by C. C. Hunter
“No, I’m fine. I only go on Wednesday night for the college class.” He savored the second piece. She watched him finish it off. He reached for a third.
She frowned. “It’s not as if we don’t think you can do it. It’s … think how much easier it would be if you just concentrated on your studies.”
“I like working.” He took another bite. “This is good,” he added hoping for a conversation changer.
“Colleges look at your GPA. You’re doing great. But just a few more points, and you could get into—”
“I’m fine.” His plan was to go to junior college for a while and then transfer to the University of Houston. The foster program grant would cover it. But he didn’t want to talk about colleges tonight. They’d already butted heads when he told them he was going to use the scholarship that the foster program offered. Because, blast it, he already owed them for the Jeep. He didn’t want them paying for college.
“You could go anywhere you want.”
“It’s late. I wanted to get some work done.” He snatched up the plate and dropped it into the open dishwasher. “Thanks for the pizza.” As he walked past the table, he grabbed another slice.
“Cash,” she said his name, sounding a bit impatient.
Taking another bite, he turned, expecting her to start naming off schools. Good schools, expensive schools. He started talking around the lump of pizza in his mouth. “Look, I need—”
“We want to adopt you.”
He heard the words, but they didn’t compute. The bite of pizza, halfway down his throat, bounced against his Adam’s apple. His mind raced. His heart hurt. He remembered telling her he wasn’t her son.
Was that why she was doing this? Did she think he wanted this?
It was the last thing he wanted. His goal had been, always been, pay them back and get out of their lives so his problems wouldn’t keep landing on their doorstep.
“No. Bad idea.” He hurried up the stairs.
“Why?” she called after him. “Why is it a bad idea?”
He didn’t answer.
15
Ten minutes into the movie, and the second condom joke, Mom decides it isn’t funny or appropriate. Actually, it was funny, or it had been when I watched it with Alex a year ago. I remember all the times we went to his house, climbed in his bed, and watched movies. And did other things.
His parents owned a real estate company and worked late. We had his house to ourselves until around eight. I honestly think if his parents had worked normal hours, we wouldn’t have had sex.
Mom cuts the movie off and we watch Law & Order. I almost remind her that she’s supposed to be watching something funny, but I’m afraid she’ll flip out again. So I keep my mouth shut. It’s a rerun. I’ve seen it. But not wanting Mom to feel abandoned, I stay and pretend to watch. What I’m really doing is going over the phone call I had with Dad.
He came right out and apologized about not calling me the first day of school, claiming he’d had a bad week. I wanted to ask if it had anything to do with his new live-in girlfriend.
He didn’t say anything about giving my room to Darlene, but he told me he loved me and that he knew he wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t disagree. But as sad as it was, I think that was part of the problem. Before, he had been perfect. Then Darlene happened. She sucked all the perfect out of him.
He reminded me that I was his daughter and Mom shouldn’t try to turn me against him. I couldn’t disagree on that one either.
He said he needed to see me and missed me. And that like it or not, he was my dad and he wasn’t letting Mom come between us. I almost asked, What about Darlene? Was he letting her come between us?
I managed to keep that in and agreed I’d have dinner with him tomorrow night. But only after I confirmed it would just be us. I heard the tightness in his voice when I asked, too. I don’t know if he’d planned on bringing Darlene, but he agreed to come alone. Still, I’m looking forward to our dinner about as much as I do getting my period.
I grab the photo album that Mom left out. I flip through the pages. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one. I’ll bet this was one of Grandma’s. Until we moved here, most of Grandma’s stuff was boxed in the attic.
I study the black-and-white images of Grandma and Grandpa and Mom when she was little. Pictures of her as a child, looking happy. I turn the page and find pictures of me.
Me really young. Me holding a present with a big bow on it.
Me not looking happy even though I’m holding a gift. There are a couple of pictures that have been edited, meaning Mom took her scissors to them and cut out Dad.
Mom sees me looking at the album. She points to one of me with my grandparents. “That was the first time you met them.”
I study the image. My younger self is staring at the camera as if begging for someone to save me. The look on my face reminds me of the look on the animals’ faces that you see in that long, heart-wrenching fund-raising commercial. Dogs who are abandoned. The fear I had pushed away slams into me again.
Then I see a bruise on my cheek. How did I get that?
“We’d just got you and came straight here from the adoption agency.”
My pulse’s fluttering at the base of my neck. “How did I get that bruise?”
Mom’s looks at the picture. “They said you fell on the playground. Why?”
I don’t know, I really don’t, but fear has the hair on the back of my neck standing. Then I realize this is my chance to ask questions. “So you adopted me from around here?”
I stare at the album, not wanting her to see me waiting with bated breath for her answer.
“In Fort Landing. Two towns over. I remember I put you in a car seat and I rode in back with you.”
I look up. She’s got the smile she gets when she talks about me when I was little. A smile that says love. It’s so not the look of someone who remembers kidnapping a child.
I don’t know if you can call it relief, but something releases in my chest. Something that reaffirms what I’d sworn was true. Mom and Dad didn’t kidnap me. I know this. I’d bet my life on it. “How long did it take for the adoption?”
“Eight months. The longest eight months in my life.”
I gaze back at the picture of my younger self. I have curly dark hair, and my eyes look too big for my face. “I look scared.”
“You were nervous. Confused. You’d lived with a foster family for several months. You’d grown attached to them.”
My heart does another flip-flop. If that’s true, if I lived with a foster family, then I’m not Emily Fuller, because she’d been taken the day before I was adopted.
“They said it’d take you a while to adjust.”
I swallow. “Did it?”
“Yeah. I slept with you for almost a month because you’d cry at night. I’d hold you and sing to you.”
I think I remember her singing. My chest hurts almost as if I’m feeling what I felt then. What I felt in the one memory that haunts me. Confused. Scared. Unsure. Abandoned. Unloved. “Did I ever tell you anything about before?”
“Just that you wanted your mama and daddy. Broke my heart. I kept telling you that we were your mama and daddy now. It wasn’t long until you were all smiles.”
A question fills my head. The one I’ve secretly wondered. “Did the agency tell you why I was put up for adoption?”
Mom looks surprised. And I’m surprised, too. Surprised that I’ve never asked before. Then, just like that, I know why I didn’t. Not knowing felt safer.
“They said your mom was young and not married. She wanted to keep you, but then it got so hard financially. We felt so lucky to have you. So blessed. We’d tried to get pregnant for several years. Your granddad met a couple who’d used this agency. It wasn’t too expensive. They placed a lot of slightly older biracial children, who are difficult to find homes for.”
I was told I was part Hispanic, which shows through my light olive coloring and brown eyes. “Was my mother Hispanic o
r my dad?”
“I don’t know.”
I turn the page. There’s an image of me with a doll. One of those that’s supposed to look like its owner. We’re dressed alike. It has brown curly hair and big almond-shaped brown eyes. The doll’s smiling, and in this picture, so am I. I wonder how long it was after I was adopted.
Mom grins. “You loved that doll. We went to this store where we had to adopt it. You carried her everywhere.”
“I don’t remember it,” I say. I recall the box of toys I saw in Dad’s attic when we were moving. “Do I still have it?”
“No. We left it at a park only a few months after you got it. We went back for it, but it was gone. You cried for weeks, wanting Emily back.”
My breath catches. “Emily?”
“Yeah, that’s what you named it.”
* * *
It was ten that night when Cash’s phone rang. He bolted from his desk, where he was half-assed doing his homework and half-assed fretting over what Mrs. Fuller said, and praying she didn’t decide to try to finish the conversation. Because he didn’t know how to finish it.
Why is it a bad idea?
His only answer was to ask why she thought it was a good idea. They’d done more than expected. Didn’t they know how hard it was to live up to their expectations? Did Mrs. Fuller not remember how disappointed she’d been when he was kicked out of Westwood Academy? Or a year earlier, when he’d been accused of stealing a car in their neighborhood because he was the foster kid?
Or even when he got in the fight with Paul? His past wasn’t going away. Hell, they didn’t know half his past. He’d robbed old people of their social security checks. Stolen cars. Once while his dad had been working on this elderly couple’s house, Cash had gone in and stolen their bank cards and the woman’s antique necklace, a gift her husband had just bought her for their fiftieth anniversary.
He saw Chloe’s number on the screen. “Hi.”
“Sorry it’s late. It’s been a crazy night.”
“Your mom didn’t find out you skipped school, did she?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
She got quiet, then blurted out, “Look, I’m certain my mom and dad didn’t kidnap me, but … I’m thinking someone did. And you’re right. I want answers.”
“Good.” Pause. “Did something happen to change your mind?”
She told him about learning where the adoption agency was, that she’d been placed in foster care for a month, and about the doll she’d named Emily.
He hated the pain in her voice. “We’ll find out the truth.”
“How?”
“I think we need to talk to the nanny.” He sat down on his bed.
“Nanny?”
“Emily was with a nanny when she went missing.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mrs. Fuller mentioned it. And since you got here, I went online and researched it. I also read some of it years ago in a file they have. They have other stuff in the file, too. Like police reports and stuff. I’m going to try to get to the file again. But I have to wait when I know they aren’t home. But as soon as I hang up, I’ll look and see how many adoption agencies are in Fort Landing. It’s bigger than Joyful. It might have more than one.”
“There’s three,” she said. “I checked. Only one has been open since I was adopted, A New Hope Adoption Agency, but that doesn’t mean it’s the one.”
“Yeah.” He leaned against his headboard. “I’ll start trying to find the nanny.”
“How?”
“Internet.”
“I found my birth certificate. It says I was born here.”
He heard her sigh, and it sounded so much like Mrs. Fuller that he felt it in his gut. “We’ll figure it out.”
“You say that like you believe it.”
“I do. I’m good at figuring things out. Solving puzzles.” Every con is a puzzle—you just have to figure out what pieces go together. He paused. “I work tomorrow, but I get off at five. You want to get together? We can get something to eat and talk.”
“I can’t. My dad’s coming into town.”
Is she just saying that because she doesn’t want to see me? “Sunday?” His grip on his cell tightened.
The line went silent.
“I need to ask my mom, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
He remembered what Chloe had said about her dad. “You okay with seeing your dad?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter—I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” he said. Even he’d had one when he was with his dad.
“Not one that wouldn’t cause problems.”
“Haven’t you ever heard? You have to break some eggs to make an omelet.”
“So you’re an egg breaker and I’m a peacemaker. I’m not sure we’re compatible.”
He laughed. “I break eggs only when I have to.”
“When have you had to?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“When’s the last time you stood up for something? Besides that kid the first day at school.”
“Tonight,” he said, then regretted saying it.
“What happened?”
He decided he could tell part of it. “Mrs. Fuller wants me to quit working at the garage.”
“Why?”
“She says it’s too much with the college classes I’m taking and regular school.”
“You’re taking college classes?”
“Yeah. On Wednesday nights. Just to get a jump start.”
“That does sound like a lot,” I say.
“I can handle it. Besides it’s not really the time. She’s scared I’ll change my mind and decide to work at the garage and not go to college.”
“But if you’re already taking college classes, why would she think that?”
“Because I’m also taking auto tech, and I’m not signing up for some fancy college.”
“What college does she want you to go to?”
“Rice or Harvard, for all I know.”
“Why don’t you want to go to a good college?”
“Because it has to be a state college for my grant to pay.” The moment he said that, he wished he hadn’t. It sounded like a handout.
“You have a grant?”
He hesitated. “Through the foster program.”
“That’s good,” she said.
“Yeah,” he lied. He kept telling himself that when he was out of school, he’d pay the state back as well. All his life, his dad had done nothing but take from people. Cash had taken from people. He wanted to change that.
“You got college plans?” he asked to change the subject.
“University of Houston, probably.”
“I’m considering that one, too. But why ‘probably’?”
“Right now I can’t see leaving Mom the way she is.”
“But she’s over the cancer.”
“She’s not over the divorce.”
He remembered Chloe saying her mom was depressed. “How bad is she?”
“Depends when you ask. Earlier today, I would’ve said really bad. Tonight, she’s better. At least she’s getting help now.”
“A doctor?”
“Yeah. Today was her first time. I’m hoping it’ll help.”
“Yeah.” Cash didn’t hold much stock in shrinks. He’d been forced to see one for a year when he went into foster care. The only thing he’d gotten out of it was how to better hide his emotions.
If the doctor had said it once, she’d said it a dozen times. None of what you did was your fault. But it had been. He’d known it was wrong when he’d done it.
“She’s got a job, so I’m hoping that’ll help, too. But she doesn’t start for a few weeks.”
“What kind of work does she do?”
“Nursing.”
“Is that what you’re going to take in college? Medicine?” And if she was the Fullers’ kid, wouldn’t that be appropriate?
“N
o. I’m thinking journalism. English degree.”
“You want to be a writer?”
“No. My mom used to write. She wrote several books. Had an editor from one of the big publishing houses in New York ask for revisions on her last one, but then Dad went crazy and she stopped. Thankfully, she’s still reading.”
“You like to read?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“What do you read? Love stories?” he asked to tease.
“Of course.” She laughed. “I’m on a paranormal fantasy kick right now. You read?”
“I used to read more when I wasn’t working. But yeah.”
“What have you read recently?”
“I read The Outsiders and a couple of Stephen King books over the summer. I tried to read Fifty Shades of Grey, but—”
“You read Fifty Shades of Grey?” She laughed some more. “And you gave me a hard time about reading love stories?”
16
Her laughter had Cash’s chest instantly feeling lighter. “I said I tried to read it. I never finished the first chapter.”
“I can’t see you buying it or checking it out of the library.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, “Mrs. Fuller read it, and one day I went into their library and picked it up. You didn’t read it?”
“No.” Her tone went high, dishonestly high.
“You’re lying. You read it.”
She laughed with guilt. “Okay, me and my friends were curious.”
“And what did you think?” He readjusted his pillow behind his back.
“I can see why you didn’t make it through the first chapter. What are you planning on taking in college?”
He noticed her conversational turn. “Probably a business major. I’m still undecided, too.” He paused. “So what else do you do besides read naughty books?”
She laughed again. “I don’t know.”
“You run or anything?”
“If I’m being chased.”
Now he laughed. “I mean for exercise.”
“I know. I used to play soccer.”
“You were the prettiest one on the team, too.” He remembered the image of her and several classmates practicing in bathing suit tops. She’d looked amazing.