by Lynn Moon
They looked the same. “I’m just not seeing it.”
“Obviously. Look at the eyebrows. Your father’s eyebrows go up a little on the ends. On this one from Hunter’s phone, they’re going down. Look, right here!” She pointed to the picture. “People cannot move their eyebrows. And your father had a small dark mole just above his chin. Right there. This guy here doesn’t. And the biggest one of all. Your dad had dark brown eyes. This guy has green eyes!”
Sitting on her bed, my mind whirled. “I still don’t get it.”
“Hunter’s on his way over. He has something for you. It’s from his mom. Said he wanted to give it to you personally.”
“I wonder what he found.”
Before I could come up with my own ideas, the boys burst in through the front door.
“Hey, what’s cooking, good looking?” Quinton yelled out to Charlie’s mom.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Charlie’s mom said from the kitchen. “Meatloaf.”
“Smells real good, Mrs. Carmichael,” Hunter said, heading straight for me. “Charlie, I need to talk to Musetta . . . alone.”
Charlie nodded at me. “Go on. I’m sure it’s important.”
We walked onto the front porch and sat in the old rockers. Too afraid to speak, I watched as a car drove up the road and parked in the driveway across the street.
“Musetta,” Hunter finally said, breaking the silence. “My mom got some information about your family.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Before I give it to you, I have to ask if you’re sure you can handle it.”
“How can I know if I can handle it or not if I don’t know what it is?”
Hunter stared at me. Pulling out a sheet of paper from his jacket, he slowly handed it to me. Taking it from him was hard. Holding the paper in my hands, I read off the title: Registration of Live Birth. My dad’s birth certificate.
“Okay, I’ve seen this before,” I said, glancing at him. “So?”
“Here’s another one,” he said, giving me a larger sheet of paper with the name of a hospital on top. “You see, there are actually two birth records. One with the hospital, and one with the town’s registrar. Compare them, Musetta.”
“Is this similar to the picture test I just had?” When he looked almost cross-eyed at me, I smiled. “Never mind.”
The names were the same for the parents: Mother – Tatiana Malet and Father – Dirk Weavers. Child was a boy, five pounds and four ounces. Both sheets said seventeen inches long. Both had the child’s name as Nicolaus Dirk Weavers.
“They’re the same,” I said.
“No, they are not,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “Look at line six on the birth certificate.”
“It’s blank,” I replied. “That means he wasn’t a twin.”
“Now look at the one from the hospital,” he said. “Look at block four in the certificate of live birth.”
“Twin?” I whispered. “My father was . . . is a twin?”
“He was the first born, at 9:45 in the morning. His brother was born two hours later. His brother’s name was Engelbert Dirk Weavers.”
“Wow, so he’s the one that died?”
“I don’t think so,” Hunter replied. “My mom called the doctor who delivered the boys. A doctor—” Hunter glanced down at a small notepad. “Taylor . . . Frederick Taylor. He’s in his eighties now. Still lives in Heber City. She discovered that the second boy, your uncle, almost died. When she asked him when he had died, Dr. Taylor was confused. Said that as far as he knew, the younger twin was still alive.”
“I think it’s time to visit my grandparents,” I said, staring at the two birth certificates.
CHAPTER 13
I JUST WANTED TO GO home. But I was at Charlie’s at least until Sunday. Don’t get me wrong. I loved Charlie and enjoyed her family. I just needed to be in my house with my family. Mom promised that my room would be finished by the weekend. To keep us occupied, Charlie’s parents surprised us on Saturday with a visit to Homestead Crater—a huge cave with an indoor natural pool. The sun heated the water through a hole in the cave’s ceiling, keeping it a constant ninety-six degrees. What surprised me was that her mother allowed the boys to come with us.
With bathing suits and snorkeling equipment in tow, we aimed for the warm water. Charlie’s mom decided to ditch us and walk with a tour group. We, however, just wanted to have fun. Hunter had never experienced a sulfur hot springs before. Watching his excitement gave me a renewed appreciation for the place.
“This is like being in a big bathtub,” Hunter yelled before jumping in and splashing us.
“I’ve been here once or twice,” Quinton said, floating on his back.
Grabbing onto the decking, Hunter poked his head out of the water. “When do you get to go home, Musetta?”
“Tomorrow,” Charlie answered, swinging her feet off the side of the wooden deck.
“When I get home, I’ll visit my grandparents and see what info I can get,” I said. “Oh, I didn’t tell you yet. My mom had the secret door in my closet changed into a wall. No more going into that lower passage we found. And believe it or not, the construction crew never found the door in my dad’s study or the hallway. What a bunch of idiots.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t find ‘em,” Quinton said, pulling himself out of the water. “I mean . . . how’d they think the smoke got into the house and all?”
“I’m surprised about a lot of things lately,” I said.
***
Charlie’s mom dropped us off at my house just after lunch on Sunday. Charlie was staying for dinner, which meant she could walk with me through the back field to my grandparents’ house. My visiting aunts had already left, so everything was quieter.
As soon as we opened the kitchen door, Auntie Delphie jumped to her feet. She couldn’t wait to show off my new and improved bedroom. Following her up the stairs, I wondered what they’d done to it while I was away. Expecting the worse, I gasped when I stepped into my newly decorated bedroom. The walls, now a light, pale yellow, revitalized everything. Dark cherry furniture added something special to the brighter room. Such a difference from my old white furniture. The windows, now treated with delicate sheers, were charming and inviting.
“Wow, all new furniture?” I asked, hugging my mom, who had just finished making my bed.
Instead of one dresser, I now had two, and off to one side, a matching desk and bookcase topped everything off. The bed, accented with a colorful comforter and pillow shams, made everything look like a store showroom.
“Wow,” Charlie said, plopping down on the overstuffed rocking chair. “This is too much.”
“White chair and carpet?” I asked. “You’re not afraid I’ll ruin them?”
“You’re almost thirteen,” Auntie Delphie said, hugging my shoulders. “It’s time for a grown-up bedroom for a grown-up kid.”
“Check out the bathroom and closet,” Mom added. She was happy for me. With her eyes wide and a great big smile, I couldn’t tell who she was more excited for—her or me.
The bathroom, now fitted with a garden tub and separate shower, looked a lot bigger than before. “How’d you do this?” I asked.
“With all the wasted space inside the walls, it was pretty easy,” Auntie Delphie said, tapping on the wall. “We just had the builders push everything back a few feet. No more secret passageways. And the secret stairs are gone, too.”
“Thanks.” Wiping away a tear, I sighed. The transformation amazed me. The place didn’t look anything like my old room. Maybe now I could start to heal. “Any word on the intruder?”
“Nothing yet,” Mom replied. “The drug tests came back positive for you two. Just as expected, a narcotic. Sheriff Jim said the intruder added it to your ice water. All that creep had to do was wait for you to fall asleep. If you’re father had any idea—”
“What a horrible thought,” Auntie Delphie interrupted.
I shivered. “Yes, it is.”
Tapping
her hands together, Mom stared out onto my balcony. “I’m not sure we put your things back where you wanted them.” Sighing, Mom kissed my cheek. “You’ve got some work to do.” Lowering her eyes, she added softly, “I’m just glad to have my daughter back home.”
“I’m glad to be home,” I replied, nodding at Charlie.
Auntie Delphie nodded too.
Glancing around my new room, everything felt so different. My bedroom door had been moved toward the stairs. Amazing how much a builder could change inside a house. With the bed now where my door used to be, the room appeared even bigger. Instead of facing the large windows, my bed now faced the balcony doors. After rearranging a few things, I motioned for Charlie to follow me to my backyard.
If we walked through the back field, the little hike to my grandparents’ house would be a lot shorter than if we took the side street. That was why my mom always drove. Their shed, now a charred pile of rubble, hid the ladder that I knew would still be down there. Just because my mother demolished the hidden stairs in our house didn’t necessarily mean that the ladder leading up to my grandparents’ shed had also been removed. The odor of burnt wood, still strong, irritated my eyes. Hurrying past, an eerie feeling of being watched disturbed me.
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.
“Not sure,” I replied, opening the back door to my grandparents.’ Immediately, the aroma of baked chicken hit us. “Hi, Grandma,” I said, giving her a strong hug. “Smells good in here.”
“Hi, baby,” she replied. “Hungry? Hi, Charlie.”
“I wasn’t,” Charlie said, sitting down at the table, “until I walked in here.”
“Sit and eat,” Grandma replied.
Leaning against the sink, I stared out the kitchen window. Our house looked huge from here.
“Hand me a couple of those plates, Musetta,” Grandma said, carving off a slice of baked chicken.
I’m not sure why, but after pulling two plates from the cabinet, my gaze dropped to the sink. Neatly stacked inside, I saw three plates, forks, knives, and glasses. All recently used.
“Had company today?” I asked, handing my grandmother the dishes.
“No,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh nothing.” Sitting down next to Charlie, I couldn’t stop glancing over at the sink.
Grandmother loaded our plates with baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and squash. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said. “I always love it when you visit, Musetta. And of course you too, Charlie.”
Charlie took a bite. “Mmm, yummy.”
“I’m glad you came over today,” Grandmother said. “We hardly get to see you anymore. So busy with school and all.”
“I’m sorry about that, Grandma,” I replied.
“You are welcome here anytime.” Grandma ran the water in the sink.
Although I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I was here for a reason. No matter how I asked, I knew that my questions would upset her. But I just had to get some answers. Not asking wasn’t an option anymore.
“Grandma? Can you tell me about your son who died? He would have been my uncle, right?”
Drying her hands, her eyes showed the deep pain of loss, or maybe it was fear that something would be exposed. “Why do you ask?”
“I guess with Dad dying and all, I just think about him.”
Sitting down, she gazed at us across the kitchen table. I could tell she was pulling her thoughts together. “We called him Berty. They were twins, Berty and your father. He was a perfect duplicate of Nicky.”
“How old was he when he died?” Picking up the glass of water, I took a small sip. I wanted my questions to sound like a conversation, not an inquisition. I didn’t want my grandmother feeling as if I were intruding on her privacy.
“Oh, I don’t remember, sweetheart.” Grandma stared up at the ceiling. “That was a long time ago.”
What a strange reaction. She’d never told me that my father was a twin. Why is she so upset if he died so long ago? And how could a mother forget when one of her children died? Wouldn’t the death of a child haunt a person for the rest of their life, and permanently embed the date into their brain?
“Is he buried close by?” Charlie asked.
“As I told you the other day, near your father in town,” Grandma replied.
“May I look through your old photos and keep some of Dad?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Grandmother replied. As her eyes strayed to the ceiling, I wondered what she was searching for.
In her late seventies, Grandmother still took care of her house and my grandfather. I could see the strain of age and sorrow growing inside the creases of her face. What is she not telling me?
“I thought I heard voices in here,” Grandfather said, slowly making his way into the kitchen.
“Hi,” Charlie said, placing her dishes in the sink.
“What are you two up to now?” he asked.
“She wants some photos of her father,” Grandma explained. “Help yourself, Musetta. They’re yours now anyway. You remember where they are?”
“Yep,” I replied. “Inside your closet.”
Moving down the hallway to the back bedroom, the eerie feeling of being watched crept back over me. My grandparents’ house was an old Victorian with a second floor. But they never used that floor anymore. The stairs were just too much for them. Entering their downstairs bedroom, a strong aroma of lavender filled me with a longing to be little again. A sudden urge to slide down the banister made me giggle.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“Nothing,” I answered, pulling a box from their closet. “This room always smells so good to me. Just reminds me of being young.”
Charlie took in a big sniff. “It’s a flower.”
“Lavender,” I replied. “My grandmother’s favorite.”
Sitting on the floor, we leaned against their bed. Examining the old photos, I wondered if my grandchildren would do the same thing with old photos of me someday.
“They have a lot of pictures here.” Charlie pulled out a handful.
“All set?” Grandma asked from the door.
As I glanced over my shoulder at her, she smiled. My stomached flipped. It almost felt as if we weren’t supposed to be here. I tried my best to ignore the creeping sensation fighting to escape.
“Yep, we’re good.”
She paused for just a few moments before leaving.
“Hey. What’s this?” Charlie asked, handing me an old pink envelope. The edges were frayed and worn.
Taking it from her, two sheets of paper with tiny footprints slid into my lap.
“Looks like birth certificates,” I said, picking one up.
As I read off my father’s name, excitement rippled across my chest. Charlie stared at the two documents.
“Should we take these with us?” she whispered.
Holding my breath, I glanced over my shoulder again. The doorway was empty. Carefully folding the certificates, I slid them back into the worn envelope. Not wanting to damage them, I tucked them under my T-shirt. It felt wrong to be sneaking them out of my grandparents’ house, but it also felt good at the same time. She said I could have any photos I wanted. She didn’t say anything about the birth certificates.
As we sorted through the pictures of my dad, we couldn’t stop glancing into the hallway. Although my grandmother gave us permission to look through the boxes, it still felt as if we were opening a deep, dark secret that wasn’t supposed to be shared. As our pile of old photos grew, I wondered how I’d ever get them home without losing any. Just then, Grandfather entered carrying a small cardboard box.
“Here,” he said, handing Charlie the empty container. “Make it easier to carry the pictures.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said with a smile.
“Yes, thanks, Grandfather.”
After making sure the room was as neat and tidy as we found it, we headed for the kitchen.
“What are you looking at?” I asked my gran
dmother, who was now staring into the field from the kitchen window. She looked older today, which broke my heart. A wave of fear washed through me. Understanding how short their future was, I decided right then and there that life wasn’t fair. I knew I wouldn’t have my grandparents around much longer. Maybe a year, a month . . . a day.
“All set?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard me.
Instead of a sparkle, a look of regret fogged her eyes as she turned around. The excitement that I had come to expect in her had been replaced by something darker, like she was contemplating something. Something she didn’t want to think about. Her gaze resembled a dim veil of regret. But what does she have to be remorseful of?
“I think so.” As I hugged her goodbye, she tensed.
“There,” she said. “On the table. A pie for your mother. Would you take it to her for me?”
“Of course.” As I held the pie, I felt a little lost inside. What should I say to her? What can I say to her? Instead, I left, making—but never keeping—the same promise as always. “I’ll visit you next weekend, okay?”
“If you have time, sweetheart. If you have time.”
Walking through the field, I kept glancing back. I knew that my grandmother had an eye on us from her kitchen window, but I felt something more. Something much stronger. Such a strange sensation, and I didn’t like it. Halfway home, I felt that we were far enough away that we could talk without being overheard.
“Did you see the dirty dishes in the sink?” I asked. “There were three plates and cups. I wonder who had dinner with them.”
Charlie glanced back at the old farmhouse, clutching the box of pictures. “She said she didn’t have company today. Maybe it was from lunch.”
“No, it was from dinner.”
“Did you see how she wouldn’t look you in the eyes?” Charlie asked. “It was almost as if she was staring at someone behind you. Weird.”
“I did.” Again, I glanced over my shoulder.
We stopped walking to stare at my grandparents’ house.
“What are you looking at?” Charlie asked.
“Feels like someone is watching us.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Charlie replied, hugging the pictures even closer to her chest.