Part IV: Spin (Chapter 72)

I’m wiping a blob of ketchup off the tablecloth, trying to avoid getting Auntie’s letters wet, when Father Dan O’Flaherty sidles up, puts his arm around my shoulders, and squeezes.

The moment I have been dreading.

“Well, Sam. Great reunion,” he says.

I drop the dishcloth and slip from his embrace.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

“These family get-togethers are important,” Dan says in a pseudo-upbeat manner. “A way to touch base with long-lost loved ones.” He taps the tabletop, next to Auntie’s letters and the red satin ribbon which once tied them together.

“What’s this?” he asks, reaching for the letters, my secrets.

I’ll burn in Hell first...

I swoop up the letters before he can grab them. “Nothing,” I say.

“I see,” Dan says. “Treasure Chest stuff.”

Dan rattles on and on about how his dad – my Uncle Joe – has been trying to find the proper owners of long-lost family memorabilia.

I notice what looks like a note, folded into quarters, sticking out between two envelopes.

Yellowed with age, the paper feels thick and rough, like parchment. Trying to appear nonchalant, I unfold it.

A gold seal.

An official document:

The  State  of  Iowa

Certificate of Birth

Baby’s name: Baby girl LaRue

Date of birth: December 24, 1923

Mother’s Maiden name: Veronica Anne LaRue

Father’s name:

Hospital: St. Joseph

City: Sioux City

County: Woodbury

Date of birth registration: December 31, 1923

 

Ah. Veronica LaRue had a baby out of wedlock.

Amazing how this woman, long dead, keeps reaching through time, revealing secrets to people she would never meet, causing ripples in a future she would never know – my present.

The pieces of a complicated puzzle coming together – though many remain missing.

The baby’s birth date, Christmas Eve, same as Gwen’s. I know this because she has always complained about being a Christmas baby, how she always felt cheated, especially when she was young.

Aunt Gwen!

I must stare at the document for a long time because Dan pauses.

“What is it?” he asks.

I fold the birth certificate and slip it into one of Auntie’s envelopes.

“It doesn’t concern you,” I say.

Some things are best left the way they are.