Family Matters Read Free

was the part that got to me, that this woman didn’t have to give up her baby for adoption. Until I realized, thinking about it while I lie here, that her version was cleaned up for my sake, and I began to see my mother as a young girl, confused, seduced—oh, who knows? But with no alternative but to give me up. And here was this childless couple—your grandma and grandpa—their only child had died at birth, and they wanted a baby more than anything. So you see.”
    Violet’s hand hovered over the last Mars Bar and finally took it. Betsy threw the empty cardboard and cellophane package into the wastebasket. It overflowed with wrappers.
    â€œWill you find her for me? It’s important.” Violet chewed steadily, but her eyes were troubled, and she kept them eagerly on Betsy’s face. “You know how important it is, honey. Everything is important to me now. Before I die. I want her.”
    The tears came again and were blinked back before she took another bite. Betsy was overcome with sadness and had to blink back her own before she could speak. It was hopeless, of course. It was pathetic, just as the hand embroidery on Violet’s bedjacket was pathetic, and the cheery books by her bed, and the damned candy bars. Nothing seemed worth doing, worth anything, just at that moment. There was death all over the room, but she spread her hands and said, trying to dole out equal parts of hope and deflation, “I’ll try, Mom. It’s all I can do.” Was it better that her mother hoped or didn’t hope? Did it matter? Did it matter?
    â€œDon’t tell your grandfather,” Violet said, looking pleased and sitting up straighter. “I don’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t even know I know. And that article—it says there might be resentment on the part of the adoptive parents.”
    â€œBut if I should find her—”
    Violet considered, carefully. “He may have to know then, but let’s wait until it’s absolutely necessary.” She lowered her voice. “The worst of it is he may even know who she is, where she is. He could give us a good lead. But we can’t ask him.”
    â€œYou’re sure? If he knew her name it would save a lot of time.”
    â€œPromise me you won’t say anything to him, Betsy! Or to Marion! She’d be blabbing it to Grandpa before you could draw breath.”
    She was agitated, and Betsy soothed her. She patted her hand. Violet finished her candy bar in one bite.
    â€œJust tell me what you know,” Betsy said, looking for paper. She had scholarly habits; she would write it all down. She found blue, stationery across the room on her mother’s dresser.
    â€œThere’s pens in the top drawer.”
    Betsy groped and found one. “All right. Now.”
    â€œWell, my parents—I mean Grandma and Grandpa—”
    â€œI know what you mean, you don’t have to say that every time. If we keep qualifying what we mean we’ll never get anywhere.”
    There was a pause.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mother.”
    Violet sighed. “Try to be patient with me, Betsy.” She leaned forward to Betsy and stretched out a hand, but didn’t touch her. “I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed. There are maroon shadows under your eyes.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Mom, honestly it is.”
    â€œAre you using that moisturizer, Betsy? It’s important that you keep your looks if you want to—to—” Keep your looks and keep your man: the shadow of Judd reduced Violet to incoherence because the last thing she wanted Betsy to do was keep Judd. Betsy, who personally felt she didn’t have much worth keeping in the way of looks, saw the problem bogging her mother down. The moisturizers and cold creams and mascara wands and blushers she pressed on her daughter were keeping that man in her bed. Betsy stood up and hugged her mother with an affection that was suddenly