Pacing. He was pacing the linoleum-covered floor of the old trailer in which he lived. Catching himself, he stopped in mild annoyance with himself. He never paced. So why now? Walking the few steps to the dinette set, he turned the nearest chair around so that it faced away from the table and, lighting his second cigarette of the short evening, sat down.

          It wasn’t as if the telephone call he’d received was totally unexpected given that he’d initiated the whole process. It had been five years since he’d paid the intermediary service the $500.00 to begin the search. Five years with limited contact and no results. It had been so long since the last contact, he’d almost given up on ever hearing anything. Many people in the same situation never did get any meaningful results, so why should he expect to?

His thoughts ran back to the time 20 years earlier, when he’d came up with the whole idea. He’d been in a stressful on and off again relationship following his recent divorce, and felt he’d needed some time totally to himself to try to get his feelings and thoughts in order. He’d left his car at his apartment telling no one that he was going, so he couldn’t be tracked down, and after walking a few blocks took a bus to one of the seedier areas of downtown, booked a room for two days. It was during those two days of intense introspection that he’d hit upon the idea of the intermediary service. An officer of the court who’d be able to open and examine sealed adoption records. Either of the affected parties would be able to initiate the search, and if the other party was located, that person could either approve or not approve contact. Seemed like an ideal situation.

He’d written the details of the idea in the notebook he’d had with him at the time, where they still remained. He hadn’t known who to go to with such an idea. Luckily for him, someone else had apparently had the same idea, and ten years later the law was passed and the service was created in his state. A couple years after that, both of the parents who’d raised him passed away, so he made the contact with the service and started the search. Could it be that the connection he felt he had to the whole project was about to finally pay off for him?

          Shaking his head, he got up and walked to the refrigerator for a Ginger Ale. A beer would have been so much better, but he’d given those up awhile back. Opening the soda, he lit another cigarette. Too bad those weren’t quite as easy to quit. What was it that the caseworker had said? They’d managed to locate his birth mother after all these years. It had been 42 years since she’d given him up. The caseworker had continued that luckily his birth mother had been a minor at the time of his adoption, and had needed someone to sign the papers on her behalf. That person had been an Aunt who’d had an usual name. While searching obituaries she’d come across that name, and was able to make contact with her family. They’d known of an adoption, and the no longer young woman was still around. The caseworker had made contact with her, and she acknowledged that she had, in fact, placed a son for adoption on the day that he’d been born. Yes, she’d be willing to hear from him after all this time, although none of her present children had a clue of an older sibling. Then the caseworker asked him The Question. Would he want her number? Naturally he answered the affirmative, wasn’t that why he’d started the quest?