Gathering Water: Gathering Water Trilogy, #1

1

Eighteen. It’s the year we all expect our lives to change. It is, after all, when you finally become an adult—finally become in charge of your own life. Most people wake up on that monumental day and run to the mirror, convinced they magically transformed into a bona-fide adult during their eight hours of sleep. Others lie in bed, thinking about the momentous changes sure to be coming .

I’m sure there are some people who go about their day as if nothing is different, and usually, nothing is. I liked to think those are the people who are most content with their lives...the people who have no unanswered questions, no haunting pasts, and no uncertainty about their futures.

When my eighteenth birthday arrived, I didn’t rush to the mirror eager to see my grownup self. Being in the foster system since birth kept me from seeing the day as different from any other.

I probably lay in bed for ten minutes before my alarm finally convinced me to get up. Eighteen was huge. It was a birthday I had waited impatiently and anxiously for. It meant I was legally an adult, and for foster kids like myself, that’s a big deal. I was no longer a ward of the state. I had control. I didn’t have to worry about getting a new family if I made a mistake. No more psych evaluations and no more child services. I

was

free

!

It also meant that I was suddenly responsible for myself.

Just yesterday, I had a team of people to answer to—people who fed me, clothed me, told me what to do and when to do it. If I had felt like a prisoner to the system before, I felt as if I were adrift at

sea

now

.

After getting out of bed, I stepped gingerly over my two duffel bags’ worth of clothes into the hallway and made my way downstairs. Most of my room was already packed. I didn’t have many personal belongings, which would make moving that much easier since Margaret, my foster mother, was no longer responsible for providing me with

a

room

.

Margaret was, as always, already up when I walked into the kitchen. She was an early riser and usually drinking her second cup of coffee by the time I rolled out of bed. The previous eight months had actually been decent because of her. She was an elderly woman, with salt and pepper hair and a disapproving mouth—not exactly warm and cuddly, but she treated me well enough. She kept mostly to herself except at mealtimes, when she insisted we be together. I’d had worse rules. I think she appreciated my company since her own children so rarely visited—only twice since I

moved

in

.

Though my world already felt so different, that morning’s routine continued as it usually did. Margaret finished making her oatmeal and started on the coffee while I poured milk into my Lucky Charms, then we both sat down to eat in companionable silence at the beige card table she kept in the kitchen. When we finished eating, I grabbed our mismatched dishes and brought them to the sink before lathering them up with lemon scented dish soap and playing the part of dishwasher. When I reached for the flamingo-decorated dishtowel to start drying, I was surprised to find Margaret had already started on

the

job

.

I can finish this up, I

told

her

.

I don’t doubt your abilities, but I can at least dry the dishes on your birthday. Not knowing what else to do, I thanked her, then turned to go back down the hallway into my soon-to-be former room, but was stopped by a tentative touch on

my

arm

.

Della, the new kid isn’t supposed to be here for another couple weeks. You’re welcome to stay until then, Margaret said, surprising me. I knew she was going to get another ward soon. She’d been fostering consistently for the past ten years and acted as a way station of sorts—only holding on to a kid for a few months until a better place was found.

Um, thanks, Margaret, but I’m already packed, and it won’t take that long to move my things into the apartment above the convenience store.

My job at that store had been a lifeline. The pay wasn’t exactly great, but in a smaller town the job options were limited, especially since school was out. My boss, Marv, was letting me rent the small room above it for cheap in exchange for fixing it up and making the space livable, since it barely fit

that

bill

.

After thanking her for the offer, I went on to my room. I was supposed to meet with my social worker for the last time, and even though she no longer had any say in my life, old habits died hard. I put on my nicest sundress and made sure my mousy brown hair was properly subdued.

The meeting really should have been before my birthday to see how I was preparing for the transition, but things kept getting held up. Sara was by far the best social worker I’d had, mostly because she hadn’t been doing the job long enough to become disenchanted. She still cared. She was the one who got me placed with Margaret instead of another

group

home

.

I didn’t hear her car pull up, but knew when she arrived all the same. I’d always had uncanny instincts for that type of thing, and I was at the door by the time she was up the steps. This would be the last time I saw her, but I wasn’t expecting this particular visit to affect my life in any way. I thought the meeting represented the end of my old life, but really, it marked the beginning of my

new

one

.

2

We sat in the only café the town had to offer. Sara always insisted on meeting in a neutral place so I would feel comfortable. Usually, Margaret would be at another table reading a newspaper until she was called over for her own part of our meeting, but I guess since I was now eighteen, Sara no longer needed to speak to my former guardian .

She spent the first few minutes sipping her black red-eye, which was just a fancy way of saying coffee with a shot of espresso—having a caffeine addiction must be part of the job description for social workers. I had my usual raspberry hot chocolate with extra whipped cream even though it was really just fancy chocolate milk, since I ordered it iced over the summer months.

My entire existence had been unpredictable, so I liked the comfort of having something unchanged in my life, even if that something was a sugary drink.

When the silence began to turn awkward, I decided to jumpstart the conversation.

"I’ve already packed everything, and Margaret said I could borrow her car to move my things and go shopping for the necessities. There’s an old pickup that’s been for sale for as long as I’ve been here, and I think I have enough money to buy it, but I didn’t want to use all my money right away. I mean, the store is right down the

street

from

—

"

"Della, I know. We’ve already talked about all of this. Really, I believe you. This isn’t an official meeting anyway. I took an early lunch break so I could see you today. You remember the promise I made you when we

first

met

?"

Ah, that. I remembered it. It was the week after Thanksgiving. I had just been kicked out of another foster home and was staying in the group home I’d thought I’d be in until my birthday.

Group homes can be all right, but this one wasn’t. There were too many other teenagers, and those of us who’d lived in the system our whole lives…well, we were kinda hard to live with. I didn’t do so well with other people, and I was an easy target for some of the other kids—and by kids, I

mean

guys

.

I had just spent another sleepless night guarding myself from the creeps in the house. Most of the other girls would help each other out and take turns keeping watch, but I didn’t make friends very easily, so I was on

my

own

.

On this day, in walked Sara—yet another social worker who had been thrust upon me. I didn’t know if they got to trade us kids like baseball cards or what, but I rarely had workers stay with me for more than a year or two before throwing their hands up. Maybe they all just quit after working with me…I don’t know. Anyway, you could tell Sara was new on the job. She carried a shiny new briefcase and there were no discernible grey hairs.

I grudgingly sat in the room they used for private meetings and listened to her drone on and on about how she was going to help me, how I should think of her as a friend, and how friends trust each other.

Well, after she hinted for me to open up for about the tenth time, I did—

big

time

.

I plead temporary insanity. I just wanted her to be quiet. It was the only time I could sneak off to sleep without worrying too much about being…ahem…bothered, and I hated her for interrupting that. It was like an out-of-body experience, and I could only sit there and watch myself blab on about how there was no place for me. That I never did anything wrong and people still couldn’t stand to be around me. That I didn’t even have a single living relative and how that must have been proof of how innately wrong

I

was

.

Basically, I told her about every foster kid’s worst fears.

When I finally got to the part about how sleep-deprived I was because I didn’t want to be woken in the middle of the night again by some creep sticking his hand up my shirt, I came to my senses, wiped my face, and refused to make eye contact for the rest of the meeting.

Right before she left, after unsuccessfully hugging me—I’m not a hugger—she took my hand and told me she’d help me. She promised to help me find my place.

The next day, I was placed with Margaret—an ideal home for a kid like me; a place with locks on the doors. As far as I was concerned, she had kept her promise, and she was the first person to do so in my entire life. Her asking me if I remembered made me think she was angling for me to return the favor or something. I just nodded my head and stirred the now gross-looking whipped cream into my iced

chocolate

milk

.

Well, it’s taken me a little longer than I anticipated, and when I did find it, I had to wait until you were eighteen to give you the details, which is why I had to cancel our last meeting. I mean, it was hard enough not telling you over the phone.

Realizing she wasn’t making any sense, she took a deep breath and tried again. I found it. Well, I found something.

You found what? At this point, I was pretty confused.

I found your place. I mean, I found where you come from, and your family, and…well, everything!

Now, she was just being cruel. I don’t know what you mean. I was told my mother died giving birth to me, that she was a Jane Doe, I

pointed

out

.

Well, she did, and she was. But I got ahold of her personal effects and was going to give them to you for your birthday. Here. She pulled out a manila folder and slid it across the table.

It turns out some detective a few years ago got into some trouble and was put on desk duty, and one of his case files was finding out who your mother was. Her name was Gabriella Deare, and she was from North Carolina. There are some things that go to you, she said as she tapped the folder. "Take

a

look

."

Numbly, I opened the folder and tipped the contents out, barely registering the clink of metal hitting the table with all the paper. If I had ever had a surreal moment, this was

definitely

it

.

I didn’t look at the copy of the police report. In my current state of shock, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to make any sense of it. There was a cheap journal with my mother’s name carefully written on the front that had been a vibrant red at some point, but many years’ worth of fading turned it into a dull pink. Flipping through it, I saw a looping scrawl of what must have been her handwriting. There were more papers there, but I couldn’t make my brain function enough to understand the writing covering them. Though, by the multiple signatures at the bottom of most of them, they seemed important.

Sara observed me, tactfully not commenting on how bad my hands were shaking as I organized the papers so all the sides lined up perfectly and slipped them back into the folder. Left on the table was an ornate key, nearly black. I picked it up, fingering the top of it which was worked into one of those intertwined knots. The knot was familiar, and I realized it was the same power of three symbol from a show one of my foster mothers used to watch. There was a long chain looped through the top, which I started wrapping and unwrapping around my fist as I looked up at Sara, too overwhelmed to speak.

It’s a lot to take in, I know. I’m sure someone would have notified you about all this soon anyway, but I wanted you to have it today. I wanted to be able to hand it to you and offer my help, as a friend. She paused for two whole seconds, and her exuberance made me see her as someone more than my jailer for the first time. She was a person, and probably only a few years older

than

I

.

Are you going to go there? I mean, it’s quite a long way away. North Carolina is literally on the other side of the country, but you still have family there. And a house, she said, picking up the folder laying on the table and waving it around. Your grandmother left you a house too. I’m not really sure how that works since you weren’t even born when she died, but it’s been held in trust for your mother’s daughter all these years. There’s a lawyer who’s been in charge of keeping up with the taxes and insurance, so all you need to do is prove who your mother is and you’re all set. She paused, took a big gulp of her coffee, then continued.

Also, there are a couple bonds that were your mother’s. They were easy to track down once I had her name and social security number. They are being held in a safety deposit box close to where she lived, and they go to you now as well. About six thousand dollars in all, and they’re fully matured. She gasped in a deep breath, since she’d been talking so fast, then went on to destroy my

world

-

view

.

They wouldn’t mail them to me. Said they had to be picked up by the deposit owner, which is you, in person. There might be some other things in there as well. They couldn’t tell me. You’ll need to update your birth certificate so it has your mother’s name on it, and just bring that and her death certificate, which is in the police file, to prove you are who you say you are. I have all the necessary paperwork in the folder for you. They were really friendly on the phone. I’m sure they won’t make it difficult for you once you get there.

All I could do was stare at her, too dumbstruck to say anything. How was I even supposed to feel in this type of situation? Actually, I started feeling a little angry. That anger helped me find my voice.

You mentioned family. I have living, breathing family there?

Yes. I can’t believe I went on and on about a house when I should’ve been telling you about your family! Your mother’s father still lives there, and I believe she had a brother. There’s probably some extended family, too. Her voice had been getting higher pitched the longer she talked, probably from excitement about the prospect. I don’t think she noticed that I

was

not

.

The police had to contact them about my mom, right? To identify her or something? Do they know about me? I knew the answer: of course they did. I crossed

my

arms

.

Well, I’m sure they know about you. I could tell the exact moment it dawned on her—that they must have known about me for years now, if the police report was correct. Orphans were usually shipped off and adopted by any living relatives, or at least fostered by them. The only exceptions were if they were unfit or unwilling. Even if they hadn’t learned of my existence until a few years ago, they still would have been notified and asked to take

me

in

.

Pity seeped into her face. Since I wasn’t in the mood for the pep talk she was probably about to give me, I gathered the folder and stood, clutching the key in my hand so hard, my fingers were tingling from lack of

blood

flow

.

"Yeah, well…thanks for giving me all this. I’ve got to go. Still have a lot of stuff I need to do and I think Margaret wanted me to eat lunch with her today before

I

left

."

As far as excuses went, mine was pretty lame. I just had to get away from her—get away from other people for a few minutes. I walked off with my hands full before Sara could really react. The chair squeaked when she stood to call my name, but I didn’t look back, and she didn’t come after me. I think she knew I needed some time alone.

I walked the two miles back to Margaret’s, going back and forth between mad, hurt, and excited. Mad and hurt seemed to win over excited, and after I let myself into the house, I went to my room, shoved the folder into one of my still open bags, then told myself nothing in my life was different because of it. I was determined to forget all

about

it

.

Margaret, with her perfect timing, was just finishing up my favorite lunch when I walked in: grilled cheese and tomato soup. We were going to eat on the patio, and I was instructed to wait at the two-person table while she brought out our plates.

I didn’t realize I still had the key and chain wrapped in my fist until I went in for my first bite. I put it down and tried to ignore it, but every few moments, I found myself tracing the imprint left in my palm and staring idly at the

offending

key

.

Is everything okay? How was your talk with Sara? As a rule, Margaret and I didn’t talk about things, not real things anyway, but she must have noticed something was up with me and was trying out her very rusty maternal instincts.

It was good, I guess. Very informative, I muttered the last bit, but not really soft enough not to be heard.

That’s a pretty necklace. I don’t remember seeing it before. Did Sara give that to you for your birthday? She gestured toward the key sitting innocently next to

my

bowl

.

Well…kind of. Apparently, it belonged to my mother. They found out who she was. I guess she left me some stuff back where she lived. Not like I’ll go and get it or anything. Her stupid family can just keep it. I rarely acted the part of a surly teenager, but exceptional circumstances were cause for exceptional behavior, or something

like

that

.

They know who your mother was? She has family? Child, that means you have family! That’s something to be happy about!

Yeah, but they knew about me! They knew where I was. They didn’t just find out, they’ve known for years. I could have had a home, Margaret. They could have been my family. They didn’t even contact me and let me know they existed. They could have, you know. Even if they didn’t take me on, the courts would have let them contact me. I know tons of other kids in the system who at least get a birthday card from their birth family, even if they’re being fostered, I told her, even knowing she was well aware of that fact. When she didn’t say anything, I went on with my rant, the words burning in my chest and jeopardizing my prized control.

They didn’t even want to know me. Why would I go there for some stupid house that’s probably rundown, and some stupid family who doesn’t care if I exist? I’ve gone my whole life without whatever’s out there, I don’t see why I need it now. I just want to forget about it all and get on with my life! I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Outbursts were outside of my norm, and I took extra care to slow my breathing.

Margaret sat back, her hands in her lap and that look in her eye she got when she knew she was right about something glaring back at me. It was a look she reserved for trivia game shows—something she was both obsessed with and brilliant with. It told me everything I needed to know: she wasn’t going to

drop

this

.

Well, it seems like it would be a little difficult to move toward your future if you don’t know your past. She wiped invisible crumbs from her mouth with her napkin. Della, even if you don’t see these people at all, you need to go back and find out about your mother. You said she left you a house? That seems like a pretty good way to start a new life, which is exactly what you’ve been planning, right? Why shouldn’t you start that new life in a place where you can find some answers rather than above some old convenience store? she asked in her no-nonsense manner.

"It’s not that simple. Even if I wanted to go, the house is in North Carolina. I’ve never even left California. I can’t go to the opposite side of the country just because of some empty house and relatives who don’t want to know me. How would I even get there? What am I supposed to do there? It’s better I just forget the whole thing and move on with my