What the Heart Carries

The summer before we left our hometown of Santa Cruz, California for different colleges on the East coast, my best friend Mila and I went on frequent morning beach walks to enjoy each other’s company and the sight of the sea glistening to the horizon.

“I’ll miss this view,” I said to Mila. “I’ve told you this before. Sometimes I want to cry when I look at the sea. I’m trying to stop it from happening now.”

“Then cry!” she exclaimed. “Silly girl. Trust me. I’m going to major in psychology, remember? Let yourself feel.” She paused. “Ivy, I’m gonna say it one more time.”

I nodded. “About whether I should try to find my biological parents?”

She nodded. “I think it would be good for you. I almost didn’t say it, because I hate to be annoying.”

I laughed. “You’re not. You’re my true friend, who tries to prod me to be brave and face things about myself. But the answer is the same, which is, maybe one day. Not now. We’re about to start college. It would be the worst time for me to risk throwing a wrench into my peace of mind. My biological parents did right by me by giving me up, and even throwing in a piece of jewelry.” I touched the slim gold chain of a heart-shaped locket with a crescent moon on the front, which had been found with me and was all I had of them. Into it I’d put a tiny photo of the four of us: the parents who raised me, our dog Kafka, and me. I almost never removed it.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I figured. I just thought I’d ask one more time…for no reason.”

I shrugged. “Ask away. Maybe it would be different if they’d ever come looking for me. They haven’t, right? They were probably like, ‘good riddance, little piece of rubbish.’ I’m guessing they were a couple of those urchins we see around, sitting on ratty blankets with their dogs, hawking woven tie-dyed hempware. I think because you live with the parents who gave birth to you, you attach some special significance or magic to it. I have nothing to complain about, right? I lucked out with my parents. They were by our side through our pink ballerina phase in preschool, remember?”

She laughed. “Can’t forget. Both of our parents have always over-documented everything.”

“Because they love us!” I exclaimed. “Remember that amazing Statue of Liberty costume my parents made me for the kindergarten Halloween parade? They taught me how to ride a bike, bandaged my knees, helped me learn my state capitals, listened to me rehearse my Class President speech, took me to fencing lessons, watched my bad magic tricks, attended all of our school plays and dance recitals, ate our homemade concoctions, and listened to my trombone practice.”

“It doesn’t take anything away from them to find your biological parents,” said Mila softly. “The parents who raised you will always be your parents.”

“They’re the only ones I need,” I said. “They even went out of their way to be honest with me and make sure I was okay with being adopted. They took me to years of therapy with Minerva, who pronounced me ‘very well adjusted.’”

“She’s brilliant,” said Mila. “No doubt. I like her nails like saber tooth fangs dripping blood. And her silver pageboy haircut.”

“What I most like about her is her glasses,” I said. “They’re so thick, I almost can’t see her eyes, which has always made it easier for me to pour my heart out to her. You know what? I’m so well adjusted that--”

An origami crane fluttered into my hand.

“Whoa!” I clutched it and looked around. “Where’d this come from?”

“Look. Maybe there?” Mila pointed down the beach to where a lady at a restaurant was shaking rugs out the window.

I unfolded the crane, which was made of red origami paper.

One side of the paper was dated 2008, the year that Mila and I were born. It said “Plum & Co. Curiosities - Norma Plum - WILL HELP.”

“Wow, this is an old note,” I said. “We were babies when this was written. Or maybe not even born yet.”

“Plum and Co.?” Mila looked at me, her freckled nose scrunched.

I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”

She tapped it into her browser. “Huh.” She paused. “Huh.” She looked at me.

“What?” I asked, practically jumping with impatience,

She ran a hand through her close-cropped, cornflower-yellow corkscrew curls, making them stand straight up. “Look where it says it is…since the 1950s!”

I looked, then shook my head. “Must be a mistake. That’s impossible! We walk down Pacific Avenue all the time. At the very least, someone would’ve mentioned it at some point.” I paused. “Should we try to figure out what it’s about?”

She laughed. “One of our super-sleuth adventures, like when we were in fifth grade?”

I nodded. “Exactly. For old time’s sake.”

We rushed to the address on Pacific Avenue, and there, found a nondescript wooden door, on which was whittled, in ant-sized calligraphy, “Plum & Co. Curiosities.”

I squinted at the door. “Do you remember this door being here? I mean, I don’t know one way or the other. It looks…familiar. Maybe we just passed by it every time and never gave it a thought?”

We tried the small, dull brass doorknob; it was locked. Then Mila noticed a recessed, almost invisible button, which she pressed, and we heard a click, indicating that the door was unlocked.

We opened it, and stepped into what felt like a dream world from a night of dreaming after having eaten pickles with a milkshake chaser. We were in an immense, sky-lit room painted in neon stripes, and packed with a jumble of furniture and knick knacks. Telescopes and spy glasses glittered. A lit-up globe in one corner - showing the Earth in its Pangea phase, when the continents were still united - rotated slowly on its axis. Mechanical animals flew back and forth, including mechanical unicorns that sporadically pooped clouds of glitter, which lingered for a few seconds in the air, then dissolved away, leaving a mingled scent of vanilla, lavender, and eucalyptus.

“Ooh, cool lamp,” said Mila, pointing to an exquisite glass lamp with an explosion of colors.

I brushed my fingertips against the faded velvet of an old ottoman. “For my college dorm room, perhaps?” I whispered to Mila, who nodded enthusiastically.

From within the jumble of furniture emerged a rosy, small woman with dimples, chocolate ringlets, and rounded elbows and knees. “Can I interest you little dearies in anything? That hanging lamp was made by Fabergé himself. The dealer who sold me that ottoman claimed it was once the property of Suleiman the Magnificent in the mid-1500s. I can’t guarantee that, but I can guarantee the piece’s age.”

“Whoa,” I said. “Fascinating.”

“Yes,” said Mila. “Thank you for telling us that. But actually, we’re here for a different reason. Do you know Norma Plum?”

The woman nodded. “Only about as well as I know myself.” She paused, her eyes filling with tears. “She's my mom. She lives in a home for the memory-impaired here in Santa Cruz. I visit her every weekend. I’m Cecily Plum, by the way.”

It occurred to me that the next day was Saturday.

“If you’re going tomorrow,” I said slowly. “Could we maybe…come along with you, and ask her about the note?” I was prepared for her to say no and ask us to leave.

Instead, she was quiet for a few moments, considering it. Finally, she said, “I…don’t see why not. As I’m sure you can guess, I doubt she would remember anything about this. I’m lucky that she still remembers who I am. But, as she’s near the end, they say that the more visitors she can have, the better for her emotional health. Just please don’t upset her. She’s very frail.”

Mila and I assured Cecily that we would never dream of upsetting Norma.

We arranged to go together the next morning.

***

Mila and I pooled our cash to buy a spectacular, heavenly-scented bouquet of flowers for Norma, because we figured that if we were going to take up her time, it was the least we could do.

The drive there was fun, with Cecily plying us with questions about ourselves in a gentle, curious way. 

When we got there, we signed into the visitor log, and went to where Norma was, in a large room full of people sitting on couches and playing games together at tables. She was seated at the grand piano, playing “Claire de Lune.” She was petite, with curly hair that was silver tinged with lavender, and startlingly blue eyes. She glanced up at us and smiled, but her playing did not waver.

“Music calms her,” Cecily whispered to us. “And even when her memory of people and places is hazy, the music has stuck.” 

When Norma finished playing, Cecily said, “Hey, Mom, it’s me, Cecily.”

“I know,” Norma said. “Hello there, kid.”

“Hi,” said Cecily, and they hugged. “I want to introduce Ivy and Mila, who are here to visit you. They want to ask you something. Is that okay?”

We gave Norma the flowers, and one of the facility's caregivers put them into a water-filled vase, and placed this atop the piano.

“Ah, what lovely flowers!" said Norma. "Thank you. You must be my nieces! Girls, I’m touched that you came here all the way from Zurich just to see me.”

“No, Mom,” said Cecily. “These girls aren’t related to us. They have a question about a note they found. Okay?”

Norma squinted, then raised her eyebrows and nodded.

We showed her the note. 

“I know it’s a long shot,” I said. “But we’re curious about who might've written this.”

Norma peered at it, frowned, and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it. ‘Will help?’ That’s not much to go on, ducklings. I helped many people in many ways over the years. Oh, but 2008…what a year of bad luck that was.” 

Mila and I looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Well, anyway, it was worth a try,” I said. “We didn’t really think we’d get any more information, but it’s great meeting you.”

“Shall we have tea?” asked Norma.

The four of us went together to the cafeteria for cups of tea and Digestive biscuits. Mila and I listened, amused, as Cecily filled Norma in on family matters, or tried to, while Norma kept getting confused and asking mostly about people who’d passed away.

I leaned over the table to reach a bowl of lemon wedges, when Norma screamed and knocked over her full cup of tea. I froze.

“That necklace,” Norma said.

I realized, self consciously, that my heart-shaped locket was dangling almost into the sugar bowl. I leaned back slowly. “I’m sorry, I--”

“No, no,” she said, rising to her feet, while Cecily tried to pull her back down to her seat. “I know that necklace.” Her eyes looked to me like twin Earths, spinning. “Where did it come from? Where?”

“My biological parents,” I almost whispered.

"Also, that note you found," Norma said breathlessly. "The one you showed me before. Let me see it again. Was it folded up when you found it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was in the shape of an origami crane.” I took the note out again and re-folded it carefully. "Like this."

“It’s you!” Norma screamed. “It’s you!”

“Mom!” said Cecily. “Calm down. Everyone is staring.”

And in fact, several people at nearby tables were watching us, either surreptitiously or outright gawking.

Norma looked around, laughed, and said loudly, “Turn down your hearing aids, you old gossips!” She looked at me again. “Child, were you adopted?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

Norma took her chair again, and cried quietly, then laughed, all the while rocking back and forth. “What a blessing. It’s you, back again. We thought perhaps that you’d died. You must treasure that note forever, as it was written by your mother, Luna.”

“Luna?” I repeated, then admonished myself not to interrupt.

Norma nodded. “Luna worked in the Plum shop for a while. She was a jewelry maker. She made that locket, and wore it all the time. She loved making origami animals, too, for anyone and everyone who asked. She was a kind-hearted child. An angel.” She glanced skyward.

“Luna?” said Cecily, turning pale. “Luna?! Oh, my god! Didn’t you…?” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her mother.

“Yes,” said Norma, looking at me. “I lost Luna’s baby. That is to say, I lost you, baby Aurora.”

My mouth fell open and I almost talked again, but managed to stay quiet.

Norma stared into space. “The day I lost you was the worst day of my life. Luna asked me to meet her at the docks, take you, and take care of you for a few days. She had to take a boat down the coast to see her father, Cline, before he died. She didn’t want to take you, because you were only one month old, and very delicate. Your father, Ezra, was working on a fishing boat, and she had to act fast or miss seeing her father altogether. So she called me, and we talked it all over. She said she would give you to me along with a diaper bag full of supplies, and the gold locket she always wore, because she was superstitious, and if anything were to happen to her, she was adamant that you must have it. I met her at the dock. She had you swaddled in a beautiful basket. It was the evening, when the light was fading, but it was still jammed with people. She handed you to me, and the diaper bag. I held you while she got onto the boat. Then…” She burst into tears, and though my stomach hurt from hearing these revelations, I found myself patting her on the back. “A tall man in dark clothing took you right out of my arms and ran away with you. All I had was the diaper bag. And I was an old lady even then, you see. I ran after the man, screaming, then slipped and hit my head. I woke up in the hospital, do you remember, Cecily?”

Cecily nodded. “I do.”

“But Luna never even knew you’d been taken,” said Norma. “I mean, I…never had to tell her. Because the boat she was on sank. Then the news of her death killed Cline. Then your father, Ezra, upon returning from his fishing expedition, found out your mother had died and you’d gone missing without a trace. They finally found the man who’d stolen you, a man who sold babies to various agencies that sold the babies to childless couples for even more exorbitant prices. They put him in jail. But they couldn’t find you. The trail went cold. Someone said you’d died. After trying to find you without success and finally giving up, Ezra sailed off into parts unknown. Years later, someone told me he died in a shipwreck, too.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “Wow.”

“The sea took them both!” said Mila.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“After they died, no one was left,” said Norma. “Apparently, Ezra was an orphan, and Luna only had her father.” She turned to Cecily. "See? There are certain things I could never, ever forget. Maybe even after I forget my own name, I'll remember that. I've spent every day since then thinking about it." She paused, then turned to Mila and me. "May I please see the locket?”

I unclasped it and handed it to her. “It’s got a photo of me with the parents who raised me, and our dog,” I said, showing it to her.

She looked at the photo. “How beautiful.” Then she flipped the locket over, tapped it a few times, then opened another compartment in the locket, which I’d never known was there.

Gasping, I leaned in, to see a photo of a smiling couple, and could tell immediately that I’d come from them. There were my features: my brown eyes, my caramel skin, my smile.

“You see?” said Norma. “They’ve been with you all along.”

***

The next day, Mila and I walked the beach again, and after a while, sat sunning ourselves on rocks like mermaids.

“I talked to my parents about it,” I said. “They were shocked and sad to hear the story, too. They had no idea. But I’m so glad I know. Really, really glad. Also, since I didn't have a middle name and always sort of wanted one, now I'm going to have 'Aurora' be my middle name.” I paused. “Okay. Go ahead and say it.”

“I could.” Mila beamed. “But I don’t need to. Instead I’ll just say that I’m off to a promising start with my future career.”

We both convulsed with laughter.