I'm not okay...yet

When our parents got married, they lived in southern Ohio. Mom wrote screenplays for movies, some originals and some based off of books. She edited other writer’s work too. Dad was a private detective. When Annette was born and they had been married for four years, they moved to Pennsylvania. There mom had easier access to her producers and casting supervisors, which made it easier to both work and take care of Annette. Things were great for them, they were happy. Annie grew and went to school. I was born in Pittsburgh when she was fifteen. That year Uncle Camden showed up. Annette had never heard of him before, but mom and dad seemed to interact with him like well oiled gears, turning together not because they want to, but because they saw no other option, because they had never known any other way. He lived with us for several years. I vaguely remember playing with him when I was little, maybe four or five. He wasn't very tall, maybe a few inches above five feet tall, he and Annie were the same height when he moved in. In old family photos you can tell how much he looked like mom. Brown hair and bright green eyes, he was something special, something most people had never encountered and probably never would. I was a year old when we got a phone call about our grandmother, mom and Camden's mother. She was in trouble and needed help. So, we packed up all of our bags and moved to new Jersey. Mom and dad bailed grandma out of jail and had her move in with all of us. Apparently she had been dealing drugs since before mom met dad, but it was getting out of control. She was a sixty five year old woman selling ecstasy, cocaine and heroine. It took six months of meetings, court dates and various threats from judges, but she walked away from it. Little did anyone know, Annette figured out what was going on and saw how much money grandma made from it. Annie found a source and became a dealer herself. It was through that that Annette met Charlotte's father. He bought from her when she started selling and kept buying until grandma and Camden found out and made her quit. By then she'd saved up enough money to buy a house down the street from ours. she moved out of ours and into hers with Camden and Charlotte's father when she was eighteen. Charlotte was born a little less than a year later, which was a big surprise.

This is what I tell Henry. He doesn't want to believe it, but i can see the way it seems to click the puzzle pieces together for him, filling in gaps he'd never really paid attention to before. He wants to know more, but we don't have time. So, I promise to tell him the rest soon. Now I want answers for myself and I won't let him leave until I get them. I ask him how mom found out what happened and where i am.
"Nobody told you?" He asks.
"What do you mean? What am I missing here?" I lean in when I say this, furrowing my eyebrow and lowering my voice, even though we were already whispering. Henry shakes his head.
"I thought Gerard would've told you. A few hours after you were admitted to the hospital he called mom. The entire first day and night that you were here you were a Jane Doe, Gerard wouldn't tell anyone who you were and char and Frank wouldn't get out of the car to see you or to talk to anyone. Gerard told mom that she needed to pay for your treatment and fill out a bunch of forms, bring your birth certificate and driver's license to identify you for them with. She didn't want to do anything for you, said you'd made your choices, that if you were going to be alright it would be because of you and not her. Dad convinced her to come here and help, so I could see you. She faxed in your health records and I.D. then, packed our bags. We flew in yesterday." I don't know if I want to be mad at Gee, my mom, or myself. I understand why he called her and why she was so reluctant, but i'm her child. Where do you draw the line between tough love and not caring?

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