Page 4 of Not My Problem

Gretchen’s face softened but she didn’t say anything.

“I hadn’t heard from her in three days, which was strange because no matter what was going on, we texted every day. I went to her place and she was…” I cleared my throat and continued. “She was dead. Looked like she aspirated on her own vomit.”

If I closed my eyes I could still see her the day I found her, already cold and dead for a couple of days.

Gretchen leaned forward. “I’m so sorry.”

I blinked a few times, trying not to cry. “When I was going through her stuff I found my birth certificate and some unopened letters from a woman named Jan Peters. My grandmother. Jan reached out to my mom a few times asking her to get in touch, but I guess she never did. I checked Mom’s phone and she still had her mother’s phone number saved. I guess Jan still has a landline.”

Gretchen pointed to the refrigerator, where an old-fashioned baby blue phone sat on top.

“She told me she keeps it for emergencies, but maybe she kept it in case your mom ever called.”

“Maybe. I called and spoke to Jan and that’s when I realized that she didn’t know she had a granddaughter. She was suspicious at first, which was smart of her, but I made copies of my birth certificate and pictures of me and my mom together and sent them to her. We look exactly alike, me and my mom, so she knew I was telling her the truth.”

“I’m surprised Jan never mentioned this.”

I shrugged. “Maybe it was too painful to talk about, whatever happened with her and my mother. Plus I think it hit her hard that she didn’t know about me. She invited me to come visit, but I told her I couldn’t afford a trip from Chicago to Seattle right now and promised to come next summer.”

“What changed?” Gretchen looked suspicious again. “Did you ask her for money?”

I bristled at the implication. “No, I pay my own way, always. But I tracked down my father and, um, ran into a little trouble so I skipped town and used my paycheck to take the bus out here. I called my grandmother to let her know I was coming but just got her voicemail.”

“What kind of trouble?”

I set my cracker down, suddenly nauseous. “Let’s just say he wasn’t happy to learn he has a daughter, assuming that the name my mother put on my birth certificate was correct.”

I’d been so naive, thinking that my father would be glad to meet me. But my fantasies of a happy reunion were shattered as I realized why my mother had always told me he was dead. My father was the coldest man I’d ever met.

“He’s a criminal, gangs or drugs or something, I don’t know. My mother apparently double crossed him on some deal they were involved in before I was born and disappeared, so he figures that she owes him money. Lots of it. And he was super pissed that she never told him about me. He… well he was yelling at me and making threats, and I got so freaked out I decided it was a good idea to leave Chicago for a while before he figured out that she was dead and came after me instead.”

“Some criminal asshole is after you so you thought you should lead him to your grandmother?” she asked incredulously.

“No, he doesn’t know about Jan, I’m sure of it,” I protested. “He mentioned Mom being an orphan, plus he was all coked up so I’m not even one hundred percent sure he’s going to remember our conversation anyway.”

I’d been shocked when he did a line of coke right in front of me. I saw all kinds of crazy things living in bad neighborhoods in a big city, but usually people were at least a little bit discreet about their drug use.

“Jesus, what a mess.”

We were both quiet for a few minutes. I nibbled on another saltine, forgoing the cheese this time, and waited for whatever came next.

“I can’t let you stay here until I know for sure that Jan is giving you permission to be in her house,” Gretchen finally said.

I had a feeling she was going to say that.

“I can’t really afford a hotel,” I replied, my voice small. “And I don’t have a car to sleep in. I took the bus here from Chicago.”

I could feel the redness creeping up my cheeks. How was I twenty-eight years old and I couldn’t even afford a hotel? Then again, it wasn’t like waitressing paid that much.

Gretchen sighed deeply. “Fine, you can stay with me tonight.”

I frowned. “I wasn’t asking to stay with you.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a belligerent look. “Well, stay with me, sleep outside, or figure something else out. You’re not staying here, not until Jan responds to my email and says it’s okay for you to be here. So make your choice.”

“And if I don’t like my choices?”

“Then we can ask the police to settle this.”