The Mystery Girl

Carol opened the shoebox of old photos, most of them black and white. She felt like she was taking a trip down memory lane, seeing the photos of her family over the years. Growing up in a family of nine children, there weren’t as many photos as one might think. Her parents were not sentimental people. Still, by virtue of having nine children and countless relatives, there were nonetheless a fair amount of pictures.

The first picture she glanced at was a hallmark 1970s shot. Her second oldest brother, Bill, had long hair and tight athletic short shorts, as was the style back then. He was slightly chubby in the photo. Baby fat, Carol would call it. His somewhat obscene shorts were not flattering. He wore long tube socks that had sporty stripes at the top. It was quite the look. Bill was grinning from ear to ear, as a large fish dangled from his fingers. Look what I caught, he seemed to say. Bill always did like to fish.

There were several photos of their family cabin up north, capturing it in various stages of construction. It had been built of real logs, cut down from trees on their property, making the men in the family feel like real lumberjacks. Her family had been big on the northwoods lifestyle and used the cabin for countless hunting and fishing trips. The three girls in the family weren’t as big on the outdoors, however.

The oldest, Sarah, had been somewhat wild in her youth. She had always been in search of a good party. It was a wonder that she had turned out as well as she did, a stable middle class grandmother. Sarah had run away and married young. The marriage surprisingly had been a good one, however. She had made a good choice. She and her husband now ran a successful landscaping company, operating on the east coast. 

There were also several photos from family reunions on her mother’s side. Her mom had an astonishing twenty siblings. Most had lived to a ripe old age, and their descendants were scattered throughout the Midwest, mostly in Wisconsin and Minnesota. For the whole, they weren’t city people. They only ventured south when jobs were hard to come by.

Carol felt a tinge of sorrow and nostalgia. She wondered how many from that generation were left. Her mother had sadly passed away from breast cancer about ten years ago. She would be ninety years old if she were still alive today. Her father had passed several years before her mother, but Carol missed her mother most. 

She picked up another photo. It was slightly blurry, so she held it up to the light. This one pictured her whole family, all nine siblings and her parents. It was a “stair step” photo. The kids were lined up in descending order by height, from tallest to shortest, oldest to youngest. She went down the line looking at the faces of each brother and sister in turn. Suddenly, she stopped in surprise. There was an unexpected face in the shot. She looked again and counted ten children, ranging from teenagers down to toddlers. Yes, there was an extra person. A girl, near the older end of the bunch, third from the beginning of the row. She looked to be in her mid teens, maybe fifteen or sixteen. 

She had limp, dark long brown hair parted in the middle that hung to her shoulders. She looked vaguely hippyish, like one of Charles Manson’s cultish followers. She wore a shirt with butterfly sleeves that billowed out. The shirt was smocklike, and she wore it with bell bottomed jeans. All of the other kids in the picture were smiling cheesily at the camera. This girl, however, was unsmiling. She looked somewhat pained to be in the shot. Get me outta here, her expression seemed to be saying. 

Who was that girl? Carol made a mental note to ask her brothers and sisters. It was a mystery to her. With her mother having so many siblings, it was probably a cousin, but she didn’t know which one or why. The girl was the only odd man, or odd woman, out. The only one not in their immediate family.

 Since Carol had been the executor of her mother’s estate and had done the bulk of cleaning out of her mother’s house, she had inherited a lot of the random things that no one else had wanted – knick knacks, photos, and the like. She set the photo to the side. She could at least ask her brother Bill if he knew who the girl was. She doubted he had seen the photo, but maybe he would remember the girl.  

Several months passed, and Carol almost forgot to ask Bill about it. She was happy to see him at their family’s traditional Fourth of July picnic, held at a nephew’s house. She would finally get a chance to talk to him. As was customary with their family picnics, there was enough food to feed an army. She found herself seated at a table with several of her grandchildren and her brother, her plate overflowing with a grilled brat, her sister-in-law’s famous “cowboy” baked beans, potato salad, chips and dip, and slices of watermelon.

Bill had never married. He had finally found himself a nice girlfriend, age appropriate and friendly. A girlfriend who really seemed to care for him. She was happy for him. Bill had had his share of problems over the years, including a medical condition that had almost killed him. His girlfriend had stuck by him through thick and thin, and Carol had last seen her when Bill had been in intensive care. The girlfriend had been there with him offering her support and tender loving care. For whatever reason, she had not accompanied Bill to the Fourth of July party, however. He sat alone. It was an opportune time to visit with him.

“Hey Bill, how ya doing?” She greeted him.

“Good, how are you?”

“Doing good. Happy Fourth!”

“Happy Fourth to you too! What’s new?”

“Funny you should ask. I have a question, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Actually, it’s about something I just happen to have in my purse.”

She unzipped her purse and started rummaging through it. She always vowed that she would keep a nice tidy purse but somehow it never seemed to happen. She dug her way through pens, receipts, several tubes of lipstick, a wallet, keys and her sunglasses. She finally located the plain white envelope with the picture inside.

“Aha! Here it is!” she said triumphantly.

She pulled the picture out and slid it across the picnic table to Bill.

“What’s this?” He asked, picking up the photo.

“Oh, it’s all of us! Great photo!” He smiled.

“Yeah, it is,” Carol agreed. “But do you see something odd in the picture?”

“What is this? A game? ‘One of these things is not like the other’”. Bill quoted the line that he thought came from an old kids show, Sesame Street, the Electric Company, or something. He was really dating himself now. 

“Exactly. There is something or someone, I should not say, who is not like the others. Do you see it? See her, I mean?”

“Oh yeah,” Bill squinted. “Who is that girl standing next to Tom? The one with the long dark hair. I don’t remember her.”

“I was hoping you’d know,” Carol was disappointed. “That’s why I brought the picture. I’m trying to figure out who that girl is.”

“Did you ask anyone else?” 

“No, I’m starting with you.”

“Sorry, I’ve no idea.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to ask the others. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks. And good luck. It’s a real mystery.”

 Although Carol was mildly disappointed that Bill had no clue who the mystery girl was, she vowed not to give up in her search for the answer. The next day, she started typing a message to everyone. She had always been a fast typist. Her fingers fairly danced across the keyboard. She also snapped a picture of the photo with her phone and shared it with everyone along with her message. They were all part of an instant messaging group called “Big Fam.” “Big Fam” meant Big Family, or all nine siblings.

Hey guys, I am sharing with you an old photo of all of us. Pretty interesting, huh? Those were the days, right? Anyways, I have a question for all of you. Does anyone know who the girl is standing next to Tom? She’s not one of us, obviously. 

She didn’t want to be one of those lame people who was constantly online and seemed to have no life, but she really wanted to know the answer right away. She waited impatiently. She could see that three others in the group were currently online.

No idea, her brother Mark replied. Sorry I don’t remember. 

Carol wasn’t surprised. Mark was the baby of the bunch, and he had been pretty young when the photo was taken.

Sarah was next to chime in.

I think her name was Michelle.

Michelle? Michelle who? typed Carol. Was she a cousin of ours? 

You know I really don’t remember, Sarah typed. But she must have been a cousin. Why else would she have been at our house and in the family photo? 

Carol noted that their other sister Liz had now also entered the chat.

Wasn’t she pregnant? Liz typed. 

Pregnant? Carol typed in surprise. 

Yeah. I seem to remember she had morning sickness, and she was round in the middle, Liz replied. 

That’s right. Tom agreed. I seem to remember she had a bun in the oven. 

Wow. No one ever said anything. At least not that I can remember. Carol typed. She’s so young in the picture. 

Well, back then, no one talked about it. Maybe she was from up north and they banished her. Sent her down to stay with us until she had the baby. You know how strict the aunts were. It was probably a scandal, Liz commented.

Or maybe she was one of the boys’ girlfriends? Lol Carol typed. Is there a niece or nephew we don’t know about? Tom? I seem to remember you sneaking around, staying out late, with girlfriends!

Haha. Very funny. Tom replied. 

Or maybe she was our sister from another mother. Mark typed. Maybe she got sent to live with her real father once she got knocked up. Two generations of unwed mothers . . .

Carol sucked in her breath. She couldn’t believe Mark had actually “went there” in the conversation. There had long been whispers and innuendos about their dad. He was rumored to have been a womanizer. He had been very good looking “back in the day”, a stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome man. No one had ever actually acknowledged that he was unfaithful, however. It was one of those things that was better left unspoken. It was only now, years after his death, that they were addressing the elephant in the room. 

OMG!  She typed. Do you really believe that?

I don’t know what to believe, Mark replied. You’ve really opened a can of worms. 

All this speculation is pointless, Sarah typed, trying to be the voice of reason. Why don’t you send the picture to Aunt Marge and ask her? She’s still around and with it. She knows everyone and everything about our family.

Good idea. Carol replied. I will do that and keep you all posted. Thanks everyone!

She then sighed off and decided to give it a day before she typed the message to her Aunt Marge. She really needed some perspective. She needed to wrap her head around the painful allegation that was made about her dad’s cheating ways. Although she had not been as close to her dad as she had been to her mother, she was still deeply hurt. It was hard to imagine that he had been unfaithful. 

Even though her Aunt Marge was in her late eighties, she was adept at using the computer. Her kids had gotten her some kind of tablet, called a “Grandpad”. Aunt Marge regularly used Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and even Snapchat. She was really “with it” as far as technology was concerned. The younger generation had nothing on her when it came to the computer. Thus, Carol had no qualms about sending Aunt Marge the photo. She knew Aunt Marge would see it immediately and reply.

Sure enough, no sooner had she sent Aunt Marge the photo along with her spiel about wanting to find out who the mystery girl was, then she got a reply.

The girl’s name is, or was, Michelle Capelli. She was a friend of your family.

Why was she at our house staying with us? And why is she in the picture? Was she pregnant? 

Carol still felt like she had more questions than she had answers. The fact that the girl was a family friend and not a relative was perhaps the most puzzling thing of all. 

Yes, she was pregnant. And, as far as why she was at your house, it’s rather involved. I’d rather not get into it electronically. Do you think you could come visit me sometime and we could talk? I’d come down and see you, but I don’t travel anymore with my bad back and my eyesight. My kids got me in this assisted living facility here in town. I love to have visitors. You could make a day trip out of it, and we could have a nice chat. I promise I’ll explain everything about the girl. 

That sounds good. Is there a certain day that is better to come?

No, everyday is pretty much the same. Just shoot me a text the day before, just in case I might have a doctor’s appointment. At my age, it seems like I am always running to the doctor for something.

Will do. Thanks, Aunt Marge. I look forward to seeing you.

Carol was now more curious than ever. She made arrangements to see Aunt Marge the very next week. The four-hour trip was a quest, a mission, and a getaway all at the same time. 

She soon found herself seated on a couch in Aunt Marge’s somewhat small room in the assisted living facility. Aunt Marge faced her with her feet up in an old fashioned Lazy Boy recliner. A knitted afghan covered her legs, and her cane lay on the floor next to the chair. Carol suspected it was hard for her to walk far, but Aunt Marge had never been one to complain.

“Now, let me tell you the story about the young woman in the picture. Michelle.” Aunt Marge looked strangely uncomfortable for some reason, but determined to speak. She exhaled loudly and grimaced. “You might be surprised to know that I lied to you when I said she was a friend of your family. Michelle was more than a family friend. You caught me off guard and I didn’t quite know how to explain it over the computer.”

“More than a friend? What do you mean?” Carol was confused. Aunt Marge wasn’t making any sense. 

“Yes. Michelle was your half-sister.”

Carol’s jaw almost hit the floor. Mark had been right. The girl was indeed “their sister from another mother.”

“She was Dad’s child?” Carol asked flatly.

“Yes. She wasn’t getting along with her own mother, and the mother had had enough of the teenager, so she sent her to live with your dad.”

“I’m sure my mom must have loved that,” Carol’s voice was dry.

“Yes,” Aunt Marge’s voice was rueful. “My sister was a saint.”

“And this Michelle was pregnant?”

“Yes. That’s part of the reason why her own mom kicked her out. She didn’t want to see her daughter making the same mistakes she did, getting pregnant out of wedlock. She simply couldn’t handle it.”

Carol didn’t know what to think. All of those years she had had another sister, and she didn’t even know it.

“Where is Michelle now? And where is the baby?”

“I am sorry to tell you this . . . “ Aunt Marge’s voice trailed off. She wore a pained expression on her face. 

“What? What is it?” Carol felt unaccountably frightened. Something terrible must have happened for Aunt Marge to look the way she did.

“Michelle died of a drug overdose shortly after her baby was born. Bless her soul.” Aunt Marge’s voice was now solemn.

“That’s terrible.” Carol felt a stabbing pain of regret. No sooner had she found out who Michelle really was, then she was taken away from her. 

“And the baby?” she questioned Aunt Marge.

“I’m not sure what happened to the baby. It was a little girl Michelle had. Your niece, she would be. I suspect she was put up for adoption. The family lost touch with Michelle’s mother after Michelle died. It was simply too painful for everyone.”

There was sudden silence between them for a moment. Carol didn’t know what to say.

“Your dad was never the same after that,” Aunt Marge added. “Nor was the marriage, the marriage between him and your mom I mean.”

‘Wow. And they hid this from all of us,” Carol said. 

“Yes. It was a tragedy all the way around.”

Carol squared her shoulders. She would have to tell this painful story to the others. It wasn’t going to be easy. Still, what was done was done. There was no use rehashing the past. Somewhere out there in the world, however, she had another niece. 

“Thank you for sharing this information with me. You know what I’m going to do now?” Carol asked.

“What dear?” Aunt Marge asked.

“I’m going to find my niece. She is one of us and needs to come home. She’s part of the Big Fam.”