Cancer Society will continue organizing the event for July 4 th .”
“I’m impressed, Amaris. Quite the noble gesture on your part.”
“It’s not really that noble.” She chewed on her lip. “It’s the one day a year I get the double whammy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I told you my mother died of breast cancer. But what I didn’t tell you is that my daughter was born on the 4 th of July eighteen years ago. The 4 th has never been a good day for me. Obviously. In fact, after I complete the walk, I usually stay home by myself and spend the day crying, drinking, and feeling sorry for myself, asking the same haunting question: Why did I give up my baby? I keep praying that by some miracle, she’ll find me or I’ll find her. But for all I know, she may not even know I exist.”
“I’m so sorry, Amaris. I wish there was something I could do.”
Neither spoke for a few minutes. Something struck Dupree that had never crossed her mind before. What if—she could barely reflect on the thought—her daughter wasn’t even alive? A chill shivered through her body as if her blood had turned to ice. She couldn’t even imagine such a devastating possibility. Still, she couldn’t dismiss it.
“How about you?” Dupree asked. “Big plans for the 4 th ?”
“Nothing special. Just driving to Jersey for a barbeque. My parents have a little bash every 4 th of July.”
“Sounds great.” Dupree wished that she had a family to bond with on the holidays.
“Here’s a thought,” T.J. said. “Why don’t you drive to Jersey with me and join the party? I’d love for you to meet my family. I’mnot leaving until noon so it would give you plenty of time to finish the Making Strides walk and freshen up. How about it?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Would you really rather be alone?”
“Actually, I would.” She thought about that for a minute, tempted to accept his offer, but was afraid at some point she’d completely breakdown and didn’t want to subject anyone to her private pity party.
“Okay, partner, I won’t push it. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
Just then, her phone sang, “Set Fire to the Rain,” by Adele.
“Hi, Brenda. What’s cooking?”
“I ran the plate number through DMV and the registered owner is Ivan Tesler. His last known address is—”
“Hang on Brenda, let me get something to write on.” Dupree pointed to the glove box. “There’s a pad and pen in there,” she said to T.J. “Hand them to me, please.”
“Okay, Brenda, shoot.”
“The DMV records show him at 751 Cedar Street, Unit 3, in Yonkers. I also checked with the Tax Assessor’s office and he doesn’t have an account with them so he’s probably a renter.”
“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“Hey, Girlfriend, that’s what I do. You didn’t ask for this, but I ran his name through the New York and FBI criminal records database, and also through the AFIS archives. He’s been a busy boy. Been arrested and charged with assault, breaking and entering, auto theft, resisting arrest, and petty larceny. But get this: he’s never been convicted.”
“Must have a hell of an attorney.”
“Or he’s connected to somebody powerful.”
“I appreciate your help, Brenda. Have a nice 4 th .” For the first time since beginning the investigation, Dupree felt as if she’duncovered a significant lead. But she tried to harness her enthusiasm. How many times in the past had a supposed good lead taken her to a dead end street?
From her past experiences, Dupree estimated that the ride from Park Slope to Yonkers could take as long as two hours.
“Ready for a long trek?” Dupree said to T.J. who had already reclined his seatback.
“Not really, but do I have a choice?”
“Sure. You can catch a cab. Or better yet, thumb a ride.”
“Funny girl. Have you ever thought about being a stand-up comedian?”
“No, but I guess I might
“I’m impressed, Amaris. Quite the noble gesture on your part.”
“It’s not really that noble.” She chewed on her lip. “It’s the one day a year I get the double whammy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I told you my mother died of breast cancer. But what I didn’t tell you is that my daughter was born on the 4 th of July eighteen years ago. The 4 th has never been a good day for me. Obviously. In fact, after I complete the walk, I usually stay home by myself and spend the day crying, drinking, and feeling sorry for myself, asking the same haunting question: Why did I give up my baby? I keep praying that by some miracle, she’ll find me or I’ll find her. But for all I know, she may not even know I exist.”
“I’m so sorry, Amaris. I wish there was something I could do.”
Neither spoke for a few minutes. Something struck Dupree that had never crossed her mind before. What if—she could barely reflect on the thought—her daughter wasn’t even alive? A chill shivered through her body as if her blood had turned to ice. She couldn’t even imagine such a devastating possibility. Still, she couldn’t dismiss it.
“How about you?” Dupree asked. “Big plans for the 4 th ?”
“Nothing special. Just driving to Jersey for a barbeque. My parents have a little bash every 4 th of July.”
“Sounds great.” Dupree wished that she had a family to bond with on the holidays.
“Here’s a thought,” T.J. said. “Why don’t you drive to Jersey with me and join the party? I’d love for you to meet my family. I’mnot leaving until noon so it would give you plenty of time to finish the Making Strides walk and freshen up. How about it?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Would you really rather be alone?”
“Actually, I would.” She thought about that for a minute, tempted to accept his offer, but was afraid at some point she’d completely breakdown and didn’t want to subject anyone to her private pity party.
“Okay, partner, I won’t push it. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
Just then, her phone sang, “Set Fire to the Rain,” by Adele.
“Hi, Brenda. What’s cooking?”
“I ran the plate number through DMV and the registered owner is Ivan Tesler. His last known address is—”
“Hang on Brenda, let me get something to write on.” Dupree pointed to the glove box. “There’s a pad and pen in there,” she said to T.J. “Hand them to me, please.”
“Okay, Brenda, shoot.”
“The DMV records show him at 751 Cedar Street, Unit 3, in Yonkers. I also checked with the Tax Assessor’s office and he doesn’t have an account with them so he’s probably a renter.”
“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“Hey, Girlfriend, that’s what I do. You didn’t ask for this, but I ran his name through the New York and FBI criminal records database, and also through the AFIS archives. He’s been a busy boy. Been arrested and charged with assault, breaking and entering, auto theft, resisting arrest, and petty larceny. But get this: he’s never been convicted.”
“Must have a hell of an attorney.”
“Or he’s connected to somebody powerful.”
“I appreciate your help, Brenda. Have a nice 4 th .” For the first time since beginning the investigation, Dupree felt as if she’duncovered a significant lead. But she tried to harness her enthusiasm. How many times in the past had a supposed good lead taken her to a dead end street?
From her past experiences, Dupree estimated that the ride from Park Slope to Yonkers could take as long as two hours.
“Ready for a long trek?” Dupree said to T.J. who had already reclined his seatback.
“Not really, but do I have a choice?”
“Sure. You can catch a cab. Or better yet, thumb a ride.”
“Funny girl. Have you ever thought about being a stand-up comedian?”
“No, but I guess I might
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