“Wow.”
My vocabulary had been reduced to that three-letter word. Just wow. I guess that summed up what I was thinking, all that I was feeling.
I dug into my tote for the letter once again, and this time I flattened it, as if smoothing out the wrinkles would make the words clearer. But as I reread it, nothing—not the words, not the message—had changed between Venice and Beverly Hills.
My father had still had an affair that had led to the birth of a child.
My sister.
Wow!
“Hey, Gabby, I just got an email from The View about Justus.”
Regan sauntered into my office wearing a red dress that covered up everything but was so fitted it looked like it had been painted on her ample curves. If I hadn’t been so off-kilter, I would’ve teased her and told her she wouldn’t be able to wear that kind of outfit for much longer.
But I was still in zombie mode, so the only thing I did was look up and into the eyes of my best friend.
She paused. “What’s wrong?”
I waved her in and then motioned for her to close the door. She pushed it shut, then rushed to the chair in front of my desk. “What’s going on?” she asked with a frown.
I opened my mouth, but then I stopped. I hadn’t told Mauricio yet. But he was in class, and I didn’t want to pull him away from his students. I’d tell him tonight, but even though he should’ve been the first one to hear this from me, I couldn’t wait that long.
First, I took a deep breath, and then I exhaled, “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What? Something with one of our clients?” Then she held up her hands. “Don’t tell me.” She relaxed as she leaned back. “Something with Justus.”
“No.” I shook my head. “This is all about me. I mean, my dad. I mean, me and my dad.” I paused, now understanding why my father had just given me the letter to read. It was too much to explain, so I did the same thing. “Here”—I slid the letter across my desk—“read this.”
Leaning forward, she frowned at first, studying the envelope, then picked it up and slid out the letter. Then, as her eyes scanned the words, I could tell which part she was reading. First there was her frown of confusion, then her eyes widening with surprise, and when her lips parted, forming a wide O . . . well, I knew then that she had made it to the end.
And because she was my best friend who had been as close as a sister since we’d met in middle school and realized that we attended the same church, she did what I did—she reread the letter.
When she was finally able to raise her head, she looked at me with squinted eyes. “What?”
I nodded. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Then, after another moment, she added, “Wow!”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“I mean . . . why would someone send this letter? Is someone trying to get money out of your dad?” It was like a light had been turned on inside of her, and Regan sprang up from her chair. “I’ll get right on it.” The lawyer inside of my friend rushed out hard. “I can’t believe this . . .”
As she paced and ranted on about scams and shakedowns, I didn’t say a word. All I did was slip the photo from the side pocket of my purse and slide it across the desk.
“Trust me,” Regan continued before she looked down at the photo, “I’m going to . . .” And then, she stopped. She studied the photo for a moment, then once again her eyes opened wide. She just stared and stared and stared.
Then she fell back into the chair she’d been sitting in—she kinda dropped into the seat the same way I had.
When she finally looked up at me, I nodded.
She inhaled. “So . . .”
“It’s true,” I finished for her.
“It can’t be.”
“You wanna look at that photo again?”
She did and shook her head at the same time. “So what . . .”
“Does Daddy want to do?” Again, I finished her thought as if we were more than sisters, as if we were twins.
She nodded.
“Well, he wants to find Daisy . . . and Keisha. And so I’m going to find them.”
“How?” She picked up the envelope and studied it. “There’s no address, no phone number.”
“I know, which is a little crazy. I mean, Daisy wrote the letter so my father could take responsibility for Keisha, but then she didn’t give him any way to get in touch with her.”
“Does he have an old phone number or something?”
“No, he had it once, but that was over twenty years ago. He said he lost it, probably on purpose.”
When Regan finally sat back, I told her everything that wasn’t in the letter. I told her about Daisy and how—as my dad put it—she kept men company. I told her how she’d told my dad about being pregnant and how she was the one who brought up the abortion. “My dad wasn’t having it, never believed it, but now . . .”
Regan glanced down at the photograph again. “Can you imagine if your father had believed her twenty years ago? How different would your life have been?”
I nodded, though it wasn’t my life I was thinking about. If this had played out a different way—all I could think about was my mom. I could not even imagine a scenario where their marriage would have survived. How? An affair is one thing . . . an affair and a child makes it a thing—a thing that would be hard for any woman to overlook and for any marriage to endure.
But my mom hadn’t known, and so she’d gone to her grave having loved and been loved by the same man for twenty-seven years.
“Well, I’m glad your dad wants to find her now.” Regan nodded as she spoke. “Do the right thing.”
“I agree. That’s why I’m going down to White Haven . . . I guess.”
I hadn’t thought about that until this moment. It was like talking this out with Regan set my brain in motion. And I could think. I had to get down to Arkansas.
“No.” Regan shook her head. “Let me go. I’m the attorney, I know the questions to ask, and I can probably get this done faster than you can.”
“It’s not going to be that hard.”
She tilted her head and pursed her lips.
“I know I’m not a private investigator, but how big can White Haven be?”
“It doesn’t matter. You won’t know who to talk to, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know the right questions to ask. Trust me, let me handle this.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want you to leave your life right now.”
She held up her hands; her question was in that gesture.
“Hello?” I pointed to her belly. “Have you forgotten?”
When I did that, she covered her stomach with her hand and smiled. “This baby won’t be here for another six months. Certainly, it won’t take me that long to find”—she paused, shook her head, then added—“your sister.”
I sighed.
“Plus,” Regan continued, “we have a lot going on right now. Have you forgotten about the pitch for Contour Jeans?”
I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. Of course I hadn’t forgotten . . . at least I hadn’t until after I’d read this letter.
Regan said, “You’re the CEO; you’re the face of our agency. You can’t go to Arkansas, because my marketing presentations sound like my opening arguments in a drug trial.”
“Ugh! You’re right.” I shook my head. “It’ll just have to wait a week.”
“Really? You think you and your dad can wait?” She stood, and in a few long strides, she opened the door and called out to Mattie, her assistant.
As I sat back, she asked Mattie to book a flight to White Haven, Arkansas. “Probably will have to fly into the nearest major city. Check and see if that’s Pine Bluff.” She told her to do a flight in the morning with an open return.
When she came back to my desk, I said, “You really want to leave tomorrow?”
She nodded. “This is one of those situations where sooner and better really do go together. I would have left
tonight, but, if you don’t mind, I want to review this with Doug.”
“Of course. Will he be all right with you going?”
“Are you kidding me? First of all, this is for you and your dad, and second, I can bet that if my husband could get out of any of his cases, he’d be on that plane with me. He lives for digging up stuff like this.”
She was right about that. Doug, who I’d known as long as Regan, was the brother I’d never had. They’d been together since our freshman year in high school, and from tenth grade, they dreamed of becoming two of Los Angeles’s best prosecutors. Doug would want her down there. I breathed, “Okay.” I couldn’t keep the hesitation from my tone.
“Don’t worry. It’s not like this is a dangerous operation. I’ll be safe, my baby will be safe, everything will be fine. I’ll go down there and if I don’t find anything, I’ll come right back.”
“And if you find them?”
“What do you want me to do?”
I inhaled. “Daddy would like them to come here.”
“Okay, well, I’ll find them, and if they agree, I’ll bring them back. And at the very least, I’ll be able to get a number or an email or something so that your father can be in touch with them.”
I nodded. “If you can get them to come back here. At least . . . his . . . Keisha.” I paused. “That’s what he wants.”
“Okay, then.” She slammed her palm on the desk and said, “So, I’m going to work on Justus’s calendar, speak to the producers over at The View, and then I’ll head home. I really want to get my mind into this game. I want to call your dad first, ask him a few questions so that I’ll know where to begin, and then there are a few things I want to research before I get on this plane.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I want to make sure this isn’t any kind of scam.”
“How can it be a scam? You see that picture.” I pointed to the photo she’d left in the center of my desk.
“Yeah, but Photoshop is a beast.” She held up her hand as if she thought I was going to protest. “I just want to cover every single base. Remember, that’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
“Ummm . . . no. I don’t pay you. We’re partners, remember?”
She grinned. “No, we’re more than that. We’re sisters. So if you have a new sister . . . then I have one, too.”
I pressed my hands over my heart. “I’m grateful.”
She nodded and picked up the letter and picture. “Okay, let’s get to work, and I’ll let you know when I’m leaving.”
I nodded, and before she stepped out of the door, I said, “Thanks, Regan.”
“This is what sisters do.”
Even after she was long gone, I still sat in place, letting one of her words echo through my mind.
Sisters.
Plural.
When I glanced at the clock on my desk, I couldn’t believe it wasn’t that far away from noon. Mauricio was probably in his office by now. I grabbed my phone, dialed his number, and then, the moment he picked up, I said, “Do I have something to tell you!”
6
Keisha
I limped into the bathroom, using my flashlight app, mad at myself for not getting home before dark. I didn’t have any set hours at Beryl’s since I was just an assistant, working primarily for tips. So I could pretty much come and go—whenever.
But since I still had that rent issue, I’d been trying to get home and settled in the house before dark. This way, I wouldn’t have to turn on any lights that would give Mrs. Johnson a heads-up, even though that didn’t stop her from banging on the door every single day.
But tonight I’d stayed at Beryl’s because there were two late appointments in the book and I needed every dollar I could hustle together. So I hadn’t left until after dark, and then I’d driven home with the gas needle hovering too close to trouble. I’d parked six streets away, then climbed the fence. And it was because it was dark that I cut my leg on a loose piece of wire.
Now my leg throbbed as I hobbled to the toilet, lowered the seat cover, then sat down before I leaned over and turned on the faucet.
But then . . . nothing.
What?
I pushed myself up. This time I turned on both the hot and cold water.
Nothing.
I twisted the knobs back and forth, then tried the faucet in the tub. Not a drip.
Stumbling back to the toilet, I sat down and sighed. There was no need for me to go into the kitchen; I knew what was up. Mrs. Johnson had probably turned off the lights, too, though I wasn’t going to test it. The lights could have been a trick. She could have turned off the water and then thought that I would test the lights. I wasn’t going to fall for that.
Ugh! Now what was I gonna do?
Rolling a wad of toilet paper in my hand, I pressed the paper hard against the cut on my leg. It was dumb for me to wear a skirt today, dumb for me to stay at Beryl’s past dark, dumb for me to think that I was going to be able to sleep here much longer.
It was amazing to me that Mrs. Johnson hadn’t already had the sheriff banging down my door, and if I didn’t want to be dumb anymore, I needed to get out before the police really did show up. I just needed to face the facts of this situation—I wasn’t going to be able to sleep here much past tonight.
I moaned with the thought of that. I was really going to have to sleep in my truck? That was my only option, because staying with Buck wouldn’t work. Not with all of ’em people over there with him. And especially not with his father in one of those bedrooms. Whenever I was there, that house just wasn’t big enough for me and his daddy. He always found a way to be up under me, and even now, the thought of that gave me the creeps. I wasn’t going to give him another chance to touch me.
So I was back to my only choice—my truck, which was still better than sneaking around here every day until one night I came home and Mrs. Johnson had the locks changed.
My leg still throbbed, but I had a lot to do. I needed to pack up. Not that there was much for me to take, but there was enough that I didn’t want to leave behind. I wanted to think about this carefully because this was my last connection to my mama.
That meant I had to do some planning. I wouldn’t be able to lug everything that I wanted to take with me over the backyard fence, so I’d have to get my car and bring it closer.
By the time I limped back into the bedroom, I had a full plan. I glanced at my cell phone. It was only eight fifty-seven. Mrs. Johnson was definitely home, probably peeking out her window.
Scooting back on the bed, I wrapped my mama’s afghan around me and inhaled. Her perfume was still there. Really, her perfume was everywhere—in her pillows, in her closet, even in the fabric of the sofa from when she used to watch the TV in the front room. As I sat there in the dark, all I wanted right now was for my mama to come back and help me figure this out. But I only let that last for a moment. Because my mama had taught me never to wallow in anything. Just take care of business.
Looking at my phone again, I figured I could lie down for three or four hours since it was just a bit after nine. That would be a better time—when everyone was asleep—to pack and then be gone before the sun showed up.
I scooted under the afghan and snuggled against the pillow. I needed to get a couple of real good hours since these would be my last for a while. But when I closed my eyes, there were all kinds of thoughts in my head. I was thinking of my mama. And my father. And how I’d almost told her the other day that I knew about him. But I didn’t because she was dying and so all I wanted her to have was peace. I didn’t want her going to her grave having just found out that I’d known about my father since I was fourteen.
I wanted to push these thoughts aside so that I could really rest, because I needed a plan—desperately. Tomorrow at this time I’d be in my truck. How many tomorrows-in-my-truck would come after that?
I rolled over, and this time when I closed my eyes, my head wasn’t filled with so many thoughts. There w
as only one thing inside my mind—and it was how I’d found out about my father.
There hadn’t been a single day in my life since I’d learned the truth from Mrs. Burgess that I hadn’t thought about my father. But I’d stopped asking my mama because she kept insisting I didn’t have a daddy. Like I’d been hatched or something, as if I’d believe that for the rest of my life. But even though I couldn’t get anything from my mama, I hadn’t stopped searching for the truth.
Now, finally, I thought I’d found the way.
I held my breath as I pushed open the library door and then, I paused when I stepped inside. Today was my first day at Clinton High, and I was just figuring out where everything was in the building. Right now, I was supposed to be at lunch in the cafeteria, but I had snuck away to find this place.
I wasn’t sure where I should look first—this library was sure different from the one in my middle school. On my left were rows and rows and rows of books. So many books and even standing at the front door, I could see that they were the new kind of books, not like the used books in my old school or even the library in White Haven, where I lived.
Turning to the right, I looked at the big square desk with an “Information” sign hanging from the ceiling above.
“May I help you, young lady?”
I didn’t even hear the man walk up, even though he was standing right in front of me. The way he looked at me put a big lump in my throat. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.
My mama had told me to be careful. They were only busing in a few black kids to this new high school, so I didn’t want to do anything wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just wanted to check out the library.”
The man, whose pale skin looked more pink than white, lowered his head and looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “You one of the new freshmen?”
I nodded.
“You must like to read.”
I nodded again, and then I wondered if that would be a lie even though I hadn’t said any of the words out loud.
“So if you’re a freshman”—he glanced up at the wall and I figured he was looking at a clock—“you’re supposed to be in lunch.”
Envy Page 4