Chapter 5 - THE SEALED LETTER
Marco eventually said:
“Open it.”
Nobody moved.
Then he repeated:
“Open the letter.”
Domenico removed the yellowed envelope from his coat.
Rachel Bell placed a document sleeve on the table.
“Before you open it, photograph both sides.”
Domenico almost told her no.
Then stopped.
The family had enough undocumented decisions.
Camilla photographed it.
Front.
Back.
Seal.
Then Domenico slid a letter opener beneath the flap his wife had preserved for thirty-two years.
Inside were four pages.
One cashier's check.
Expired.
Five hundred dollars.
Payable to:
Domenico and Elena Russo, for Marco Gabriel Mercer
Marco stared at his original surname.
Mercer.
Then Domenico read.
Julia had written from a sober-living residence.
She did not ask for Marco back immediately.
That mattered.
I know I frightened Elena when I came to the house. I frightened myself. I was not sober and I had no business taking a baby anywhere.
Marco closed his eyes.
Not denial.
Then:
I am asking you not to turn the worst day of my life into proof that every day after it will be the same.
Domenico stopped.
Nobody spoke.
My counselor says I should ask for supervised contact. I will accept whatever professional supervision is required. I will submit testing. I will not come to your home without permission.
The cashier's check was contribution toward Marco's expenses.
Not much.
Probably a lot to Julia then.
Then:
Victor's office says adoption may be discussed if I remain absent. I am not absent. Please do not tell a court that I am.
Domenico looked at Victor.
Victor's face tightened.
Domenico kept reading.
I am not asking you to call me a good mother. I am asking you not to call me gone.
Marco got up.
Walked to the fireplace.
Turned his back.
The final page was addressed directly to Domenico.
Gabriel trusted you. I still do, even if that is stupid. If you believe Marco is safest with you while I get better, I will live with that for now. But please don't make “for now” permanent without letting me speak.
Domenico lowered the pages.
Camilla was crying quietly.
Victor was not.
He looked too exhausted for tears.
Marco turned.
“What happened to the check?”
Victor answered.
“Returned.”
“When?”
“A week later.”
“With what?”
Silence.
Marco stepped closer.
“With what, Uncle Victor?”
“A letter from counsel.”
“Whose counsel?”
“Ours.”
“What did it say?”
“That the Russos would not accept financial support while permanency proceedings were being considered.”
Marco stared.
“So then later everybody said she didn't support me.”
Victor looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
That was ugly.
Specific.
Then Victor added:
“But she did sign the final adoption consent.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“You keep saying that like it cleans everything.”
“No.”
Victor finally looked at him.
“It doesn't.”
Domenico read the date.
November 1994.
The adoption consent had been signed eight months later.
July 1995.
Something happened between those dates.
Something changed Julia from:
Do not make this permanent
to signing away parental rights.
The sealed letter answered one question.
She had not vanished.
May you like
It opened a worse one.
Why had she eventually agreed to disappear?
