Replica - Mystery Mother Part 12

Amy could see Mary's face change. Now she was more alarmed than compa.s.sionate. "You can't get away, Camilla. We won't let you out the door."

"We'll go out on the terrace," Camilla said. "Yes, that's what we'll do! We'll leave from the terrace. Then we can be together forever and ever, Laura. Forever and ever!"

She was extremely strong. Her fingers felt like steel rods. Amy had once read that mentally unbalanced people could exert unusual strength. She had to use real force, serious energy, to break away from Camilla. And with every ounce of resistance, she could feel her heart breaking.

Camilla didn't try to stop her. She didn't even move. With her arms extended, she moaned, "Laura, Laura. My baby. I killed my baby."

Mary went closer to her and put an arm around her. "You don't know that's true, Camilla. It might have been the drugs that injured Laura, but it could have been something else, something you couldn't do anything about."

Did Camilla even hear her? Did she understand what Mary was saying? Amy couldn't be sure. All she could see in Camilla's eyes was madness. And Camilla went completely limp as Mary led her out of the apartment.

"Camilla?" Amy whispered as she pa.s.sed. And then . . . "Mother?"

But Camilla moved right past her, as if she didn't even see her anymore.

Amy looked at Nancy. She could see compa.s.sion in her eyes, but now it was directed at her.

"You'll come home with me?" Nancy posed it as a question, not a statement. She was giving Amy a choice.

Amy knew she didn't have any option. But she also knew that she didn't need one.

13.

Amy woke up unusually early the next day. Normally on a Sunday morning she liked to lie in bed and think, but there was nothing she wanted to think about that morning. Memories of the day before were too fresh and painful.

On the way home, there had been no more talk of being grounded. Nancy didn't seem to expect any explanation or apology from Amy. She treated Amy gently, almost as if she was a fragile bird. Which she was, in a way. She needed recovery time. Very little had been said. And when they'd arrived home, all Amy had wanted to do was go to bed, where she fell right away into a sound and dreamless sleep.

Now, wide awake, she went quietly out of her room so she wouldn't wake Nancy when she pa.s.sed her door, and she tiptoed down the stairs.

But Nancy was already there, sitting at the kitchen table. When she saw Amy, she smiled. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Amy replied.

"Would you like some juice?"

"Yes, thank you."

How strangely they were speaking to each other, like polite acquaintances. In silence, Nancy sipped her tea and Amy drank her orange juice. Amy tried to remember how they used to talk at breakfast. It all seemed very long ago and far away. This person sitting across from her at the table, with lines of concern etched into her forehead . . . Amy wasn't sure who she was anymore. She wasn't even sure who she herself was.

But the silence was too hard to take. Amy broke it. "How did she know about me?" There was no need to explain who she meant by she.

"Mary found a letter in Camilla's handbag," Nancy said. "An anonymous letter, with information about you. Your phone number, address, school. We think it might have come from the organization."

"Why would the organization write to Camilla?"

"They may have felt she would be more vulnerable to being persuaded to work with them. More willing to let them know you. At least, more willing than I would ever be."

"Oh." It made sense, Amy supposed. And with Camilla wanting so desperately to change the past, to think her child had never died, she would definitely be ready to believe whatever might confirm this. "She's not a bad person, you know. I know now that she was sick. But not bad."

Nancy nodded. "And she loved you very much."

But Amy knew better. "She loved the person she thought I was."

Nancy didn't argue with her.

"Have you ever seen a movie called Laura?" Amy asked suddenly.

"Yes. It's about a woman who everyone thinks is dead. But she turns out to be alive. It's very romantic."

"Not very realistic?"

"No, not very realistic."

When she had finished her juice, Amy went back upstairs to shower and dress. Then she selected a favorite old book from her shelf, Charlotte's Web, and curled up on her bed to read the familiar story of Wilbur, the little pig who needed a mother - or at least, someone who acted like a mother. Wilbur found that mother figure in a spider named Charlotte. Not very realistic. And yet totally believable.

Amy tried to read slowly, like a regular person, but she'd read the book so many times that she practically knew it by heart. And she knew what was coming, so she started to cry even before the story became truly sad. She was so engrossed, she didn't even hear the bell downstairs.

A moment later Nancy rapped at her door. "Amy? Tasha and Eric are here. Do you want to see them?"

So she wasn't forbidden company anymore. "All right," she said.

Her best friend and her boyfriend entered her room silently. Both looked awkward, embarra.s.sed, and very happy to see her.

"You okay?" Eric asked gruffly.

"I'm fine." It was a lie, and Amy knew that Eric knew it was a lie, but for now it would have to do. Tasha, however, was more willing to express herself. She burst into tears and threw her arms around her best friend.

"I was such an idiot!" she cried. "I feel like it's all my fault!"

"How could it be your fault?" Amy asked her.

"I showed you that birth certificate!"

Amy shrugged. "That didn't change anything. I believed what I wanted to believe."

"But I wish I had kept researching," Tasha said. "I might have found this, too." She handed Amy a paper, another computer printout. Only this one was a certificate of death. For Laura Jean Jaleski, three days old.

Amy read it carefully, then put it aside. "I hope Jeanine's search turns out better," she said, but Tasha was already shaking her head.

"I gave Jeanine the information I found, but she didn't care. She doesn't even want to call the woman! She said she's not interested in being the daughter of someone ordinary. She told me to keep looking until I came up with royalty or a movie star."

"Well, at least you'll make more money," Amy said.

Tasha shook her head. "I told her I couldn't guarantee anything. So she said maybe she was better off with the parents she had. At least they love her. And they're rich."

Despite the way she was feeling, Amy couldn't help herself - she burst out laughing. That was just so Jeanine.

"Then she refused to pay me for the work I'd done," Tasha told her.

Amy could believe that. It was also typical Jeanine.

"So it looks like I won't be getting my ears pierced anytime soon," Tasha said mournfully. "Well, that's okay. I'd rather wait until we can do it together. Maybe you should ask your mother again - "

Eric looked at her fiercely. "Tasha!"

Tasha stopped and flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Amy asked. Then she knew. "You can say mother in front of me. It's okay."

They didn't stay much longer. They had to visit their grandparents, and Amy was glad to get back to Charlotte's Web. But after a few minutes she put the book aside and went downstairs.

Nancy was in the living room, reading the newspaper. She looked up and smiled when Amy came in.

"You're not working on your proposal?" Amy asked.

Nancy shook her head. "No, I'm finished with all that. Either they promote me or they don't. I'm not going to think about it anymore. It's not the most important thing in my life."

"It's not?"

"No! Amy, do you know what is the most important thing in any mother's life? Her child." And in Nancy's eyes, Amy saw all the love she had thought she saw in Camilla's. Only Camilla loved Laura, a fantasy. Nancy loved the real thing.

Never in a million years had Amy thought she would ever learn something from Jeanine. But on this day, Amy owed Jeanine her thanks. Because Amy too now realized she was far better off with the parent she had.

14.

That night Amy had a dream, a vivid and familiar dream. The gla.s.s incubator, the bright flames of fire around her, the heat, the intense fear . . . and then the arms carrying her away. The face looking down at her with all the love in the world, the kind of love only a mother can have for a child.

Mother. Not through blood. But through love.