I’m about to walk from the east side of Cascade Falls to the west.

  “Dangerous territory,” I mumble with a smile, then quickly look around to make sure no one else on the street heard me talking to myself.

  Jessie has stopped by my apartment a couple of times in the past week, always with baked goods in her hands. Every time she would end up saying something about the differences between the Eastsiders and the Westsiders. A map showed me that Main Street, which divides the town of Cascade Falls, is also the county line. Aside from that, all the differences noted by Jessie boiled down to east being good and west being bad without a lot of specifics as to why.

  Frankly, she sounded downright paranoid but was otherwise so friendly and kind, I’d just sort of ignored it.

  As I cross the street, I watch the people and the buildings carefully. I expect to see a noticeable change that would explain Jessie’s obvious dislike of the west side, but no variances are immediately evident. The mix of ethnicities appears to be approximately the same. The clothing doesn’t seem either more or less expensive on one side of Main Street compared to the other, and the houses and shops are similar. I take notice of a Presbyterian church about three blocks from another, almost identical, Presbyterian church.

  “Weird.”

  I glance over my shoulder. The light hasn’t changed yet, and I expect to see other people crossing the street from east to west, but no one is. Not a single person is crossing Main Street. In fact, I seem to be the only person who isn’t traveling north or south by foot or by car.

  “Extra weird.”

  I shake my head and make a conscious decision not to worry about this whole division-of-town thing. For all I know, it’s just in Jessie’s head. Maybe it is as simple as a high school rivalry taken a little too seriously by some. Whatever it is, it doesn’t involve me, so I’m not going to worry about it. I have more personally important items to think about.

  My heart beats a little faster as I cross another street and turn a corner. A large, grey, stone building housing the county records office looms in front of me. I take a deep breath and climb the steps.

  Inside, the building is warm, and the people smile as they walk by. I check a sign on the wall and then head toward the desk that looks to be the right one.

  “Name?” the woman behind the counter says.

  “Cherice Bay.”

  “Your address, please.”

  As soon as I tell her my street name, she stops writing and looks up at me, eyes narrowed.

  “You’re in the wrong county,” she says abruptly. “You need to go to the clerk’s office on Poplar Avenue.”

  “I know I live in that county,” I say, “but the records I have are from—”

  “What records?” As she interrupts me, she reaches into her desk and grabs a piece of chewing gum. She pops it into her mouth without making eye contact with me.

  I grit my teeth and pull a form out of the envelope in my backpack, pretending I don’t notice her rudeness. She barely glances at my paperwork before handing it right back to me.

  “It’s from this county,” I say again. “If you could just tell me if I’m in the right office, that would help out a lot.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but those types of documents are sealed, and we can’t give you access to sealed documents.”

  “But I’m the one on the documents!”

  “Even if I could verify that, it doesn’t make any difference. The records are sealed. They can’t be accessed unless you have a court order.”

  “How do I get that?”

  “You’d have to petition the court, but you can’t do that until you’re in the right county.”

  “But this is the county of record.”

  “But it’s not your county.” She stands up and walks away from the desk, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

  I make my way to multiple agencies in the area with similar results. As soon as people find out I live on the other side of town, they refuse to even talk to me anymore.

  “This is positively bizarre!”

  “I’m sorry, miss?”

  “You didn’t even look at my records!”

  “You don’t belong here,” he says simply. “Go to your own county.”

  “You’re talking about a few blocks from here!”

  He shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer, ignoring me completely.

  “Ugh!”

  Before my anger can turn into tears, I stomp out of the office, fist tightened around my envelope of documents. I should have known none of this would be easy, but I expected to gain at least
a little ground. By the time I gave up on one side of town and headed back east, the county office had closed for the weekend. I’d spent all day trying to get information, and I’ve come away with nothing.

  When I arrive back at my apartment, I toss the envelope onto the kitchen table and violently yank the refrigerator door open. I should have bought myself something alcoholic when I went to the grocery store—I could really use a drink about now.

  I end up pouring myself a glass of water and staring out the kitchen window as I drink it. I have a fabulous view of a drainage ditch but quickly get bored with watching the leaves blow by.

  “What is wrong with people around here?”

  Considering everything Jessie had said about Westsiders, I really thought she was just a tad paranoid, but now I’m not so sure. As soon as I revealed where I lived, the Westsiders refused to help me even though all my documentation noted the county on the west side, and when I called, they gave me the west side office’s address.

  I sigh heavily, toss my water cup into the sink, and decide it’s time to think about something else. At this point, there’s nothing I can do until Monday, and I have the whole weekend ahead of me.

  “Maybe I should go out and try to be social.”

  Except I don’t have a social life. Since Aunt Ginny died, I haven’t even heard from any of the people who attended my high school, and they only showed up at the funeral because it was expected of them.

  “The whole point of coming here is to start a new life,” I remind myself. “Part of that is making an effort to meet people and make friends.”

  Having been in Cascade Falls for a whopping five days, I’ve only managed to get my apartment in order and meet one neighbor. I haven’t started doing all the other tasks on my list like finding a job and friends.

  “How would you feel about sharing a bottle of wine with me?” I ask Vee, but she doesn’t seem interested. “Well, I could go out and get one for myself, but drinking alone sounds like the path to alcoholism.”

  I chuckle. Other than wine, I really don’t have a lot of experience with alcohol. The only time I even drank to the point of being tipsy was my twenty-first birthday. Aunt Ginny decided a celebration was in order, and we split a bottle of wine she’d been saving.

  “You need to get yourself some motivation.”

  I’ve heard people say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, but I have to wholeheartedly disagree. I’ve always talked to myself. I learn much better when I hear how to do something rather than just read about it, and I remember things better when I say them out loud. Aunt Ginny always had to ask me if I was talking to her or just myself, and the answer was usually just myself.

  Without her to talk to, I find I do it a lot more often.

  “If I claim I’m talking to you, and talking to plants is supposed to be good for them, then what I’m doing is actually altruistic!”

  I’m not sure if Vee agrees, but it makes me feel better.

  I head to the bathroom to straighten up my hair and makeup. I stare into the mirror at the auburn-haired, freckled face staring back at me. I poke at the bags under my eyes. I know I haven’t slept well since Aunt Ginny passed, and it’s starting to show. Spending so much time on my own hasn’t helped either. I need to go out and meet some people.

  “Where to start?”

  I consider asking Jessie if she’d like to share a bottle of wine with me, but I’m not sure I’m prepared for her kind of energy right now. I could check out the club she mentioned—I could at least get a drink there—but that’s just another version of drinking alone.

  Growing up in a very small town, finding friends was never an issue for me. Everyone knew each other or at least someone in the same family. Effort wasn’t required. However, despite small-town attitudes and relationships, I was never good at forming lasting relationships. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew my classmates and the girls from my Girl Scout troop but nobody I’d consider more than an acquaintance. Acquaintances were all well and good for casual conversation and hanging out during the school basketball games, but I never felt like I connected with anyone on a deeper level. True friendships evaded me, but I’d always been content being with my aunt most of the time.

  “At least there isn’t anyone back at home I miss.” I look out the window at the darkening sky. “That certainly made it easier to leave the only home I’ve ever had and move to a new town, but now I feel completely lost.”

  How does one go out and find new friends in a new place?

  “Walk into a club where you know no one, all by yourself.” When I say it out loud, it doesn’t sound like fun at all. I remember Jessie saying her nephew worked there, but I don’t remember his name. Walking up to a perfect stranger and saying “Hey, I know your aunt!” seems beyond bizarre and not an action I’d consider.

  I pull out my phone and search for things to do in Cascade Falls. The club, Big O, is one of the first things to come up. My other options include a bowling alley, a pottery store where you can paint your own bowls, and a place you can go to throw axes.

  An advertisement for the Winter Lodge pops up, and I click on it. Jessie was right about the holiday season—they do go all out—but all of that ended just a couple of months ago and no major events are scheduled until March. However, the lodge does boast about having the largest indoor water park in the Midwest, an arcade, and an escape room, which is available year-round.

  The escape room actually interests me, but again, I’d need someone to go with me.

  “The dilemma continues.”

  As if in response, my phone chimes. It’s a notification from a dating app I signed up for months ago at the encouragement of one of Aunt Ginny’s recently divorced friends. I’d gone out on a couple disastrous dates and stopped using it. Every once in a while, I’d look, just to see what was out there. I’d start chatting with a few people, get a weird vibe from someone, become intimidated, and quickly close it out.

  “Why are you sending me notifications now? Oh, I see. Phone update. Love it when updating my phone also means changing the settings.”

  I pause, wondering if I should just delete the app altogether or actually respond to a message from “BigBen69.” According to his profile picture, he does catch a nice fish.

  “It’s like none of them know anything about women.” I roll my eyes.

  I notice the app has added some new features, including looking at people who are both online now and close to your location. Tentatively, I scroll through a few of them. I skip all the ones with pictures containing other women, not enough clothing, or too many fish.

  A red exclamation point pops up at the bottom of my screen. BigBen69 has sent me another message. Out of curiosity, I read it.

  BigBen69: how u doin beautiful

  And then when I didn’t reply in the first ten minutes,

  BigBen69: just don’t respond then bitch

  “Seriously?” I consider throwing the phone, but it’s not the phone’s fault, so I don’t. “What an ass!”

  I’m about to turn the phone off when another message appears. The tiny picture in the corner shows a relatively handsome man with dark hair and a nice smile. His user name is simply TommyFlynnW. I take a deep breath and open the message.

  TommyFlynnW: Hi there! Are you new in town or just passing thru? You don’t look familiar, but you do look nice!

  Well, that’s certainly a better introduction than the last one. At least this guy uses punctuation and a reasonable level of spelling accuracy, assuming I can get over “thru.”

  AccidentalC99: Thank you, Tommy. I’m new in town. Just moved here a few days ago.

  TommyFlynnW: Nice! I’ve lived here my whole life. How’s that for small town lol

  AccidentalC99: I thought this was a big city! I come from a much smaller town.

  TommyFlynnW: oh yeah? Where?

  We chat back and forth for a few minutes, and my mood steadily starts to improve, that is, until Tommy asks to meet.

  T
ommyFlynnW: Have you been to the new club over on Locust? I hear it’s hoppin.

  AccidentalC99: The only club I know about is Big O. I haven’t been there yet.

  TommyFlynnW: Big O?

  AccidentalC99: Yeah my neighbor told me about it.

  TommyFlynnW: So you live east of main?

  My skin begins to crawl, and I pause before answering.

  AccidentalC99: Yes. Is that a rpbolem?

  “Dammit!” I hit enter too soon, and my typo goes through. I quickly type it out again, but by the time I do, I get an error message.

  You can no longer send messages to TommyFlynnW!

  “Wait! What?”

  He blocked me.

  That fucker blocked me!

  I have never been blocked from anything in my life. I’ve always considered myself a nice, non-confrontational kind of person and though I wasn’t good at making friends, I simply didn’t make enemies of anyone. In my high school, I had been the loner who didn’t belong to any cliques, but I had never been shunned or bullied. Though it meant I was often lonely, I never felt like I was missing anything and had never been treated cruelly by classmates. I’ve never been unfriended on social media or even blocked into a parking space!

  “What the actual fuck?” I scream at the phone.

  I quickly cover my mouth. Aunt Ginny didn’t approve of swearing unless you were directly connected to the Navy. Then I remember where I am and why, and I can’t stop the tears from flowing. I let it happen for the first time in months. I sit and cry and cry and cry until I’ve practically dehydrated myself, and the tissue box is half empty.

  With labored breaths, I drag myself to the kitchen for some water, drink it down, and then blow my nose loudly. I trudge to the bathroom to wash my face and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  “I’m not going to let some motherfucking Westsider make me feel bad!” I yell at the reflective glass, no longer caring about my language. “That fucking fucker can just go fuck himself!”