Who Is Sarah Randall (THE RANDALLS Book 1)

by Gail Haris

  Richard wraps an arm around me and squeezes me close to him. He releases me and holds me at arm’s length. He shakes his head a little, and his eyes get teary again. “I just can’t believe it. I didn’t believe them at first, and I was skeptical until the moment you got out of the car. But,” he releases sigh, “it’s you. It. Is. You.”

  It’s weird. These people have been searching for me for the past seventeen years, but I’ve only just learned that they even exist.

  I’m overcome with a flood of emotions. I’m happy, sad, confused, and intimidated all at once. I have a whole other family when I thought I was alone when Cindy died. But I’ve lost so much time. Not lost, it was taken from me. The three sitting in front of me have been raised in a life of wealth, which is something unbeknownst to me.

  Richard wraps his arm around me again and leads me to stand in front of the fireplace. With his other hand, gestures toward the other siblings and he begins to introduce them.

  “This is very strange to introduce you to your own brothers and sister. I can only imagine how you feel, dear. If it becomes too much for you at any time, just say so. Everyone will understand.” We all stand there in an awkward pause. I gulp and nod.

  “Well,” he clears his throat and in a stronger voice announces, “this is your older brother, Trent. He’s twenty-one, a junior at a university about an hour and a half away in Lexington, and he’s working on a degree in physical therapy.”

  Trent favors Melissa with his thick, wavy, dark hair and blue eyes. He’s extremely attractive. His athletic body is on display with him wearing a black Nike shirt and grey Nike basketball shorts. He stands to shake my hand. As he towers over me, he looks down and studies me. A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows and his eyes turn dark with a swirl of emotions. What is he thinking?

  Before I can pull my hand away, he wraps me in a tight hug and rests his chin on top of my head. “I’m glad you’re okay.” His deep voice rumbles.

  When he sits back down, Richard continues.

  “This is your younger brother, Landon. He just turned seventeen and is a junior in high school.” Richard sees the confused look on my face and hurries to explain that Melissa was already pregnant with Landon when I was taken, and he was born premature. “You two are barely a year apart.”

  Landon comes up to me with a warm smile and wraps me in a full hug with no hesitation. He’s a spitting image of a young Richard. He has dark blond hair with a few lighter natural highlights, a button nose, and a bottom lip that’s a little fuller than the top. It’s almost creepy how many similar features we share, and our ages are so close together. My hair is slightly more blond. I’m seventeen now, but I’ll turn eighteen in three months. The main difference that I can tell is that while I do bear a resemblance to Richard and Landon, I have Melissa and Trent’s blue eyes. Richard and Landon both have brown eyes. My figure, I notice, has more curves than the lean stick figure of Richard.

  “The long-lost sister has returned.” Landon says with a wink and then goes back to sit next to Trent.

  Richard waves over the petite girl. “This is your baby sister, Denise. She’s fourteen and in the eighth grade.”

  Denise pushes herself out of her seat and quickly walks toward me. She has dark brown, thick, arched eyebrows, but her hair has been colored with an ombre effect so the top is dark brown and flowing into caramel tips. She resembles Melissa and Trent in all aspects except her frame. She’s not very tall, even by fourteen year-old standards. She’s lean yet athletic, and has a golden tan. The skinny tan lines on her shoulders indicates this is a natural tan.

  Denise holds her hand out like she doesn’t know if she wants to shake mine. I take her hand and shake it once. She gives me one more look up and down and looks at Richard. He nods, and she returns to her seat.

  Melissa comes and wraps her arms around me again in a tight hug. She jumps back suddenly. “Where are my manners! Sarah, sweetheart, would you like something to drink? You must be starving. Come to the kitchen. Let’s sit and have a snack. I’ll get supper going and you can tell me about…well, about you!”

  I shift nervously on my feet and nod. Richard looks to the kids “Why don’t you all go to your rooms for now. Let your mom and Sarah have some time together. We’ll visit at supper.”

  I’m relieved to hear that since I don’t really want to talk about myself in front of everyone.

  On the way to the kitchen, it occurs to me that I could quite easily get lost in this house. My home had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. We didn’t really have a dining room. We ate at the kitchen table. I’m also not used to living with so many people. I have only ever lived with one other person. As far as I can remember, anyway.

  Melissa sits me down on a bar stool in the kitchen. This kitchen is basically a restaurant-style kitchen, complete with a mini griddle built into the stove. She asks if a cold sandwich will do for now while she gets supper ready. I nod and in a matter of seconds, she quickly whips up a ham and cheese sandwich for me. After placing a glass of ice water down in front of me, she begins grabbing different ingredients out of the cabinets.

  When I finish my sandwich, she sets a few vegetables in front of me on a cutting board.

  “Here Sarah sweetie, you prepare the salad. I’ll start seasoning the chicken and get it in the oven.”

  I’m grateful for having something to do, which I think is why she did it. I’m already more at ease with having something to keep my hands busy.

  I’m cutting the bell peppers when she casually says, “I love to cook. What are some of your hobbies?”

  I notice right away that nobody has mentioned or asked about my previous life with Cindy. The way they’ve acted with my return I know they care, but it is probably a painful topic for them. I desperately want to ask her to call me Olivia. This Sarah business is uncomfortable. I don’t know who Sarah Randall is because I’m Olivia Stevens. I thought I could do it. Take on a new name and new life, but now I’m having doubts. I can’t bring myself to say anything about my name, so I tell her about how I love to cook as well, and I enjoy art. We discuss other trivial facts about each other.

  “I love pasta. I sometimes experiment by adding my own twist to recipes.” I give a nervous chuckle. “Sometimes they work out…sometimes, not so much.”

  “I bet your dishes are delicious! I’d love for you to cook for us one night. We could make something together? You know, I’m not surprised. Your grandpa owned his own restaurant and was an amazing chef. He had a natural gift in the kitchen. He passed, but it sounds like his passion for cooking went to you. Ha, Lord knows Landon and Denise didn’t inherit it. Those two burn toast. Trent enjoys cooking.”

  I analyze her movements, gestures, facial expressions, facial features, and every comment she makes. My eyes scan the luxurious kitchen again before focusing on Melissa. It’s a dream. I can’t imagine cooking in here. I can’t possibly be a part of this family, this life. What if there’s some mistake? I know there isn’t. Mom—Cindy, already confessed everything in her letter. Melissa keeps the conversation light, and I find myself becoming more at ease. All too soon, though, supper is ready and it’s time to move to the dining room.

  I learn about each one’s personalities through random chatter. Trent is very calm and laid back. Landon is comical but hot tempered, and Denise is very chatty and dramatic. I keep looking for similar traits between myself and them. I feel a little shot of excitement each time I hear something we have in common, so much that I want to raise my hand and say “Oh yeah! Me too! Me too!” Instead I remain reserved with a nod and a few mumbled, “me too.” Going from a table of one other person to a table of five other people at supper is a little overwhelming. Will I ever get used to this? I can’t help it, but a few times I think that maybe it was better I did grow up with Cindy. Is that because she’s the one who raised me? Nature vs. Nurture?

  Melissa shows me to my room, and it’s massive compared to my old bedroom. I even have my own bathroom.
My bedroom closet is about the size of my full bedroom back home. It’s all too much and so overwhelming that I want to cry, but I won’t in front of Melissa. She’s watching me as I take in the room. It’s truly beautiful with pale, powder blue walls, grey and white swirl marble floors, and all the furniture is a bright white. The bed is a large, four post queen with an iron canopy. There’s a large armoire, vanity, and dresser. There are two white French doors that lead to a balcony with two long windows on either side that are decorated with white curtains. This room is more than I could have ever dreamed of having, yet I’m rather scared of it.

  Melissa comes closer to me and rubs my arms “I’ll let you get settled and get some rest. Please come to me for anything.”

  She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me tightly. I feel her about to break down again. I hug her back tightly because I’m about to break down as well. She releases me and rubs my arms again. She gives me a teary-eyed smile and walks to the door.

  She has her hand on the handle about to pull it shut when she pauses. “You don’t know me, but I know you. No amount of time or distance could ever change that. At any moment you need me, no matter the time, I’m here for you. I love you.”

  She shuts the door. I’m swallowed in the silence of the vast space. The big room feels so lonely. A little part of me is tempted to call for her to come back. Not to leave me alone. What would I say? Melissa Randall is my biological mother. Am I supposed to call her ‘mom?’ It’s much too soon to even consider. I’m so lost and confused that maybe I do need the space to sort through this giant mess. I throw my suitcase on the bed and open it. I didn’t bring much from my old room as far as decorations and memorabilia, but I did pack a small painting I’d done last year in my art class. It’s one of my favorites and I’m rather proud of it. It’s an 8x10 canvas with a black and white checkered background. Alice from Alice in Wonderland is standing in the corner holding her hands behind her back. In the center of the canvas is a circle made of whimsical flowers, and in the center of that circle I painted:

  I knew who I was this morning but I’ve changed a few times since then—Alice In Wonderland.

  I can relate, Alice. I place the painting on the nightstand next to the bed, along with a couple of books. I grab all my toiletries and head for the bathroom. I’m surprised to find the bathroom is already fully stocked with everything from high end bath products to scented candles. There’s even new razors and loofas. I hop in the shower and instantly feel better when the hot water hits my skin. I scrub the shampoo harder into my hair than necessary, and I do the same with the body wash, scrubbing hard as the hot water scorches my skin. I begin to let the tears fall until finally my body slides down the shower wall, and I cry uncontrollably. I don’t know how long I sit on the stone tile and cry. My body is sore when I stand, and the water is lukewarm.

  I get out of the shower and finish getting ready for bed. I crawl into my extremely beautiful and comfortable bed. I swipe my phone screen and read through all the unread messages from friends back home. I want to text back but decide not to. Even they seem like strangers now. What could I possibly say? I went from living in a tiny house to a mansion overnight. Most people would be ecstatic for the major upgrade, but I lost my best friend and mom in the process. More than that, I feel like I’ve lost my identity. I don’t have any trouble falling asleep because I’m just too exhausted, emotionally and physically, at this point.

  The next morning, I wake up around nine and go downstairs to find breakfast ready for me.

  “There’s a little bit of everything. I, um,” Melissa’s cheeks turn pink, “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

  I nod and smile. As I sit down, she takes my plate and grabs the tong sitting on top of the plate of bacon. “Do you like bacon?” I nod and smile. She goes through every dish on the table the same way, turning my plate into the grand slam of breakfast platters. I hear a snicker next to me and turn to smile at Trent sitting at the end of the table.

  “Jeez, Mom. You’re going to overwhelm her with protein.”

  “There’s still plenty for you, Trent, if that’s what you’re really worried about.” Melissa winks at me. She places the plate in front of me and I’m almost scared to touch it. The food might topple everywhere.

  “Sarah, I want you to make a list of all your favorite foods. And anything you don’t like.”

  Trent raises his eyebrows. “Can I make a list? I’d like to put in requests for the weekends I’m home.”

  Melissa gives Trent a loving scowl. “Like I don’t already fix whatever you want when you’re home. You should hear what I have to go through with Denise and Landon. Saying I roll out the red carpet and prepare a feast when the ‘golden child’ has returned.”

  Trent must notice me looking around because he says, “Dad already left for work. Landon and Denise have left for school.”

  “They all wanted to visit with you again. But I told them you needed rest and we were going to let you sleep as long as you needed too.”

  Trent’s phone beeps. He presses the side button and stands. “I hate to run, but I have to hurry if I’m going to make it back to campus for my afternoon class.” We share a second of awkwardly staring at each other. Trent presses his lips together and comes over to me with slightly outstretched arms. I quickly stand, hitting my knee on the table, and stretch my arms. We hug and he pats my back. “Glad you’re safe and home.”

  Melissa hugs and kisses Trent like he’s a toddler and not a towering body of muscle.

  With Trent gone, that leaves only Melissa and I at the table. I feel silly asking my mother who she is, but I don’t want the conversation back on me.

  “You said you’re a stay-at-home mom but also run a baking business? How’d that come about?”

  “It started out as a hobby, but I kept receiving so many orders for cakes and various desserts that Richard suggested I start a business.”

  I nod. I look around the house for inspiration for my next question. They’d told me that Richard owns a construction company. Judging by the house, he must be successful.

  “Did he build this house?”

  Melissa beams. “This one and all the others in this neighborhood. He also designed this one. He’s quite the artist. However, it’s not his dream house. This is more my dream. He was able to take my vision and bring it to life. I just blabbed about the kind of house I wanted and he sketched it in a matter of minutes. I’ll never forget when he turned his sketch pad around to reveal his design, and then he turned that beautiful drawing into an actual house.” Melissa pours herself another cup of coffee and comes to sit next to me at the table. “Your father is very talented.”

  I look around at all the fine details in the moldings, trims, arches, window placements and realize the house is a work of art. “I’d say so. This is a beautiful house.”

  “You being here makes it a beautiful home again.” She reaches over and places her hand on top of mine “You’re going to have to start school soon.” She gives an audible sigh. “You have options on where you’d like to go. One, you can be homeschooled if you’re extremely uncomfortable. Two, there’s a private school in this district. Three, there is a public school where Landon and Denise go. You’d be in the same building as Landon, of course. He’s a grade below you. I wanted to let you decide which school to attend since so much of your life has been out of your control.” She gives my hand a little squeeze.

  I sit my fork down and ask the first questions that pop into my head, “Why do they not attend the private school? Aren’t those supposed to be better? Not to be rude, but y’all seem like y’all can afford it.” We only had one option back home so this is a little overwhelming.

  Melissa laughs and then holds her coffee cup with both hands to take a drink. She places the cup back on the table and says, “We’re well off now, but that wasn’t always the case. My parents were upper middle class and I went to private school. Richard is an alumnus of the public school, and he wanted our kids to
still be down to earth. Not that I wasn’t.” She gives me a pointed look. “Trent loved public school because when he was there, they were doing better in sports. Landon and Denise followed in his path.”

  “What sports did Trent play?”

  Melissa gives a humorless laugh “What didn’t he play? He signed up for everything his schedule allowed. Trent is very athletic and probably could’ve gone pro in either football or basketball. Even though he loves sports, he wants to do something else with his life. He does a lot of volunteer work and loves physical therapy. Now, Landon on the other hand has no idea what he wants to do with his life yet. He does track. He’s sharp, very smart. More than anything, he loves life and lives for the moment. Denise loves baton twirling, art, basketball, and soccer. She’s already planning her future. She’s undecided between pursuing a career in fashion design or reality television. I have no doubt she’ll find some way to do both. Although I’d be more than fine with her dropping the dream of a reality show.”

  I laugh. “Well, she’s only fourteen. I’m sure she’ll change her mind by the time she graduates.”

  “What about you? Tell me more about your hobbies and dreams.”

  “I like to play sports for fun, but I wouldn’t really call myself athletic. I’m pretty good at soccer, though. I love art and reading. I don’t know. My dreams… Not sure on my future just yet. At this point I’m taking the day as it comes.”

  Melissa smiles and nods. “Seems like the two girls took after their father. Both artists.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call myself an artist.”

  “Humble as well.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

  “What about you? Are you the athletic one?”

  She tilts her head in thought. “I was definitely competitive in school sports. Tennis, track, basketball…” She shrugs. “I was also a cheerleader. But Denise hates cheer. She chose twirling.”

  I think about what she asked me as far as school. I decide to go with the rest of them and attend public school, but I have one concern.