In Another Life

by C. C. Hunter

  Having been raised by a Hispanic stepmom, he spoke Spanish since he was five. It hadn’t been hard to pay needy families in Mexico and Central America to give up a kid for a better life in America, not if he funded them a couple of thousand. And since Jack earned five times that from families desperate to have a child, it was profitable.

  Sometimes, Rodney didn’t even have to pay the families, and he kept Jack’s money. Poor people wanted a better life for their kids, too. Then he found the same type of families here in the States who were desperate enough to offer up a child. It had been easy money.

  It all ended when that kid died. Jack blamed him. Then the man freaked out, saying the cops would be on their asses. Rodney assured him he could replace the kid. He even had a family in Mexico prepared to give up a child, but at the last minute, they changed their minds.

  Desperate, and maybe a little messed up—those were his white powder days—he found another kid. He’d thought she was just an illegal kid. How the hell was he supposed to know that some nanny would bring some rich doctors’ kid to the bad part of town?

  Still staring at the house, he cut the engine off, got out of his Honda, and went and knocked on the front door.

  Linda, Jack’s wife, answered. The second her eyes met his, she frowned. “So you’re the reason my husband’s blood pressure is running so high.”

  “Nice to see you again, too.” Rodney tried to step inside.

  She didn’t move away from the door. “Just leave, Rod. He doesn’t need the likes of you in his life.”

  “Can’t do that, Linda. Tell him I’m here!”

  For a second, he thought he was going to have to push his way inside. But she relented.

  He walked in; she took off out of the room. He stood there, checking out all the nice furnishings.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack asked, walking in. Out of his business suit, wearing khaki shorts, he looked even more like an old fart. And damn, the man was only five years older than Rodney.

  “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself. Who you got doing my job?”

  “No one. I’m doing things right. What do you want?”

  “I thought I’d give you an update.”

  Jack’s face grew red. “What update?” Fear made the old man’s eyes go wide. “I told you I was handling this. I don’t want any part of what you do.”

  “Calm down. All I wanted to tell you was I found the girl,” Rodney said. “Unless…? Has something happened? The kid come back?” He took a step toward Jack, studying him.

  “No. I haven’t heard a word.”

  “Then why are you shitting your pants right now?”

  “I’m not. I’ve got the letter written and everything.”

  “What letter?”

  “I told you. I’m giving her a letter that she’ll think is from her mom. It says she doesn’t want to see her. It’ll work.”

  “Let’s hope so.” He started to leave, then stopped. “You got a couple hundred bucks?”

  “What for?” Jack’s expression went hard.

  “Because I need it. And because from the looks of things, you got plenty.”

  * * *

  Our double date on Saturday night was good, but Cash was quiet. Distant. He told me about hearing the Fullers’ argument. And about Mr. Fuller saying the police weren’t looking into Emily Fuller’s case. While I saw that as good news, Cash didn’t seem nearly so happy.

  I know he’s worried about the Fullers. Part of me worries he blames me for them hurting.

  We didn’t see each other on Sunday because he said Mr. Fuller wanted him to help do yard work.

  So by the time school’s out on Monday, I’m ready for some Cash time. And since today’s Mom’s first day at work, I ask him to come over.

  He follows me home from school, but Lindsey is just walking away when he tells me, “I can’t stay long. I’m picking up shifts at work this week.”

  “What about your class on Wednesday?”

  “I’ll miss one class. It won’t matter.”

  Being an insecure twit, I wonder how much I matter. I start wondering if he just doesn’t like me anymore.

  “What’s wrong?” I reach for his hand. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. It’s just … Mrs. Fuller didn’t go into work today. This morning she looked like she hadn’t slept.”

  “Are they still fighting?”

  “No. But they’re not talking. She’s sleeping in your room.”

  “What?” I ask, sure I misunderstood.

  He frowns as if he said something he shouldn’t have. “In Emily’s room.”

  My mind races. “They live in the same house as…?”

  “No. But they have a room. It’s painted pink and has all your … all Emily’s things in it. Clothes. Toys. Books. Pictures. It’s like a shrine. She’s been sleeping in there.”

  Cash leaves shortly after that, but his mood stays with me.

  Somehow, my concern over Mom overshadowed the whole adoption versus kidnapped thing. But it was just a temporary reprieve, because the thought of Mrs. Fuller sleeping in the room with nothing but things reminding her of her missing little girl who might be me brings it all back. And I hear the voice again, Your mama and daddy don’t want you anymore.

  But if I’m Emily, they did want me. They loved me. Loved me so much that even fifteen years later, they have a shrine for me.

  I go drop on the sofa. I pick up my grandmother’s photo album, and I flip through it until I find that picture of me. A picture of me with my doll Emily. I stare at the empty look in my eyes.

  We left it at a park only a few months after you got it. We went back to get it, but it was gone. You cried for weeks, wanting Emily back.

  I wonder if I was crying for the doll, or for everything else I lost. My parents. Maybe even myself.

  I lost who I was. I lost Emily Fuller. Is that the empty spot I feel?

  * * *

  Mom walks in around six. “Man, that smells good.”

  After an hour of feeling sorry for myself, I remembered I’d wanted to surprise Mom with dinner.

  On the sofa, I push Felix off my lap and meet Mom in the kitchen.

  “How was it?” When I see her smiling, I force a smile, too.

  She sets her bag on the table, then yanks her wig off. “It was exhausting. But good. Everyone was nice. The doctors were easygoing. I had an hour lunch, and I went to a café next door and I wrote and ate soup. That was the best part of the day.”

  She hugs me. I hug her back. When we separate, I look at her. “Wow, you got hair, Mom.”

  She touches her head. “I know, I noticed it this morning. Maybe in another week, I won’t need the wig.”

  “I think you could pull it off now. Put some big earrings on and red lipstick, and go for it.”

  We laugh. We eat dinner. We talk about her book.

  Afterwards, she grabs her laptop, sits on the sofa, and writes. I escape into my room to do my homework. Felix joins me. As I pet him, I think about the other Felix. About the Fullers. I think about Mrs. Fuller sleeping in the room of a missing little girl who might be me.

  I wonder if I walked into that room whether I’d feel as if I belonged there? If the empty spot I still feel in my heart would go away.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Cash comes over before he has to go to work. When he first walks in, I know something’s wrong. His eyes are bright with anger. “I caught ’em.”

  “What?”

  “That asshole, Paul. I have him on camera.” He hands me his phone. The video shows Paul standing by Cash’s Jeep with another football player with red hair.

  Paul says, “Do you think he’s even noticed we did it?”

  “Probably not,” the redheaded guy answers. “He’s an idiot.”

  “Maybe he’ll notice this.” Paul shifts, and the noise of metal running across metal sounds.

  “They did it again?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but their asses are mine now!”
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  I study him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad. “You’re going to show the principal?”

  “I’m gonna do better than that. He’s going to wish he never touched my Jeep.” Tension rolls off him

  “You can’t get into a fight. You’ll get into trouble.”

  “Trouble’s my middle name. It’s bred in me. It’s what people expect from me.”

  “I’m serious, Cash.”

  “So am I.”

  “Turn it over to the principal, and let him deal with them.”

  “No. He did this to me, not the principal.”

  “Cash, don’t—”

  “You’re back to not wanting to break eggs, Chloe. Can’t you see—?”

  “Think about the Fullers. If you do something, it’s going to hurt them.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt them.” His tone cracks with anger. “But those assholes damaged the one thing I’ve allowed the Fullers to give me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever had that was new. That was perfect. They ruined it.”

  His words come loaded with emotion. “But it’ll hurt the Fullers. They’ve got enough on their plates right now.”

  His eyes get bright. “Which is exactly the thing I’ve been saying since they brought me home. I don’t belong there!” Cash storms out.

  I call him to come back. But he’s not listening.

  * * *

  I go vent to Lindsey, who says all the right things, but it doesn’t help. The more I think about what happened, the more I blame myself for not handling things better. I’ve known how much he loves his Jeep. It’s the only thing I’ve ever had that was new. That was prefect. I hurt for him.

  I text Cash. He doesn’t answer. I call. He doesn’t answer. I know he’s at work, but couldn’t he at least reply? I need to tell him I’m sorry.

  I text Mom: Going to see Cash. Be home in an hour.

  Because he showed me where he worked, I know the way.

  While I drive, I try to come up with the perfect apology that says I didn’t mean to make it sound like he was intentionally hurting the Fullers.

  I get to the garage. The lights are on in the office, but the doors to the garage are closed.

  I park. When I walk in, a guy steps into the office from a side door.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” He’s young. I remember Cash telling me he’s friends with a guy, Devin, who works here.

  “Is Cash around?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Are you Chloe?”

  I force a smile. “Yeah.”

  “He talks about you all the time.”

  “Thanks. Can I see him?”

  Devin looks confused. “He only works on weekends now. I think he has school on Wednesdays.”

  “But I…” He told me he was missing school to work. “Right.” I feel like a thousand ants are milling around my chest, creating holes of doubt. Eating away at everything I believe about Cash. About us.

  I drive off, but I pull into a parking lot a block away to try to understand.

  My phone dings with a text. I grab it. It’s him.

  Him: Sorry. Just pissed at Paul.

  Me: Where are you?

  Him: At work.

  Me:…

  What do I say? Why would he lie about being at work?

  Then I remember Mom asking me that very question about Dad. And we now know what Dad was doing.

  I remember Cash has been going to school with college girls. Girls he might’ve dated before. Now those thousand ants are eating away at my heart.

  * * *

  Cash waited for Chloe to reply. She didn’t. He sent another text.

  Can I come by later?

  No answer.

  Was she still pissed? Probably, he acted like an idiot.

  He called her. Her phone went straight to voice mail. Should he leave now and go there? He looked up at the adoption agency. No, he needed to stay. He’d been here every night this week, and so far the maid service hadn’t shown up. And to pull this off, without getting his ass in a jam, he needed to know when they came.

  Surely the agency had a cleaning service. Every company had one.

  He leaned back in his Jeep, parked in a drugstore’s parking lot across the street. The hardest part of the job is the prep work. He remembered the nights he’d slept in the car while his dad cased his jobs

  An hour passed. Two. His stomach grumbled.

  Great. Now he was hungry, miserable, thinking of the piece of shit his dad had been, and pissed off at Paul.

  He texted Chloe again. No answer.

  He called her again. No answer. He left a message again, telling her how sorry he was.

  An hour later, he saw a van pull up at the building across the street. He waited, and sure as hell, two women got out with brooms and a vacuum cleaner.

  “Finally.”

  * * *

  It was eleven when Cash left. He texted Mr. Fuller and told him he was helping one of the guys he was studying with change a tire. Then he raced to Chloe’s.

  The house was dark. Hopefully, that meant her mom was in bed. He went to the window and tapped it. He saw Chloe lying there. But she didn’t get up.

  He tapped again.

  She sat up, stared at the window. He tried to open it. It was locked. Why had…?

  She finally got up, but when she opened the window, she stuck her head out. “I don’t want to see you.”

  “I know I got mad at Paul and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  “Leave.” She started to close the window, but he caught it and climbed in. “You’re nothing but a liar.” Hurt radiated from her words and slammed into him.

  “Liar?”

  She stood so straight, so tight. He’d never seen her so angry. “I went to apologize to you at work. You weren’t there. You said you’ve been working every night. Is it one of the girls at college?”

  “Girl?” He finally got it. “No. There’s no girl. You’re right, I wasn’t at work. I lied because … I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

  “Out of what? Did you go get in a fight with Paul?”

  “No. I’ve been casing the adoption agency. We have to get those files to prove you’re Emily.”

  “‘Casing’? Like you’re going to break in or something?”

  “Yeah, like that. But not really.”

  “Are you freaking nuts?” she hissed.

  “No.”

  “That’s illegal,” she said.

  “It’s your paperwork. I’m just getting it.”

  “You could go to jail.”

  “I won’t get caught. I’m not even going to steal anything. Just take pictures like I did with the Fullers’ file.”

  “It’s called breaking and entering.”

  “I’m not breaking in. Let me tell you what I’m doing.”

  28

  “My chicken marsala is great,” Dad says. “How’s your meal?”

  It’s Thursday. I don’t know how I managed to get through school so mad at Cash, but now I’m sitting at an Italian restaurant with Dad. My palms are sweating and I’m sure I have hives crawling up my neck. I’m scared. But I’m less scared of hurting Dad’s feelings than I am of Cash’s plan. So I came up with my own.

  I’m getting Dad to go to the agency with me. The only terrible thing that could happen tonight, besides Dad saying no, is if he insists on telling Mom. But I have a plan for that, too. It might include breaking more eggs, but I’ll do it.

  “Where’s your mom tonight?” he asks.

  I fork a noodle. “At a writers’ meeting.”

  “She’s writing?”

  “Yeah. She’s better.” I look up at Dad through my lashes. I notice something different. His hair. He’s combing it back like his old style.

  “I need to ask you for a favor,” I blurt out.

  Dad sets his fork down as if he can hear the seriousness in my voice. “What is it?”

  I swallow. “You know how you and Mom said anytime I wanted to find my birth
parents, I could?”

  “Yes.” He sits up. “You want to do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stares at me. “Well, you’re almost eighteen. It shouldn’t be hard.”

  “I want to do it now,” I say.

  “Now?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He looks confused. “Do what tomorrow?”

  “Go to the adoption agency with you and get my paperwork.”

  His mouth drops. “Well … I’m not sure that’s the way it’s done. I think we need to get a lawyer.”

  “No. I already went to the agency. They said they couldn’t tell me anything because I wasn’t eighteen, that I needed a parent’s consent. We can do this.”

  He pulls his beer closer. “Is this … Are you wanting to find them because … of what I’ve done?”

  I look at him. “No. I just need to know things.”

  He settles back in his chair. “What does your mother think?”

  I inhale. “Mom doesn’t know. And you aren’t telling her. She’s finally getting better. I can’t risk this upsetting her.”

  “Then that’s all the more reason to wait a few months,” he said. “You’ll be—”

  “No.” I slap my hand down on the table. “Tomorrow.”

  “Honey, I work tomorrow.”

  “So now work and Darlene are more important than me!”

  “Chloe, you aren’t being fair.”

  Probably not, but I’m going for it. And I’m going hard. “Is it fair what you put Mom through? What you put me through? I haven’t asked you for anything since you ruined my life. And you can’t do this for me? One thing!”

  He stares at me. Is it working?

  The guilt in his eyes says it’s working. “It’s that important to you?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits there as if considering it, then shakes his head. “If I did this behind your mother’s back, she’d hate me.”

  “Too late, Dad. She already hates you. She wants to pickle your balls. I’m the only one you have to worry about hating you now. And I will if you don’t do this.”