Page 31 of When People Leave

Morgan

T he Weiss sisters’ flight back to Los Angeles had been delayed in New York. They couldn’t get on the plane until the airline could locate a new flight crew. After three hours, they were finally allowed to board.

“They’re lying to us,” Abby said. “Something’s wrong with this plane,” Morgan had to practically carry her down the aisle to their seats. Charlie stayed far behind, acting as if she didn’t know them.

“My kids are going to be left without a mother,” Abby said. Morgan tried to calm her down, as the other passengers stared at Abby as if she knew something they didn’t.

When they finally got back to Carla’s house late that night, and Abby and Charlie had gone to bed, Morgan looked at the couch. She bit down hard on her lip, knowing there was only one way she would get a good night’s sleep.

The following day, she woke up in Carla’s bed with her arms wrapped around Albert. Her stomach clenched as she looked around the room, knowing her mother would never sleep in that bed again. She pushed that thought out of her mind and pulled a happy memory into its place.

Growing up, the three girls would get into bed with Carla while she read them stories from Winnie-the-Pooh.

As Morgan got older, she couldn’t admit she’d aged out of having her mom read to her.

She didn’t want to give up listening to Carla’s rendition of Eeyore.

Even at thirty-four, Morgan could still imagine Carla pursing her lips together, producing a nasally tenor to her voice and sounding exactly like the cartoon character.

Morgan fluffed the pillows behind her back and sat up straighter, waking Albert. He licked her face repeatedly; he missed Carla as much as she did.

Morgan listened for any sounds coming from the kitchen. She didn’t smell fresh coffee, bacon, or burned bread. Although Abby kept telling her it was terrible for her, Charlie liked her toast charred.

“I guess we’re the only ones awake, Albert.”

Albert crawled beside her, put his head on her pillow, and fell fast asleep.

“Fine, I’m the only one awake,” Morgan said, nuzzling Albert, who blasted her with a wet dream snort. She wiped her cheek with the edge of the sheet and laid back down.

The moment she closed her eyes again, the thoughts plaguing her for days returned with a vengeance, like a game of Tetris where none of the shapes fit in their correct spots.

Going to Las Vegas hadn’t given them answers, and they had found very little in Brooklyn.

Morgan didn’t want to give up, although all the signs pointed to them never knowing why her mother did what she did.

Since Morgan couldn’t drink alcohol, she needed a different kind of distraction. She padded off to the kitchen to make oatmeal with blueberries. As the water began to boil, another thought pushed to the surface. What could Mom have done to Antonio Sr. for him to hate her?

Morgan turned the burner off and headed into her mother’s office.

She tried three more times to figure out the computer password.

When those didn’t work, she slammed her hands on the desk.

Look what you’re doing to me, Mom! She yanked one of the desk drawers out in frustration and dropped it onto the floor with a bang. Charlie and Abby ran into the room.

“What’s going on in here?” Charlie said. “It sounded like you lost it.” There were pens, paper clips, rubber bands, and Post-its littering the floor. “And…I was right.”

Morgan pulled another drawer out and dropped it on the ground alongside its sibling. Printer cartridges, return address labels, and thumbtacks were scattered on the ground with the other office supplies.

“This isn’t going to help anything,” Abby said.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Morgan cried. “We’re fighting a losing battle.”

“Then let’s fight it together,” Charlie said, copying Morgan by yanking out another desk drawer and sending it flying.

“Not you, too,” Abby said to Charlie. She got under the desk to clean up the mess. “Hey, look!” Abby yanked off a few papers that were taped to the wood under the desk.

“What is that?” Charlie asked.

As Abby stood up, Morgan took the papers out of Abby’s hands and looked at them. “They’re our birth certificates,” Morgan said.

“They can’t be. Mine’s in my safety deposit box back home,” Charlie said.

Morgan handed Charlie and Abby theirs. The women stood so close together that their arms were almost intertwined, like strands of a braided challah.

“Why would Mom hide copies of our birth certificates under her desk?” Abby asked.

Charlie stared at the one she was holding. “These aren’t right; they must be fake.”

“They don’t look fake,” Abby said. “They have that raised stamp from the hospital.”

Morgan’s body went limp. “Why would Mom hide these if they weren’t our real ones.”

“So, you think the ones we have at home are phony?” Charlie asked.

“None of this makes sense,” Abby said. “Were we even born?”

“You’re right. We don’t exist,” Morgan said to Abby, then interlaced her fingers to stop herself from cracking her knuckles. “I need to sit down,” she said. She worried her legs might crumple beneath her.

Morgan made her way down to the floor, and Charlie and Abby sat next to her. Each had a far-off, cloudy gaze. Morgan tapped her fist against her lips as if she wanted something to come out of her mouth that would be a reasonable explanation.

Abby pointed to the document she was holding. “This says I was born in January, not March, and my last name isn’t Weiss; it’s Brenner.”

“All of these say our last name is Brenner,” Morgan said.

“If those are our real birth certificates, then who are we?” Charlie said.

“Where does yours say you were born?” Abby asked Charlie.

Charlie looked at both her and Morgan’s papers. “Morgan and I were born at Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn,” Charlie said.

“Mine says I was born at Providence St. Joseph’s Medical Center in Burbank, California. I thought Mom left our father after I was born,” Abby said.

“Mom told us a lot of things that are not true. She had to have moved to Los Angeles when she was still pregnant with you,” Morgan said to Abby.

“So, if these are real, our dad’s last name is Brenner, not Weiss,” Charlie said.

“Yes, Brian Brenner,” Morgan said.

“That’s why we couldn’t find his obituary on the internet,” Abby said. “We had the wrong name.”

Morgan jumped up and sat down at Carla’s computer. Charlie and Abby got up and stood on each side of Morgan. Morgan typed in the password Brenner4, and the computer brought up Carla’s app screen.

“You’re in,” Abby said.

“How did you figure out the password?” Charlie asked.

“It hit me when I saw our real last names. I just added Mom’s favorite number,” Morgan said.

Abby nodded vigorously. “Mom used to say we were the four musketeers.”

Morgan signed into her mother’s email as Abby and Charlie hovered nearby like children waiting for their parents to open the Fruit Loops-decorated frame they’d made at school. Morgan clicked on every email, going back as far as she could.

“There’s nothing here,” Morgan said.

“We’ve hit another dead end,” Charlie said.

“Maybe not,” Abby said. “I have an idea.”

Morgan got out of the chair so Abby could sit. Abby searched obituaries for Brian Brenner in the tri-state area. There were two, and both men had died in the last four years and were over the age of seventy when they passed away. “There’s no obituary,” Abby said.

“What if he’s not dead?” Charlie asked.

Abby picked up a pencil and started tapping it on the desktop. “What if Mom knew he was alive and kept it from us.”

Morgan couldn’t concentrate because of the rhythmic noise Abby was making. She reached over, took the pencil from Abby’s hand, and dropped it on the floor with the other office supplies.

“Mom wouldn’t do that. She knew how hard it was for us growing up without him,” Morgan said.

“Mom also told us our last name was Weiss,” Abby said.

Abby typed in Brian Brenner in New York; nothing came up. Then, she tried the name in all the states bordering New York. There were several Brian Brenners in New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and one in Rhode Island.

“We can call these men and see if they are our father,” Abby said.

“But what if we find him, and he hangs up on us? Mom said he didn’t want to be a father,” Charlie said.

“If we don’t call, we’ll never know the truth,” Abby said.

“And we won’t be able to move on,” Morgan asked.

They looked at each other. There was nothing else to say.