Page 1

Buffalo

“Evelyn... Everly Marie Barrett Lasko,” called a clerk from one of the desks in the county records office.

Everly arranged her face in a smile and greeted the clerk, a guy with thinning hair and hands that stayed busy on his ergonomic

split keyboard. He glanced up, then did a double take. Even though her modeling days were behind her, she still got that reaction

sometimes.

“Unusual name,” he commented.

“My mother’s favorite group was the Everly Brothers. Her favorite song was “All I Have to Do Is Dream,” she said, holding

the smile in place.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, his voice and his gaze warming. “I’ve been reading your file, and I want to help.”

“Thank you for seeing me.” She glanced at the name bar on his desk. “Mr. Harris.”

“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he said. “There’s no documentation of your birth in our state or county records.”

Her stomach sank, even though she had been bracing herself for the news.

Her own search had been equally fruitless.

She’d only been able to access her amended birth certificate, created when Roy and Shirley Barrett had adopted her as a newborn.

At that moment, her true origin had been automatically and permanently sealed.

Her past was a secret locked in a vital records room somewhere.

“Isn’t there anything more you can do? Anywhere else you can look? Some other agency, or—?”

“Here’s a list of all the inquiries I’ve made so far. I’m sorry to say, there’s no other place to look.”

She studied the page-long list of offices and agencies. “I’m already registered in the Adoption Information Registry,” she

said.

“I understand, ma’am. But that’s a mutual consent registry for adoptees and birth parents to facilitate a reunion between

registered parties. They can’t issue pre-adoption birth certificates.”

He pursed his lips and scrolled with his mouse. “Your certificate of adoption is from... looks like a girls’ home in Buffalo

that no longer exists.”

“I’m aware of that. I traced the Sisters of Charity to a location in Astoria, New York, but they have no records. They tried

to refer me to—”

“Our Lady of Victory in Lackawanna,” he said. “Yep, they didn’t have anything, either. Nothing from Catholic Charities. Mrs.

Lasko, are your adoptive parents still living?”

She shook her head. “They were older,” she said. “They’ve both passed away. And before you ask, they were open about my adoption.

But they were not sophisticated people. The nuns told them only that the birth mother was underage and wanted the records

sealed. My parents simply accepted the documents they were given when they adopted me. They didn’t realize there was supposed

to be a pre-adoption birth certificate.”

“There were a number of irregular adoptions back in the 1960s,” he said. “I wish I could give you more information. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t get a passport without a pre-adoption birth certificate. Did you know that? I’m fifty-one years old, and I’ve never

left the US.”

“Have you applied to the Department of State for a variance?” he asked.

“Several times,” she said. “I keep being told my documents are ‘irregular,’ like you said. They keep insisting I need to produce my original birth certificate.”

“Could be you weren’t born in this state. It’s clear you were adopted here, but this probably means you were born in another

state. We can’t access records from other states.”

“I know for a fact I was born in New York State. Saint Francis Hospital, right here in Buffalo. It was torn down in the seventies

when the new medical complex was built.”

He tapped his keyboard and wiggled his mouse. “The records would have been moved, then. Could be they were lost, mislabeled,

or damaged somewhere in that process.”

She struggled for patience. The document she sought was just a piece of paper, but its power was about ensuring equal rights

for adoptees—the right to know the most fundamental truth about themselves. “I understand that, but birth records can’t just

disappear. They can’t.”

“I’ve checked and double-checked.” He shook his head. “Mrs. Lasko, I’ve accessed all the records I could find from March and

April 1969. But everything’s a dead end. I’m truly sorry.”

“So, according to your records, I was never born,” said Everly. “I don’t exist.”