Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Raised Naomi
The catering supervisor found Naomi sitting in the kitchen pantry ten minutes later.
Her untouched glass of water stood beside the sink.
Through the wall, she could hear the dinner guests speaking in lowered voices.
"Naomi?"
She looked up.
"You can go home if you need to."
"I need the hours."
Her supervisor, Denise, pulled out a chair.
"We'll pay you for the shift."
Naomi looked down at her hands.
She had spent most of her adult life working two jobs, first at a hotel and now with a catering company. The work was exhausting, but she was proud of paying her own bills.
She hadn't expected a necklace to become the most important thing anyone had ever noticed about her.
A gentle knock came from the doorway.
Evelyn stood there with Julian.
The elderly woman's eyes were swollen.
"May I come in?"
Naomi nodded.
Evelyn took the chair opposite her.
"I owe you an apology for touching your arm."
"It's okay."
"It wasn't. I frightened you."
Naomi looked at the pendant.
"Do you really think I'm your daughter?"
Evelyn took a careful breath.
"I think there's a possibility we need to investigate."
Julian stepped forward.
"There are ways to confirm identities. DNA testing, old records. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
His tone was controlled, but Naomi heard the suspicion beneath it.
She looked at him.
"I didn't come here asking for anything."
Julian's expression shifted.
"I understand."
"No, I don't think you do. I came here to wash dishes."
Evelyn looked toward her son.
"Julian, would you give us a moment?"
He hesitated, then left.
Evelyn removed a small card from her handbag.
"My number is here. You don't have to call tonight, or tomorrow. But if you're willing, I'd like us to find out."
Naomi accepted the card.
"Why did your daughter disappear?"
Evelyn stared down at her folded hands.
"There was a summer festival near our neighborhood. Clara wanted a paper butterfly from one of the stalls."
Her voice softened.
"She was holding my hand."
Naomi waited.
"I stopped to speak with someone. For a few seconds, I let go."
Evelyn swallowed.
"When I turned back, she was gone."
Naomi felt an unexpected ache.
She knew what it meant to be left somewhere.
At least, she thought she did.
"Did anybody see what happened?"
"A witness remembered a little girl leaving the festival beside a man. The description was incomplete. The police never identified him."
Evelyn looked toward the pantry door.
"My husband and I searched for years."
"Is he here?"
"No. He died nine years ago."
For a moment, both women were silent.
Then Evelyn spoke again.
"Tell me about the woman who raised you."
Naomi almost smiled.
"Ruth."
"Was she kind to you?"
"Yes."
The answer came quickly.
Then Naomi thought about what kindness had looked like in their little apartment in Queens.
Ruth worked nights at a nursing home.
She washed Naomi's school uniforms by hand when their washing machine broke.
She learned to braid hair from another mother in their building because Naomi cried when the comb pulled too hard.
When Naomi developed pneumonia at eleven, Ruth slept in a chair beside her hospital bed for three nights.
She wasn't affectionate with words.
But she always showed up.
Except when Naomi asked about her earliest childhood.
Then Ruth became someone different.
Quiet.
Defensive.
Sometimes angry.
"She told me my birth mother died," Naomi said.
Evelyn's eyes filled again.
"Did she ever tell you where you were born?"
"She said somewhere upstate."
"And your father?"
"She didn't know."
Evelyn pressed her lips together.
Naomi could see a question forming.
"Please don't tell me Ruth is a bad person."
Evelyn looked startled.
"I don't know Ruth."
"Then please don't decide what she is before I understand what happened."
The elderly woman nodded slowly.
"You're right."
When Naomi left the mansion, Evelyn didn't attempt to hug her.
She simply walked with her to the service entrance.
Outside, a cold breeze moved through the street.
Naomi reached for her coat.
Evelyn noticed the little moon shining against her uniform.
"Clara used to make me open it every night," she said.
Naomi looked up.
"What?"
"She said the moon belonged inside because otherwise it might float away."
For the first time, Naomi smiled despite herself.
"That sounds like something a kid would say."
"It does."
Evelyn gave a small, sad laugh.
Then Naomi walked toward the subway.
By the time she reached Ruth's apartment, it was nearly midnight.
The television was still playing in the living room.
Ruth, sixty-six, sat in her favorite chair beneath a faded blue blanket.
She looked up as Naomi entered.
"You're late, baby."
Naomi closed the door.
"Work ran long."
Ruth studied her.
"Something happen?"
Naomi removed her coat.
Then she took the silver moon from beneath her collar.
"Mom, where did you really get this necklace?"
Ruth's hand stopped halfway toward the television remote.
For several seconds, she didn't answer.
Then she turned off the television.
"Why are you asking about that?"
Naomi stepped closer.
"Because tonight I met a woman who says she bought it for her missing daughter."
May you like
Ruth's face went pale.
And Naomi knew, before another word was spoken, that this was not the first time Ruth had heard about Clara Whitmore.
