Women Who Stay, 33

Chapter 1 ... Chapter 32

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Years ago, I learned about the 'Doorknob Phenomenon' from a doctor I interviewed.

"People always come into the office for a reason," she told me. "But then they get too embarrassed to bring it up. And I can't drag it out of them if I don't know what to ask. Even 'Is there anything else?' won't do. So I always hesitate at the door. I hold the doorknob for a second longer than I need to, because that's when they say 'Oh, yeah, and also, it hurts when I pee.'"

That was a great quote. It also helped me develop my own interview practice. To this day, whenever I finish my questions I take much longer than necessary to put my things together. And I always keep the recorder running until I'm around the corner. The tactic never helped me much with Janie, who always knew exactly what she wanted to tell me and clammed up as soon as she finished saying it.

With Gordon, it paid off.

I flipped through the binder, as though making sure no photos were out of order. I asked to use his bathroom, where I flushed and washed my hands for no reason. (Though I did riffle through his medicine cabinet, which yielded nothing more interesting than some ancient Vicodin and a dead moth.) I thanked him for his time and crouched halfway on the porch step to adjust my perfectly comfortable sandal.

"Um, by the way," he said in a rush, "there's something my mother wanted me to tell you."

Still crouching, I smiled. "Oh yeah?"

"You see, she knew that when she died, someone would probably come to talk with me. And even if they didn't, she wanted me to reach out. I'm -- I'm sorry it's taken me so long."

I walked back up the steps towards Gordon, still sitting in his Adirondack chair. "And what is it?"

"Well, Antonio -- he isn't my real father. Biologically."

This confession was not on my bingo card. I gaped and sat back in my chair, letting my bag drop heavily to the porch. "Then who is?"

"Don't know. Doesn't matter. She went to a clinic and chose a profile out of a book."

"Do your siblings know?" He cringed.

"No. Things are tense enough with them as it is. And... I knew once I told you, I'd have to tell them. Or just let them figure it out when they read your book. That's why it's taken me so long to set up an interview. I'm, well, scared that this will only push us further away from each other. And they're all I have left now." He looked glum at this reminder. "But Mommy was so insistent. Every year on my birthday, she'd remind me I had to tell you when she was gone. Or whoever you turned out to be -- did you know, there were quite a lot of you over the years?"

I nodded. In the records, I found a folder of her correspondence with almost a dozen women, all reporters or writers. To my surprise, I knew most of their names. They were friends, enemies, colleagues, and mentors. All seem to have been fired within a week or so of signing contracts, usually in terse email exchanges.

Gordon started crying, and the Janie-ness of his narrow face disappeared. "I promised, but privately decided not to. I wanted the secret to die with us. And then in our last conversation, she brought you up. Said she liked you, and if I didn't tell you she'd never forgive me for it."

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Don't quote me on this, readers, because I won't know for sure until I write them, but I think we only have three chapters left. I think tomorrow, this journey ends.

I hope you'll tune in.

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Read on to Chapter 34