Free Ties That Bind by Debbie White Page B

closest to the window was neatly made and had a couple of stuffed animals on top. On the built-in dresser top were personal items such as a handheld mirror, brush, comb, and pictures of people. I walked over to look at the photos.
    “Do you think this is her?” I asked Charles.
    It was a picture of a young woman with a young child and a man. I assumed it was her and her husband, when their family was young and just starting out. The other picture was of my mother and Teresa during the latter years of Mother’s life. No picture of Daddy, and definitely none of me.
    “Ahem,” a voice said behind us.
    We both turned around to see a woman in her late seventies in a wheelchair. I could immediately see the resemblance and knew it was her.
    “Can I help you with something?” She said rather abrupt.
    I didn’t blame her for being angry. After all, two people were in her room, snooping around.
    “Yes, you can,” Charles said. “My name is Charles Phillips and this is my wife, Patricia. You may have known her as Patsy,” he added.
    The woman shot a glare at me that told me she knew exactly who I was.
    “Why are you here? I don’t want to see you. Get out. Get out the both of you. Leave now before I call security,” she bellowed.
    I started to shake. I guess I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction. Or maybe I expected exactly that kind of response but didn’t prepare how to handle it. Charles reached for my hand.
    “Listen, there’s no reason to shout or get belligerent. We came in peace. Pat is just trying to find out some things regarding her childhood. We were hoping you’d help us. I can see that is out of the question, so as you requested, we’ll leave.”
    “What is it you want?” She bellowed.
    “Answers,” I said.
    “You never cared a thing about Irma. Why now?” She asked me.
    “Are you serious? She was my mother. I always wanted her to love me, but she never did. You two had a better relationship than we did, and you weren’t her daughter either!” I yelled, realizing I shouldn’t be raising my voice in the nursing home.
    “She was more of a mother to me than my own mother,” Teresa spat. “I took care of her until she died. Where were you?” She sarcastically asked.
    “I was in California taking care of my family. The family that loves me. We just have a few questions, and then we’ll be gone. Please tell me who my real parents were.”
    “Lyle and Irma were your parents.”
    “I don’t believe that. Maybe Lyle was my dad, but there is no way in heck Irma was my mother. She detested the very earth I walked on.” I said boldly.
    “Don’t be coming here trying to stir up old stuff. That was a lot of years ago,” she reminded me.
    Charles had had enough of the back and forth and not really getting anywhere.
    “Francis thought you might be able to help us,” he said straightforward.
    She looked him up and down. She curled her lips and out came the hatred I was accustomed to. Nothing had changed, not even in a seventy-something old woman. “Francis is full of B.S. He doesn’t know a thing,” she spewed.
    “So is that your final answer. You’re not going to give us any information about anything. Not a name, a place, or a date we could possibly investigate further?” Charles appealed.
    She let out a growl letting us know she would not be offering up any information.
    As we walked past the old woman, Charles tossed a business card in her lap. “In case you change your mind,” he said irritably.
    We both sat in the car for a few minutes gathering our thoughts. I was breathing heavy, and Charles worried I was having an anxiety attack.
    “Take some deep breaths, it’ll be ok. That woman knows something,” he said annoyed.
    “I think she does too but doesn’t look like she wants to tell me... us,” I stammered.
    We drove home but not before stopping at the local grocery store. We both agreed it would take more than tomato soup or grilled cheese sandwiches to comfort us that