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"Unbutton your blouse; lower it," she commanded. "Why?" I looked up, grinding the tears away with my small fists.
"There is a small birthmark just below your left shoulder, isn't there?"
I stared at her, the cold wave rushing over me and streaming down my body, turning me into a statue made of ice.
"Yes," I said, my voice barely audible.
"Please. I have to confirm that." She stood up and came around the table.
My fingers were cold and stiff and far too clumsy to manipulate the buttons on my blouse. I fumbled and fumbled.
"Can I help you?" she offered.
"No!" I said sharply and succeeded in opening my blouse. Then I lowered it over my shoulders slowly, closing my eyes. I sobbed and sobbed. I jumped when she put her finger on my birthmark.
"Thank you," she said. "You can button your blouse again." She went back to her seat. "We have footprints to match . . . just to finish the confirmation, but Ormand Longchamp has confessed anyway."
"No!" I cried. I buried my face in my hands. "I don't believe it, none of it. I can't believe it?'
"I'm sure it's a shock to you, but you're going to have to believe it," she said firmly.
"How did all this happen?" I demanded. "How . . . Why?"
"How?" She shrugged and looked at her pad again. "Fifteen years ago, Ormand Longchamp and his wife worked at a resort in the Virginia Beach area. Sally Jean was a chambermaid, and Ormand was a handyman at this hotel. Soon after you were brought home from the hospital, Ormand and"—she looked at the pad again—"Sally Jean Longchamp stole you and a considerable amount of jewelry."
"They wouldn't do such a thing!" I moaned through my tears.
She shrugged again, her pale face indifferent, her dull eyes unfeeling, as if she had seen this happen time after time and was used to it.
"No . . . no . . . no . . ." I'm in the middle of a nightmare, I told myself. Soon it will end and I will wake up in my bed back at our apartment. Momma won't be dead, and we will all be together again. I'll hear Fern squirming in her crib, and I'll get up and make sure she's warm and comfortable. Maybe I'll peek out at Jimmy and see his head silhouetted in the darkness as he sleeps soundly on the pull-out. I'll just count to ten slowly, I told myself, and when I open my eyes . . . one . . . two . . .
"Dawn."
"Three . . . four . . . five . . ."
"Dawn, open your eyes and look at me."
"Six . . . seven . . ."
"I'm supposed to prepare you for your return to your real family now. We are going to leave the station shortly and . . ."
"Eight . . . nine . . ."
"Get into a police car."
"Ten!"
I opened my eyes, and the unobstructed harsh light burned away all hope, all dreams, all prayers. Reality came thundering down over me.
"No! Daddy!" I screamed. I stood up.
"Dawn, sit down."
"I want Daddy! I want to see Daddy!"
"Sit down this moment."
"Daddy!" I screamed again. She had her arms around me, holding my arms down at my sides and forcing me back into the chair.
