by Sienna Ciles
“This will only get you to the adopted children database,” she said, scribbling something quickly on the sheet. She added something else underneath it. “This is the records site for the parents who gave up kids. The login is only good for that. Don’t even try to use it elsewhere--you might get me locked out and then I’ll have to explain.”
She looked at me firmly and I grinned.
“I promise you, this is the only information I’m looking for,” I said. “Can I use your laptop, or do I need to use one of the hotel’s computers?”
“Better if you use mine--they know it’s authorized.” She sighed. “Password to get on is Adirondak4639. Capital A.”
“That’s an interesting password,” I said.
Bethany shrugged. “Just come to the luau quickly--if you’re not there, I am not in a million years going to do the hula class,” she told me, managing a smile.
We parted ways and I couldn’t get up to the room fast enough. I found Bethany’s laptop in her luggage, put in her personal password, and opened up a browser to check the first of the databases that I needed to look at. I logged in, holding my breath as the page loaded the verification, and there it was. Children Served by Us.
I pressed my lips together and tried to think of what name to search for. Would it be under the adoptive name, or the name before adoption? If it was the second one, I had no chance--I didn’t even know what the pre-adoption last name had been. I could--I thought--do a search just based on first name.
I thought about it a moment longer and made up my mind. I felt a tingle work down my spine as I typed in a name I had stopped using a good five years or more before. Patrick Nolan. At first, the results field said it found nothing, and my stomach sank halfway to my knees, making me regret getting extra hollandaise on my benedict. But a second or two later, I saw One result found!
I opened it up and saw a picture of a child, aged three. My heart leaped up into my throat and I scrolled down. Adoptive parents of record: Janice and Raymond Nolan. Those were my parents. I looked over my own file, feeling weirdly like a voyeur. I’d been given to the agency that Bethany worked for at the age of two, given up by birth parents. I’d been assessed at above-average intelligence for my age, diagnosed with minor behavioral issues “consistent with an unstable attachment to birth-parents.” Nowhere on the file were my birth parents listed, which disappointed me--but then I reminded myself that I had the other database to look through. I saw the records for the interview the agency had done with me and my new parents before I’d been sent home with them, and shook my head at my own childish answers.
I hadn’t been Patrick Nolan before that, though. I looked through the attached files until I found what my birth name had been. Patrick Cartwright. That, at least, should help me find at least one--if not both--of my parents.
I opened up a new tab and put in the web address that Bethany had given me for the birth parents database, and waited impatiently for it to load. I logged in, feeling tense but less full of dread, and when the search option came up I put in my last name at birth.
There were about a half-dozen Cartwrights, and I scrolled through the results until I found one attached to my birth name. Genevieve Cartwright, Alexander Cartwright. That was what I needed to know. That was what I’d been trying to find for years.
Relief flooded through me and for a second I just sat there, my eyes closed, breathing in the realization that the missing puzzle piece was finally there.
I wrote down the names and their information and closed out both databases, opening a new window and putting in the web addresses for some records searches I knew about, that I’d used in some odd jobs in the past. I put in my parents’ names, opening a new tab for each search I wanted to run, and switched between them, waiting for information.
Genevieve Cartwright was dead. My heart sank as I read through her obituary. She’d died when I was about twenty, not survived by anyone--she hadn’t even still been with my birth-father, though she’d kept his name, and her other two kids had died before her in an accident at the home.
Alexander Cartwright, my birth father, was still alive. He was living in another state, about a day’s drive from where I’d been staying until I’d come back to my hometown in the hopes of finding something to get me back on the trail to finding him. He had a criminal record, but nothing too intense. Apparently, my parents had put me up for adoption right around the time my birth father had been getting ready to go to jail on a plea deal for grand theft. I couldn’t entirely blame them for that--but the note on my adoption file about unstable attachments told me there was a lot more to know about the situation. And there was only one person on the planet who could tell me.
I closed everything out and cleared the history, shut down the computer, and put it aside. I’d promised Bethany I’d catch up with her as soon as I was done, but for a few minutes I just sat in the room, trying to make sense of what I’d found out about my own past. It was a relief in one sense, to finally know. But I had no idea if I even wanted to contact my biological father to get the rest of the story, the stuff my files had left out.
“I’d better get back to her,” I told myself, more to stir myself into leaving the room than anything else. I tried to think of someone I could talk to about what I’d found out, but I couldn’t bring a single name to mind. My adoptive parents had died a few years before, leaving me with their estate. I didn’t have any siblings, and my friends weren’t the type that I would normally talk about something like this with.
I thought about talking to Bethany about it--I’d even promised her I’d explain myself after I had the information. But we’d be around her classmates for the next several hours, and I wasn’t about to risk making the whole thing go pear-shaped for the sake of bouncing my troubled thoughts off of her. After the luau, or maybe after the dance, I’d talk to her about it. I’d see what she had to say.
I hurried downstairs and went out to the car. It had started snowing lightly, but I figured it wouldn’t harm anything too much—the forecast had promised it wouldn’t do much more than put a light little scrim of frost on what was already on the ground, after the big snowstorm.
I climbed into the car and started for the hotel where the luau was going on, and tried to push the news I’d gotten out of my mind for a few hours, at least until I could actually talk to Bethany about it. “It’ll be fun to see her face, at least,” I said to myself. That gave me a smile, and I focused on getting the rest of my official job done for the day, instead of on my weirdly sordid past. It would be better that way, I told myself. I might even have fun--and I should arrive in time to make sure that Bethany learned how to hula.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bethany
“You know, you’d look even better with nothing under that grass skirt,” Ransom told me, grinning.
“In this weather I would probably literally freeze my ass off if I had nothing to wear under this thing,” I countered.
I was surprised at how much I’d enjoyed the hula lesson, especially with Ransom doing it right at my side. I’d noticed that for all he seemed to be good at everything except for art, he’d been too preoccupied the whole time to really catch on--but of course, that had given me a chance to shine.
The hula stuff had just about ended, and people were browsing the huge buffet, snagging pork and salads and seafood. I loaded up a plate and tried to think of how I could ask Ransom what was on his mind without anyone figuring out what was happening. The last thing I wanted to do was give up our carefully-crafted cover story, just before the moment of my biggest triumph.
Ransom picked at his food, and as the afternoon wore on, people started heading back to the hotels or their houses, eager to get ready for “prom.” I thought that they’d probably planned the luau event specifically because it was something people could come and go from without calling too much attention to themselves, because it was casual and relatively care-free.
After we’d both finished eating, I suggested t
o Ransom that we might as well head back to the hotel and start getting ready ourselves, since the party seemed to have wound down. Really, I wanted to pick his brain about what he’d found out in his research in my organization’s databases that had made him so preoccupied, and why he’d wanted the information he’d been after if it wasn’t going to make him happy. Maybe he didn’t find it, and that’s why he’s in a mood.
When we got to the room, safely alone, it was the first question on my mind. “Did you get what you needed to find? And why did you need to access those databases?”
“I got it, but I don’t want to talk about it just yet,” Ransom said. “Let’s just get ready for the dance.”
I thought about pushing it, but I knew it was useless. Instead, I went into the shower and took my time, making sure that there wasn’t a hair on my body that I didn’t want there. I even took the opportunity to scrub down thoroughly with my favorite exfoliant, until my skin was gleaming even in the water of the shower and the yellow-tinged light of the bathroom. I used the hotel’s hair dryer and tried to decide what to do with my hair, thinking about the lovely dress I’d gotten for the occasion a good month before. I hadn’t been counting on it being quite as cold as it was, but I thought I could deal with it--the dance was going to be in the same hotel we were in, after all, and there wasn’t a very good reason for me to try and go outside for the rest of the night.
Ransom took over the bathroom as soon as I left it, and I used the other mirror in the main part of the suite to start putting my makeup on, still deliberating on how to do my hair. I went heavier with my makeup than usual, focusing on my eyes, taking the steps that I’d practiced after watching a dozen tutorial videos on YouTube, just for the purpose of the big dance. I wanted to not just be beautiful, but otherworldly. I wanted the guys I’d graduated with to envy the hell out of Ransom, and the women I’d graduated with ten years before to worry I could steal their husbands.
Just as I finished up, my phone rang, and I hurried to answer it--thinking in my startled mind that someone at the agency had seen the search Ransom had done, or that he’d done something behind my back to get me in trouble somehow. Instead of any of my bosses or coworkers, the screen flashed with Jess’ name and number, and I almost laughed from relief when I tapped accept.
“What’s going on? Aren’t you getting ready?” I asked. For Jess to be calling me, it had to be something important.
“My hair...is destroyed,” Jess said, sounding like she was in the middle of crying.
“Oh god, what did you do?”
“Just come to my room. I can’t even tell you,” she said. I looked around. I’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and an old, soft button-down shirt to do my makeup in, with nothing underneath.
“I’ll be there in like, five minutes. Just don’t freak out too much,” I told her. Where I always got uncomfortable in social situations, or felt insecure, Jess was the kind of person who was great with other people--as evidenced by the fact that she’d had about a dozen boyfriends in the past three years—but she tended to melt down when something like this happened. She was the yin to my yang, so to speak.
I told Ransom I was going to help Jess with something, and made sure that I had my key-card before leaving the room. I hurried down the hallway, wanting to get Jess’s crisis out of the way as quickly as possible so I could get ready, and as a result only had a few seconds to hear the two women--Nadine and Katherine--chatting a few feet ahead of me, around a corner. Just enough time to avoid literally running into them.
“...sure, she’s hot but she’s the same she’s always been,” Katherine said.
“You really don’t think that she’d stoop that low, do you?” Nadine asked her. I wondered who they were talking about.
“Bethany? Of course she would. Come on, Dine. She hasn’t even posted about having a date in like--two years.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, though,” Nadine countered. “She might just be private, you know?”
“Yeah but just because she’s hot doesn’t mean she’s got what it takes to hold onto a guy like that,” Nadine insisted.
My heart pounded in my chest and I followed them, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t realize I was behind them, listening. As soon as I’d heard my name I had to know what they were saying about me.
“So maybe they just haven’t been dating that long,” Katherine proposed.
“I don’t think they’re dating at all,” Nadine said. “She probably hired him from some modeling agency or something.”
They reached the elevator then and I hung back, feeling waves of embarrassment washing over me. I couldn’t possibly announce myself then. I couldn’t face them after what they’d just said. They were as close to right as they could be, of course--but I wasn’t going to admit that, and I hated--hated--that they’d managed to see through my story.
I heard them get onto the elevator while talking about what kind of ad I must have put in the classifieds to find a hot guy like “James,” and I wanted to cry. But I had to keep focused. I had to take care of Jess. I waited long enough for them to be well out of the way and went to the elevator, pushing the button a good seven or eight times in my hurry.
By the time I got to Jess’s room, I’d managed to get myself under control. She let me in with her hair wrapped in a towel, and once the door was closed she let it fall. It turned out that she’d tried some kind of technique with a straightening iron to curl her hair, and it had gone all wrong. I brushed her hair out and damped it down, and showed her--from my own experience--how to do it right, to get the beachy, wavy curls she wanted to go with her strapless dress.
“I really--really--need to run now, Jess,” I said.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she replied, kissing me on the cheek. “Your makeup looks amazing, by the way.”
“It better, after I practiced it so many times,” I said. “Can you handle it from here?”
Jess nodded and started on another section of her hair. She’d been doing that part all wrong--along with twisting the flat iron the wrong way. I kissed her on the forehead carefully and left her room, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just call the night a wash. I’d already been humiliated, even if Nadine and Katherine didn’t know it yet.
I got through the door to my room, and Ransom was working on his tie. “You should just go in that,” he said jokingly. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Not on your life,” I told him, my mind still spinning with what I’d overheard. “I am going to be the hottest woman at that stupid dance or I’m going to die trying.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ransom
Bethany came out of the bathroom with her hair done up in some kind of complicated style, but her face--made up as it was--didn’t lie. She was upset.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “It’s your big night of triumph!”
She bit her bottom lip and looked at the floor. “I’m kind of thinking I might not bother to go,” she said.
“Just twenty minutes ago, you told me you were going to be the hottest woman there or die trying,” I pointed out.
“I’ve been thinking about it and the whole thing is stupid,” she said.
“What happened? Did Jess get the same dress as you or something?”
Bethany glared at me and the full heat of her look made me instantly regret the bad joke. “Really, what happened?” I asked. “Obviously something did.”
“I went to go help Jess with her hair, and ran into Katherine and Nadine.”
I gestured for her to go on; obviously it couldn’t have just been her nearly colliding with two former classmates.
She said, “I heard them talking. About me.”
“What did they say?”
She grimaced and then gave me a wry smile. “That I probably hired you from a modeling agency to pretend to be my boyfriend because in spite of being hot, I suck at life.”
I stared at her for a long moment. “They think you’re paying
me?”
She nodded.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. There was a part of me that wanted to come clean to her right then--completely clean, about more than just why I’d needed her work access. But I pushed that idea out of my head. I remembered something I’d tucked away for a rainy day, something I’d won in a poker game, that might come in handy--and in that moment, if Bethany was willing to be a little daring, it would come in handy indeed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I got up and found my wallet, and dug around in the change pocket until I found what I wanted. I took the ring out and showed it to Bethany.
“Think getting proposed to and being engaged to me after tonight would shut their bimbo mouths?” It was a respectable ring: a three-carat sapphire, perfect and unflawed, surrounded by diamonds and set in white gold.
Her eyes were huge as she stared at the ring in amazement. “Where the hell did you get that?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been holding onto it for a while. I thought it might come in handy sometime, and now seems pretty good to put it to use. I’m not letting you keep it--just to be clear.”
Bethany snorted at that, but stared at the ring for a moment longer.
“That would probably shut them up,” she admitted. “I mean--this isn’t the kind of thing most people would plan, is it?”
I laughed. “If they think that me proposing to you is part of the plan, then they’re over-thinking their entire lives,” I told her. Especially since you’re going to be genuinely surprised, since you’re not going to know when it will happen. I put the key in my suit pocket and looked at Bethany significantly. “Now, finish getting ready so we can show your stupid former classmates that you’re a hundred times better than them.”
It only took her another couple of minutes to get her dress on and put her shoes on her feet, and I had to admit that if I had been one of her former classmates, I would be amazed by her. Of course, having seen her naked, the sight of her in a floor-length gown was just impressive--not amazing. But I thought she’d get the effect she wanted.