The Circle Game by Tanya Nichols

Author:Tanya Nichols [Nichols, Tanya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-03-28T22:00:00+00:00

Eleven

2005

Bernie gently pressed the letter to her chest. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and tried to imagine the woman who had sat and written the words, words meant for her. The sudden lump that rose in her throat and the tightening of her stomach confused her. In her hands, she was holding the same paper that her birth mother had held only days before. She was preparing to read a message from the woman who had carried her in her womb, the same woman who had brought her into this world, but given her away as an infant. For years, she had blamed this stranger for everything wrong in her life, but now she was as giddy and nervous as a schoolgirl receiving a note from the boy across the room.

Bernie reminded herself that she simply had unanswered questions and wanted information from her mother, not some melodramatic, tear-filled mother-and-child reunion. She didn’t need a mother at this point in her life. Twenty-five years ago, when the only mom she’d known was taken away, she needed a mother to hold her and love her through the pain. Noni did that. Noni was the one who cared for her as a mother. Her fingers lightly touched the paper, feeling the words before reading them.

The stationary was a pale pink with a single long-stemmed rose across the top. Pretty, she thought. Bernie studied the handwriting, an even cursive in blue ink that flowed slightly to the right, flawless and beautiful, just like she’d been taught in third grade. These letters could easily be the same example of cursive handwriting that floated around the classroom near the ceiling, which meant the writer’s penmanship was similar to her very own script. Was there some genetic connection in handwriting styles? Or, did they both just follow the rules of cursive prescribed by some unknown handwriting authority?

And finally, forcing herself to breathe, she allowed herself to read the message that, she cringed to admit, she had been waiting to hear all of her life.

My Dear Bernadette,

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