Page 58 of Tear Me Apart

“We are going to get through this. They’re going to find you a match, and you’re going to get well. In time for the trials. I feel that in my heart.”

Mindy can’t speak without the tears falling. She nods.

“Good girl. Now, let’s get you upstairs.”

Mindy navigates the stairs from the garage to the main floor, noticing for the first time she is out of breath at the top. She tries not to panic. Dr. Oliver told her the chemo was going to sap all her energy and strength.

“What would you like to do, sweetheart? Are you feeling up for something to eat?”

Mindy shakes her head. She is feeling woozy and wants some time alone. She needs to adjust to this news, to the idea that she belongs to someone else. “I just want to lie down. I might watch the rest of the races. You recorded them, right?”

Lauren’s face clouds, her eyebrows draw together into a single line. “Is that such a good idea, honey? You watching the team move on without you?”

Without me...“Of course it is. By the way, Coach texted me, said I have a spot as soon as I can get back on my feet. He wants to come talk to you when he gets back from France.”

“I don’t think we’re quite ready for visitors, do you?”

“Mom, cancer isn’t catching.”

“But we have to keep your immune system strong, and Coach has been traveling. I think it would be best to keep you isolated, just until the transplant. Okay?”

“Is the adoption what was up between you and Aunt J?”

Lauren’s eyes flash and she turns away, heads into the kitchen. “We had a disagreement, that’s all. Your father will be here any minute, and he has a work call to make. If you’re going to take it easy in your room for a bit, I think I’ll go to King Soopers and get a few things. Low sodium broth? Sugar-free Jell-O?”

Mindy makes a face. Life-changing moments and her mom wants to go grocery shopping. “Fine. But pudding. Chocolate. Don’t get the low-cal sugar-free stuff. I probably need it with sugar. I’m losing too much weight.”

Lauren’s face registers a moment’s shock then she rearranges her features into a smile. “Of course. Real pudding it is. Anything for my sweet girl. I’ll be back in an hour. Sleep some, and tonight, we’ll watch a movie.”

“Okay.”

She waits until she sees Lauren’s Lexus sweep out of the drive, then quietly edges into the master bedroom. Lauren’s strong allusion in the car—unfair things have happened to me, too—might have something to do with the letter. Mindy gets the sense she still doesn’t know the whole truth about her birth.

Her dad isn’t here yet; she’ll hear the door beep when he gets home.

The letter isn’t in the drawer. It’s been hidden away. Where might her mother keep it?

Mindy searches the remaining drawers, the closet, the bed, and finds nothing. The office is off-limits. Besides, her dad will need to hang there to take his call. Where else? Where does no one go, not even the maid?

The attic—but there’s no chance of her making it up there with her crutches. Her mom doesn’t like it either, it’s cold and dark, and Mindy remembers Lauren complaining about how creepy it is once.

What if...

Back to the dresser. She pulls it from the wall—it slides easily, felt pads on the feet so as not to scratch the wood flooring—and is rewarded. There is a manila envelope taped to the back, in between the supports.

Mindy’s heart is racing.

She puts the dresser back and takes the envelope to her room, and into the bathroom. She takes a book with her, too, as cover. She closes and locks the door.

She sits at her dressing table, thankful for the soft chair, and opens the envelope. There are several letters inside. All handwritten, all old and soft. They are in chronological order—and she realizes the letters are a correspondence, between this Liesel person and someone named V. Why would her mother have these?

She glances through them, confused, then starts to read.

January 1994

Dear V,

I got the tattoo! Can you believe it? It hurt so much, but just like you said, the hurt was a good kind of hurt. Of course, my mom saw the bandage and insisted I tell her why there was a butterfly outlined in blood on it. I showed her, and she promptly freaked out. She insisted I have it removed, made an appointment at this fancy dermatologist, but I said no way. Stood up for myself, like you always tell me to. She’s still acting like I committed some sort of heinous crime, like she caught me plunging a knife in someone’s throat. You should have seen her face, it really was priceless. I mean, you’d think I pierced my nipples or some such horror. She swore not to let me out of the house for months, and not to let me get my license. I told her should she lock me inside her dank, dreary mausoleum of a house, I would promptly slit my wrists and lie down on her precious Aubusson carpet to bleed out. (It’s the pretty silver and pink one I told you about.) Heh, she didn’t like that image, broke down in tears, apologized. Like I care what she thinks. She then took me for my learner’s permit. I passed! I’m one step closer to freedom.