How did I go so many years without wondering these things before? I never thought about my DNA, my roots. Why, suddenly, is Dad not enough?
When I was little, I thought Aunt Annie was my birth mom. Some nasty kid on the playground told me she wasn’t. How do you know? I’d asked. Because she’s black and you’re white, he’d said. Unless you’re adopted.
On the walk back to the townhouse, I’d asked Aunt Annie if I was black or white. You’re white, she said.
But you’re black, and you’re my mom. Can you still be my mom if I’m white?
Aunt Annie stopped walking and squatted down next to me, looking me in the eye. A mom is someone who loves you more than anything in the world. It doesn’t matter what she looks like or what color she is, she’d said. I’m your aunt, but I’m your mama too. If anyone tells you otherwise, you let me know and I’ll set them straight.
I’d accepted her answer and hugged her, but I still wished everything was different. That I had a normal family with a mom and a dad who were mine all year round. We’d live in a house and have a dog and a yard. That white picket fence. Dad wouldn’t be famous and have to stop to talk to people all the time. He’d have a boring office job and be home at five o’clock every night.
But I didn’t have that. My mom died giving birth to me, and I had Aunt Annie. She was great—she was my mom, and that was that. Then she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and on a horrible day in October, during my sophomore year in high school, she died too.
My father and Uncle Pisser cried at the hospital, at the wake, and again at the funeral. Seeing the two strongest men I knew fall apart as Aunt Annie was lowered into the ground was the scariest moment of my life. In an instant, I realized that Aunt Annie held us all together. My dad and uncle knew nothing about raising a daughter, and suddenly, at sixteen, I was alone.
But it turned out that I was wrong. Dad and Uncle stepped up their game and made a plan to keep me going. They took turns getting me to and from school. They made sure I was fed and clothed and well cared for. They made rules and checked out the guys I dated and fought with me over just about everything. Their style was a bit harsher than Aunt Annie’s, but I made it through high school and learned that my dad and uncle were pretty damn awesome, not only as Hall of Famers but as parents too. I eased into the comfortable, secure life they created for me and let them run the show. I trusted them to take care of me, and they became my best friends.
When it was time to go to college, they begged me to stay in the city, but I knew if Annie were around, she’d want me out. Go make your own life, she would say. Be your own person, not your daddy’s girl. NJU was right across the river but still felt far enough for me to start a new life.
I met Ben.
Then Maggie. Pooja. Chase. Juliet. Rocco.
Frank.
I loved them all in different ways. But not enough to let them know me. Not because I wanted to be a snob or a bitch, but because I didn’t even know myself. Outside of being Big Joe’s daughter and a decent high school cross-country runner, I was nobody. I didn’t know who I was, so how could I let them in?
When the shooting happened at Sheridan, I was across the river in New York, hanging around the studio waiting for my father to go on air. I didn’t know what was going on until my father tracked me down and told me. His producer let him out of the broadcast to bring me home, and he sat and watched the news with me. Not only was Frank dead, but Ben was shot too.
I bawled when I heard about Frank, but when I found out about Ben and the extent of his shoulder injury, I cursed. Of course I was grateful he was alive, but I couldn’t help but hate the universe for injuring his throwing arm. After I settled into Mitchell Hall for my temporary stay, I called Ben, but I couldn’t stand to hear his voice over the phone. I wanted to see him, so I took a bus to Evander. He’d already left for New Jersey. We’d probably crossed on the highway. Wasn’t meant to be, I thought, and made my way back to campus.
A few days later, I sat behind Ben at the memorial service in Frank’s little hometown on the Jersey Shore. I looked around at all the people who loved Frank and I thought about why. Not “why did Frank die” but “why did they love him?”
The answer was easy. They loved him for the same reasons I loved him.
Frank was real. He had heart, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He was only nineteen, but he knew who he was and embraced it. He sang and he danced. He joked and played. People flocked to him.
I stared at his coffin and realized that if I wanted to be real, my world needed to be more than the penthouse on the Upper West Side. My life needed to be more than hobnobbing with Hall of Famers and bouncing around to different football stadiums. That stuff was my father’s life, not mine.
What was my life? I had no idea.
I still have no idea as I grab my coat and my phone and text Ben that I’m ready. Maybe, just maybe, this letter addressed to “Amelia” will help me figure out who I am.
When Ben knocks on my door, I yell for him to come in. He pokes his handsome, bearded face around the door and asks if I’m ready.
I nod and smile. “Yep. All ready.”
I’m ready to figure out my past for the sake of my future. If Dad won’t help me, I’ll do it on my own.
Chapter Eighteen
Ben
Megan holds it together pretty well as we take the hour or so drive to Fort Lee. “Did you call her?”
I check my speed. The old Buick loves the Turnpike. “It’s built for long trips,” Dad always says.
She shakes her head. “I thought we’d stalk her first and take it from there.”
“Whatever you think is best,” I say. “We have a couple more hours of daylight.”
“You know, I’ve never had someone offer to commit a crime with me. It’s very sweet of you.”
Are we committing a crime? “Um, thanks?”
“Can I be honest about something?” she asks as I maneuver around a Mack truck and peek at her. She’s blushing. I can’t resist reaching to touch her cheek. “I want you to know, I am over it.”
Over what? Me? Megan waits as I pull onto the shoulder of the busy Turnpike, park, and put on the hazard lights. Cars fly by as I turn to face her. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry that I’ve been so, I don’t know, hesitant? About us.” She twists her hands in her lap and her voice shakes. “With Juliet, then with this whole mom thing, and my dad thing, I mean, I finally get that I can trust you. If you still want to go out with me—”
“I do,” I say immediately, afraid she’ll change her mind. “Want you. Still. Please.”
Megan’s shoulders relax, her blush lightens, and she smiles. “I want you too. For real. No contract crap.”
The Buick really is the best make out car because I easily slide across the front bench seat, put my hands in her hair, and plant a kiss on those pink lips. Right there on the damn Turnpike as cars fly by at top speed. Somehow, this kiss feels different than our others. It’s deeper, slower. Not rushed and frenzied like it’s going to be the last kiss we ever share.
“Are you sure?” I murmur against her mouth.
She pulls back to look into my eyes. “I never had this before, with anyone.”
I kiss her again. Fully into her until I’m distracted with thoughts of her dad. Not as the Hall of Famer, but as the overprotective father of my very new, very skittish girlfriend, who I’ve been feeding information to about her personal decisions. I suck.
I decide to tell Megan I’ve been talking to Big Joe, but change my mind as her tongue moves into my mouth. She’s been open with me the past few days. I don’t want to mess that up when we’re just getting started. I’ll talk to Big Joe first and beg him to keep quiet. Then I’ll tell him that I’m done with the secrets.
We jump at the tap on the glass. A quick glance in the rearview mirror and I see the flashing lights I hadn’t noticed as I made out with my girl.
An officer’s face appears next to us. “Open the w
indow, please,” he demands. Megan giggles as I follow the orders. “License and registration.”
“Sorry, officer.” I dig through the glove compartment for the registration, hoping it’s up to date.
“Are you kids alright? You need a tow?” He reads my license.
Megan leans over me toward the window. “Actually,” she says in her little voice, yelling over the passing traffic, “I have a major crush on this guy.” She points her fingers at me. “And somehow I managed to nab him. But I was distracting him, so he pulled over so we could make out.”
The officer shakes his head. “Well, Miss, that’s way too much information for me. But I’m glad it worked out for you.” Megan smiles sweetly, and I kiss her cheek.
“You,” he barks at me. “You made the right choice to pull over, but you realize this is the Turnpike, right? Cars do anywhere between sixty-five and eighty-five miles an hour here. You’re sitting on the shoulder, and you get some bad driver texting or something and next thing you know you have a car or a truck up your ass.”
“Yes, sir.” I squeeze Meg’s hand, which somehow ended up in mine, on my lap.
The officer gives me back my paperwork. “If you kids can’t keep your hands off each other, then maybe you, Miss, should try the backseat.”
I turn to Megan, lift my brows, and grin. “Yeah, Meg. You should try the backseat.”
She smiles and smacks my arm.
“Now, get out of here, before I give you a ticket for…” He hesitates then waves his arm. “I’ll think of something. Go.”
The officer bangs on the back door of the Buick as he walks to his car. Megan laughs, and I lean in to give her a quick kiss. The police car’s horn sounds, and we both jump.
I pull into the right lane, careful to remember my blinker because the officer is tailing us. When he passes us, he gives a light honk and waves, and I immediately grab Megan’s hand again and replace it on my lap.
Soon, I’m pulling off the Turnpike, and Megan directs me to the neighborhood where her mother lives. I park the Buick on the street, shut the engine off, and crack the windows. I know Meg will want me to turn the heat on soon enough—I’m learning that she’s always cold—but I need air.
She stares at the row of townhouses opposite us and points to a green door, two doors down. “That’s it.”
I slide closer and put my arm around the bulky shoulders of her winter jacket, and follow her stare to the door. “What are you thinking?”
She shrugs, keeping her eyes across the street. “Honestly, I don’t really feel much of anything. It’s like we’re stalking out a stranger.” Megan looks to me. “Is that wrong?”
“No. We’re, sort of, doing exactly that.”
“But she’s my mother. Shouldn’t I feel something?”
“I don’t know. You don’t have to feel guilty for not feeling anything.”
She rests against my chest, warming the spot over my heart where her head fits so perfectly. Then she rotates her hips and throws her legs over my lap. She’s so little that I lift her up and cradle her.
She rubs her hands over my flannel, and I squeeze her closer. “Do you believe we almost got a ticket for making out?”
I nuzzle my nose into her hair. “Would have been worth every penny of the fine.” Then I pull back and clear my throat. “Hey. About that wedding Jules mentioned…”
Megan groans. “Let me think of a reason why I can’t go.”
“Give it your best shot.”
She taps her finger on her chin then points to me. “I don’t want to?”
I laugh. “Not good enough. I don’t want to either.”
She taps and points again. “I have nothing to wear!”
“That’s not true. I saw you all dressed up…I guess it was in early November, maybe? You were in this blue dress and you had these killer shoes on. They were black. I remember because I had this image of you in your September black bra and those heels.” I nuzzle her neck with the memory.
“You remember that?”
“Um-hmm. I can’t believe you’re here in my lap right now.” I kiss her neck, and she squirms in my lap.
“In a car in Fort Lee?”
“Anywhere,” I murmur against her soft skin. “I don’t care.”
“I can’t believe you remember that dress. I had something to go to for my dad.” She gasps and pushes me away. “Now that we’re dating, can I drag you to that stuff with me?”
I laugh. “As if you’ll need to drag me to football hero stuff. So does this mean you’ll go to the wedding?”
She exhales an exaggerated, “Fine.”
“Nice. It’s in two weeks—the weekend starting spring break. We’ll have to leave for Pennsylvania on Friday because of the rehearsal dinner.”
She pulls away, moving her legs off of me. “Rehearsal dinner? No way! I’ll meet you at the wedding.”
I fake annoyance. “How are you going to get there, smartass? No, you’re coming with me. We’ll stay in my house, and I’ll show you the sights.” I wink, wondering if she’ll pick up on my sarcasm. There are no sights in Evander, Pennsylvania.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I wiggle my brows, and she hits me on the arm. “I can’t sleep with you! What about your parents? And don’t you have, like, ten brothers?”
I count off on my fingers. “Four brothers, a sister-in-law, and a niece in utero. And there’s my parents. I still have both sets of grandparents and various aunts and uncles.” I stop and point at her. “Do you speak Chinese by any chance?”
She giggles then leans in to peck my lips. “No. God help me. What have I gotten myself into?”
Now that I know Meg will be with me, I can’t wait to go to the wedding.
A door slams outside, and we twist to look. A woman exits the townhouse with the green door. We sink low in our seats. She looks exactly like Megan—petite, blonde, she even bounces down the stairs the same way. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the open door behind her, waving someone out.
I glance at Meg. She doesn’t seem affected. In fact, her brow furrows, and her grin turns to a frown. She almost looks annoyed—until a pair of little feet step out of the townhouse onto the stoop.
When the child says, “Mama, wait!” Megan’s eyes fill with tears, and her hand covers her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
Megan
The boy looks about five, with the same blonde hair as me and his… my… mother. Ben reaches for me, but I can’t look away from them.
The boy is bundled up with a puffy coat, mittens, and a hat. The woman, presumably Penelope, watches him descend the stairs and grabs his hand, and they walk in the opposite direction of the car. They turn to look at each other and smile. She must say something because the boy says, “Yes!” and ups the pace, his mother following him.
They hold hands and disappear around the corner. A tear falls down my face. I can’t believe I have a brother.
I have a brother? I wonder what his name is. I wonder what he’s like. I wonder if he would like me.
I turn toward Ben, hoping he has answers to my questions but knowing he won’t. “How could he?”
He reaches out to wipe the tear off my face.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I can’t though. I’m so angry my hands start to shake. “How could he?”
He reaches for me again, but I jerk away.
“He’s had eighteen years to tell me about her. Four or five to tell me about him. I have a brother and a mother, Ben. Do you know how different my life could have been?”
He purses his lips. “Your life hasn’t been so bad.”
I stare up at him. “You don’t know anything about my life. You grew up with a mother, with all your brothers. Don’t you—”
He lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Still, the way you talk about your dad and your uncle, I know you were well loved and cared for.”
“B
ut it was never… normal. All I ever wanted was normal. He could have given me that—”
“But he said she’s been threatening him. That’s what you told me. There’s nothing normal about that.”
“Come on, Ben. You saw the woman. You think she looks threatening?”
“It’s not about looks… Listen. Why don’t you call your dad? Maybe all of this could be straightened out with a phone call.”
I nod my head. “You’re right.” I find my phone and scroll to dad’s number. My hands shake, and I have trouble tapping to call.
“Do you want me to follow them?” Ben’s voice is soft.
“No.” I tap the phone again. “Let’s go back.”
Without question, he starts the car and U-turns back toward the Turnpike. I’ll worry about Ben and whether or not I owe him an apology later. For now, I wait for my dad to pick up.
“Princess,” he says when he picks up the call. “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call—”
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m driving back from Fort Lee right now.”
Silence. Then Dad says, “I told you to stay put. How dare you defy me like that.”
“How dare I?”
Ben glances at me, and I see the concern on his face.
“How dare I? Tell me what’s going on or I’ll confront her myself.”
He pauses for a moment, and I think I may have gotten through to him. Then he says, “No. I can’t tell you.”
I shut off my phone and throw it on the dash.
Ben reaches to grab my shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
I don’t respond. Instead, I watch the road blur by as Ben drives me back to NJU.
When we’re back, I need to run to sort out my head. Ben kisses me, tells me he’s here for me, and leaves.
The sun sets as I do my usual route. The routine is good because I don’t have to think about where I’m going. My feet just take me. Instead, I think about my brother. My sweet little brother who doesn’t know I exist. I think about my mom, who’s parenting him but who never parented me. I wonder how all these years, eighteen years, my father could keep this from me.
She Runs Away (The Sheridan Hall Series Book 2) Page 19