She was being sarcastic, of course. Still, Steve wondered out loud: “Do you think she’d be interested to know there was a girl named Barbara Grimes, same age practically, and she and her sister were killed in a famous murder case in Chicago in the nineteen fifties? I wonder if she knows . . .”
“Oh, I’ll bet if you told her that, she’d be fascinated. Completely charmed,” Hannah replied, rolling her eyes. “God, where do you get this murder stuff anyway? Could you possibly be any creepier? You’re such a freak.”
Frowning, Steve turned his attention back to the TV. The girl in the wheelchair was getting a standing ovation.
He heard the front door open and close upstairs, then footsteps and his parents murmuring.
“You can relax now,” Hannah said, focused on her phone. “Mom’s not dead.”
Steve wondered if he should go up there and ask what was going on. But he heard the basement door yawn open. His mother came down the stairs.
“Is everything okay?” Steve asked.
From the bottom step, she gave them a tight smile. “Fine,” she said. “Is your homework done, guys?”
“Like an hour ago,” Hannah answered.
Steve just nodded. The way his mom had asked, it seemed kind of strained. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“How much longer is this show on?” his mother asked.
“It’s got like ten more minutes,” Steve answered. “Why?”
“When it’s over, your dad and I want to talk to you both up in the dining room. Okay?”
Both Steve and Hannah just nodded. Then their mother turned and headed back up the stairs. Steve heard more murmuring.
He glanced at Hannah, who had put down her phone. She stared back at him. For a moment, she looked so much like her old self—and she looked scared. “Shit, Stevie,” she whispered. “Maybe she really is dying.”
*
The test results showed a 99.6 percent probability that Dylan was Eden’s father.
“She’s your daughter, all right,” Sheila hissed, pacing back and forth in the den. They had the door closed. “I trust her about as far as I could throw her, the little liar. If it wasn’t her and her slimy boyfriend sending those texts and creeping around the house, then who was it?”
Dylan stood by his desk, sorting through papers and trying to tidy up what was left of the mess she’d made earlier. “I think someone in that dump where she’s staying—one of the boyfriend’s friends—they must have gotten wind of the situation, and they decided to screw around with us. Eden doesn’t want to stay there anymore, and I don’t blame her. I figure, tomorrow, we can put her in the guest room in the basement for a while, and then—”
“No, that’s not going to work,” Sheila interrupted. “For one, Hannah has called dibs on that bedroom. Do you want her resenting her new stepsister even more? Besides, I don’t trust that little monster down there. I don’t trust her upstairs near us, either, but at least with her sleeping upstairs we can keep closer tabs on her. I can just see her down in that basement room, sneaking her creepy boyfriend into the house through the laundry room door—or maybe sneaking out to meet him. By the way—and actually, this is very important. The boyfriend, that Brodie character, he’s not setting foot in this house ever again. That’s non-negotiable. You’ll have to make that clear to her if she’s staying with us. Our house, our rules.”
“Honey, I’m not sure she’ll agree to that.”
“Well, she’s your daughter. You make her agree. I’m not having that lowlife in our house or on our property. On top of everything else, I saw him shoplifting. In fact, you better check your precious CD collection, because he was going through it earlier today. He’s probably on drugs. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is, too. While you were getting that paternity test, you should have had the clinic do a drug screening on her.”
Sheila could tell he was concerned now. She was saying things he obviously hadn’t even considered. She was trying to be practical and realistic about this. If she got emotional, she’d fall apart. “You know, we have to be on our guard with her,” she went on. “People on drugs steal to support their habit. I’m telling you, when they waltzed in here unannounced this afternoon, they started looking around at everything, just like they were shopping.”
“Okay, okay,” Dylan muttered, rubbing his forehead. “She’ll have to dump the boyfriend. And we’ll look for signs that she’s on drugs.”
“Doctor and dental appointments for her—this week, if possible,” Sheila said, pointing at him. “A lot of drug addicts have terrible teeth. If we can’t get a drug screening, we’ll at least have some clues after Dr. Amato looks at her teeth. She probably has a mess of cavities we’ll have to pay to fix, too, lucky us. And she’s your daughter, so you make the appointments. You explain to Dr. Christopher and Dr. Amato just who she is.”
Frowning, Dylan nodded.
“Tomorrow, we’ll help Hannah move her things down to the basement, and we’ll put Eden in her room.”
“Honey, the kids will be up here any minute. What are we going to tell them?”
“What are you going to tell them?” she shot back. “This is your goddamn mess, you can explain it to our children.” She nodded toward the dining room. “And just so you know, I’m not going to sit in there and listen to you lie to them, either. They deserve to know the truth.”
“Oh, Jesus,” he murmured. He actually had tears in his eyes. He plopped down in his desk chair.
“Did you think you could get away with some other story to save face?” she asked. “You should have known the kids would find out about you eventually. Maybe you can try to explain to them about our unspoken agreement, which has me calling you out on your shit every two or three years—just to remind you I’m not a complete idiot—and then you promising you’ll never stray again. I wonder how that’ll go over with our children.” She sighed. “I did a pretty good job keeping them in the dark about your affairs. I suppose they’ll end up blaming me, too. And maybe they should.”
“I’ve told you that I wouldn’t mind going to couples counseling,” he murmured.
“Well, I’d mind,” she replied. “I don’t want to dredge up the past. I don’t want to have to relive that pain. You’re the one with the problem keeping our marriage vows, not me. You go see a therapist if you’re so gung-ho on the idea.”
He rubbed his forehead again and pinched the top of his nose between his eyes. “Hannah and Steve will be up here soon. I think it’s best if we—we only tell them about the Eden situation . . .”
“Fine,” she said. “Go ahead and make out like it was an isolated incident. Maybe the kids will believe you.”
Looking hopeless, Dylan just stared at his messy desktop.
Sheila almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. She was still furious—and trying to be as calm, controlled, and practical as she could. She sat down on the edge of the desk. “By the way, we have to enroll her in school, too. You can send her to a private school to help avoid any embarrassment for Hannah and Steve, but that would cost us a small fortune. And the truth will come out sooner or later anyway. Plus, it would humiliate them even more if we were trying to hide it and their friends found out. So—we’re probably better off sending her to school with them. You better brace them for that. On the plus side, this is a Seattle public school, so a lot of their classmates are from nontraditional families. It won’t affect Steve or Gabe so much, but Hannah will not be pleased. I promise you that.”
He wiped his eyes and looked at her. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
She sighed. “No one has slept down in that guest room for a couple of months. I’m sure the mattresses are fine. But you can test them out tonight, because you’re certainly not sleeping in our bed.”
He frowned. “Sheila, how’s it going to look to the kids if I’m exiled down to the basement tonight?”
She heard Steve and Hannah coming up the basement stairs.
“It’s going to look exactly like it is,” she wh
ispered. “Like their father is a lying, cheating bastard, and right now, I don’t want anything to do with him.”
*
“How could you do this to me?” Hannah asked their dad.
Everyone was at their usual spot around the dinner table. Steve hadn’t said a thing so far. He didn’t have to. Hannah was the one asking all the questions. And after every answer, she expressed utter horror, outrage, and disgust—enough for the two of them. She acted like this was something their parents had done specifically to humiliate her.
Steve was still processing the fact that he had an older sister he’d never known about—actually a half sister, specifically an illegitimate half sister. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Now he knew why his dad had been whispering earlier about a clinic and test results. He’d been talking about a paternity test.
Steve was so disillusioned with his father. He remembered how traumatized he’d been at age ten, after learning where babies came from. He hadn’t been able to look his parents in the eyes for at least a week. They’d seemed so alien to him. That was how he felt about his father now, only worse. He knew his father wasn’t perfect. But he had no idea his dad was capable of anything so sleazy.
His father wasn’t in public relations for nothing. He’d delivered the news to them about their half sister in a very smooth way, with a gradual buildup: There’s this sixteen-year-old girl from Portland . . . her mother died suddenly . . . she has no family, and she needs a place to stay . . . I knew the mother . . . In fact, I knew her during a period when your mom and I were having a lot of problems, and we were almost separated . . . I knew the mother intimately . . .
While his father had been talking—and Hannah had been interrupting with an astonished “What?” and “Oh my God, I can’t believe this!”—Steve had glanced over at his mom, staring at the soup tureen in the center of the table. Her arms crossed in front of her, she hadn’t said a word.
And she was still quiet.
Steve kept telling himself that at least neither one of his parents was dying. But still, it felt like something had indeed died.
“So—let me get this straight,” Hannah continued, turning to their mom. “That piece of street trash whose picture you sent me—the same girl who was stalking you—she’s my half sister? And she’s coming to stay with us?”
“Yes,” their father said quietly. “And it would be a good idea not to call her ‘street trash.’ I want you guys to be nice to her. She’s been through a very tough time.”
“Well, just how long is she staying? A week, a couple of months, or what?”
“We’re not sure yet,” their father answered.
“Well, I’m not giving up my room for her,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “Forget it.”
“She can have my room,” Steve finally spoke up. “I wouldn’t mind giving it up if I can move down to the basement.”
“No!” Hannah cried. “No, I’ll move. I was promised the basement bedroom ages ago. She can have my room. I’ll start cleaning it out as soon as I get back from school tomorrow. I prefer the basement anyway . . .” She abruptly got to her feet, almost tipping over her chair. “In fact, the farther away I can be from the rest of this family, the better. I just can’t believe this has happened.”
Tears in her eyes, she shook her head at their father. “Daddy, you were like my hero. How could you?”
Before he could answer, she swiveled around and ran out of the dining room. Steve heard her footsteps retreating up the stairs.
“She took that well, don’t you think?” Steve’s mother murmured, very deadpan.
His dad looked like he was in pain. Hunched forward, elbows on the table, he rubbed his face.
“What are you guys going to tell Gabe?” Steve asked quietly.
“We’ll explain it to him tomorrow, your father and me,” his mom answered.
“Does this mean you guys are going to break up?”
His mom sighed. “To be totally honest, Stevie, that’s a good question.”
“We’re going to get through this,” his father said, clearing his throat.
“How did her mother die, anyway?” Steve asked.
He saw a look pass between his parents. For a moment, it seemed like the question caused even more tension than the one about divorcing. It was like he’d touched a nerve. His mother even shuddered a little.
“Um, they think it was an accident,” his father finally answered. “She fell off the roof of her apartment building.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday, September 25—6:38 P.M.
Sheila was fixing her special lasagna for Eden’s first dinner with the family and her first night in her new home. Sheila cringed inside at the thought of it. But she prepared the special dinner anyway. She even made one section meatless—in case the girl was a vegetarian.
She’d canceled two dance lessons so she could get ready for Eden today. Dylan had called in sick to work for the first time in four years so he could make doctor and dentist appointments for Eden, talk to their lawyer, call the high school about Eden’s enrollment, and clean out the basement guest room, where he’d slept last night. The guest room was like the house’s junk drawer; if someone didn’t know what to do with something, then they threw it on one of the guest room’s twin beds, set it on top of the desk, or stashed it in the closet. It was a major chore getting the room ready for Hannah.
Sheila had said about twenty words to Dylan all day. He would try to talk to her or give her an update on some task he had accomplished, and she’d utter the same icy response: Fine.
She must have said, “Fine,” to him—and nothing else—about a dozen times today.
Once Hannah came home from school around four o’clock, the three of them started stripping her bedroom walls of pictures and posters, clearing the shelves of books and trinkets, and emptying out the dresser and closet. They all worked together in angry silence—punctuated by an occasional question.
Dylan to Hannah: “Do you want this lamp?”
Hannah (sullenly): “Yes, and the bean bag chair, too. It’s mine. I bought it with my babysitting money, remember?”
It was bizarre: a family working together in a room full of souvenirs, memories, and personal effects, and no one was talking. They were like a bunch of disgruntled, underpaid movers.
In a day full of packing and moving things, Sheila was tempted to pack her own bags and leave—if only for a few days. The notion of going to Vermont (she’d never been) to watch the leaves change and take a lot of contemplative walks suddenly seemed very appealing. But she felt a sense of responsibility to her kids to be here during this crisis. She felt sort of responsible for Eden, too. Even though Sheila intensely disliked her, she still thought the kid deserved a break. She would have kicked Dylan out of the house, but that would mean he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this mess, and it was his mess. Besides, the last time she’d kicked him out of the house, he’d started up with “Toni.” And look what had happened.
Sheila wasn’t sure where he was sleeping tonight, but it certainly wouldn’t be with her.
In keeping with her resolve to make Eden feel welcome, she changed the bedding and cleaned up Hannah’s pillaged bedroom. On the walls, her daughter had left behind posters of the Eiffel Tower and Breakfast at Tiffany’s that she was “sick of.” But the walls were still marred with smudges and tape marks. Sheila partially covered the blemishes with a couple of cheaply framed posters they had in storage: Monet’s Water Lilies and van Gogh’s Sunflowers. She cut some flowers from her garden, put them in a vase, and set it in Eden’s new room. She also got some notepads, paper, and pens and left them in the desk drawer. And on top of the desk, Sheila left travel-size soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, and a new toothbrush.
When Gabe came home from football practice at five, she and Dylan sat down with him in the dining room and tried to explain about the girl who was moving in with them tonight. Gabe didn’t completely understand. “H
ow did Dad have a daughter with this Portland lady if they weren’t married and he’s married to you?” he asked at one point.
That’s an excellent question, honey, Sheila wanted to reply. But she let Dylan explain. Gabe didn’t seem traumatized by the revelation, just confused.
Then Sheila had started putting dinner together.
At six, Dylan had left to pick up Eden. She’d arrived at the house with a backpack and two ratty-looking suitcases. Sheila had been hoping against hope that the girl might have cleaned herself up a little for them, maybe even gone a little easy on the Marilyn Manson eyeliner, but no such luck. She looked as punk-rock skanky as she had in all their previous encounters. And she smelled like cigarettes.
Hannah emerged from her new bedroom in the basement for exactly three minutes so Eden could meet her—along with the rest of the family. The introduction of the half sisters was strained: the princess and the Goth girl. They each nodded and uttered a cautious “hi,” and then Hannah retreated to her new room. Steve, bless his heart, tried to be nice. He went to hug her and Eden flinched—like he was about to frisk her or something. Steve managed to get in a quick, painfully awkward embrace before backing away. Then he seemed totally embarrassed. Gabe just shook her hand and remained silent.
Sheila took Eden upstairs to show the girl her new bedroom. Dylan followed with the suitcases. In the bedroom doorway, Sheila told Eden that she could decorate the room however she wanted. “Do you have some furniture or things from your apartment in Portland?” she asked.
“We did, but the asshole landlord sold or donated it all because we were behind on the rent,” Eden replied—with her dark-cherry lip curled. “I guess the janitor saved a couple of boxes of junk. It’s in storage there.”
Sheila said they’d try to get the boxes back for her soon. She assured her the art on the walls was just temporary. Dylan said he would repaint the room any color of her choice. Maybe they could pick up some paint samples tomorrow.
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