by Allen, Dylan
“I know you think so. But everything has a consequence, and you live like yours won’t ever catch up with you.”
“They already did. Look at what happened with Camille.”
At the mention of his psycho ex, I groan.
“I owed her more than I gave her,” he says and I hate how he still beats himself up over her.
“You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We all owe someone something. You, most of all.”
“Why because I’m adopted?”
“Yes. Precisely because you are. You weren’t the result of a drunken night when they forgot birth control. They wanted you. You turning that offer down was like spitting in the face of every sacrifice they’ve made on your behalf.”
Until this moment, I’d been trying to keep the conversation neutral, at least outwardly. We’re in a public place.
“That is really low, J.” I say.
He shrugs, as if completely unbothered, but I can see that he’s exactly where I am.
“The truth hurts. I know you’ve struggled since Dad’s death, but you’ve got to stop acting like you’re the only one who lost something.”
And just like that, I’m reminded that my brother is an asshole I have nothing in common with. I stand up and glare down at him.
“My whole life is a lie. I have no idea who I am. You don’t have the right to tell me what I’ve lost.”
His expression is thunderous as he stands slowly. The thin veneer of patience he’s been wearing is gone and he wears his annoyance openly. He leans toward me, putting his face in mine.
We’re the same size, but I don’t work out the way he does. I’ve never been afraid to throw the first punch, and I relish in throwing the last one, too. The last thing I want tonight is a fight. Not when I know now that this violence is in my blood and is capable of the worst.
But, on this, he doesn’t get to tell me how to feel.
He bites back whatever he’s about to say with visible effort and takes a step back. His expression softens and I hate it because I don’t want him or anyone else to feel sorry for me. I’m not a charity case. I deserve to be part of this family. I’m going to prove it to myself and then to them.
When he speaks, his voice is laced with disappointment. It feels exponentially worse than his anger. I’m hit by the sudden urge to hug him.
“You spent your whole life working toward something. And when you finally get it, you walk away from it like it wasn’t your dream come true. Put whatever’s going on inside that thick skull of yours aside for just a minute. Think about what it’s doing to Mom. To me. To Nadia. You like to act like the only person who has to live with your decisions is you. We’re a family. When you fall, we do, too.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment,” I say through gritted teeth.
“The only person you’re disappointing is yourself,” he says and the judgment in his voice slides right under my skin.
I need to get away from this, right now.
He doesn’t call after me as I set out onto the crowded sidewalk and let the crowd of people sweep me along Tenth Avenue. I walk without a destination. Normally, the sounds of the city ground me and remind me that this is who I am. This is my home. But tonight, the sounds of car horns blaring, brakes squeaking, and shouts of people calling to passing neighbors sound alien.
I’ve been cast adrift on a raft with no oars.
I walk to the twenty-four-hour deli around the corner, waving absently at the waitress who greets me from behind the counter before I slump into a booth, pull out my phone and read the email that sent my life into free fall.
Dear Mr. Bosh,
These are the facts as I’ve been able to confirm them. I’ve attached the documents providing proof for the following assertions.
On October 29th, 1993, a Methodist Church in Ithaca, NY, reported a trespasser but the police report indicates when the police arrived, the trespasser had only been there long enough to leave an infant, less than a few hours old on their doorstep. This was two days before your birth certificate was issued and a few weeks later, your parents took you home from the intake home you were sent to after you were made a ward of the state.
On November 11th, in Rosenburg, TX, a woman stumbled into a police station. She identified herself as Susan Kendicott. She confessed to the murder of her husband, to setting the fire that burned the house they shared after she killed him. She lived in Winsome. She’d been presumed missing when her remains hadn’t been found in the fire. It was quite the shock to the town.
She entered a plea of not guilty at first. And then on the eve of her trial, she changed it and pled guilty. The terms of her plea are sealed, but the local press speculated at the time that she did it because the state was pursuing the death penalty and offered her the life sentence in exchange for foregoing a trial.
I believe you are the baby she dropped off at the church before she came back to Texas to face justice. When she was examined, she was found to have given birth recently. The notes say within the last three months. Any statement she made about the baby’s whereabouts are in the sealed documents. But given the DNA match on this site, I believe you are that baby. In order for me to confirm this I would need to dig deeper and follow a few more leads.
I close the email and call him.
“Hey, what leads?” I ask as soon as he answers.
“Mr. Bosh. Uh, there are a few things, I need more time to develop them--”
“You mean you want to keep working until my retainer’s spent!” I snap.
“Hey man, I’m working hard here, alright? Getting records on people in Winsome is nearly impossible over the phone.”
I sigh.
“But my statewide search found something interesting,” he drawls out.
“Spit it out.”
“Jeez, way to take the fun out of it. This is the juiciest—”
“Man, this isn’t fun for me. This is my life. Just tell me what you know.”
He clears his throat uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry. Okay. Susan Kendicott nee Walters gave birth once before. Almost ten years prior to having the baby I believe is you. I got a hit on a hospital in El Paso. She was admitted to the Labor and Delivery Ward and spent a few days in maternity before she left.”
“El Paso? What was she doing there?”
“Don’t know. She was born and raised in Winsome. The high school has her graduating from high school eight months after she listed as giving birth in that hospital.”
“That makes no sense”
“Well, if you want to know more about her--”
“I don’t. She’s nothing to me. What about the kid? You’re saying I may have a sibling?”
“Besides the hospital record that says Baby Boy Kendicott, there’s no record of him. My best guess is he was adopted by a local family. I can’t find any adoption records that match, but I have a friend in Winsome who’s looking for me. I’ll let you know what he finds.”
I’m reeling.
“So, we just… wait?”
“Well… there is one thing. But you probably wouldn’t want to—”
“Tell me. And let me decide. “
“Susan Kendicott is still alive. She would know better than anyone what happened to him.”
“You want me to go see her?”
“She’s currently in a maximum-security prison in Texas. But, because of her violent attacks on staff, even her own attorney is currently without visitation privileges.”
“Forget that.” The word ‘violent’ makes me shudder. I don’t want to know any more about her.
“What about her husband’s people? The man who was my biological dad.”
“Well, as far as we know, Evan Kendicott was a drunk. He worked at Wolfe Construction and when he died, he had a lot of debt. But his sister and some cousin still live in the area.”
“I have a theory,” he says suddenly.
“Okay…”
> “It’s just a hunch. But I think the baby was adopted privately and locally. It’s a long shot, but I have a friend who can access all adoption decrees for that time period and I can go through them and get you a list of possible matches for your sibling.”
I start to say okay, but then pause. Do I want to go down this road? What if what I find is worse than what I already know? I’ve got a good life. Why can’t that be enough?
“Listen, kid. This search isn’t costing me anything. If I get some matches, I’ll let you know. The kid may have died. There may be nothing there but a dead end. So, let me see what turns up before you worry about this.”
I have a brother. Maybe in Winsome. I want to find out more. But I’m not going to pay him to do it. I need to get away from the glare of the spotlight. And when I was in Winsome last, I felt at peace there. It’ll take some time to plan and figure things out here. But as soon as I can, I’ll go.
My stomach clenches when I think about facing Beth. I need to get her out of my system.
Once and for all.
20
CHOICES
ELISABETH
After Mr. Westfall, there was a war of escalation. The harder she tried to cow me the more I resisted.
Until the day she boarded up the windows of my room so that I was in the shadowless dark.
That’s when they started winning.
They’re going to keep me here forever. And it will be like I never existed.
Serene is right. I have to get out of here.
No matter what.
I ask the bodyguard stationed outside my door to tell my grandmother I want to speak to her.
I tell her that I’m ready to submit.
And I mean it.
Just not the way that she thinks I do.
She takes the boards off my windows.
The next day, I call home and tell my father that I’m ready to apologize and do what they want.
Now, I’m sitting across from Fiona. She’s heavily pregnant. But she’s as elegantly turned out as ever in her white St. John suit, her blonde hair swept up in a French twist.
Her pretty face is perfectly made up. And her cornflower blue eyes are full of skepticism as I finish my rehearsed apology.
“Your father isn’t quite ready to forgive you,” she says primly.
“I see,” I say and feign hurt when it’s annoyance I’m feeling.
“Are you really sorry, Liz?” she asks, but there’s no accusation in her voice, just curiosity.
I nod.
“Then I accept your apology.”
I sigh in relief.
“Can I come home, then?”
Her expression turns sad, and she shakes her head.
“Not until your father finds you a suitable match.”
I slump in my chair. But I don’t give up.
“Can’t I come home and meet someone there?”
She stares at me intently as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to tell me something.
Then, in an alarmingly sudden change of expression, her face crumbles and she hunches over, hands in her lap as she cries.
“I’m having a girl, Liz.” Her eyes fill with tears and she looks down at her lap.
“Why do you make that sound like a death sentence?” I ask, alarmed by her tears.
She shakes her head fast, and when she looks up at me her eyes are full of tears.
“It’s not that. It’s that your father is going to leave me if I don’t give him a son, and then he’ll find a way to keep my daughter from me. The way he kept you from your mother. And then, he’ll treat her the way he’s treated you.” She wails, and then drops her face into her hands and sobs.
Her words couldn’t have been better aimed or better timed. A month ago, I would have said, “No shit, sherlock.”
The old adage misery loves company is one of life’s most reliable truths. So, in my own hell, I welcome the opportunity to hold someone else’s hands while they dangle over the flames. Even if in her case, she laid every brick in the walls she’s now lamenting.
Today, I feel sorry for her. I see her as more than just the woman my father married to replace my mother. I see the same powerless woman as myself.
She sniffles loudly and then looks at me with pitiful eyes.
“Fiona, what can I do?” I ask.
She straightens and wipes away her tears with her hands.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I want to try and do something about that now though.”
“What do you mean?”
She makes quick work of regaining her composure and sits up alert and focused.
“You’re a good person and you don’t deserve what he’s doing to you. I mean, he’s basically kidnapped you. I hate this for you.”
“Well, thanks. I wish you’d said this to him when he was sending me away.”
She looks regretful and nods as if in agreement. This is odd.
“There was no reasoning with him. And he doesn’t ever listen to me. But now, I can’t take the chance that one day he’ll change. The only way I can make sure my daughter is safe is if you are in her life. When he kicks me out and won’t let me near her,” she sounds so wretched that I forget my own problems completely.
I look at her belly. That’s my sister. My own flesh and blood. Another daughter for my father to ruin.
The excitement I feel is momentary as reality rushes in.
“Fiona, I’ve got nothing.”
She shakes her head vigorously.
“That’s not true. You’ve got that money. Once you’re married, you’ll be rich and you won’t need him, and you can help her like James wanted to help you.”
The mention of James touches a raw place inside of me. I remember him saying that it was his obligation as my older brother to help me. I look to her stomach and understand now why he’d been so blasé giving up his dreams so I could have mine.
That’s my little sister. It’s my turn to step up. But…
“I need to get married to get that money. What if none of the men Daddy would approve of would be any better than him? They may even find a way to take it from me.”
Fiona takes my hand in hers.
“What about that boy—the one you were with the morning—?”
“Would Daddy approve of him?” My heart leaps into my throat. Would Carter consider? Maybe just for the money, but at least we like each other.
“Maybe. Are you in touch with him?”
I give her a look of impatience. “I’m not in touch with anyone, Fiona. Remember?”
“Sorry. Want to use my phone?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Beth, you’re too young to be so antiquated. See if you can find him online and send a message or something.” She looks excited and I’m nervous. If I type his name into her phone she’ll know it and what if she tells my father.
“I promise I won’t tell your father. I swear on this baby’s life.”
I grimace at the macabre pledge, but decide this is not the time to shy away from risk. I’ve got a bullet to my head.
I google him and the first hit is his Facebook page. Maybe I can send a message there.
I hit the link and scroll. The first picture is him with an idiotic grin, his cheek resting on an ample, bare unmistakably feminine backside with the caption “What’re you having for breakfast?”
The post is dated this morning.
I scroll and torture myself until I get to the date of my encounter with Mr. Westfall. I want to see what he was doing while I was fighting to try and find a way out of here so that I could see him again one day.
He was at a restaurant with a redhead who’s kissing his cheek while he grins like an idiot at the camera. The caption says “Hakuna Matata.”
I’m numb. I feel nothing.
Men are pigs. Carter Bosh—the worst kind. At least Duke and my father didn’t pretend to care.
I look up at Fiona, and when I blink, tears roll down my che
eks.
I wipe them away. Not one more tear for any of these assholes.
I hand her the phone.
“No, he’s not an option.”
“If only Duke could be convinced.”
“Duke? He’s got his sights set higher than me.”
“Oh…I mean, but we both know those are delusions of grandeur. Now that you’ve got not just your inheritance but your brother’s, it’s a much sweeter pot now.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, and at least he’s young and hot.” She wiggles her shoulder.
“Okay, let’s ask him.”
She smiles, a wide, delighted, conspiratorial grin. She pulls open her purse and types something on her phone. It buzzes almost immediately and she nods and tucks it back in her purse.
“He’s on his way in, now.”
“Now?” I stand, dismayed to realize that this was an ambush.
“Calm down, Liz. I promise, you’re going to be very pleased.
“Hey Lizzy.” Duke's voice is an octave too high to be congruous with a man his size. When he speaks publicly or to someone he doesn’t know for the first time, he always deepens it. It’s the one thing he’s self-conscious about.
“What are you doing here?”
“Umm, well Fiona said you wanted to talk to me,” he looks at Fiona.
I grimace as he skims the bruise on my face. I shrink under his scrutiny. I can’t imagine what I must look like to him.
“Why are you here?” I ask again, this time, more demanding.
“I want to make a deal.”
I glance at Fiona. She smiles reassuringly.
“I’ll leave you two to work out the details.”
As soon as the door shuts behind her, Duke starts to talk.
“My father is going to back your father in the next election for governor. And in return for that, he’s giving me a senior management role at Wolfe with the understanding that I’ll be groomed to run it all one day.” He pauses and swallows audibly.
That job should have been my brother’s. He’s giving it to Duke.
“So, what do you need me for?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
“Well, I realized that if I married you instead, I could skip all that,” he says in a big rush.
I swear, I’m sure my eyes are going to fall out of my head.