Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

got home. It was mid-afternoon in Minnesota. The courthouse would still be open.
    For ten minutes I paced back and forth with the phone in my hand, mentally reciting the reasons why this was a good idea. I would get my birth certificate, it would tell me what I already knew, that I was Michael and Judith Goddard’s child, and the question of adoption would be laid to rest without Mother ever knowing it had been raised.
    But dread sat on my chest like a stone, and it was only the awareness of time passing that made me act. If I didn’t do this now, I might never work up the courage again.
    I called long distance information. I waited another minute, eyes squeezed shut, breathing deeply, before I punched in the number I’d been given. After my call was transferred to the right extension, I was talking to a clerk who handled birth records.
    “I’m trying to find out—” I cleared my throat. “I need to find out if you have my birth records on file.”
    “We charge for copies of—”
    “I’ll do that, I’ll send you a check for a copy, but could you just tell me now if you have the record?”
    A silence, then a little grunt of puzzlement. “Well, were you born in Hennepin County?”
    “Yes, in Minneapolis.”
    “Then we’ll have the record. What’s the date and the name?”
    I gave her my birthdate and name, spelling Goddard for her.
    “Just a second. I’m going to put you on hold.”
    The line went dead silent, no canned music to distract the mind. Chewing my thumbnail, I stood at a window and looked down at the driveway. Its black surface was dusty and dulled by the heat. Along the far edge, two dozen house sparrows bustled and pecked, probably scooping up ants that I couldn’t see.
    “Ma’am?”
    I snapped to attention. “Yes!”
    “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any record of that.”
    For a moment I couldn’t take in what she’d said. Then I stammered, “But—but it has to be there. Maybe you looked at the wrong day. It was August—”
    “Yes ma’am, I got that right,” the clerk said, with the exaggerated patience of someone who dealt daily with the public’s inquiries. “I looked at that date, and I checked a few days before and afterwards, and it’s not here.”
    My mind snatched at an explanation. “Maybe the records were destroyed in a fire or something—Could you—”
    “No, ma’am. I’m sure these records are complete. Are you sure you were born in Hennepin County? I know you’re talking about yourself, but—”
    I stopped listening. I pushed the off button and dropped the phone onto the bed. Thinking I was going to be sick, I rose, veered toward my bathroom, and smacked into the door frame.
    I groped my way inside and sank onto the edge of the tub. The air felt clotted, unbreathable, and I couldn’t pull enough of it into my lungs. 
    In a while the nausea passed, leaving a knot of pain under my heart. I stood on shaky legs, went to the sink, splashed cold water on my cheeks. Soon I would be expected to go downstairs and eat dinner with my mother and sister.
    I raised my eyes to a reflection I didn’t recognize. The face in the mirror had the slack stunned look of people who appeared on the evening news after a tornado or hurricane or earthquake had laid waste to their lives.
    I touched the cool smooth surface of the glass and whispered, “Who the hell are you?”

Chapter Twelve
    The only sound in the room was the faint tick of Theo’s marble mantel clock. Outside on the sidewalk, people passed within a few feet of the front windows, but their voices and laughter were muffled, distant. A hot summer Sunday in Georgetown. Crowded sidewalks, traffic-clogged streets. People living their lives. I was on the verge of redefining mine. The answers I needed were locked in my memory, waiting to be freed.
    With narrowed eyes, Theo peered at me from his armchair. “Are you afraid, Rachel?”
    I shrugged, dropping my gaze to the two Siamese cats crammed onto my lap. “A little. But I’m ready. I’m prepared.”
    I was terrified. How could I prepare myself for the unknown?
    Over a lunch I barely touched, we’d talked about books, my work, the heat and lack of rain, everything except the reason I’d come to see him. I’d known he was watching me, though, for signs that I might not be able to deal with the memories hypnosis dredged up. I put on a show of strength and composure.
    “Have you talked with your mother about this?” Theo said. “I don’t like keeping