The First to Know

by Abigail Johnson

  He backed up again, swallowing. “You—”

  I broke the stare, brought my gaze down to where he’d inadvertently kicked over my bag, spilling its contents everywhere. I dropped to my knees, grabbing keys and sunglasses, reaching for a tube of lip balm that was rolling away. Brandon knelt too, but he wasn’t handing me an errant pack of gum. The top of the paper I’d stuffed inside had unfolded, the DNA Detective logo clearly visible. “Don’t!” But it was too late. Brandon was already pulling it free from my bag, his eyes scanning. And then they stopped.

  His name. Forty-seven percent shared DNA. Relationship prediction: father or son. It took half a second, and he could never go back, never not know. I felt just as alone watching him, seeing the page tremble in his hands, except worse, because I was the reason he knew.

  “What is this?” he asked, but he knew. The way he’d looked at me... His eyes rose to meet mine. His lips kept pressing together, opening for a breath, then closing again when I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to say it, to make it more real than it already was. “You said grandfather.” His eyes were wide, like he was pleading with me. I was silently pleading with him just as much.

  “I didn’t want to believe it either, but you...”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed at me.

  It came out in a whisper. “You look like him.”

  He shot to his feet. “Bull. Shit.”

  I wanted his conviction so badly that I reached for him. “How can you be his son? My parents are happy. They’ve always been happy. I don’t understand how you—”

  The muscles in his neck and arms were clenched tight, but he was making an effort to control himself. He didn’t yell. “You said grandfather.”

  “I didn’t know how old you were. I hadn’t seen...you.”

  “Then it’s a mistake.”

  Except it wasn’t. Seeing him, I knew it wasn’t. We both did.

  “My dad is... And my mom never...”

  “Mine neither,” I said.

  His movements were jerky as he crumpled the paper into a tight ball. “I’m not your brother, okay? I can’t be. It’s a mistake. I’m sure if you talk to your dad or the website, you can figure it out, but I’m not your guy, so...”

  I tried to match the calm tone he was striving for, but I could hear the desperation strangling my voice. “My parents have been married for more than twenty years, but we’re not even a year apart in age, which means...” I couldn’t say it out loud. The idea that Dad had had an affair was unbearable.

  “It’s not possible.” His lips were barely moving, but I heard him perfectly. “My father is Brandon McCormick Jr. His father was Brandon McCormick Sr. His father was David McCormick V. I can go back another ten generations if you want. I know their names and their families. Dennis Fields—” he practically spit Dad’s name “—is nothing to me.”

  In that moment, he felt like nothing to me too. I wanted to cry for Mom and Selena. I wanted to cry for our family. I wanted to cry for everything that had been stripped away from me in an instant, for the brother I’d never known who was looking at me with fear-mingled contempt. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? Is that why you showed up like this and tried to tell me my mom slept with your dad?”

  “No.” Tears stung my eyes. “You weren’t supposed to be him. I was supposed to see you and know. I was supposed to be able to go home and not feel like my whole life has been a lie.”

  He took a couple steps backward. I panicked and grabbed his arm.

  “Wait, please. I didn’t know. I came because I needed it not to be true. You’re the only other person who knows, and I—Please don’t go.” I forced myself to release him. I had to calm down, to think. “I can’t go back home and forget you aren’t...who you are. I can’t look at my dad and pretend he didn’t have an affair.” The word hurt to say. “I don’t even know if he knows you exist.” Brandon hadn’t moved, but he was pulling farther away, shutting down with each thing I said. I started nodding before I spoke. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Everything—” my chin quivered “—hurts. Talking, breathing.” Looking at him. “I’m going. I’ll come back when—”

  “No.”

  I started, both at the word and the flat tone. “Then I’ll message you.”

  “No. Don’t come here. Don’t message me. Don’t anything.”

  “But...you’re my brother.”

  His hard-won composure threatened to snap, but he didn’t deny it.

  “Okay,” I said. Neither of us moved. “Will you...when you’re ready?”

  He looked at the crumpled paper still clutched in his fist. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

  My eyes bulged as I leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter? How can you say that?” The fear and anger I understood—they were both still roiling under my skin—but indifference played no part in my emotions, and I didn’t believe it did for him either. “How can you look at your mom and not scream?”

  “I don’t have to,” he said. “She’s dead.”

  Chapter 9

  Brandon didn’t look back as he went inside, and I walked slowly to my car, only to stop in the act of unlocking my door. Where was I supposed to go? Back home so I could watch my parents cuddle on the couch? I couldn’t make Brandon exhume a past that was truly buried in his case, but neither could I ignore what had already been dug up.

  I dropped my forehead on the hood and let the sunbaked heat from the metal seep into me, but it couldn’t thaw the ice inside. I couldn’t face Dad or Mom. I looked at my phone, but I couldn’t call Selena and do to her what I’d inadvertently done to Brandon, my brother. That word crashed horrifically into my heart. I had a brother. I could almost have been happy about that, except it meant Dad had committed adultery. He’d cheated on Mom.

  I didn’t understand it. How could he have cheated on Mom? How could he have had another child? How could they still be together, happy? Did he know about Brandon? Did anyone? Had Dad loved Brandon’s mom? Had he planned on leaving Mom for her? Did he know she’d died? When did she die? Brandon was as devastated by the DNA test results as I was, but who else knew? Just his mom? Her husband? Dad? Mom? Did Selena know? I dismissed that thought immediately. She would never have helped me test Dad if she thought it might lead to this.

  I turned around and gazed at the darkening sky. At home we’d be getting ready for dinner. Mom cooked occasionally, but Dad usually ran the kitchen. Lasagna, I decided. He made that every week, and we were due. There’d be a salad and maybe ice cream after that. My eyes flooded, blurring the sky overhead.

  “Hey, Dana, wait up.”

  My head snapped straight and I saw the guy from Jungle Juice—Chase, the wrong McCormick. He’d ditched his uniform polo shirt, revealing a plain white T beneath it. He didn’t look pissed, like he was coming to add to his cousin’s stay-away warning. Instead he glanced at the tall foam cup in his hand before jogging toward me. He slowed when he saw my face, but he didn’t stop. I was very obviously crying, so I didn’t rush to wipe the tears from my cheeks as he drew nearer. What did it matter if he saw me cry? What did any of it matter?

  “This seemed like a good idea from across the parking lot.”

  “What?” I asked, only half seeing Chase and not caring even that much. He held out his cup and an unopened straw.

  “Might help the low blood sugar.”

  I looked at the drink, then at him.

  “You looked like you were ready to pass out when you left,” he said, not lowering the drink. “Take it—make one of us feel better.”

  I took the cup and automatically ripped off the straw’s wrapper before I jabbed it in to take a sip. The drink was fruity and cold, adding to the numbness I felt inside. My gaze went past Chase to Jungle Juice. Brandon was hidden inside. My breath hitched.

  “So did you find who you were look
ing for?”

  “No.” What I’d found was so much worse. My eyes pricked again. “I was supposed to be meeting my grandfather for the first time. Turns out I got some bad information.”

  “Oh, wow. That sucks.”

  There was something about him being a complete stranger that made it harder to lie, so I didn’t. “It really does.” I brushed away the last of my tears. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” I was frozen, stuck. I couldn’t go back, and without Brandon’s help, I couldn’t go forward. I couldn’t even leave the parking lot.

  Chase’s gaze lingered on me, like he was considering something. I must have looked pretty unstable. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute to...” I stopped. I couldn’t sell fine with my red eyes and damp cheeks. “Thank you for the smoothie—that was nice of you. I will be fine. You don’t have to stay or anything.”

  He glanced down at the keys he withdrew from his pocket. “I didn’t have the greatest day either, and I was thinking about doing something—” he huffed out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a breath “—the opposite of crying in a parking lot.” His gaze rose to mine and held. “You should come with me.”

  That was the last thing I’d expected him to say. I stared at him, and then an unguarded laugh overtook me. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Which part?”

  I shook my head slightly. “All of it.” I couldn’t get my brain to work right after that conversation with Brandon. And in that moment, I didn’t really want it to. “You’re serious?”

  His answer was immediate. “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  He smiled.

  * * *

  I parked my car beside Chase’s, sent a text to Mom that I was hanging out with Jessalyn, got out and looked at the location I’d followed him to.

  We’d driven no more than ten miles from Jungle Juice to an area that looked like it might have once been a nice neighborhood but had long since deteriorated due to neglect. The highlights consisted of a strip mall, empty save for a single payday-advance place, and a seemingly abandoned gas station on the corner covered in graffiti. Chase and I were in the parking lot of a six-story tan brick building flanked on either side by empty lots overgrown with weeds so tall they would have reached my waist.

  There wasn’t a single person in sight and I hadn’t seen a car drive past since we pulled up. It wasn’t full dark out yet, or I’d have already been back in my car. As it was, I kept my phone in my hand and my car between me and Chase, just in case.

  “What is this?”

  “This,” he said, “is the Desert Breeze apartment building, and it’s scheduled for demolition in two weeks.” He nodded his chin toward a white sign covered in warnings like Condemned and Do Not Enter in big bold letters and stared at the building like he was seeing a lot more than I was.

  “What exactly are we supposed to be doing here?”

  “I used to live here a long time ago. It’s empty and they’re blowing it up, so it doesn’t matter, but this was the last place I saw my dad before he took off, and smashing it is the closest I’ll ever get to—” He inhaled through his nose, paused, then looked at me. “I figured you might need to break something too.” Then he sighed. “I didn’t really think this through. I don’t have anything to use to even break a window.”

  I let my gaze drift back to the building, taking in the caution tape and the boarded-up windows. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, then headed to the trunk of my car. I popped it open and pulled out a wooden baseball bat.

  Chase watched me the whole time, not smiling exactly, but something close to it. “You keep a bat in your trunk?”

  “I keep multiple bats in my trunk.” I offered him the wooden bat. “This one’s for you.” Then I pulled out another. “So which window looks good?”

  Getting in didn’t turn out to be a problem. There was a garden-level unit with large—for me and possibly somewhat tight for Chase—windows that were no match for my bat. At that first tinkling sound of breaking glass, I felt shockingly alive, and even more shockingly detached from anything having to do with my family.

  After kicking out the remaining shards, Chase slipped through the broken window first. As I’d guessed, it was a tight fit around his shoulders, and he did get cut a little on one arm, but when he looked back at me, I followed him without hesitating. I didn’t get sliced—unlike him, I wasn’t built like a superhero—but the feel of Chase’s hands on either side of my waist helping me down was unexpectedly jarring on the bare skin below my slightly bunched up shirt. His hands didn’t linger, though, and neither did my sudden awareness of him.

  There was no power, which meant no lights, so we used our phones to see. The glass crunched under our feet as we crossed the dark room and entered the hall. Chase led us up four flights of stairs and down another hall until we stood in front of a door that no longer had a number on it.

  “This was yours.” I wasn’t asking a question, just saying something to break him out of his stare.

  “Yeah.” He reached for the doorknob, but it didn’t turn.

  “Good thing we don’t need a key, huh?” I tapped the door with my bat, reminding Chase of the one he held in his hand.

  “Yeah,” he said again, still staring at the door.

  He’d said he hadn’t planned this out, and I was beginning to wonder if he was having second thoughts. If not about demoing his old apartment, then at least about inviting a perfect stranger to do it with him.

  “I’m going to try one farther down,” I said, already moving.

  “No, sorry. I was just caught up for a second.” Chase shook his head, then smiled. “My mom is a photographer, so she took a lot of photos.” He tapped the doorknob with a finger. “I was only like a year old when my mom and I left, so I know it’s just from seeing pictures, but it’s weird.”

  “There are tons of other apartments. It’s really fine if you want this one to yourself.”

  “I’m up for the company if you are.”

  He said it with such easy sincerity that I had to believe him. And if I was being honest, I wasn’t sure I’d actually follow through with breaking anything on my own. I knew the place was getting blown up and there was nothing of value left behind, but it still felt a little off to just start smashing walls. Chase’s childhood claim to his apartment made it easier—allowable, somehow.

  “Okay.” We stood for another second facing his door. “I guess we just...?” I pressed against the door with my palm, trying to get a read on how secure it was. “Why don’t you...” I turned but Chase was already stepping back, having reached the same conclusion. “Yeah, go for it.”

  He kicked hard. I heard wood crack from the force, but the door held.

  “Let’s do it together, ready?” I stood closer to the door than Chase needed to, but we timed it right, landing a double kick that knocked the already injured door clean off its hinges. We both laughed, though mine was partially to cover how much that kick had hurt. I was wearing flip-flops, and I wasn’t built like a Terminator. Chase seemed fine as he walked over the door.

  I gave him a few minutes to look around and deal with any more memories on his own and took the opportunity to rub my knee until it stopped throbbing. I wasn’t going to be doing that again anytime soon.

  “Dana?”

  “I’m here,” I said, walking into the mostly empty room. I didn’t know why I’d expected it to be furnished. Obviously it wouldn’t be. And the few things left in the apartment wouldn’t have belonged to Chase anyway. There could have been a dozen tenants since he’d lived here. There was a moldy-looking love seat, a small table and a couple boxes that had seen their fair share of water damage. I looked at the ceiling and saw water spots and even a large brownish-yellow section that had broken through. That explained the smell.

  I t
ried to envision the space clean and with a family, but my imagination wouldn’t stretch that far. I wondered if Chase’s memories were serving him any better.

  “Does it feel familiar?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. That was my room.” He pointed with his bat. “It’s so small.”

  “You must have been then too.”

  His mouth lifted. “I’m glad I don’t really remember living here. And I’ll be gladder still when it’s a pile of rocks.”

  That answered my next question, whether he still wanted to do this. We set down our phones in the center of the room and took up positions in front of the largest wall. I lifted my bat and Chase did the same.

  His bat punched right through the drywall like it was cardboard. “Come on,” he said, freeing the bat.

  The first swing was hugely satisfying. It was so much better than crying. I smashed windows and door frames. I busted rotted floorboards and broke through cabinets. We didn’t talk much, which was fine because I didn’t want to. I wanted to break things and not think about how broken I felt, and I did. I swung again and again for what seemed like hours until my arms were shaking and I couldn’t grab the bat anymore. Then I sat in a corner and watched Chase until exhaustion finally claimed him too. He lifted the bat to swing once more, then lowered it, breathing heavily as he let it slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor. Then he turned to me. His white T-shirt wasn’t so white anymore, and he was covered in the same sweat and dust that coated me.

  “Feel better?”

  He looked around and nodded. “You?”

  Somehow I did. “Yeah.” I watched him kick through the debris, feeling warmer than the weather and exertion alone could account for. “So what made your day suck so bad that you needed...” I glanced toward the car-sized hole we’d put through one wall. “You never said.”

  Chase wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Ask me again sometime. This is the best I’ve felt in a really long time, you know?”

  “Tired, sweaty and probably covered in asbestos?”