by Julie Hyzy
“Right.” I reached to lift up the album I’d set aside. “But look at these. This book starts with Liza already born.” The photo I indicated showed my mom holding her new infant daughter, while I sat on my dad’s lap and smiled for the camera.
“No pregnancy pictures, you mean?” Bruce asked.
“Exactly. Why not?”
Scott made a thoughtful noise. “That’s not unusual with second or third kids. At least from what I’ve been told. Parents are so busy herding their little ones, they don’t have a chance to pick up the camera.”
“I guess,” I said as I continued to page forward. “Except my mom was crazy about her photos. And she managed to get lots of shots of us after Liza arrived. From the looks of it, she took at least one of us every week to chart our progress.”
“What are you saying?” Bruce asked. “That you think your sister was adopted?”
“Outrageous, I know. But we don’t look alike. We don’t act alike. We’re more different than we are similar.”
The boys were skeptical. “Your dad had dark hair like Liza’s.”
“That’s true. Probably just wishful thinking on my part.”
Chapter 22
I knew Bennett’s blood type and I knew mine. What I didn’t know was Liza’s. But I was determined to find out.
The next morning before heading into the office, I stopped at the Marshfield Inn. When my sister didn’t respond to my knock, I tried Aunt Belinda’s room. No answer there, either. Drawing on my deductive skills, I made a beeline for the dining room, where I found them enjoying the hotel’s lavish breakfast buffet.
Liza speared a ripe strawberry with her fork. Aunt Belinda lifted a delicate china cup to her lips.
I blew out a breath. I could do this.
I stepped up to their table and placed my hands on the back of one of the empty chairs. They both froze, mid-motion, wearing twin looks of horrified surprise.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m glad I found you here. Big meeting this afternoon, right?” When neither of them spoke, I pulled out the chair and sat down. “The two of you, plus your attorney, plus Bennett, plus our attorney,” I reminded them. “And me, of course.”
Aunt Belinda returned her cup to its saucer with a gentle clink. “I’m looking forward to meeting the illustrious Bennett Marshfield,” she said with a tight frown. “Liza tells me he can be quite charming.” She shot a knowing look at my sister before returning her gaze to me. “When he manages to break free from your clutches, that is.”
I raised up my hands and wiggled my fingers. “These clutches?” I asked, immediately sorry to have so easily snapped up my aunt’s bait. I forced a light laugh and shook my head. Time to marshal restraint. “Bennett is his own man, I assure you,” I said. “But you’ll find that out for yourself later. I’m not here to argue with either of you.” I raised my hands again, this time in supplication. “I just wanted to catch up with both of you before the big meeting this afternoon.”
Liza tossed her head, the speared strawberry on her plate long forgotten. “Right,” she said. “All of a sudden you want to play nice because you know I have the same claim to Bennett’s fortune that you do.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Let’s not get into that, shall we? Let’s leave our differences to the attorneys.” I worked to keep my expression neutral. “We left things on a bad note last time we talked and I wanted to smooth things over.”
“Smooth things over?” Liza repeated. “Exactly how do think you can do that?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I was thinking about what you said about that time you were in the hospital and I couldn’t come up because I had chicken pox.”
Liza rolled her eyes. I ignored that.
“Mom and Dad were especially worried for you because of something to do with your blood. You needed a transfusion. Do you remember that?”
“Not really.”
Aunt Belinda leaned forward. “What does this have to do with smoothing things over?”
I shrugged. “My parents were worried about HIV,” I said. “That was back when we knew very little about the virus and before the blood supply went through as rigorous testing as it does now. They didn’t tell you any of this?” I asked.
“I can’t recall.” Aunt Belinda shook her head. “That was a long time ago.”
Liza pushed her plate forward and folded her arms on the table. “Where is this going?” she asked.
“Mom and Dad wanted to donate blood to you directly,” I said. “I wanted to, too, but I was too young.”
Liza lifted her hands as though to say, “So what?”
“Family is often asked to donate blood when a loved one is in the hospital,” Aunt Belinda said. “That’s nothing new.”
At that moment a waitress stopped by the table and touched the edge of Liza’s plate. “Are you finished here?” she asked.
“Yes,” Liza said with emphasis. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
As soon as the waitress was gone, I continued. “But Mom and Dad couldn’t direct their donation because you have a different blood type than they do.”
“Wait, I remember now,” Aunt Belinda said. “Your mother called me. You’re right, she was very worried. But it wasn’t anything about blood. It was about something else. I think maybe an infection.”
“I’m pretty sure it had to do with Liza’s blood type being different,” I said as I turned to my sister. “Out of curiosity, what is your blood type?”
“How should I know?” she asked.
“I thought everyone knew their blood type,” I said. “We had to test it in high school biology.”
Liza barked a laugh. “Of course you remember back to high school biology, Little Miss A-plus. I don’t.”
“Well,” I said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I was just curious. And you’ll find out your blood type soon enough.”
“I will? How?”
“If you’re going to try to lay claim to Bennett’s estate, you’re going to have to prove you’re related, just the way I did.”
Aunt Belinda waved a finger. “She shouldn’t have to do that. She’s your sister. Everybody knows that.”
I shrugged. “The lawyers insist on it.” I’d made that part up on the spot. I had no idea what the lawyers might require, but it sounded reasonable enough.
“No big deal,” Liza said. “I’ve given blood before. Plasma, too. Sometimes it was the only way to raise cash.”
Aunt Belinda looked stricken. “You see what your poor sister has had to deal with? What a tough life she’s endured? While you’re living in the lap of luxury? How can you be so cruel to her?”
Time for me to leave before this escalated again. “I’ll talk with you both later.”
I left the hotel’s restaurant and said hello to a few employees as I made my way across the lobby. I was nearly out the hotel’s front door when I heard Aunt Belinda call my name.
I turned. She hurried across the marble expanse, her arms pumping like kinked pendulums providing momentum. By the time she reached me, nearly breathless, her face was red. She grabbed my arm, but I didn’t know if it was for emphasis or her own stability. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Make her take a blood test.”
“Why? What don’t I know? Why aren’t there any photos of my mother when she was pregnant with her? Was Liza adopted?”
“Don’t push this, Grace. Leave well enough alone.”
Sharp curiosity kept me frozen to the spot.
Aunt Belinda glanced back the way she’d come. “I told your sister I had to use the bathroom so I’ll make this quick. Your mother . . .” Her voice cracked. She took a quick breath and started again. “Your mother, well, I don’t know how to break this to you . . .”
I waited.
“Your mother, she . . .”
�
��You’re not saying anything,” I said. “Tell me.”
“Have it your way.” Aunt Belinda straightened. Her mouth twisted ever so slightly before she said, “Your mother had an affair. That’s why you and your sister look so different.”
The lobby walls pulsated around me. Shock pounded my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Just like our mother with old man Marshfield, your mother had a child with a man who wasn’t her husband.”
Although the pieces fit, this felt wrong. “No. My parents had an amazing marriage. Neither of them would ever have cheated on the other.”
“Yes, well. Your father forgave her.”
“No,” I said again. “That doesn’t explain why there aren’t any pregnant photos in Liza’s baby book. There were plenty when she was expecting me.”
She winced, then glanced back toward the dining room again before answering me. “Your father didn’t want any pictures to remind him of your mother’s infidelity.”
I was reeling from the impact of this revelation, but unwilling to give up. She was not describing the parents I knew. “You’re telling me that he refused to allow photos, but he accepted a child—a living, breathing reminder of infidelity—to raise as his own? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Stranger things have happened, young lady. It’s about time you realized that.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to sort out all the questions in my mind. “Who is Liza’s father?”
A sad look washed over Aunt Belinda’s face. “My husband.”
I couldn’t help myself. I gasped.
“You thought your mother was a saint, didn’t you? All this time.” With a burst of anger she added, “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.” She gave another terrified glance back. “I’ve been away from the table too long. She’s going to suspect something. You can’t let Liza know that she wasn’t your father’s child. It’ll break her heart.”
Chapter 23
I made it to the office, reeling from Aunt Belinda’s disclosure. Could it be true?
“You’re running late today,” Frances said as I strode past her.
“Yes.” I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
I sat at my desk for several minutes, weighing options and staring across the room seeing nothing at all.
The moment I picked up the phone to call Bennett, Frances poked her head in. “What happened?”
I ignored her. When Bennett answered, I got right to the point. “I’m going to reschedule our appointment with Liza’s attorney,” I said.
“The meeting this afternoon?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He waited a few beats, no doubt expecting me to provide a reason for the sudden change in plans. When I didn’t, he said, “If you think that’s best, Gracie, I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”
“I know you will.”
By the time I hung up, Frances had crossed the office. She sat across from me. “You want me to call their lawyer to cancel?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind.” I frowned out the window. “See if we can push it off for a week or so.” I needed to regroup.
“Won’t your sister have moved into the new apartment by then?”
“She’s made it clear that she had no intention of moving into such lowly accommodations.”
“What’s wrong with that girl? It’s a perfectly fine place.” I appreciated Frances’s outrage on my behalf.
“Tell her that.” I drew in a breath and faced my assistant again. “Tell the lawyer to let Liza and my aunt know that today’s plan has changed. When I saw them this morning, I hadn’t yet made up my mind.”
“This morning, you say?” Pressing her hands to her knees, she got to her feet. “That explains your sour mood.”
“Just when I think things are going well, they swing a bat into my face.”
She flinched but didn’t ask what I meant by that. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t, but this gives me time to figure it out.” I grabbed my purse. “Speaking of which, I’m going home.”
• • •
Bruce’s car was in the driveway when I got there. He wasn’t on the main level, but the basement door was ajar and the light was on so I poked my head in and shouted that I was home. He called back a muffled reply.
After changing clothes, I dug out two more giant boxes of albums and brought them into the parlor, where I set them out according to year. I then poured myself a cup of coffee and sat on the floor ready to dig in again. “I need more clues, Mom,” I whispered into the empty room. “There’s a story here you never told us, isn’t there?”
A few minutes later, Bruce bounded up the steps and trotted into the parlor, Bootsie in his wake.
“What are you doing home?” we said in unison.
“The termite control company was able to fit us into their schedule sooner than expected. That’s good because we were afraid we’d have to wait a month. The problem is that when they’re fumigating a location, no one can be on the premises. So anything we hoped to get done today over there is a no-go.”
“How soon before you can get back in?”
He shrugged. “Tomorrow, thank goodness. Scott should be home soon. He’s visiting Oscar in the hospital. I hope to get there later myself. Oh, wait.” Bruce blinked as though he’d just remembered something. “We’re interviewing another contractor today, but because of the fumigation, we invited him here. If that’s inconvenient for you, we can meet somewhere else.” He gave the mess on the floor a pointed look.
“Feel free to hold the meeting here,” I said. “This house is as much yours as it is mine. And I’m playing hooky. There’s no way you could have expected that. As long as you don’t mind me hanging around.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Why are you home?”
I feared that speaking Aunt Belinda’s allegation aloud would make it worse—make it seem more real—but being able to share my anger and distress was the relief I needed. Bruce listened carefully as I recounted the conversation.
“I don’t buy it,” he said. “I realize I only knew your mother for a short time but such a thing seems completely out of character for her.”
“I agree.”
“Another thing that seems odd,” he said. “Why is your aunt so concerned about Liza’s reaction?”
“I don’t know.” Recollecting a conversation I’d had with my sister shortly before she’d been arrested, I mused, “Liza suggested the very same thing when she was here last.”
“That she was the result of an affair?”
I nodded.
“What did you tell her?”
“Of course, I thought the idea was preposterous. But because she believed that was the reason our mom was so tied to this house, I let it slide. At the time, I was so relieved that she hadn’t heard about our relationship to Bennett that I didn’t argue the point.”
“But now she knows the truth—that Bennett’s father was your grandfather.”
“Which doesn’t mean that my Aunt Belinda is wrong. I suppose it is possible that my mother had an affair. But it doesn’t feel right.” I pressed a hand to my middle. “Gut-level wrongness. I know better. But how to prove it?”
“What about your DNA test with Bennett?”
“Our DNA traveled through our mom, who is Bennett’s relative. It wouldn’t preclude an affair.”
“Then what is your aunt afraid of? Why doesn’t she want Liza tested?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Good question. She says that she doesn’t want to break Liza’s heart.”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying that. Your sister is as hard as they come.”
“I know. But there’s a piece missing. I can’t let it go. Not until I understand what’s really going on.”
“So you’re searching through your mom’s things again?”
I shrugged. “I’ve told myself a hundred times that I needed to dig through all this stuff, but never actually got around to it. Considering the bombshell I discovered in my mom’s things the first time, I should have made this a priority.”
“You’ve had a lot on your plate since then.”
“True, and I was focused on my mom’s history, not my sister’s. I don’t even know what I’m hoping to find, but I believe I’ll know it when I see it.”
“With any luck, you’ll find out you’re not sisters after all.”
“Fat chance of that. I’ve got thirty years of memories that say otherwise.”
“Half sisters, then.”
I shook my head. “I’d rather be able to prove that Aunt Belinda is wrong and that my mother didn’t have an affair. Even if that means Liza remains a thorn in my side for the rest of my life.”
“Well, if anyone was aware of the affair, it was probably your aunt, right?” he asked as he headed toward the door. “Were your mom and aunt close? Before this alleged affair, that is?”
After he left, I thought about that. My mom and Aunt Belinda weren’t particularly close. My mom had claimed to dislike her sister’s husband and Aunt Belinda didn’t even come to see my mom when she was dying. Didn’t come in for her funeral. Both husbands had been long dead by then. Why didn’t Aunt Belinda come?
Could they have been close thirty years ago? If my mother had had an affair with my uncle—which I still couldn’t reconcile with the childhood I knew—why would she have done such a despicable thing to her own sister?
It sure would explain a lot about their fractured relationship and my aunt’s obsession with my sister, however. She and my uncle had never had kids of their own. Maybe Liza was as close as she would get.
But no. I couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it.
I sat back against the sofa, trying to remember the sisters’ relationship back when I was a kid. All I remember was that our parents took care of us. Other adults sliding in and out of our lives were of middling interest. I could remember my mother’s best friend, Arlene, being a much bigger part of our lives than my aunt. It seemed as though Aunt Belinda was always unable to come see us. Always making a phone call and an excuse for not visiting, whether it be for holidays, my parents’ anniversaries, or a family friend’s death. If what Aunt Belinda had said was true, though, her absence in our lives made sense.