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July 4, 2005

Atlanta, GA

“What do you mean it was a closed adoption!?!” Patricia Turner screamed at her private investigator unable to contain her rage at having hit another dead end.

“Patti, I’m telling you, the State of Georgia doesn’t play around about this kind of stuff.  Katie had someone draw up these adoption records who was good.  There was no trace of anything suggesting where the child had been placed or even the gender of the child.

“Joe Cleburn, I heard what you said, now hear me.  I’ve lost my husband and I’m only a week away from having buried my only daughter who I guess thought it was cute to have a letter sent to me after her death taunting me about a grandchild that I would never be able to see.  I’m not losing anyone else.  Find this baby, Joe.  And while you’re at it, see if you can figure out who the knucklehead boy was who knocked up my baby girl and set her down this destructive path.

Waving her hand she swiveled her chair away from her visitor and gazed out onto the City of Atlanta from her Peachtree condo and pressed play on her remote control.  The top of the line sound system she’d just installed roared to life and the opening strands of “It Hurts Like Hell” by Aretha Franklin began pouring out of the speakers.

Patti moved to her wall unit and pulled out a fresh glass and a bottle of her favorite French red Burgundy Domaine Romane Conti 1997 and proceeded to pour.  From her vantage 12-stories up, the sunset was breathtaking as it began to set and people below excitedly prepared for the start of the Independence Day’s fireworks display.  Feeling the wine flow over her tongue and glade smoothly down her throat, she savored the gentle flush of warmth that began making its way through the rest of her body.  This was just what she needed to ease the impending headache she knew she must now endure.

“I’ll find that child, Katie.  I’ll prove to you that I loved you even though my work kept me from you so much,” she said aloud to the now empty space.

Patti leaned back in comfortable leather chairs she had especially chosen on her last visit to Italy.  She’d wait on the report from Joe and then she was going to claim her little grandchild and anyone getting in her way had better move or face the wrath of Hurricane Patti.