Find You First

by Linwood Barclay

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

  “Whatever it was, it didn’t make any sense to me,” she said dismissively.

  “It’s true.”

  Chloe stopped momentarily. “Seriously. Well, I have no dad. Never have.”

  She’d grabbed another cloth and went back to wipe down the bench.

  “I know,” Miles said quietly. “You have two moms. Gillian and Annette. I’m sorry about Annette. I know you lost her when you were very young.”

  Chloe stopped cleaning, turned, and looked at him.

  “You’re freaking me out. Who the hell are you?”

  He introduced himself again. “Miles. Miles Cookson. I came up today from New Haven.” The words were catching in his throat. “To see you.”

  Chloe wavered slightly, as if struck by a spell of dizziness.

  “Why don’t you sit,” Miles said, and Chloe slid onto the bench of the booth she’d just wiped down. Miles, awkwardly—one of his legs was slow in getting the message that he wanted to sit down—settled in across from her.

  Vivian, the skillet still in her hand but hanging, nonthreateningly, at her side, approached and said to Chloe, “You okay, sweetheart?”

  Chloe gave her a dazed look. “Um … is it okay if I take a break?”

  Vivian looked at Miles and then Chloe, realized there was something going on, even if she had no idea what it was, and said, “Sure. You need something, just holler.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” Miles said.

  Vivian shot him a look, suggesting she hadn’t been talking to him. “Comin’ right up,” she said and walked off.

  Miles smiled at Chloe and said, “She looks like someone you don’t mess with.”

  Chloe said, “How do you know about me? How do you know about my moms?”

  “I’ve had to do my homework,” Miles said. “Or had people do it for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you have a hundred questions, and this is all a lot to take in in just a few seconds, but let me start by asking you one. What do you know, what have you been told, about your biological father?”

  “Nothing. My mom went to a fertility clinic. Got pregnant. Had me. End of story.”

  “You must have wondered.”

  She nodded slowly. “I don’t know that I should be telling you this.”

  “I understand. If you ask me to leave, I’ll leave. But I hope you won’t. I’m legit. I’m who I say I am. I swear.”

  “I did the WhatsMyStory thing.” She paused. “But it didn’t connect me to you.”

  “I haven’t sent them my DNA. I could have, but there was no guarantee it would accomplish what I wanted, in the time I have.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’ll come back to that. I got the names of everyone who was implanted with my sperm. Doesn’t matter how. And from there, I was able to learn the names of the issues from those donations.”

  “Issues? I’m an issue?”

  Miles shrugged. “I still don’t know the language to use.”

  Vivian returned with coffee and a handful of tiny, sealed creams. “Everything okay here?” she asked, noticing that Chloe’s eyes were misting.

  She grabbed a napkin, dabbed her eyes. “We’re good, Viv.”

  “Okay.”

  Once she was gone, Chloe asked Miles, “You found all of them?”

  Miles nodded.

  “How many?”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine? I thought they could use a sperm bank donation like dozens and dozens of times.”

  “In my case, I guess they didn’t. I was a little surprised, too.”

  “Nine,” she said, again, more to herself. “I’ve found one of them.”

  Miles’s eyebrows went up. “You have?”

  “A half brother. Todd Cox.”

  “Yeah, that’s one of the names on my list.”

  “Do you have it? Can I see it?”

  Miles looked down at the table and shook his head. “Once I’ve tracked everyone down, had a chance to talk to them, see how they feel about this, then I can arrange for everyone to meet each other. Bring everyone together.” He cracked a grin. “I guess reunion would be the wrong word. An introduction.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess. But they could be all over the place. Anywhere in the world.”

  “I can cover that,” he said.

  “Why? You rich or something?”

  “Yes,” he said plainly.

  “Oh,” Chloe said. She waved her arm at her surroundings. “I’m working on my first million here.” She shook her head wonderingly. “This is all so weird. And yeah, it’s a lot to take in. Here you are, just sitting there. I’m not sure I actually believe it.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not saying you are. But it’s kind of hard to get my head around. All my life I’ve wondered who my honest-to-God father is, and now you’re here, and I think, shouldn’t I feel different? Is my life changed?”

  “Maybe not yet,” he said.

  Her face became serious. “So, why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why are you here? Why find me?”

  “Why’d you get in touch with WhatsMyStory? There are things you wanted to know.”

  “Okay, but I’m thinking, with you, there’s got to me more to it than that.”

  This was going to be the hard part. “I had some tests done recently,” he said.

  “Tests?”

  “I was noticing some changes. Muscle-type things. Short-term memory lapses. Involuntary movements.”

  “You seem okay.”

  “It’s early days. Anyway, they checked me out, to see what might be wrong.”

  And then he thought, I can’t tell her.

  If she knew anything about Huntington’s, she’d immediately know she was at risk. He couldn’t drop a bomb like that on her. Not this fast. Tell her he had something that presented with similar symptoms. Something that wasn’t as likely to be passed on.

  “I’ve got ALS,” he said. “Sometimes it’s called Lou Gehrig’s disease. That’s—”

  “I know what it is. I visit my grandfather all the time at his seniors home. There’s someone there who has it. It’s a bad fucker.”

  Miles smiled. “Yeah, it is. So, the clock’s ticking. Although I don’t know how fast. I’m considering … my legacy. I want to find the people I’d be leaving behind that I didn’t even know I had.”

  “Okay.” This time, a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. “So, after all these years, in one hour, I find out who my dad is, and that I’m going to lose him.”

  “Well, not right away.”

  “Fuck,” Chloe said, grabbing another napkin and wiping the tear away. “I’m sorry. I’m making it sound like this is all about me. You’re the one who’s sick.”

  There was so much more to tell. About what he intended to give her and the others. About how she would become very, very rich. And, eventually, the health threat she might face.

  But that could come later.

  Chloe sniffed a couple of times, pulled herself together.

  “You know what I think I should do?” she said, attempting a smile.

  “What?”

  “Introduce you to Todd. You don’t have to show me your list. I know about him. I could kind of pave the way, ease him into it.”

  Miles considered it.

  “It’s a long way to go.”

  “That’s okay. And you could send your driver home.” Chloe took a phone from her pocket, set it on the table. “I’ve got my Pacer parked out around back.”

  “A Pacer?” Miles said, incredulous.

  She flashed him a smile. “One of the wagon models. The radio doesn’t work and all the wood paneling has peeled off, but it gets the job done. You don’t have to get all snobby. What do you drive? A fucking Porsche?”

  Miles started to tell her he’d just given it away, but held his tongue.

  Chloe was t
apping away on the phone, sending a text. “Todd always gets right back to me,” she said. “He’s kinda … strange? And his mom? She’s something else.” She laughed. “Like I’m normal. She’s the one who’s really into this whole trace-your-DNA thing and got Todd to do his.”

  Chloe looked down at her phone again, the absence of a response.

  “Huh,” she said. “He’s not answering. That’s weird.”

  Twenty-One

  New Haven, CT

  The day after Gilbert had shown her the list, Caroline found herself in a room at the Omni Hotel in the Yale University neighborhood. She was in one of the luxury units, on an upper floor, standing at the window with a view of the Yale campus. She could see the Sterling Memorial Library, the Law School Towers, the High Street Arch. Well, she could have seen those things had it not been for the black, silk Hermès scarf covering her eyes and knotted tightly at the back of her head.

  She had followed his instructions explicitly.

  Caroline was to go to the hotel desk at four in the afternoon—not one minute before and not one minute after—and ask for the room key that would be waiting for her.

  She was then to go to the room, let herself in.

  There would be a recently opened bottle of champagne, chilling, and two flutes. She was to fill one, have a drink, unwind.

  A tub would already have been run for her. Caroline was to strip down, have a relaxing bath. She had mixed feelings about this part. Did he think she wasn’t clean enough? But she had to admit, he got the water temperature just right, and it was relaxing.

  At half past four, she was to get out, dry off. When she came out of the bathroom, she was to slip into the intimate apparel laid out for her on the bed. Lingerie from Agent Provocateur, Bordelle, other high-end brands she’d seen in magazines but never felt she could afford.

  And the scarf.

  She was to go to the window, fold the scarf into a four-inchwide band, and tie it around her head, blindfolding herself.

  And then she was to wait.

  It might be no more than a minute. It might be ten. When she heard the door open, sensed someone coming into the room, she was not to move. He would approach silently, moving across the carpet as stealthily as a cat. She wouldn’t know he was there until she could feel his breath on her neck.

  And then things would really start to get interesting.

  This was their routine. This was how Broderick liked to find her. He’d been very specific about his desires, right from the first time. That had been months earlier, a week or so after he’d used his powers of persuasion with the service manager who had refused to do the necessary repairs on Caroline’s car for free.

  It only seemed right to find a way to show her gratitude.

  She had researched the court records to learn more about Broderick, starting with a last name. Broderick Stiles, forty-three years old. There had been an address attached to his name, but when she went to look for it, she found a vacant lot. She could find no phone record for him, and he certainly didn’t have a Facebook page or a Twitter handle.

  So she kept going back to the coffee shop where they’d first met, hoping they’d cross paths again. She tried to go at the same time of day as when she had first met him, but after a week she became discouraged, and more than a little overcaffeinated. It was on the eighth day, while paying for her latte, when she heard someone behind her say, “Car running okay?”

  “Oh!” she said, whirling around.

  They sat at the same table where they’d first chatted. She said, “I don’t know what you said, but they fixed the car and they were very, very nice about it.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Broderick said.

  “So what did you say?”

  He had smiled. “Does it really matter?”

  The thing was, she didn’t want to know. It was more fun not knowing. It was more fun imagining what he might have said, or done, to get her service manager to see reason.

  She had leaned across the table, nearly touching her forehead to his, and said, “I would like to find a way to thank you.”

  He said, “I have just the idea.”

  The next afternoon was her first trip to the Omni. A week later there was another, and the week after that, another. And so on.

  There had been occasions when Broderick was away, doing work for clients out of town. But whenever he was in New Haven, he would arrange a rendezvous.

  It was not Caroline’s first affair, but it was certainly her most exciting. When it came to the bedroom, Gilbert had never been particularly imaginative. Everything was by the numbers, no accountant puns intended. Spend a little time here, spend a little time there, then hop aboard and get it done. Really, what could you say about a man who liked to keep his socks on when having sex? But it was more than that. It was not easy to work up enthusiasm for a man who, at some level, you could not bring yourself to respect.

  But wait, she would sometimes ask herself. Could you respect what Broderick Stiles did for a living? (If he did what she believed he did.) She could find ways to rationalize it. He was a man who performed a service. Perhaps it was outside the bounds of what was, technically speaking, legal. But the world was an increasingly complicated place. Some problems called for unconventional solutions.

  And holy fucking Christ, the sex was something else.

  On this particular day, not yet twenty-four hours since Gilbert had told her about Miles’s illness, how her brother-in-law was leaving next to nothing to Gilbert except for that Porsche, that he intended to give away his fortune to a bunch of biological children he’d never so much as sent a birthday card to, Caroline had been wondering whether there was anything she could do.

  Should she talk to Miles herself? Try to get him to change his mind? Would he even agree to meet with her? Could she tell him how sorry she was that she’d traded on his name with that Google exec? Tell him she wasn’t that person anymore, that she had learned her lesson?

  Maybe she could remind him what a good brother Gilbert had been to him. Guilt Miles into doing what was right.

  No, Miles would never listen to her. He was a selfish man. Totally self-consumed.

  But she had another idea, one that was, to use one of her daughter Samantha’s favorite phrases, “pretty out there.” It was a long-term approach, and not something she could do alone. There were any number of ways it could go wrong. But, oh, if it worked … the payoff would be huge.

  She wondered what Broderick would think.

  So this afternoon, stretched out on the bed, and after Broderick had given her permission to take off the silk blindfold, she decided to broach the subject.

  “The first time I met you,” she said, “you described yourself as a problem solver.”

  “And I solved one for you,” he said.

  “You certainly did.”

  She paused.

  Finally, he asked her, “Do you have a new problem?”

  “I do. But it’s a little more complicated than the one I had with my car.”

  Twenty-Two

  Providence, RI

  An hour had gone by and Todd had not responded to Chloe’s texts or emails. Finally, she had just phoned him, which, Miles mused, always seemed to be the last option among younger people.

  Todd did not pick up. Chloe had left a voice mail: “Hey, dipshit half brother, call me the second you get this because I have got news that will blow your mind.”

  And still, no call back.

  “So maybe he’s busy,” Miles had said.

  Chloe admitted that was possible, but was unconvinced. “It’s not like him.”

  “How long have you actually known him?”

  “Okay, not that long. But the guy lives with a phone in his hand.” She thought a moment. “I say we go.”

  Miles was less sure. “Could be a long way to go to find him not there.”

  “What else you got to do?” She cocked her head. “What do you actually do, anyway?”

  “I run a tec
h company.”

  “So what’s that mean?”

  “Hand me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Just … give it to me.”

  With some reluctance, she passed it across the table to him. He glanced at all the apps she had on it. The usual ones were there. Facebook, Twitter, iTunes, Instagram, Waze, some games. He thumbed over to the second page of apps, smiled.

  “See this one?” he said, tapping on it.

  The screen filled with the word SHOPSAW.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “This is the one, you take a picture of something you saw somebody wearing, it tells you where you can buy it.”

  “I know how it works.”

  “That’s one of ours.”

  “You’re shittin’ me. Your company invented that app?”

  Miles nodded.

  “Fuck me,” she said, taking back the phone. “I’m impressed. I use this all the time. Sneak shots of people wearing shit I wish I could buy. It’s always from some place I could never afford to shop. Hang on.”

  She aimed the phone at Miles, tapped the screen, looked at it. “You got your jacket from Nordstrom?”

  “Yup.”

  Chloe shook her head admiringly. “And that’s how come you’re rich.”

  “Yup.”

  “Anything pressing back at the office, or you want to take a run up to Todd’s place?”

  He shrugged. “Why the hell not. Charise can take us.”

  “You call your car Charise? Like, Christine?”

  “Charise is my driver.”

  “Of course she is,” Chloe said. “Look, no offense, but I still don’t know for sure that you’re the real deal, that you’re who you say you are. So the last thing I’m doing is getting in some strange car with you. It’s probably got doors you can’t open from the inside and a glass partition thing and the driver hits a button and sleeping gas fills up the back seat.”

  Miles said, “That’s my other car.”

  “I’ll tell Vivian I gotta go, gonna lose the apron, and I’ll pull around up front.”

  “Okay if I have Charise follow us? Then, later, she can take me straight home.”

  “You can’t just call up your private chopper or something?”