Replica - Mystery Mother Part 9

Amy fell onto her bed and tried to straighten out her thoughts. So Camilla was telling the truth, at least the part about being married to Dr. Jaleski. Mary hadn't mentioned anything about their having children, though. But if Mary and Camilla had met only once, and they were living at opposite ends of the country, maybe Mary didn't even know. . . .

Amy's breath came out in a rush. Mary didn't know she had a half sister. Amy.

She felt as if her head would explode from all the thoughts, the rush of emotions that filled her. Was this all really, truly possible? Her whole concept of herself, her knowledge of who she was - was it all wrong?

"Amy! You look upset."

Nancy stood in Amy's doorway, looking very concerned. Amy realized that her hands were on her head, in the position of someone who had a raging headache. Amy never had headaches.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. "I was just thinking."

Her mother's expression remained worried. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course!" Amy said brightly. "I always feel all right."

Still Nancy hesitated. "I'm going to the university now . . . but I can stay here if you need me."

"I'm fine," Amy insisted. "Honestly. Mom." She added that last word almost as an afterthought. For the first time in her life, it sounded strange.

But she must have been convincing, because Nancy left. Amy was then free to curl up on her bed.

It was so unreal, but everything seemed to be falling into place. Amy had a mother and a father, like other people. A sister, even. As for her unusual skills, medications taken by Camilla could certainly have enhanced her natural abilities. Teachers were always telling them that drugs could have side effects no one knew about.

Something else hit her. She wasn't one of twelve - she was an original! The other Amys she had seen and met - they were replicas of her.

The thought was so overwhelming that it took a moment before the ringing of the doorbell registered. She ran downstairs and found Tasha at the door.

Her friend was pale with excitement. "I just saw your mother leave," she said. "And I have to show you something." Tasha was clutching a paper tightly in her hand. "I printed this out from my computer," she said in a breathless rush. "I figured out how to get into the Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., registry of births. Look!"

Amy took the paper. It wasn't an excellent copy, but it was completely legible and it looked very official. Across the top, ornate letters proclaimed that this was an official birth certificate, issued in the District of Columbia twelve years earlier. There was the name of a father: James Jaleski, M.D., Ph.D. And the name of a mother: Camilla Louise Jaleski. The baby was fourteen inches long, and she weighed six pounds, two ounces. Her name was Laura Jean Jaleski.

Amy started to shake.

Suddenly the door opened, and Nancy strode in. "I forgot my office keys," she was saying, and then she saw Tasha. Her lips tightened.

"I was just leaving," Tasha declared, and ran out of the house. Nancy glared at Amy, who shoved the piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans.

"She only came over for a minute," Amy began, but Nancy wasn't in the mood for excuses.

"Amy, I said no company!" she yelled. "I can't believe this'. And after I just gave you time off for good behavior!"

Amy raged right back. "You make it sound like I'm in jail! What are you, the prison warden?"

"No, I'm your mother and you are supposed to obey me!"

"Oh, really?" Amy asked her. "Says who?"

Nancy gasped at the harshness of Amy's tone. "You go to your room right now, young lady! You're grounded for another week!"

Amy turned around and stormed up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door. She took the birth certificate out of her jeans pocket and smoothed out the crumpled paper. She looked it over again.

It was all there, in black and white. The truth.

She heard the front door close downstairs, and she went to the window. Nancy was heading to the driveway. Even from this distance, Amy could see that her face was white, no doubt from distress and fury.

Amy threw herself on her bed and tried to figure out what she should do next. Call Mary Jaleski? Wait till Nancy got home and confront her with the paper?

Then the phone rang.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, Amy." Camilla's voice was soft and warm.

"h.e.l.lo," Amy said again.

"I was just wondering if you'd had an opportunity to think about what I told you last night."

"Yes," Amy said. "I've been thinking a lot." And then she knew what to do. "Where are you?" she asked Camilla.

"Not far from your home," Camilla replied.

"Could you come get me?" Amy asked.

She could hear Camilla draw in her breath. And when the woman spoke, Amy could hear joy in her voice.

"Oh, yes, I'll be right there!"

"Give me ten minutes," Amy said quickly. "I have to pack a few things. And - and leave a note."

"Yes," Camilla said. "Yes, that's the right thing to do. I'll be over in ten minutes."

Amy hung up and got her overnight case from the closet. She tossed in some underwear, a couple of T-s.h.i.+rts, a nightgown, and another pair of jeans, and ran into the bathroom and got her toothbrush.

Then she sat down at her desk and wrote.

Dear Mom,

She ripped the paper off the pad, crumpled it, and threw it in her wastebasket. She started again.

Dear Nancy, I found out who I am. I'm going to my real mother.

She hesitated over the dosing. Love? Sincerely! Finally she just wrote Amy.

Had it been ten minutes yet? She went to her window and looked out.

The bright blue sports car was right across the street. Amy wasn't surprised to see that the top was up. It had started to rain. Clearly, this woman wasn't crazy.

Amy picked up her suitcase and the backpack that held her schoolbooks. She stopped and stuck the note in the frame of the hanging mirror.

11.

Amy stood on the terrace of Camilla's apartment and looked out over the many Los Angeles neighborhoods that spread out before her. This was a very different view than the one from Parkside, where Amy had grown up. Instead of a suburban setting with private homes, Camilla lived in a congested part of the city where office buildings and high-rise apartments sprouted everywhere.

Camilla's own apartment was on the twentieth floor. The apartment wasn't fancy, and though the simple furniture was tasteful, it didn't look especially comfortable. So while Camilla went off to fix tea, Amy ventured through the sliding doors onto the terrace.

After taking in the view, Amy imagined it could be very pleasant to eat dinner out here on nice evenings, on the little table with its two chairs. She leaned over the railing, trying to see if there was a sign that would tell her the name of the street. Focusing intently, she made out that they were on Starling Road.

A voice from behind startled her. "Laura! Laura! Don't do that!"

Amy turned. Camilla was pale.

"You frightened me, hanging over the railing like that!"

"I was just looking around," Amy said. "Don't worry, I won't fall."

A bit of color returned to Camilla's face. She set a tray down on the little table. "I'm sorry for yelling like that," she said. "But it means so much to me, having you here. And if anything happened to you again, I couldn't bear it. Come, sit down with me."

Taking a seat at the table, Amy wondered what Camilla meant by anything happening to her again. She must be referring to the fact that Dr. Jaleski had taken Amy away from her.

"I met my. father once, you know," Amy told Camilla as she held out her cup for tea. "Twice, actually. Of course, I didn't know he was my father then."

Camilla smiled as she poured tea from a china pot into Amy's cup, but she didn't say anything.

"I know he was a very important scientist," Amy continued. "But I'm surprised that he wanted to clone his own daughter. I guess when he saw how, well, different I was, he couldn't resist the opportunity. How did you know I was special when I was born?"

"You were perfect," Camilla said simply.

"Well, yeah, I know that," Amy said, and then she felt a little embarra.s.sed, talking about herself being perfect. But this was her mother. She should be able to say anything in front of her and not worry about sounding conceited.

"But how could you tell I was exceptional?" she asked. "Did I do something other babies couldn't do? Did I look different?"

"Drink your tea before it gets cold," Camilla said.

Amy took a sip. It was sweet and minty. "Mmm, it's good."

Camilla gazed at her fondly. "I'm glad you like it." She reached across the table and took Amy's hand. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning. "I still can't believe you're here, sitting across the table from me."

Amy smiled back. "It's nice to be here."

Camilla's tinkling laugh filled the air. "Don't worry, Amy, I'm not going to start acting all mushy and sentimental. Have a sandwich."

Amy took one of the little triangles of bread off the tray. But after one bite she put it down.

Camilla seemed concerned. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

Amy was embarra.s.sed again. "It's kind of fishy."

"That's smoked salmon, a delicacy. But if you don't like it . . ." Camilla got up and disappeared into the apartment. Amy hoped she wasn't looking for something else for her to eat. She wasn't even hungry.

But when Camilla returned, she was only carrying a pad and a pencil. She sat back down at the table. "No smoked salmon," she said aloud as she wrote. "I will never buy smoked salmon again. Do you like egg salad? Try one of the brown-bread sandwiches."

Amy wasn't particularly crazy about egg salad either, but she could swallow that a lot easier than salmon, so she took one. She thought it was awfully nice of Camilla to be so concerned about what she liked and didn't like.

"You don't like smoked salmon," Camilla murmured again, almost in wonderment. "There's so much I have to learn about you, Laura. Oh, I'm sorry, I really should call you Amy. That's the name you grew up with and it's the name you're used to hearing. It's just that I've spent so many years thinking of you as Laura."

"Laura," Amy echoed. It wasn't one of her favorite names, but it wasn't terrible. At least she hadn't been called Heather. Impulsively she leaned toward Camilla. "You can call me Laura if you want to."

"That would make me very happy," Camilla said. "Would you like to know why I gave you that name?"

"Sure, okay."

Camilla's voice became dreamy. "There's a wonderful movie called Laura. It was made a long time ago, in the 1940s, I think. I saw it on television, just before you were born. . . ." Her voice drifted away, and her eyes became cloudy, as if she was seeing the movie in her mind.

"What was it about?" Amy asked her.

Camilla's eyes cleared. "It was a mystery. A detective is investigating the death of a woman named Laura. He looks at the portrait of Laura in her apartment, and he falls in love with it. But it turns out that the woman who was killed wasn't Laura after all. Laura is alive. . . ."

"So the movie has a happy ending?"

Camilla gazed at her. "Yes, a very happy ending." Her gaze was so intense, Amy felt almost uncomfortable. But it didn't last. Camilla took a gulp of her tea and smiled brightly.

"Now, what would you like to do today?"

Amy didn't know what to suggest.