A Family of Strangers

by Emilie Richards

  I had no choice but to take it. “Thank you, I think.”

  “Your sister was a star in the drama club. You might start there.” Claire opened the door to her office. I followed her through the reception area and out into the hallway, where she gave a parting nod.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Ryan.” She was gone before I could say anything more than goodbye.

  In the parking lot I debated what to do next. I decided to head to the same beach where I’d tried to show Wendy the Seabank Special. The point wouldn’t be crowded today since effort was needed to walk through the brush, and the beach itself was narrow and often slick with seaweed. Only those of us who’d discovered the glory of sunrise there, or knew that sand dollars could sometimes be found fifty yards from the shore, ever returned.

  I parked on the street and got a blanket out of the back. Then with blanket, yearbook and latte, I made my way down the narrow, sandy path to the beach. This morning it was relatively free of debris, and I spread the blanket several feet above the waterline.

  I didn’t open the yearbook immediately. The sun was well and truly up, but the reflection in the water was enchanting, dancing, sparkling light rippling along with the waves. Not far away, a pod of dolphins was having breakfast. While I finished my latte I watched them leap and dive, following their school of fish until they were too far away to see.

  Finally I opened the yearbook. It had belonged to a girl named Diana Gordon, whose name was printed in small, cramped letters on the inside of the cover. I wondered why anybody disposed of their adolescence at a yard sale. All these years later was high school still an unpleasant memory? Had she left not only Seabank, but Planet Earth? I certainly hoped not. I was beginning to feel like a voyeur.

  The opening pages were dotted with scribbled notes, the kind most yearbooks have. “I’ve loved knowing you,” or “Can you believe we’re graduating?”

  I looked for a cheery message from Wendy, but didn’t find one. Had the girls been friends or even known each other? If their homerooms had been organized by the first letter of surnames, they should have been together.

  I paged through nostalgic photos of the school, empty hallways, the gym, study hall. Following these were page after page of students doing a variety of things. I looked for my sister in a trio of cheerleaders, two suspended high in the air, but she wasn’t there. Wendy would have fit on that page, blinding white smile, lithe figure. I did find her in the homecoming court, looking spectacular in a long, pink sheath slit to her thigh.

  I didn’t see sports or clubs, which were probably in the back, and I couldn’t identify my sister in other casual photos, so I kept turning pages.

  I reached the senior photos. Seabank High is a large school with almost two thousand students, making Wendy’s many achievements that much grander. With so many students, the senior photos were small, sixteen to a page. Her graduating class had dressed as they saw fit. The boys wore jackets and ties, while the girls wore their Sunday best. As I flipped pages, I saw a multitude of bare shoulders and low necklines, probably the reason the nuns at my school had opted for the traditional academic drape and pearls.

  Diana Gordon was at the bottom of a page. Among pretty girls who looked their best, Diana stood out, and not in a good way. Her brown hair had been permed into a frizzy cloud surrounding a long, narrow face. She wasn’t smiling. In fact she was squinting, as if she’d insisted on being photographed without her glasses. She was wearing the type of high-necked, long-sleeved dress I associated with polygamous cults.

  Poor Diana had deserved a second photo shoot. I was beginning to understand why her yearbook had ended up at the yard sale.

  My gaze moved to the opposite page, where I expected to see my sister. My parents still have a large canvas print from Wendy’s senior photo shoot on a wall in their den. While that photo, showing Wendy against the railing of a footbridge, wasn’t the one in the yearbook, it was magnificent. In contrast, when my turn came, I’d declined the extras. Mom and Dad dutifully displayed my lone head shot in a nice frame on a shelf. My mother still brings up my defection whenever the opportunity arises.

  Wendy’s photo was easy to find, but not for the reasons I’d expected. It was the only photograph on the page that had been defaced. My sister’s radiant smile was barely visible under scribbles so violent, they had gouged a hole.

  “Whew!” I stared at what remained. Since the yearbook had belonged to one Diana Gordon, the perpetrator was clear. Had Assistant Principal Claire seen the damage? Was this why she’d given me the yearbook? Was she making a point about how little my sister was admired?

  I paged through the rest of the senior class to see if Diana had destroyed anyone else. But while I saw the usual sweet notes in the margins, everyone else’s photos were undisturbed.

  Determined now, I continued to turn pages. Sports took up a large section. While she might not have been a cheerleader, my sister had been right on the front row of the pep squad. I came to music and found Wendy with her flute in band. I didn’t see another photo of Diana. High school had not been her moment to shine.

  Finally I arrived at drama club.

  The first few pages showed scenes from two plays the club had staged that year. The first was unfamiliar, and I didn’t see Wendy’s photo or name. The second was a one-act adaptation of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, and Wendy wasn’t listed there, either.

  I turned the page and this time I spotted my sister immediately, but then, she would have been impossible to miss. Along with the music department, the drama club had staged L’il Abner as their big show. The entire left page was devoted to a profile photo of Wendy as the ravishing Daisy Mae. She stood on stage with her breasts thrust out. Daisy Mae’s off-the-shoulder polka-dotted top and tight shorts covered just enough flesh. Had one additional inch been exposed, the administration would never have allowed the play to go forward.

  I wondered if this photo was the reason my parents had chosen a private Catholic girls’ academy for me. Even in high school, Wendy had managed to exude both sensuality and class.

  On the right page, L’il Abner faced Daisy Mae. I studied him next. The young man was neither slight nor bulked up, with an athletic body that was probably still filling out. His curly hair was black or almost, which was perfect for the role, and his wistful expression, in a ruggedly handsome face, was engaging.

  I wondered if the drama teacher had taken one look at both Wendy and this boy—Sean Riley—and planned the musical around them. They were striking together and perfect for their roles.

  For some reason Sean looked familiar, but I didn’t know why. When Daisy Mae and L’il Abner were cavorting around the Seabank High stage, I hadn’t even been born.

  The next pages showed half a dozen scenes from the production. I paged through to the last one. The finale, again a full page, was a love scene, a close-up between L’il Abner and Daisy Mae. The two were entwined, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sean was someone I knew. Or maybe I’d even seen the older Sean, working at our bank or managing a local restaurant. I noted dimples, deep enough to be seen in this more intimate pose.

  Then, as my eyes began to lose focus from staring so hard, I knew exactly why he seemed so familiar.

  Sean Riley looked like me, or rather, I looked like Sean Riley. In fact the resemblance was so striking, I was stunned I hadn’t seen it immediately. But some part of me had denied the truth, even refused to see it, because the answer seemed so impossible.

  Sean Riley couldn’t be my twin, and he was not my older brother. My few cousins were distant, both in relationship and miles. The only other possibility was obvious. Sean Riley was my father, and the woman I’d always believed to be my sister, was, in fact, my mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  This wasn’t the first time I’d blinked and the world around me had changed.
The night that John Quayle wrestled me into the backseat of his car was the first. Even though Teo couldn’t save me this time, I found myself driving toward Confidence K-9s.

  Somebody buzzed me in, and I found him in the office, in conversation with two of his trainers, whose names I couldn’t remember.

  Teo took one look at my expression and stood. “We’re done here?” The men took the hint and nodded to me as they left the room.

  “I’m about ready for lunch. We can go to my place,” he said.

  I hadn’t spoken and still didn’t. I followed him to his car, a small SUV that was good for carrying dogs and easier for him to climb in and out of.

  For a cop and a tough guy, he was surprisingly intuitive, so he didn’t press me. “How’s Biz doing?” he asked instead.

  “Probably sleeping on my bed right now.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m a mess.”

  “I kind of thought so.” He pulled into his driveway and parked. “Food, then talk. Right?”

  “Right.”

  In the kitchen he pulled cold cuts and cheese from his refrigerator and we made sandwiches. We took our plates out to his patio and dusted off a round table in the shade. Teo took the seat beside me so we were both facing the woods, although I didn’t think the scenery had motivated him. He had sensed correctly that it might be easier for me not to look at him.

  “So, is this about Wendy?” he asked.

  I picked up my sandwich and took a bite while I considered how best to begin. By the time I swallowed, I knew I just had to tell the story. So I did. My trip to the school, my talk with Claire Durant, the yearbook. All while I stared into the woods.

  “So the original owner of the yearbook defaced your sister’s photo?”

  “That’s a mystery I haven’t solved and probably never will.”

  “If she was the one who had the yard sale, maybe she’s still around.”

  “Or maybe she was moving and getting rid of everything. I guess I can look for her if I need to.”

  I could see he was watching me, and I turned a little. “I found a photo of Wendy with a boy. They were in a play together, L’il Abner. She was Daisy Mae.”

  He waited, but his eyes telegraphed concern. I considered putting my arms around him and just letting him hold me. Because that’s why I’d come. Not to tell him about this new piece of the Wendy puzzle.

  Instead I took a breath. “I couldn’t figure out why he looked so familiar. But finally I got it. It was like looking into a mirror, Teo. My dark hair, the shape of my face, my nose, even my dimples. And suddenly my whole life fell into place. This boy—Sean Riley’s his name—is my father, and you know what that means? That means Wendy is my mother. Not my sister. My mother. Do you remember the story of my birth? How Wendy was doing a gap year in Mexico, and Mom went to join her? Then she discovered she was unexpectedly pregnant and had to stay in Mexico because she was in danger of miscarrying? I was born prematurely. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Whoa...” He shook his head.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Sure, I do. I just don’t believe they kept something that important from you.”

  “Well, they kept it from everybody. Although now when I look back on my conversation with Claire Durant, I’m sure she realized the truth the moment I told her I was Wendy’s sister. She seemed genuinely taken aback when I introduced myself. I guess it was like seeing Sean Riley again, only in drag. And I bet she thought I was there to discover my father’s identity.”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No, she gave me the yearbook. Maybe she thought I’d find whatever I needed to on the pages. And if I didn’t? Maybe I didn’t really want to know.”

  “Maybe she wanted you to realize it slowly.”

  “Now everything’s coming together. Yesterday Ella told me she knew all about my special relationship with Wendy. I thought she meant we were sisters, so of course, I couldn’t be objective. But no, she knew the truth. And how many other people do? The fact that Wendy only rarely came to Seabank and never went out with old friends or introduced me to them? The fact that my parents moved across town and sent me to a private school instead of Seabank High?”

  I rested my face in my hands, and Teo put his arm around me. “Take a deep breath. There’s a lot to think through.”

  I was crying, and I hadn’t even realized it.

  “It’s too early to point this out,” he said, “but I’m going to anyway. Your mom and dad kept you. They raised you. They wanted you.”

  “My grandparents, you mean? What else were they going to do, leave me by the side of the road after Wendy gave birth? They aren’t the kind of people who let others carry their burdens.”

  “Has anyone ever said you were a burden?”

  I was too wrought up to think clearly. “They certainly never saw me the way they saw Wendy. She was the child they’d dreamed of having, and I was the one who came along too late to waste energy on.”

  “Ryan, do you know how many people want to adopt a baby? It would have been easy for them to find a good home for you, one with any attributes they wanted. Heck, look how cute you turned out.”

  I turned to blast him for making a joke, and saw how much he cared. He was trying to make me smile, or at least stop crying. I cried harder.

  He drew me into his arms. “You are something else, lady. No matter who your mother is. Nothing about you has changed except the circumstances of your birth.”

  I cried on his shoulder. “Holly...and Noelle are my sisters.”

  “Technically half sisters, only they aren’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Ryan, your parents are your parents, and your sister is your sister. The girls are your nieces. You are their aunt. The only thing that changed is who gave birth to you. Not who raised you, loved you, made sure you got all the surgery you needed and stayed in the hospital while you did. Not who saw you all the way through college, even when you were probably a pain in the ass. Dale and Arlie love you. They consider you their daughter. I’m an outside observer, but I’ve seen it up close. Maybe raising you was a little harder than raising Wendy. They were ready to start a different kind of life, but apparently not ready enough. Because they became parents again, told the world you were theirs and treated you like you were.”

  “They never treated me the way they treated Wendy.”

  “You need to confront them, then. You need to find out exactly what happened and how they felt about it.”

  I pulled away. “You think I could talk to my father about this? He’s recovering from heart surgery. This is not what he needs.”

  “Then talk to your mother.”

  He handed me a napkin, and I wiped my eyes and then my face. “Put yourself in my situation, Teo. Can you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Wendy is my mother. Wendy is running from the law. Wendy wants me to find some mysterious ex-con so she can pin a murder on him, or at least turn him in to the sheriff so she can come home unscathed.”

  “It’s complicated. I get that. But put that aside for now and go see your mother. Tell her what you learned. Show her the photo. Pay attention to everything she says and doesn’t. You have to.”

  “I know.”

  He reached for me again, and this time he kissed me. I leaned into the kiss, so glad for his warmth and the familiar feel of him against me.

  I finally pulled away. “You’ve always been here for me when I need you. And you know what? You never let me be there for you.”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  It was such an inane response, so ridiculously superficial, that I had to smile. Of course, a smile was the point. I put my hand on his cheek, and he closed his eyes. “I promise from now on I’ll be there if you need me, Teo. Any time, any place. Even when it’s not
easy.”

  “Settle this. Find your answers. Then let’s see if we can be together without drama.” He opened his eyes. “Do you want to finish your lunch?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll pack it up, then I’ll take you back to your car. I can finish mine at the kennel.”

  “I’m not ready to face my mother.” I paused. “Mothers. Neither one of them.”

  He rose. “Take some time to think. But you need to talk to Arlie. You see that, right?”

  “Yeah, and I will.”

  “I’m a phone call away.”

  I wanted him closer. I wanted him where, at that very moment, Bismarck was warming my sheets. But he was right. I had too much drama in my life, and I couldn’t let the leftovers spill into his. I couldn’t let Teo become an antidote for angst and suspense, or ever think that he was.

  I stood on shaky legs and made a decision. “I’ll talk to Mom in the morning, after I’ve calmed down a little, and I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “That’s more than I deserve.”

  He cupped my chin and kissed my nose. “You deserve everything, Ryan. Don’t sell yourself short. Start with your family and find out what you already have.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I knew better than to talk to my mother at home because my father wasn’t healthy enough to hear our conversation. I didn’t want to invite her to a restaurant, either, where others could eavesdrop.

  Instead, on Tuesday morning, when I knew my dad had a regular cardiac rehabilitation appointment at the hospital, I waited in the back of the parking lot until I saw my parents’ silver BMW pull into a temporary parking spot designated for patient drop off. After they went inside, I drove up to the curb so that when my mother emerged, she would see me immediately.