by C. C. Hunter
He wasn’t going to give Paul what he wanted. In fact, today he went out of his way to walk past Paul and his friends, smiling the whole time.
He could tell it irritated the shit out of him, too.
Patience is the key. Wait people out. They’ll screw up. They always do.
Down the street, he saw Chloe walking her mom to her car. Before her mom got inside, Chloe hugged her. He remembered her mom had a job interview today.
The scene struck him as odd. As if Chloe were the mom, not the daughter. All the more reason for Cash to worry the Emily thing could backfire. Her first reaction could be to defend her mother. No, he wasn’t going to come out and accuse her parents of kidnapping, but it was implied.
His gut said to put it off, but would any time be a good time to tell her?
Chloe watched her mom drive off. When she turned to go back inside, her gaze shot down the street. She put her hand over her brow to block the sun and stared. Crap. She’d seen him.
He started the engine and pulled in front of her house.
Feeling like a Peeping Tom, he got out shrugging, trying to knock off the guilt. “I was early and didn’t want to bother you.”
“You didn’t have to wait in the car.” She didn’t look upset. He realized he’d earned her trust. And now he was about to destroy it.
A smile brightened her face. A breeze stirred her hair. It was the perfect weather to go to the park. “Come in,” she said. “I’ll get Buttercup.”
He followed her inside. She turned and looked at him. It was the first time they’d been alone since they kissed. Did she expect him to kiss her now? He wanted to. He’d thought about those kisses so much, the memory was tattooed on his brain. But it didn’t seem right to kiss her again while he was still keeping this huge secret.
She called her dog. A bark came from the backyard, and she let him in. “You want to go to the dog park, buddy?”
She collected a leash and connected it to her dog’s collar, then stopped. “I’ll run and get a blanket to sit on.”
While she ran to her room, he moved over to the family photos on the sofa table. He found the one with a young Chloe holding her cat. He realized another coincidence. Chloe and Emily were both wearing pink. He took out his phone to snap a pic, but heard footsteps and pocketed his phone again.
A red tabby cat followed her. He looked at the animal curling itself around her ankles. The two Felixes were identical. Was that why the young Chloe had given them the same name?
“Felix?” he asked.
“Yup. He’s a sweetie.” She dropped the blanket on a nearby chair and crouched down to pet the feline. The shirt she wore had a scooped neckline and it gave him a view. He should look away but couldn’t.
“Felix, meet Cash,” she said.
Chloe stood and he barely managed to shift his focus onto the cat. He grabbed the blanket, and as they walked out, she leaned close. The jolt of both pleasure and pain hit. In spite of the spark of discomfort, he loved touching her.
* * *
When they got to the park, Buttercup jumped out. Cash caught the leash, and Chloe grabbed the blanket. The park was mostly empty. They found a partly shady spot, and she spread out the blanket.
“Should I take the leash off him?” he asked.
“Yeah. He stays close.” He sat down next to her and freed the dog, who froze in place as if mesmerized by the ball in Chloe’s hands.
She tossed it and he ran. Chloe grinned. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to drive us crazy. He has a ball obsession.”
“That’s okay,” Cash said. “I’m getting a Chloe obsession, so I can relate.”
She laughed. “I think I’m getting a Cash obsession, too.”
“Good,” he said.
Smiling, she looked up at the sky. “It’s a nice day.”
He followed her gaze to the blue sky scattered with white puffy clouds. “Yeah.”
She leaned back on the blanket. Her scooped neckline rose just high enough that he could look at her without gawking—her dark hair was strewn around her head, and the soft afternoon sun lit up her face.
He wanted to kiss her and skip the conversation.
Her brown eyes found his. “Did you ever find shapes of things in the clouds when you were a kid?”
“Find what?” he asked, so busy staring at her that he’d missed what she said.
“You know, like elephants or dragons. In the sky. Right now, I see a horse.” She pointed up.
He tried to follow her finger. “All I see are clouds.”
She laughed. “Use your imagination. Don’t you see the head and the legs and the tail behind it?”
He tried. “Sorry.”
“Mom and I used to go into the backyard and stare up for hours, trying to find things. She’d bring a bag of Skittles, and whenever one of us found something, we’d get a red one.” She grinned.
“Why red?”
“Because they’re the best. They’re sweet, a tad sour, and taste like a reward.”
He forced a smile and again tried to connect the personality of a kidnapper to someone who cloud-watched with her kid. Something felt off.
“Do you remember your parents?” she asked.
The question took him off guard. Buttercup came running back. Cash took the ball, grateful for the short reprieve, and tossed it again. “Not my mom. My dad, I do.”
“What was he like?”
He looked back up at the sky. A sorry piece of shit. “I think I see the horse.”
When he looked back at her, she was frowning. “You do that a lot.”
“What?”
“Change the subject.” She bit down on her lip. “You don’t like talking about them, do you?”
“Not really.” He inhaled. “Chloe, I need—”
“I feel like you know everything about me and I know nothing about you.”
“I don’t know everything about you,” he said, trying to skirt the conversation.
“You know my dad’s a cheating jerk. You know my boyfriend was named Alex and my mom had cancer.”
“What kind of cancer?” he asked, and to his credit, he’d wondered about that. He’d heard Mrs. Fuller talk about the cancers that were harder to beat.
Chloe sat up. “Breast cancer.” She pulled one knee close and hugged it. He could tell it was hard for her to talk about her mother’s illness.
“But she’s cancer-free now, right?”
“Yeah. It was caught early. My grandma had breast cancer, so Mom got yearly mammograms. She was afraid she had the cancer gene.”
“Gene?” he asked.
“There’s a breast cancer gene that’s hereditary. She was tested and doesn’t have it.”
“I’m sure you’re relieved,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
“Well, since she’s not my biological mom, it didn’t affect me.”
Her words ran around his head. Not my biological mom. Buttercup came running up. He dropped the ball beside Cash. Cash ignored it. “She’s … not your real mom?”
“No. I’m adopted.” She pulled her other leg up. “And there I go again, telling you about me. Since you know about Alex, tell me about your ex-girlfriend.”
Chloe was adopted? Does that mean…? “Adopted?”
“Don’t change the subject. Tell me about your old girlfriend.”
He had to focus to answer. “I dated a girl for a couple of months when I was sixteen.”
“From the private school?”
“No, she lived in Langly.”
“How did you meet her?”
“Her parents have a lake house next to the Fullers’ vacation home, but…” Not my biological mom.
“What happened?” Chloe asked.
“She met someone else.” He needed to tell Chloe right now.
Before he could push out one word, she continued. “Did you care about her?”
“No. Some. We only dated two months.”
“And that’s the only girlfriend you’ve ha
d?” The tone said she wasn’t letting this go.
“This summer, I dated a few girls at college.”
“Older girls?” Her eyebrows rose as if it were a bad thing.
“Just by a year.”
“Are you still dating them?”
“No. Chloe, I need—”
“How long have you lived with the Fullers?”
Buttercup butted the ball against his leg. He tossed it again.
“Right at three years.”
She rested her hand on his arm. Her touch sent a spark of pain right to his chest. But then just as quickly, the spark turned sweet.
“How old were you when your father died?”
He put a finger to her lips. “Stop asking questions.” His tone rang a little sharper than he liked. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
She frowned. “Okay.”
Great. He’d already pissed her off, and he hadn’t even begun yet. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just going to show it to you.”
“Show me what?” She tilted her head to the side like a curious puppy.
He pulled the folded progression photo from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it.
She studied it, then looked at him. “What’s this?”
He didn’t see the recognition he expected in her eyes. His heart slammed against his breastbone. “It’s an age-progression photo of Emily Fuller.”
“Fuller, like your foster parents?”
He nodded.
Her brow tightened. “I still don’t get why you’re showing it to me.”
“It’s you. Can’t you see it?”
She glanced at the photo again, eyes wide. “It’s not me.”
“It looks just like you.”
“No. I mean, maybe a little, but not … really.” She studied the image again.
He watched a crease appear between her brows. Was she seeing it now?
Now she looked concerned. “They … gave their baby up for adoption?”
12
“No,” Cash says.
I’m trying to wrap my head around what he’s saying. I look back at the photo. No, not a photo, but a drawing. Or a computer drawing. One of those shown on detective shows. I see the resemblance, but it isn’t that close. Is it?
“Then it isn’t me. I was adopted.”
He looks apologetic. “She was kidnapped.”
His words echo in my ears, and my response comes immediately. “And I wasn’t.”
“How old were you when you were adopted?”
“Wait. You think…? This is crazy.”
“I know it is, but just answer me. How old were you?”
“Almost three.”
His eyes tighten as if that proves something. “Do you remember your real parents?”
“No. But you’re not listening. I was adopted.”
“Chloe, Emily Fuller went missing two months before her third birthday.”
An uncomfortable feeling builds in my chest. “I was adopted. Not kidnapped.”
“There’s more.” He takes out his phone, pulls something up, and gives it to me. “Look.”
With one hand I’m holding the picture; with the other I’m holding his phone. Suddenly they feel heavy.
I almost don’t look at the screen, then I do. It’s the framed picture of me as a toddler with Felix. “Why did you take a picture of this?”
“Chloe, that’s Emily Fuller. I snapped this picture at the Fullers’.”
“No, this is the photo at my house.” I look back at the image and realize I’m wrong. In the picture at home, I’m standing beside a swing set. “Okay, I look like her, but that doesn’t—”
“The cat’s name is Felix.”
“Huh?”
“You said you named your cat Felix. The Fullers’ cat is named Felix.”
Air catches in my chest, a big bubble that crowds my organs. “A lot of cats are named Felix. There was a cartoon—”
“Your parents moved away right after they say they adopted you.”
They say? That bubble became painful. “You think that my parents kidnapped me? You’re nuts!”
I look at the photo again, and my thumb accidentally swipes the screen. The image changes. I blink and stare. It’s a form. But it has my name on it.
“What’s this?” I hold out the phone.
Guilt fills his eyes. “Your school files. I needed to find out if…”
“Find out what?” My backbone stiffens.
“I thought you could be trying to con the Fullers.”
“Con them? What do you mean?”
“If you looked like their daughter, then maybe you were trying to get money from them.”
I draw in a gulp of air, adding to the bubble. I shake my head. Nothing is making sense. I sit there, feeling the sun on my skin and his accusation under my skin.
“You think I’m trying to get money from them? What kind of a person would do that?” Then I remember what Cash said to me that day at the convenience store. Whatever you’re trying to pull, don’t do it.
“People do shit like that.” His expression is almost angry. But he doesn’t have a right to be angry. I do.
“That’s what this—” I move a hand between us. “—is all about.” I glance at the picture of the form. It has my address on it. “You didn’t ride around my neighborhood looking for my car that day. You knew where I lived.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. His expression tells the truth.
“You … You did let the air out of my tires!”
“I needed to get close to you to figure out—”
“None of this is real!” Anger swells inside, I can’t contain it. I toss his phone at him and lunge to my feet. “You’re insane.”
He springs up, too.
I push my palms into my eye sockets; I see blackness, then flashes of light. “Oh God. I kissed you.” I pull my hands away from my face and stare at him. “You … You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true. I kissed you back and then I kissed you four more times. I didn’t mean to … fall for you, but I did.”
I snatch up Buttercup’s leash. “I’m going home.”
“Chloe, don’t. Let’s talk.”
“No.” I hold up my hand. I call Buttercup. When he comes, I put the leash on him.
I take one step. Cash catches my arm. “I’ll drive you.”
I yank free. “No. I’m walking.” I need to be alone. I need … I don’t have a freaking clue what I need except to be away from him. Away from his absurd accusations.
I hear him call my name, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other. I was adopted. Not … No. It isn’t true. It can’t be. I don’t believe it. Then I remember the one memory: me sitting on a dirty sofa, looking at dirty carpet. I remember feeling so lost. So abandoned. So scared.
I continue walking. My knees are shaking, or is it the ground beneath me that’s quaking? My whole world is shaking. This can’t be true.
* * *
I walk fast. Buttercup keeps up. The sound of his paws hitting the street fills my head. Every time I hear a car, I’m afraid it’s Cash.
My phone dings. I ignore it. As I get closer to home, I see Jamie’s car in front of Lindsey’s house. The two of them are on Lindsey’s porch steps. I don’t want to talk to them.
I realize I’m still holding the picture Cash showed me. I wad it up, start to toss it away, then change my mind and stuff it into my pocket. I dart off the sidewalk when I’m in front of my house.
“Chloe?” My name’s being called from next door.
I ignore it and keep walking. Digging into my pocket for the key, I make the porch steps and pray they’ll give up.
They don’t. I hear them coming up the steps behind me. Please go away. I realize I’m crying.
“What’s wrong?” It’s Lindsey’s voice, but I heard more than one pair of footsteps, so I know Jamie is with her. Jamie doesn’t even like me. I don’t want her to see me bawling like a b
aby.
“I can’t talk now.” I open the door, usher Buttercup in, shut the door in their faces, and I run into my bedroom. I fall on the bed, hug a pillow tight enough to kill the stuffing. Felix jumps up on the mattress trying to cuddle.
I don’t believe it, I tell myself. So why am I so upset?
I tell myself it’s because I made an idiot out of myself when I kissed Cash.
My phone dings. I ignore it.
Five minutes later, it dings again.
And again.
And again.
I yank it out of my pocket to cut it off, but I see there’s a message from Mom.
Oh, freaking great! I swipe it to see what she says, knowing I can’t be like this when she comes home.
Got Job! Filling out paperwork. Picking up Chinese for dinner. See you in an hour.
I hear a knock at my door. Shit! Is it Cash?
I go look out my window where I can see the street. His car isn’t there, but I can’t see who’s on the porch from this angle.
My phone beeps again. It’s Lindsey. Worried. You okay?
I text back. You at the door?
Yes.
Alone?
Yeeessss.
I wipe my face, pull myself up by the bootstraps, and walk to the front door.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as I open the door. She doesn’t wait for an invitation; she comes inside.
“It’s crazy,” I say.
“What’s crazy? Did Cash do something?”
I pull out the wadded picture from my pocket and flatten it. “This doesn’t look like me, does it?”
She takes the crinkled paper, stares at it, then stares at me. “Yeah. What is it?”
My chest tightens. I move to the living room and drop down on the sofa. My body feels extra heavy as it lands. “You were supposed to say it doesn’t.”
She sits beside me. “Sorry. You should have told me that before you asked.”
I take a deep breath. I still want to cry, but I hold it in. I look at Lindsey. “You can’t tell a soul.”