But she was shaking her head. “No, it’s not. Not for us.” Tears welled up. “Jack, there is something I need to tell you. . . .”
He waited, overwhelmed by her emotion. She opened her mouth, and then seemed to reconsider, as if steeling herself from the pain of something she could barely address. “But . . . I’m not ready.”
She seemed to shrink before his eyes, suddenly deflated. Jack tried to encourage her, smiling, and it confirmed his deeper perspective that there was way more to Kelly than met the eye. “Of course. I’m here when you’re ready. I can wait.”
“I believe you, Jack.”
At her car, he reached for the handle, and her door creaked open. He made a mental note to oil it the next time she came. “I wish you never had to go home.”
She shrugged, getting in. “I don’t mind the drive.” He closed the door, and Kelly leaned through the open window.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” she said, smiling coyly. “I can’t exactly pitch a tent in your backyard.”
Jack laughed at her humorous dodge, and Kelly reached out and took his hand. “You don’t know me that well, Mr. Livingston. I have many more surprises for you.”
“I can’t wait,” he said, releasing her hand reluctantly.
Jack watched her roll down the street, thinking he should maybe forget oiling the hinges and just help her find another set of wheels.
He recalled their conversation about his mother. Kelly was right. He was losing the battle of forgiveness, and he needed to try harder and pray more. Lingering arguments with San only exacerbated his angry memories. But really, the last thing Jack needed was a picture of his mother on his wall. He swallowed and made yet another promise to do better.
Thinking of Kelly and the influence she was having over the smallest details in his life, he wondered how on earth a naïve, marriage-phobic man like himself was so blessed to find someone like her. He was tempted to pinch himself.
Thank you, he whispered.
Chapter 29
San called on Thursday morning, just after seven. They hadn’t spoken much in weeks, and sadly, Jack hadn’t minded the silence. Having spent the night with a friend, Nattie was gone and wouldn’t be back until early afternoon.
Glancing at the ID first, Jack answered the phone, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.
“Are you sitting down?” San asked.
“Actually, I’m still lying down.” Jack stretched himself into a pretzel configuration, yawning loudly. “What’s up, sis?”
“I got to thinking about this Kelly of yours, how much I liked her, and how she looked so familiar, like I’d seen her on TV or something.”
Jack cleared his throat, fighting a sudden sinking feeling.
“And so I Googled her,” San continued. “I did a little search on her name and Akron, Ohio, and I came up with the Maines family. No big surprise, right? So I muddled through a dozen pages and was about to give up, when I found this website . . . and lo and behold, it appears to be Kelly’s website.”
Jack could feel his stomach tighten. Kelly had never mentioned a website. “Don’t you mean Kelly’s Facebook page?”
“Nope,” San said. She cleared her throat again. “It’s called: Finding My Emily.”
Jack considered this. “Who’s Emily?”
“Who do you think it is?”
Exasperated with San’s dramatic flair, Jack rubbed his eyelids. “I don’t know—her sister?”
“Try again.”
Jack exhaled with frustration. “Okay. Her daughter?”
“Bingo.”
Jack took this in. “So . . . she needs help finding her daughter?”
He leaned over the bed, elbows on his knees, adding daughter to the list of things she hadn’t mentioned. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
“Click on the info and you’ll get her picture, brother dearest,” San said, laying it out in glaring detail. “Plus, there are pictures of what Emily would look like today. And who do you think Emily would look like?”
Along with his growing stomachache, Jack felt the beginning of a headache in the corner of his temple.
“I’ll tell you,” she said. “Emily looks like Natalie, Jack. She looks exactly like Natalie.”
Jack took a long, deep breath.
“How did you meet her again?” San asked.
“The office,” he whispered softly.
“You okay, Jack?”
“No.”
“Me either,” San muttered.
So that’s why we met. She’s been looking for her child. He tried to wrap his brain around the whole thing, but the most obvious implication came crashing through: She lied.
“I haven’t told you everything,” San continued. “She didn’t give her child up for adoption, Jack. Her child was kidnapped . . . by Emily’s father.”
New shivers started in his gut and spread throughout his body.
“Apparently Kelly’s husband stole Emily and ran off to New York City. He sold her.”
Sold her? Jack whistled softly.
“Some kind of black-market adoption web, and he must have received a ton of money. At least that’s what Kelly asserts on her website.”
“This can’t be true, sis,” Jack insisted. “What kind of father would sell his own daughter?”
“Maybe a stoner?”
Jack scratched his head, wishing he could start the day all over.
“Apparently this dude was really whacked out. But there’s more, Jack.”
It gets worse?
“This Bobby Maines OD’d in a hotel, and with his death, any solid link to Emily was gone forever.” San sighed into the phone. “But I still haven’t told you the worst part.”
San, the master of dragging it out.
“The police hardly looked for the kid. Because they suspected Kelly and her husband were working together.”
“Was she charged?”
“No,” San responded. “And personally? I find it hard to believe that she had anything to do with it. Why spend eight years looking for your kid if you’re responsible?”
“But still . . .”
They were silent as the mind-boggling implications set in.
He felt as if his entire life were falling away, as if he’d been living in a house of cards and it was now all crashing down around him.
They’d been dating for over a month, and he didn’t have a clue as to Kelly’s real identity. Suddenly, she was a stranger. Finally Jack broke the silence. “If Natalie is her biological daughter, why hasn’t she said something? Why this dating ruse? Why not just say, ‘Hey, I think your kid is mine’?”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” San admitted. “But I have a couple options for us to consider.”
“Shoot.”
“Thinking she’s found Emily, Kelly now wants to be fully involved in her life, knowing that she wouldn’t be if she came clean and took you to court. Because at this point, the courts probably wouldn’t give her full custody. So Kelly wants to marry you in order to have Nattie in her life.”
Jack cringed as San continued. “Here’s another option. What if Kelly simply can’t bring herself to tell you the truth, and she’s been trying to work up the courage?”
“Truth about what? That Nattie is hers?”
“Or . . . that Nattie isn’t hers. Maybe when she found out that Nattie wasn’t hers, she couldn’t break free. Maybe she’s truly in love with you, Jack.”
“There’s another option,” he suggested. “Maybe she doesn’t even know one way or another . . . yet.”
San scoffed. “I really doubt that.”
So did he. Jack blew out an exasperated breath. “So you think she’s tested Nattie?”
“Don’t you?”
Of course, he thought.
Jack stood up and headed for the bathroom. Mercilessly, San wasn’t finished yet. “Like I said, I think she already knows Nattie isn’t her daughter, which is why s
he hasn’t said anything, and that’s also why I think she’s for real.”
“For real?”
“She loves you.”
Looking in the mirror, Jack studied the anger in his eyes. “Maybe we’re missing the most obvious: She intends to kidnap Nattie.”
San snorted. “I really, really doubt that, Jack. I mean, yes, she’s lied through her teeth, but she’d have to be a sociopath or something, and I just don’t see it.”
Jack continued staring at his reflection, a strange image of him holding the phone, his hair spurting out in Einstein fashion.
“We can’t assume anything, San.”
“No, I understand that—”
“I need to protect Nattie.”
“It’s too soon to lawyer up,” she argued. “Just tell her you know the truth and see what she says. You might be surprised and find she has a perfectly rational excuse for why she hasn’t told you. She’s probably sick about the whole thing.”
Jack shook his head, still trying to come to grips with the situation. “How can you be so relaxed about this?”
“Jack, I’m not—”
“One way or another,” he continued, “I need to find out for myself if Nattie is her daughter.”
“And how are you going to do that without asking Kelly for her DNA?”
Jack jogged his memory. “I have a couple of ideas.”
“If you’re going to do this, you have to do it right, Jack. You have to get a sample from her. Directly.”
No, I don’t, he thought. And he wasn’t ready to confront her, not until he knew the truth for himself. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do—confront her before he knew what he was talking about.
“Jack, what are you thinking?”
“I’ll call you back, San.”
Chapter 30
Sliding his laptop out from beneath the bed frame, Jack located several local companies that specialized in DNA testing and reviewed the general information offered. Apparently, if he didn’t employ the standard DNA testing method of using a cotton swab on the inside of Kelly’s cheek, he was left with nonstandard and less accurate options: hairs, toothbrush, chewing gum, etc. In short, swabbing was best, but other sources could work if collected properly.
Next, Jack called a local testing lab and asked about testing hair samples. According to Jennifer, who answered the phone, they needed at least three hairs, and preferably more, to produce a confident result.
“We need the roots,” the woman emphasized. “And be sure not to touch the roots as you collect them.”
Our house is full of hair, he thought, but knowing whose hair was whose would be difficult. Fortunately, obtaining Nattie’s sample, the starting point to his own test, would be as easy as swabbing the inside of her cheek.
Jack went to the kitchen and found a pair of thin disposable plastic gloves. He put them on and went through the house, examining every chair, every cushion. Without Laura meticulously vacuuming the house, he was sure to find a couple of hairs, especially since his own housekeeping skills were sorely lacking.
He found plenty, nearly two dozen on and around the couch, but none of them had roots, and besides, determining which were whose was another matter. They could have been Nattie’s, Laura’s, Kelly’s, or even San’s, for that matter.
Wait a minute. Jack went to the upstairs bathroom and located several hairs from Nattie’s hairbrush and compared them to his samples. Bingo. Nattie’s hairs were thinner and a different shade of brown, enabling him to eliminate hers from the others.
But he needed samples with roots, and he still needed to distinguish between the women who’d been in his house. He considered the porch swing out back. Kelly had spent hours there, but so had Laura. On the other hand, overly restless San rarely graced the swing, if ever. Good place to start.
He was immediately rewarded. The swing cushions were like hair magnets. He found ten right off the bat, eliminating Nattie’s. But the remaining could have been either Laura’s or Kelly’s, and upon closer examination, he realized they also lacked the necessary hair root.
Jack sat on the swing, frustrated, racking his brain for a solution. Finding a hair with a root just might be impossible. They had to be plucked to retain the follicle. Then he noticed the chain holding the swing. He smiled. Nestled within the links . . . there they were . . . three hairs, snarled and tangled . . . roots and all.
Extracting them carefully, he compared them to the hair from Nattie’s brush. These strands were thicker and darker in color. No match. But that still left the inevitable question: Were they Laura’s or Kelly’s?
He would have guessed Kelly’s, but he couldn’t be 100 percent sure. Putting them into a plastic bag, Jack suddenly remembered his personal plane, the 182 that was never flown by anyone but him. He and Kelly had just taken it into the skies, and she’d worn the extra headset that never left the plane. Almost certainly, he’d find more samples of her hair, easily distinguishable from his own.
But would he find the roots? Doubtful.
He paused at the bar, stared at his bagged collection of hairs, and began to reconsider the entire strategy. Maybe San was right, and he should confront Kelly directly. Let her explain herself. And if she had evidence that linked herself to Nattie, she’d be more than willing to provide her own DNA for confirmation testing.
Jack sat on a stool and rested his forehead on his hands. But I have to protect Nattie, he thought, reconsidering. And he didn’t want to provoke a confrontation before he knew the truth for himself. She’s a magician, he reminded himself. Who knew what kind of tricks she had up her sleeve?
His anger hardening into something solid, he grabbed his laptop again and surfed to her website. Sure enough, there it was: a picture of Kelly, her name, and a picture of Emily. He thought of the 182 again and made the decision.
He showered and shaved and grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter. Heading out to the airfield, he drove quickly, his mind twirling around the implications.
Once there, he went to the hangar, unlocked the plane, and slipped on another pair of gloves. Gingerly, he extracted the headset from beneath the backseat, studied it carefully, and caught a break. Five unsuspecting brunette hairs dangled from the plastic foam. They had to be hers. More importantly, three of them still had the roots attached. Carefully, he put them in a separate plastic bag and headed back.
On the way, he drove by the local coffee hut, ordered an espresso to go, and made a beeline to the testing center for their swabbing kit. Before he submitted the hair samples, he needed to extract Nattie’s sample, then submit them all together.
While his heart was breaking, and his temper was struggling for dominance, he couldn’t deny that a spark of hope flared. Maybe, just maybe, there was a simple explanation for the whole thing.
Later that night after Nattie brushed her teeth, Jack called her into his office.
“What’s up?”
Jack showed her the swab. “I need to do a little . . . uh . . . medical testing.”
“Oh,” Nattie said, frowning at the little white stick he held. “Is this gonna hurt?”
“Not a bit,” Jack replied, forcing a cheeriness he didn’t feel. Dutifully, Nattie opened her mouth, and he swabbed the inside of her cheek.
“Done?”
“Got it.”
Without a care in the world, Nattie ran off, oblivious to the storm swirling about them.
San came by in the morning while Nattie and Jack were having some cold cereal. She gave her niece a big smooch on the cheek.
Nattie grinned. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need an excuse to see my number-one girl?”
Nattie played coy, putting her finger to her cheek, twisting her mouth as if thinking it over.
San mussed her hair. “Don’t hurt my feelings, kid.”
With Nattie busy pouring a second bowl, Jack caught San’s eye and gestured toward the office. In the shadow of his wall of airplane memorabilia, San closed the do
or for what Jack hoped wasn’t another endless strategy session. San sat in Laura’s chair; Jack at the desk.
San began their discussion by repeating everything they’d already discussed, coming back to her conclusion that Kelly hadn’t come clean yet because she was truly invested in their lives, and that Nattie was not her daughter.
“She would have told you by now,” San argued. “And I still don’t believe that she’s a danger for Nattie.”
Jack frowned. “Maybe you can rule that out—”
“I just can’t imagine it, Jack,” she quickly added. “She’s not a criminal.” She sighed. “Why don’t you just call her? Get it over with?”
Jack shook his head.
“Nattie doesn’t even look like Kelly,” San repeated.
Jack frowned. “Yes, she does.”
San pursed her lips. “Seriously. Call it a hunch, Jackenheimer, but I still think she’s already abandoned the idea that Nattie is hers.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I told you already . . . because she would have said so.”
Jack leaned back, thinking it over. His cell phone buzzed. It was Kelly texting him: Good morning.
Last night, they’d traded a dozen texts, with Kelly’s last: You sound really tired, mister. I’m signing off, but I plan on dreaming of you. . . .
G’night was all he’d texted back.
“Don’t let on yet,” San now whispered. “You’re not ready for this.”
No kidding, Jack thought. He texted Kelly back: Good morning. He pulled his sandwich bag out of his desk drawer, along with the swab, and San’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”
He explained, and San freaked out. “How do you even know those are Kelly’s?”
“Three hairs from the airplane. She was the last to wear the headset.”
San narrowed her eyes skeptically, then shook her head as if dealing with a surly child. She pulled out her cell phone, thumbed a little, and peered down at it. “I need to be somewhere in an hour. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
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