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“Hi,” I say, and repeat myself. “Thank you for talking to me, too.”
“Sure, sure. I’m amazed Morgan actually found somebody related to us; I told her this thing was a waste of money.”
I laugh nervously, tapping my pen against my notebook. “Yeah. I thought it might end up that way too. Well, I—I’m looking for someone named Marie Hall.”
Silence falls. I strain my ears, trying to figure out why. Are they thinking? Are they exchanging panicked looks? I bite my thumbnail while I wait.
Finally, Lisa repeats, “Hall. You know—” There’s a shuffling sound, like she’s getting up. “Hold on. Let me go ask my husband.”
Morgan and I sit in awkward silence when she goes. A minute later, I hear muffled voices, and then a man says, “Hello. This is Lance.”
I open my mouth, thinking I’m going to have to explain myself all over again, but Morgan does it for me. “Dad, this is the girl I matched with on the genealogy website. She’s looking for someone named Marie Hall.”
“Oh, sure. I know the Halls,” says Morgan’s dad, and my heart starts pounding. “I mean, I haven’t seen any of them since the last reunion about five years ago. Let me think. Donny Hall is my grandmother’s sister’s… grandson? I think that’s right. Some kind of cousin of mine. Lisa, you remember Theresa? That’s Donny’s wife.”
Donny. Theresa.Are these the names of my grandparents? I write them down, even though there’s no way I’ll forget.
“Oh, Theresa!” Lisa exclaims. “That’s right. She’s the one who quilts.”
Next to Theresa’s name, I writequilts. I can’t believe I have a living grandmother out there, much less one who does typical grandmotherly things like make quilts.
“What about a Marie?” I ask.
“She might be one of the daughters,” says Lance. “One of their daughters didn’t come to the reunion; I can’t remember which one.”
A new thought occurs to me: what ifnobodyknows where she is?
“You know what,” Lisa says suddenly, “I think I might be friends with her on Facebook. Do you want me to check?”
I try to keep my voice casual. “That would be great. Thanks.”
There’s tapping in the background, and we’re back to heavy silence. “Oh!” Lisa says finally. “I think this is her! Isn’t that her?” she asks, presumably to her husband.
A pause, then: “Yeah. Seems right.”
“Her last name is Porter now,” Lisa reports, and I write it down. “She’s married.”
Marie Porter.All this time, I was using the wrong name. The thought that my mom had gotten married and changed her name crossed my mind, of course, but considering how she left my dad, I didn’t really imagine she would go settle down with someone else.
“Do you know where she lives?” I ask. Trying to maintain a calm demeanor is basically an Olympic sport at this point. I sandwich the phone between my cheek and shoulder and twist my hair up into a clip.
“It says Kansas City.”
My jaw drops.Three hours away. She only lives three hours away.
I could drive there tonight if I wanted to.
“You don’t have any contact information for her, do you?” I ask.
“No, sorry. I mean, I can shoot her a message—”
“No, no, that’s okay,” I interject. “Um… I think I know someone who may have her phone number.” A total lie, but I can’t have these well-meaning people messaging Marie and telling her about the snoopy girl trying to track her down. “Morgan, are you still there?”
“Yeah,” comes her perky voice.
“Could you e-mail me the link to the Facebook profile?”
“Sure!”
