Inevitable Discovery

by Melissa F. Miller

  “No. Be smart.”

  That’s my girl.

  He smiled to himself. “I will.”

  “You freaking better.” Her voice was both tender and aggrieved now. A caress and a slap all at once.

  Scott reached over and pried the handset from Charlie’s hands before Charlie could tell Raquel he loved her. She knew, though. She knew.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” He gave Scott a baleful look and rubbed his wrists, enjoying one last moment of freedom, before he returned his hands to his sides so the guard could cuff them to the waist chain.

  He sure hoped he’d read these guys correctly. But he couldn’t leave Sam to fend for himself. He straightened his shoulders as much as he could to counter the natural rounding down that the chains caused and lifted his chin, the posture of a warrior walking into battle.

  14

  Karyn’s Mission-style home looked like a movie set. Inviting, charming, homey. Sasha sat in her car and peered across the street at it through a curtain of vibrant red maple leaves and orange and yellow oak leaves. An enormous pile of fallen leaves had been raked into a mound in front of the wide front porch. She envisioned Karyn and her husband swaying gently on the porch swing, sipping coffee, and watching their kids dive into the leaves, breathless with laughter.

  This isn’t getting you anywhere.

  She used the lighted mirror on the underside of the car’s sun visor to reapply her lipstick and coax her renegade waves back into the knot of hair at the base of her neck. She looked tired to her own eyes, paler than usual and bleary-eyed. She raised a shoulder and shrugged at her reflection, then snapped the visor up.

  She crossed the cobblestone street slowly, listening to the crack and echo of her boots on the stones as she tried to decide on an opening.

  Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the most brilliant idea.

  She hadn’t intended to come here. Not really. Not yet. She’d run out to get a salad and an omelet for lunch and had somehow ended up in her car, driving north before she’d formed the conscious thought to go see Karyn. But she was here now, so she might as well just push forward.

  She followed the brick path to the porch and climbed the stairs. She focused on her breathing as she pressed the doorbell. The chimes sounded inside, and she studied the autumn wreath that hung on the door—pinecones, berries, and swirls of fall-colored leaves. The red berries complemented the tight red chrysanthemum blooms that flanked the door in two stone urns. The effect was elegant, tasteful, polished. A contrast to the wreath that still hung on her own front door, leftover from Halloween. A garish explosion of purple, black, and orange, complete with googly eyeballs and blinking lights. It was Finn’s favorite Halloween decoration, and she’d been dragging her feet about taking it down because his delight at the sight of it was infectious.

  The white and blue patterned curtain over the glass in the door parted, and Karyn peeked out through the folds in the fabric. Confusion filled her face, and she opened the door partway.

  “Can I help you?” Her voice was polite, impersonal, a bit cautious.

  Karyn didn’t recognize her. But then, why would she? She wasn’t sure she’d have known who Karyn was if she’d been in line behind her at the grocery store or had run into her at the park. The Karyn she remembered was boisterous, loud, lively. A fitting foil for Patrick. She used to wear her brassy blonde hair long and high and permed. She’d emphasized her blue eyes with multiple coats of green mascara and heavy purple eyeshadow. She’d had a big, contagious laugh and frenetic energy, always dancing, bouncing, bubbling over with joy—and occasionally anger.

  This Karyn was subdued. Pretty in an understated way. Her hair had returned to what Sasha assumed was its natural hue—a dark, ashy blonde—and fell in a sleek bob that grazed her chin. Her bright blue eyes were the same as Sasha remembered, although Karyn’s makeup, if any, had been applied with a light, restrained hand.

  Sasha smiled and stepped forward. “Karyn, it’s been a long time. You look great.”

  Karyn squinted at her. “Sasha McCandless?” She sounded unsure and maybe a bit hopeful that she was wrong.

  “Yep. It’s Sasha McCandless-Connelly, now.” She extended her hand, and Karyn stared down at it as if she’d never shaken hands before.

  “I’m sorry. What … why are you here?”

  She withdrew her hand. “May I come in? Just for a few minutes? Please.”

  Karyn hesitated and frowned. After a moment, she gave a reluctant nod and stepped back. “Of course.”

  Sasha followed her into an airy living room, flooded with natural light and decorated in creamy white fabrics. Sasha tried to imagine how long the spotless ivory-colored couch with its plush decorative pillows would last in her home. She gave it a day, tops.

  Every surface sparkled. Multiple ceramic vases overflowed with abundant fall bouquets. The room felt peaceful, quiet. Like the woman who studied her from the other side of the hearth.

  “Would you like a glass of water? Or I can make tea.”

  She almost said no. But tea would take a while, give her some time to talk to Karyn. “Tea would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Karyn disappeared down a hallway, and Sasha lost her opportunity. She’d hoped to tag along into the kitchen, but she hadn’t been invited and she didn’t dare push her luck. The conversation she hoped to have was going to be delicate enough. There was no need to upset her hostess before she even got started.

  She circled the room, studying the silver-framed family portraits. The Fletcher family smiled back at her from a lakeside picnic, the top of a beach dune, and in front of a Broadway theater. She was about to move onto the books on the bookshelves, when Karyn reappeared carrying a light blue ceramic tray laden with a tea set and a plate of cookies. She rested it on the glass-topped coffee table and gestured for Sasha to take a seat.

  She skirted the white couch and chose one of the chevron-patterned armchairs in front of the fireplace. Karyn moved the tea tray to an end table between the chairs and claimed the other.

  “So what’s this about? Are your parents okay?” Karyn asked as she poured tea into two dainty cups, then glanced at a glass and crystal clock on the mantel piece. “I need to leave to pick the kids up from school in less than an hour.”

  “I won’t be long,” Sasha promised. “And my parents are fine. How are you?”

  “Sasha, no offense, but I don’t think you tracked me down after all this time to see how I’m doing. What do you want?” Her tone was mild. She stirred cream and sugar into her tea and waited for an answer.

  “I guess you’re on my mind because today’s the …” She trailed off and took a breath and a sip of her tea.

  “The twentieth anniversary of Patrick’s death.” Karyn lowered her gaze and traced a circle around her saucer with one light pink polished fingernail. When she looked back up, there was a shadow in her eyes. “It’s understandable that he’s on your mind.”

  “I guess. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you.”

  “At least fifteen years, I’d guess. It just was easier to drift away after a while.”

  “I understand. It looks like you’re happy.”

  Karyn brightened. “I have a good life. I love my husband; I love my kids. What about you? I’ve seen you in the papers and on the news. You’re some kind of big-time lawyer, right?”

  Sasha shook her head. “I’m a lawyer, yeah. And I have a propensity for getting into trouble, so sometimes I’m in the press.”

  “You always were a firecracker.” Karyn grinned at some memory.

  “Don’t worry, as my mom says, I’m paying for it now. My husband and I have twins. Finn and Fiona turned four over the summer.”

  She turned her phone toward Karyn to show off her lock screen picture. Karyn took it and glanced at it politely. “I can see the McCandless genes in both of them. Adorable.” She tilted her head. “Is your husband Asian?”

  “He’s Vietnamese-
Irish-American. So our kids are Vietnamese-Irish-Russian-Americans. You know, Heinz 57 varieties.”

  She cracked the well-worn joke in an effort to make Karyn laugh, but Karyn just smiled. Then she placed the phone on the table between them and gestured to the row of silver-framed photographs. “Britt, Brianna, and Brad don’t look anything alike. Although, that’s no surprise.”

  Sasha gave her a quizzical look. “Oh?”

  “Well, two of the kids are adopted from two different birth moms with different fathers, and the youngest was the product of assisted reproduction. My husband’s sperm, a donor’s egg, and a gestational surrogate. So they don’t share any genetic material with one another. Or me.”

  “Oh.”

  Karyn eyed her.

  “Um … it’s funny that you brought up adoption.” Sasha winced at the awkward segue.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I was wondering if … maybe … if there was any chance that you might have been pregnant when Patrick died?” She finished lamely, then sat there feeling like an oaf. The segue had been the least offensive part. She should have planned out what she was going to say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought maybe you were pregnant when he was killed and decided to put the baby up for adoption, which I would totally understand.”

  She watched Karyn’s face closely as she said the words. She’d expected to see surprise or grief if her hunch was right and confusion or indignation if it was wrong. But what she saw was feral anger, visceral and fierce. It blazed across Karyn’s perfectly made-up face. She smoothed it away fast, but Sasha saw it.

  And it pricked some long-forgotten memory. Something about Christmas. Before she could probe her mind and shake it loose, Karyn snapped out an answer.

  “No, I was not pregnant when Patrick died. And I’ve never put a child up for adoption. In case you’re wondering, I’ve also never had an abortion. As you may have gathered, I’m infertile.” She squared her jaw and stared hard at Sasha.

  “I’m so sorry. I know that was a rude question.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “There is no excuse for my behavior. But something happened today.” She picked up her phone and swiped back to the picture she’d taken in front of the library. “I saw this boy today. And he’s the spitting image of Patrick.” She handed the phone to Karyn who took it reluctantly, as if it might burn her or her shock her.

  Her lower lip trembled as she studied the picture. Her eyebrows tented in the middle of her forehead and her eyes softened. Then she swallowed and shook her head. “I guess there’s a resemblance. But your mind’s playing tricks on you, Sasha. Patrick’s top of mind because of what day it is, that’s all.” Her voice was suddenly gentle.

  “Maybe, or maybe …”

  She trailed off and watched a long-haired fluffball of a cat—white like the furniture—prowl across the room and wrap itself around Karyn’s ankles.

  Karyn leaned down and stroked the cat’s head absently. “I know you and Patrick weren’t particularly close growing up. The oldest and youngest, there was a big age difference, some personality differences. But I also knew you guys started to get closer once you left for college. He loved you and was proud of you. Hang on to that. Remember that.”

  Sasha’s chest tightened, and her face warmed. She nodded, unsure whether she could speak without crying. Karyn seemed to understand, all of her anger had dissipated. But that’s how she’d always been. Patrick used to say her temper was hot but short-lived.

  Karyn stood, so Sasha did, too. Karyn started moving toward the front hall. The unspoken message was unmistakable. It was time to go. Sasha fell into step beside her.

  When they reached the door, Sasha drew a deep breath and said, “I’m truly sorry for upsetting you. I had no right.”

  As she opened the door, Karyn nodded. “I understand. But, please, listen to me—stop poking around and reopening old sores. You need to leave the past alone.”

  Sasha stepped out onto the front porch, then turned to respond. But the door was already closed. On the other side, she heard the snick of the deadbolt sliding into place as Karyn locked her out.

  15

  Christmas Eve, 1999

  * * *

  It was the night before Christmas, and nobody in the McCandless household was feeling particularly festive. Patrick had been dead for five weeks, and the fact of his death hung heavy over the house.

  Sasha’s dad had insisted they get a tree when she returned from campus for the winter break. Her mom had begged off, but the rest of them—Dad, Ryan and Sean and their wives, and Sasha—had dutifully tromped off into the snow. They’d picked out the first reasonably attractive tree on the makeshift tree lot in the grocery store parking lot without the usual debate.

  They made it as far as putting it up in the dining room, where it sat unadorned and somber for weeks. One afternoon, while her parents were out, she’d hauled the bins of ornaments and lights down from the attic. But then she’d stood and stared at the naked tree, trying to summon the energy to decorate it.

  She was still standing there when her parents returned.

  “Just leave them. I’ll get to it,” her mom had said.

  But she hadn’t. Just as she hadn’t gotten around to her holiday baking or her shopping or anything, really. Eventually, her dad dragged the boxes into the hall closet so he’d quit tripping over them.

  Sasha spent her nights laying awake and listening to her mother cry through the thin shared wall between her bedroom and her parents’ room.

  She spent her days cocooned in her room, buried under blankets, napping and listlessly watching whatever happened to be on television, until her father came in and dragged her down to a dinner nobody bothered to eat.

  Every day seemed grayer, colder, and darker than the last. She couldn’t wait for the month, the year, the millennium, to end. Maybe the year 2000 would provide a clear demarcation between a painful past and a fresh future. Maybe the frozen grief that encased them would begin to thaw in the new year.

  It was something to hope for, at least.

  On Christmas Eve, Valentina McCandless applied her makeup for the first time in a month, sprayed herself with her signature perfume, and announced to her family that they were attending midnight Mass, and Karyn was joining them. Nobody dared argue.

  At some point, Karyn arrived. She sat silently in the living room, dressed for church but pale and tired-looking, and stared into the dark dining room at the outline of the naked tree while the rest of them got ready.

  They were pulling on their boots and coats to leave, when Mrs. Goldsmith, from next door, rang the doorbell. Sasha’s Dad answered it and invited her in from the cold.

  “No, no, I know you folks have your Catholic service coming up. Clive and I just got home from our Christmas Eve service. We Lutherans are early to bed, early to rise, you know.”

  Dad laughed politely, but Sasha caught him rolling his eyes at her mom.

  “Okay, then. Is there something I can do for you? Because you’re right, we are just about to leave for church.”

  “The mail carrier left this on our porch yesterday, but it’s addressed to you. You know, Bill is on vacation this week. The fill-in must’ve gotten the addresses mixed up. Clive was supposed to bring it by yesterday, but he forgot in all the holiday hustle and bustle.” She thrust a large box into Sasha’s dad’s arms and then reached into her oversized handbag.

  As soon as she pulled out the foil-wrapped loaf, Sean and Ryan groaned. Riley giggled. Her mom shot them a death glare and stepped forward.

  “Daisy, you made your fruitcake,” she enthused.

  “I know how you all love it,” Mrs. Goldsmith beamed.

  “It’s very kind of you. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t get my holiday baking done. No nutmeg logs or teacakes from me this year, I’m afraid.”

  Mrs. Goldsmith patted her arm. “Valentina, dear, go easy on yourself. Such a terrible time of year to lose a child—”<
br />
  Sasha’s mom made a thin whimpering sound. Her dad sprang into action.

  “Thank you, Daisy. For delivering our package and for your delicious fruitcake, but we really do need to head out.” Sasha’s dad stepped forward and herded her onto the porch with an apologetic smile.

  “Merry Christmas!” Mrs. Goldsmith called as the door swung shut.

  “Who’s the gift from, Dad?” Sean asked.

  “Um, let’s see the return address … oh, it’s from Sasha’s roommate. That’s sweet.”

  “Allie?” Jordan asked, her voice unnaturally high.

  Sasha turned to her, puzzled. Jordan shook her head.

  Sasha’s dad sliced through the tape.

  Her mom peered inside. “My word,” she breathed.

  She reached inside and lifted out a porcelain donkey. It was glossy and tan with a gilt-edged saddle and reigns and lifelike blue eyes. She turned it, and it caught the light.

  Sasha craned her neck to see what else was in the box, and her dad tilted it, holding it at an angle to display a manger, shepherds, sheep, wise men, Mary, Joseph, and the swaddled baby Jesus. Each piece was more delicate and detailed than the last. A shimmering crystal Star of Bethlehem sparkled above it all. It was opulent, over-the-top, and, Sasha knew, likely cost more than all the furniture in the room, if not the house.

  Her mom plucked a sheet of ivory stationery from the box and read aloud:

  Dear McCandless Family,

  * * *

  I can only imagine how you’re feeling this Christmas. I feel your loss all the way in California. Please know you’re all in my thoughts and prayers every day, and so is Patrick, may he Rest In Peace. I hope this Nativity set reminds you of the eternal love and life that a wee infant boy will grant us all.

  * * *

  Joy to the World, Peace on Earth, and Much Love,

  Allie

  Jordan and Riley were murmuring to one another. Sasha was just about to ask them what their deal was when Karyn popped to her feet and crossed the room in a blur. Her eyes blazed hot. She grabbed the box right out of Sasha’s Dad’s arms with shaking hands and flung it against the fireplace. Smashed shards of porcelain rained down on the floor, where they broke into even smaller jagged pieces and scattered.