Gemini Rising (Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, Book 1) by Harley Christensen
Authors: Harley Christensen
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a massive stroke. His widow, Jeannie, was remarkably pleasant, and though I was somewhat vague about my reason for calling, seemed happy to have a distraction from her shows.
She had heard about the Winestone’s accident on the national news and apologized for my loss. Ok, I might have told her I was Victoria’s sister, but she drew her own conclusion about my relationship to the Winestones.
According to Mrs. Silverton, her husband had been in private practice for the better part of his career, though she made no mention of the Sterling Joy Agency. I asked if she knew what had become of his case files, and she said no. I believed her. She was probably one of those wives who had no idea what their husbands did during the day and didn’t care to know, just as long as they came home for dinner. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, it just wouldn’t work for me. Disclaimer: This is solely the opinion of a single woman in her late twenties—please feel free to draw your own conclusions.
Anyway, as it was clearly a dead-end, I thanked the nice lady for her time, and we said our goodbyes. It wasn’t all for nothing. I did come up with some nice to-dos for Anna’s list. Yup, still spreading the generosity.
Before contacting the University of Chicago Medical Center, I did some quick research. Cheryl Earley had been an administrator at the time Victoria and I were born. Turns out, she still was, but nowadays, she was a little higher up on the food chain.
Unfortunately in my experience, the higher up you are, the more assistants there are between you and Jill Public, aka me. As expected, it took me quite a few transfers to get to the point where I was granted access to Ms. Earley’s voicemail.
Imagine my surprise when Cheryl Earley picked up. Avoiding the crazy, sordid details, I stuck with the basics and told Ms. Earley I was trying to track down information surrounding my adoption—that my sister and I had been born at UCMC almost thirty years earlier and both of our parents had died a short time later, resulting in our adoptions with a local agency. I was about to go on, but she stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, “you’re one of the twins.”
“You know about me?” I croaked. “About my family?”
“I could hardly forget. I had recently been promoted to my first administrator position. You and your sister had been born prematurely—by a couple of weeks, if I remember correctly—but you were both healthy. And your mother, she was doing great. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. She went so fast. They couldn’t save her…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“No, no…please, it’s why I called.” I told her of my adoptive parent’s deaths, Victoria’s—then Ella—parent’s deaths and finally, about Victoria’s murder.
I waited for her response. And waited. Then, I realized I’d made a colossal error in judgment. I was convinced she was going to hang up on me.
Instead, she surprised me. “Arianna, I’m so sorry, for all the loss you’ve had to endure. If only things could have been different. It’s almost as though your mother’s death set off a chain reaction that would follow you for the rest of your life.” I would later reflect on the truth of that statement. “What can I do to help?”
“I’m still trying to get my head around all of this. I’ve run into nothing but brick walls so far, but perhaps you can help me find out more information about my birth parents—any documents, records, etc. that might still exist. Anything, no matter how insignificant it seems, could lead to something.”
“Please dear, call me Cheryl. I think I can help. Records dating back that far are archived at an understaffed, off-site facility. It’s going to take some time, but I might have a way to cut through some of the bureaucratic red tape. Here’s what we’ll do—give me your e-mail address.”
After
She had heard about the Winestone’s accident on the national news and apologized for my loss. Ok, I might have told her I was Victoria’s sister, but she drew her own conclusion about my relationship to the Winestones.
According to Mrs. Silverton, her husband had been in private practice for the better part of his career, though she made no mention of the Sterling Joy Agency. I asked if she knew what had become of his case files, and she said no. I believed her. She was probably one of those wives who had no idea what their husbands did during the day and didn’t care to know, just as long as they came home for dinner. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, it just wouldn’t work for me. Disclaimer: This is solely the opinion of a single woman in her late twenties—please feel free to draw your own conclusions.
Anyway, as it was clearly a dead-end, I thanked the nice lady for her time, and we said our goodbyes. It wasn’t all for nothing. I did come up with some nice to-dos for Anna’s list. Yup, still spreading the generosity.
Before contacting the University of Chicago Medical Center, I did some quick research. Cheryl Earley had been an administrator at the time Victoria and I were born. Turns out, she still was, but nowadays, she was a little higher up on the food chain.
Unfortunately in my experience, the higher up you are, the more assistants there are between you and Jill Public, aka me. As expected, it took me quite a few transfers to get to the point where I was granted access to Ms. Earley’s voicemail.
Imagine my surprise when Cheryl Earley picked up. Avoiding the crazy, sordid details, I stuck with the basics and told Ms. Earley I was trying to track down information surrounding my adoption—that my sister and I had been born at UCMC almost thirty years earlier and both of our parents had died a short time later, resulting in our adoptions with a local agency. I was about to go on, but she stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, “you’re one of the twins.”
“You know about me?” I croaked. “About my family?”
“I could hardly forget. I had recently been promoted to my first administrator position. You and your sister had been born prematurely—by a couple of weeks, if I remember correctly—but you were both healthy. And your mother, she was doing great. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. She went so fast. They couldn’t save her…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“No, no…please, it’s why I called.” I told her of my adoptive parent’s deaths, Victoria’s—then Ella—parent’s deaths and finally, about Victoria’s murder.
I waited for her response. And waited. Then, I realized I’d made a colossal error in judgment. I was convinced she was going to hang up on me.
Instead, she surprised me. “Arianna, I’m so sorry, for all the loss you’ve had to endure. If only things could have been different. It’s almost as though your mother’s death set off a chain reaction that would follow you for the rest of your life.” I would later reflect on the truth of that statement. “What can I do to help?”
“I’m still trying to get my head around all of this. I’ve run into nothing but brick walls so far, but perhaps you can help me find out more information about my birth parents—any documents, records, etc. that might still exist. Anything, no matter how insignificant it seems, could lead to something.”
“Please dear, call me Cheryl. I think I can help. Records dating back that far are archived at an understaffed, off-site facility. It’s going to take some time, but I might have a way to cut through some of the bureaucratic red tape. Here’s what we’ll do—give me your e-mail address.”
After
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