The Tattoo Collector, page 5
“Have you talked to any family about these dreams? Is anyone else having them?”
Donald shook his head. “The only person I’ve told about the dreams is Jean. And now you, of course.”
LeeAnn typed another quick note.
“You don’t think it would be faster to use a pen and paper?” Donald said.
“No, not for me. Did you suffer any trauma as a child?”
Donald shook his head.
“No abusive parents or other family members? Babysitters?”
“No, nothing I can remember.”
LeeAnn made another note. “Were you an only child?”
“Yes. And I was adopted. My parents could never have biological children.”
“Are your parents still together?”
“No. Dad died in a car accident five years ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Donald shrugged again. “It was an awful shock, but, what are you gonna do?”
The staccato of LeeAnn’s typing sped up, and Donald could see that she was right. Typing for her was faster than writing.
“Have you ever tried to find your birth parents?”
Donald sighed. “Not really. I was just diagnosed as pre-diabetic, and my wife thought it would be helpful to send my DNA off to Ancestry.com or whatever it is to try to get a family medical history.”
“And what did that reveal?”
Donald shrugged. “We’re still waiting for the results.”
“Are you hoping that the test will lead you to your birth family?”
Donald shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess it will if someone there also sent their DNA to Ancestry.”
LeeAnn nodded and made more notes.
“Did you tell your mother you submitted your DNA?”
Donald shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I asked her about my birth mom once, when I was a teenager. She couldn’t tell me much. Said it was a closed adoption. And she seemed hurt or sad that I had asked.”
“It’s only natural that someone in your shoes would want to learn something about his birth parents. She should realize that.”
“Yeah, I guess. But she was…. I don’t know. She seemed very sensitive about the subject.”
“If your DNA sample comes back and leads you to your birth parents, are you going to tell her about it?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Well, I would encourage you to talk with your mother about everything. Like I said, it’s only natural you would want to know about your heritage, especially if you have any medical concerns. She should be understanding.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
LeeAnn gave him a smile. Her questions then focused more on the dreams themselves and what had prompted him to finally seek professional help. Donald told her about recognizing the photo of a recent murder victim as the girl in one of his nightmares and then finding the photos of two more victims in other states.
“You don’t suspect you somehow committed these crimes in your sleep, do you?” LeeAnn asked in a slightly higher pitched voice. It was the first time he had detected even a tiny bit of emotion in anything she said or did.
“No, I couldn’t have,” Donald answered. “I’m always in bed when I wake up, and Jean is always there.”
“OK, good,” LeeAnn said with a forced smile, “because that would have been a different issue altogether.”
Donald shrugged at that, wishing he’d never brought it up. After a few more questions that Donald found mostly pointless, as if LeeAnn were on a fishing expedition, she announced that their time was up.
“Already,” Donald said. He was thankful that LeeAnn didn’t seem to detect the sarcasm in his voice.
“Would you like to keep this same appointment next week?”
“Um,” Donald hesitated, “I’ll have to talk to my wife and check my calendar.”
LeeAnn looked at him in silence for a few seconds before turning and grabbing a business card from the desk behind her. “My schedule fills up quickly so I recommend you call by tomorrow.”
Donald took the card and slipped it into his front pants pocket. “Will do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR A BRIEF moment, Jean was surprised that she had beaten Donald home before remembering that he had gone to the appointment that she had set for him. She hoped it was going well, and she prayed that Donald did not just clam up like he usually did. When Jean got in the house, she pulled what she needed for dinner out of the fridge, setting it all on the kitchen counter, and went to the computer in their bedroom. After getting out of her work clothes, she checked their joint email and saw that a notification of a new message on the Ancestry account was waiting for her.
Jean went straight to Ancestry and logged in as Donald since that’s the account she had used to submit his DNA sample. “Your results are in,” the message in the inbox read. She clicked the link in the message and got a list of ethnicities and of names. Only one name was within two degrees of relation, either a grandparent or an aunt or uncle. That name, Barbara Janney, was a hyperlink, so Joan clicked on it. Barbara Janney’s information page came up along with her public family tree. The names of the relatives still living were not present, but it did show that she had two daughters and one son. One of the daughter’s names was visible, Nancy Ann Janney, with the dates 1962 - 2007 beneath that name. Each of her children had one or two children listed, but no other names were visible. The names of Barbara’s parents were there, along with her grandparents and most of her great grandparents. Barbara had no siblings, at least according to what was on her family tree.
There was a link to send Barbara Janney a direct message, and Joan clicked it. She typed “Dear Barbara” and then deleted “Barbara” and typed “Ms. Janney”. How should she start such a message out of the blue? She intended to write it out but to wait for Donald to read it before hitting send. It took her a moment to get her thoughts together, and then she started typing.
We are Donald and Jean White from Lewisville, TX. Your name came up as a possible close relative in the results of Donald’s DNA test. He was adopted as an infant, and his birth family has remained unknown to us. Donald was recently diagnosed as pre-diabetic which got us wondering about his family medical history in general. So we submitted the DNA test on Ancestry in the hopes of learning some of that history. He was born on April 2, 1979 in Shreveport, Louisiana. If that date tells you anything about who might be his birth parents, please let us know. Thank you.
Jean looked at what she had typed. It seemed too short for an introductory letter, but it spelled out the basic information. If this Barbara Janney had a close family member who had ever given up a baby for adoption around that date and location and had ever been curious about whatever had happened to that baby, she ought to answer. Still, she thought about adding something more about Donald and the life he’d led. But if Barbara Janney knew nothing about Donald’s adoption or for some reason didn’t want any contact with him, then such information would be useless. And Jean hoped that the lack of information might spark her curiosity and make a reply more likely.
Jean sighed, got up, and went to the kitchen to start dinner. Donald arrived home while she was slicing the zucchini. She had already sliced the yellow squash and chopped one green and one red bell pepper and thrown them into the casserole dish along with the olive oil and Cajun seasoning. Once she finished the zucchini, she’d slice two pounds of Andouille sausage and throw in a bag of jumbo shrimp. The oven was already preheating, and when she had everything mixed in the dish, she’d put it in and wait. It was a simple but tasty recipe, one she had found on a Keto website while looking for healthier options after Donald’s blood sugar problem became evident.
Donald’s first stop was the kitchen, standing behind her and caressing her bare hip.
“Looks good,” he said as he kissed her neck.
“Are you talking about the dinner?”
“Maybe.”
“Mmm-hmm. How was the appointment?”
Donald stopped kissing her neck but left his hand on her hip. “It was.”
“Did you set a second appointment?”
“No.”
“Why not?” She lifted the cutting board and slid the sliced zucchini into the casserole dish.
Donald shrugged. “I don’t think she can help me.”
“You think that after one appointment? You’re not giving it a chance. Did you even talk to her?”
“I did.”
Jean ripped open the bag of shrimp and dumped it into the pan. “Did you really talk to her?”
Donald moved around to her side with his back to the kitchen counter. “I said I did. I told her all about the dreams. All the bloody details.”
A long andouille sausage flopped out onto the counter as Jean peeled open its package. “And what did she say?”
“Nothing much. A bunch of therapist babble. But she did seem concerned when I told her I found the victims on the news.”
Jean started slicing the sausage, and Donald grabbed the end piece and tossed it into his mouth.
“Well, who wouldn’t be,” she said. “Oh, we got your Ancestry results back.”
“And?” Donald asked.
“We got a hit on someone who may be a close relative. I wrote her a message. It’s on the computer. If it looks OK to you, go ahead and hit send.”
“All right.” Donald gave her cheek a quick kiss and went to check the message.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Donald called from the bedroom a minute later.
“Then hit send,” Joan called back as she dumped the first pound of sausage into the casserole dish.
“So I’m only fourteen percent Irish,” Donald called.
“Yeah, I thought it would be more than that.”
“You are definitely more than fourteen percent.”
“Do you think I should send them my DNA?”
“Why not,” Donald replied.
She shrugged as she started slicing the second pound of sausage even though Donald wasn’t in the room to see her. “Maybe I will.”
Jean heard Don’s phone ring.
“Hey Mom,” he said as he walked back into the kitchen, having undressed.
“Donny,” his mother said through the speaker phone, “how are you feeling?” She was the only person Donald allowed to call him Donny.
“I feel fine.” Donald laid the phone at the kitchen table and sat in one of the chairs. “You’re on speaker, by the way.”
“Hi Nancy,” Jean said.
“Hello Jean.”
“Why are you asking how I’m feeling?”
“Because I’ve caught the worst summer cold I can remember,” she said with a sniffle.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Donald looked up at Jean and shrugged. “Does that mean you’re not coming to dinner tomorrow?”
“I think I should skip it, yes. I just don’t feel well enough to drive all that way.”
Jean dumped the second pound of sliced andouille into the pan and used her hands to mix everything together, relieved that her mother-in-law wasn’t coming tomorrow and feeling a bit guilty that she felt such relief. The Cajun seasoning was sticking to the wet sides of the squash, and she was trying to get it to spread evenly throughout the dish.
“Well, we’ll miss you,” Donald said. “I did —“
“I used to never get sick every month, but ever since Covid, it’s been like this. I’m sorry, what were you about to say?”
Jean stifled a laugh. For two years, Nancy had been blaming any ailment anyone had on Covid.
“What was I about to say?” Donald said. “Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you about you this thing I did on the computer.”
Jean pulled her hands from the casserole dish, and moved to the sink to wash them. She gave Donald a questioning look, as if to say Are you sure you want to tell your mother this? But she remained silent.
Donald looked back at her and nodded as he began speaking. “I told you about my blood sugar issue.”
“Yes, you need to keep a careful watch on that.”
“I am, Mom. I’ve also been having some issues sleeping, and I was wondering if there was anything else I might need to worry about. Because I was adopted, I don’t know anything about any family medical history. So we sent my DNA off to Ancestry.com for analysis.”
“Hold on.“ Nancy coughed a couple of times, and Jean could hear her blow her nose. “Sorry. Will that give you your medical history?”
“No, but it does list my ethnicity. Did you know that I’m fourteen percent Irish?”
“I thought it would be more than that.”
“We did too. No, it gives you that, but it also lists potential family members, but only if they’ve also submitted DNA to Ancestry.”
“And has anyone submitted their DNA?”
‘Actually yes. I got one name back. Not a parent but a possible aunt or grandparent. We’ve written her a message.”
“Did she write back?”
“Not yet.”
The line was silent for a moment. Donald looked up at Jean with a raised eyebrow.
“Well,” Nancy finally said, “you let me know if she writes back. I’d like to know about your family medical history too. You are my son after all, and I worry about you.”
Jean heard a bit of an emphasis on the words “my son”. She looked at Donald who raised his eyebrow again.
“I know you do,” he said to the phone.
“And be careful. Don’t let anyone scam you.”
Jean shook her head at Donald who suppressed a laugh.
“I won’t. Now you rest and get to feeling better.”
“I will. I love you Donny.”
“I love you too.”
Donald ended the call but left his phone on the table. Jean, her hands now clean, opened the oven door and slid the casserole dish inside.
“Does she really think a potential relative would try to scam you right off the bat?” Jean asked.
“Who knows. She probably thinks Ancestry is the scammer.”
“That’s going to take about forty minutes or so to cook.”
Jean got two plates out of the cabinet and set them on the counter before sitting down at the kitchen table.
“You want a drink?” Donald asked, jumping up and going to the fridge.
“Diet Coke.”
Donald brought two cans of Diet Coke and sat down across from her.
“If this thing leads to finding your birth parents, you need to have patience with your mother,” Jean said after they had each taken a drink.
“I know.”
“She has raised you from a baby. She really is your mother, and I’m sure she feels threatened.”
Donald nodded.
“And for God’s sakes, don’t ever refer to your biological parents as your real parents.”
Donald nodded more emphatically. “I made that mistake once when I was a teenager. The look on her face was heartbreaking.”
“So you know.”
“Yeah.” He looked over toward the oven. “Forty minutes, huh?”
“Yeah. Oh, before we forget.” She jumped up and grabbed a Metformin pill from the bottle in the cabinet and set it on the table next to Donald’s can of Diet Coke.
Donald sighed. “I feel like an old man having to take pills every meal.”
“It’s just one pill, and you don’t have to take it every meal.”
He picked the pill up and looked at it.
“Don’t take it now. Wait until you’ve eaten.”
“I know. Nag.”
“Dork.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
DONALD HAD JUST returned to his desk after a lunch at Mi Cocina Mexican restaurant where he had selected a taco salad instead of his usual enchilada plate when he saw the notification from Ancestry.com in his personal email. “You have a new direct message,” it said. Donald opened the browser on his office computer and logged into his Ancestry account. The message was from Barbara Janney.
Dear Donald and Jean: My daughter Nan got pregnant at seventeen and had planned on giving the baby up for adoption. Everything was ready to go, but there were complications during the birth. The baby had to go into the NICU for several days. By the time he got out, Nan had changed her mind and decided to keep the baby. This was on April 2, 1979 in Shreveport, which is really strange. This is from a DNA test? You don’t think there could have been a mixup at the hospital, do you?
Donald read the message three times to try to make sense of it. The girl had decided to give her baby up for adoption and then changed her mind? And at the same time and place as his own birth? It didn’t make sense. And according to Ancestry, he and this woman were related. She had to be his grandmother. If Nan was seventeen in 1979, she would be sixty now. Meaning that Barbara Janney would have to be approaching eighty if not already past it. Maybe she was misremembering. DNA couldn’t be wrong, could it? Shaking his head, Donald clicked on the Reply button.
Dear Barbara: Thanks for writing back so quickly. You said your daughter’s name is Nan. That’s interesting since my adoptive mother’s name is Nancy. You said that your daughter wound up keeping her baby after a stint in the NICU. But my DNA test is conclusive that you are a close relative, either a grandmother or an aunt. Perhaps there actually was a mixup at the hospital. Were you present when your daughter had the baby? I’m just wondering if anyone who saw the baby in the delivery room had any question that the baby she took home was the same baby she gave birth to. Thanks, Donald
He looked at it, removed the word adoptive, and hit the send button. He then sent Jean a text telling her to look at the messages in the Ancestry account.
“Strange,” she texted back after a few minutes.
Donald’s afternoon was spent rebuilding the Chief Financial Officer’s desktop computer after a hard drive crash, so he was too busy to check his personal email. The first thing he did when he got home was collect all the trash and recycling in the house, load it into the dumpsters in the garage, and pull those dumpsters to the curb. Jean pulled into the driveway as Donald walked back toward the open garage. He stopped at the concrete lip between the driveway and the garage floor and waited for her to park and get out of the car.
