Chase looked like a dead man walking, but his thumbs dutifully pecked away at the keyboard. He shoved the phone over to Winnie for her approval.
“Perfect,” Winnie said.
“Now post it,” Maren ordered.
Chase winced, but he lowered his index finger to the phone. An instant before he made contact with the screen, Winnie dove across the table and snatched the phone from his hand. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to be known to the world as your daughter. I’m good with just my mom.” Winnie whipped out her own phone and took a picture of the draft post, with Chase and Naomi in the background. “But we’ll keep this photo just in case we ever change our minds.” She cocked her head. “It really sucks knowing someone else controls your destiny, huh?”
Chase and Naomi nodded, their faces a matching shade of gray.
“Well, my mom’s had to live that way her entire adult life, so you’ll just have to deal with it.” Her voice trembled with emotion.
Maren placed a hand over Winnie’s clenched fist. It was both a silent thank-you to her daughter for the gift of her empathy and a gesture of comfort she hoped would help Winnie weather the rest of this painful conversation.
Maren closed her eyes to gather her strength. She stole a cold french fry from Winnie’s plate and, finding it lacking, waved down their waiter and ordered an expensive bottle of wine. Finally, she broke the silence as she locked eyes with Chase again. “Now I think it’s your turn to listen to the avalanche of pain and hardship you set off with your little joyride.”
* * *
Before launching in, Maren visualized all the burdens Chase had saddled her with traveling like a bolt of lightning from her chest to his. She watched him physically shrink under her withering glare. Let him suffer under the weight of his own carnage. Let him experience waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air with the desperation of a person being buried alive. Let him know her pain.
With a deep breath, she took the first tentative step toward setting herself free. “I suppose the most basic things I need you to know are: one, you stole my virginity that night, and two, you literally shredded my insides.” Her voice was hoarse. “It took me more than a month to heal physically. A month in which every time I peed, it felt like I was soaking in acid. A month of pain whether I was sitting or walking. Weeks of itching as my fragile tissue healed. And every single twinge of pain or discomfort threw me headlong right back into the worst minutes of my life when I woke up on the golf course disoriented, bloodied, and covered in sand, with no fucking idea what had happened to me.
“The morning after you raped me, my parents drove me to IU to start college. I was supposed to rush a sorority and try out for the cheerleading squad. And I’d been over-the-moon excited to study literature. All summer, I practically slept with the course catalog, planning out my four years of study. But in those few minutes, you also stole my education from me. I was so depressed when I got to college I barely left my dorm room except to eat. By the time my parents came to pick me up for Thanksgiving, I’d gained an ungodly amount of weight. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time I would ever set foot on a college campus as a student. My mom, who refused to believe I was raped in the first place—she told me I must have asked for it—quickly figured out I was pregnant.”
Maren paused when the waiter appeared at the table to pour her wine. She took a few sips in silence and continued in a trancelike state. “My parents were religious, so they wouldn’t consider an abortion. And anyway, I was already in my second trimester by that point, and no clinic in Indiana would have performed one. But just imagine being Winnie’s age,” she said, glancing over at Winnie, “not quite eighteen, and realizing you had to spend the next six months carrying your rapist’s baby to term and then going through childbirth. Now imagine not knowing for sure who did this to you because you had zero recollection of the act itself. How about you, Naomi? Can you imagine that?” Maren leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at Chase and Naomi. “Can either of you imagine your sweet little daughter going through that in, what, about ten years or so?” Their faces were hollow with a small sliver of the terror Maren had experienced. Good.
“My parents were mortified. What would they tell their country club friends and fellow churchgoers? The solution they came up with was to send me off to a massively fucked-up home for unwed mothers. This place—it was called Greatest Gift Estate—had developed an entire business model around coercing attractive white girls like me to give up their babies for adoption. They offered free ‘luxury’ lodgings,” Maren air-quoted, “and medical care—unless the babies weren’t delivered for adoption at the end of it all. If the birth mother kept her baby, the inflated costs were charged in full.
“The problem was, by the time I was in my third trimester, Winnie was already mine in my heart, and I knew I had to protect her from these conniving people who wanted to take her from me. I escaped when I was eight months pregnant. All I had were the clothes on my back and the babysitting and lifeguarding savings I’d presciently taken with me the day my parents dumped me at that dystopian hellhole. I left in the dead of night, hitchhiked, bought a bus ticket out west, and eventually ended up in LA, where I gave birth to Winnie. I naively figured my parents would eventually come around, but I badly miscalculated. After I left, they were charged more than $100,000 for my four-month stay. Their anger at being stiffed, coupled with my alleged whore-like behavior, were more than enough justification to make good on their promise to disown me.
“So you see, you also robbed me of my safety net and my family that night. I actually had to find out about my dad’s death from an online obituary.” Maren wiped a tear from her eye. “When Winnie was little, we bounced around between homeless shelters and unsavory shared living situations. We were all alone. We were desperate. There are things I did to survive and keep Winnie safe. Things I won’t even say out loud. That’s how bad it was.” Maren cast a sheepish glance over at Winnie to see if she was catching the meaning behind her veiled words. But of course she was. Winnie was intelligent and perceptive, and Maren had raised her to be street-smart. “There were times I thought we might not make it. The only thing that kept me going was this amazing girl right here, who I loved with my entire being from the moment I first held her.”
“I love you too, Mom,” Winnie whispered and traced a heart on her mom’s palm.
Maren lovingly brushed a wayward lock of Winnie’s hair behind her ear. The ice cream sundae that had been wordlessly delivered by their waiter several minutes earlier sat untouched in front of Winnie, a melted puddle. “The last thing I need you to hear is this: in my entire adult life, I’ve never made love to anyone,” she said, wringing her hands. “All the things you two have taken for granted in your own lives—romantic love, intimacy, companionship? I lost them all,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on Chase. “You stole those from me too.”
A sidelong glance at Winnie’s pale face told Maren she’d probably shared enough for one day. “But lucky for you, I got Winnie. It’s only because of my fierce love for her that I’m even willing to sit here in this restaurant today and hear you out. But if you were me, knowing all this, tell me: Why the hell would you ever help the person who had done this to you and gotten away scot-free? Why shouldn’t I make you pay the ultimate price?”
Both Naomi and Chase were openly sobbing now. Chase kept looking over at Naomi, trying to catch her eye, which she studiously avoided. No, it wasn’t at all clear their marriage would survive this deep wound. Maren tried to see that as a victory, but Naomi’s desperation made Maren sad in spite of herself. It was Naomi who first gathered her emotions enough to speak.
“Maren. Winnie. I’m almost speechless. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for the traumas you suffered because of Chase. There’s no excuse for his actions. None whatsoever.” Her mouth twisted in disgust, but she kept her eyes trained on Maren. “But even thoug
h I know I have no right to ask anything of you, I’m begging for mercy, mom to mom. For my little boy.”
Naomi reached into her tote bag and pulled out an overflowing manila folder. “These are some of Eli’s medical records, like you asked for.” She nudged the folder toward Maren. Stapled to the outside of the folder was a frayed snapshot. “And this is Eli. He’s three, and he’s dying of leukemia, and Winnie may be the only person who can save him. It was like a gift from above when I received a message from apairofgenes.com that we had a new family connection and it turned out to be Eli’s half sister. Please don’t let him be collateral damage.”
Naomi’s eyes contained the distinct combination of love and pain only a mother could know as she ran a finger over the picture of Eli. “Just look at my sweet boy,” she said. “You’re obviously a loving mom. Try to imagine if this were your child.”
Maren didn’t have to imagine though. She’d felt that same cocktail of emotions only a couple weeks earlier in the ER. The little boy’s smile in the picture looked just like Winnie’s when she was a little girl. Maren tore her eyes away and tried to coax her facial expression back to ice, but she was pretty sure her glassy eyes betrayed her.
“Eli’s just a baby. He’s already had months of chemotherapy, and nothing’s worked.” Naomi was talking fast, like the sands of the hourglass were running out. “If he doesn’t get a stem cell transplant soon, he’ll definitely die. I swear to you, we—both of us,” she said, giving Chase a look more injurious than a swift kick to the groin, “will spend the rest of our lives trying to make this up to you.”
“Please,” Chase croaked, his head cradled in his hands. “Please. I’m so sorry. Your anger at me is totally justified, but please don’t take it out on our son. And on Naomi. She’s the best woman I know. I don’t deserve her. Never have. Please. I’m begging you.”
“I think we need to sleep on it,” Maren said. “We’ll get back to you in the morning.”
“No, Mom. I’ll do it. I’ll get tested,” Winnie’s broken voice interjected.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to say yes right now. You can take some time to think about it.”
“I can’t have this little boy’s death on my hands. He’s a victim too, just like us.”
“The first step is just a blood test, right?” Maren asked Naomi.
Naomi nodded in response.
“OK, I’ll consent to the test. But just so everyone is clear, Winnie can back out at any time. Even if she’s a match. We’re only agreeing to the test. Text me the information, and we’ll take it from there.” Maren took out a pen and scrap of paper from her purse and scrawled her phone number on it.
As Naomi reached across the table for the paper, she and Chase spoke over each other. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
Maren and Winnie rose to leave. Chase and Naomi stood too, but both remained rooted in place, as though they’d come upon a nest filled with eggs and were afraid to disturb it.
“Just one more thing,” Maren said. “At least until Winnie is eighteen, I’m in control here. You do not have my permission to communicate directly with her. Everything goes through me. Or the deal is off. And as I said in my email, no messaging through apairofgenes. Ever. You have my cell phone. Text me.”
“Yes, of course,” they said in unison, practically falling all over themselves to placate Maren.
“Maren?” Naomi said. “Can I ask you one question about that?”
“About what?” Maren asked.
“About the account. What’s the deal? Who’s been getting my messages if it wasn’t you or Winnie?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you who my boss is, but suffice it to say she’s a world-class sociopath. Winnie and her daughter both applied to Stanford. She stole Winnie’s DNA and tried to use information about Chase’s educational background to damage Winnie’s application.”
“Seriously? That sounds completely insane,” Naomi said.
“Just wait until your kids are in high school,” Maren said. “You’ll see.”
“What kind of person would do that?” Naomi asked.
“Alicia Stone, that’s who,” Winnie blurted.
“Winnie!” Maren scolded. “I’m bound by an NDA!”
“Who cares?” Winnie said with a shrug. “It’s your NDA, not mine. And it was my DNA. So whatever.”
“I guess that’s fair.” Maren smiled ruefully. Honestly, there really wasn’t much else she could say in response to that logic.
“The Alicia Stone? CEO of Aspyre?” Naomi asked, her jaw slack. “All my friends idolize her. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, as I’m sure you now see, some people”—Maren pointed her chin at Chase—“are not at all who they present themselves to be.” She put on her coat and nudged Winnie toward the door. But then she stopped and turned back to face Naomi. “Regardless of how this testing business turns out, I wish you the best of luck with Eli. Mom to mom, I’m truly sorry for your pain. And also, thank you for calling 911 for Winnie and for staying with her.”
In a sweet act of protectiveness, Winnie put her arm around Maren as they walked the block and a half to the car in silence. By the time they arrived, Maren’s body was rigid with the effort of keeping her composure. Without a word, Winnie retrieved the keys from Maren’s purse and guided her into the passenger’s seat. As Winnie turned the key in the ignition, the insignificant rumble of the engine coming to life was what finally broke the dam. Maren cried nearly two decades’ worth of tears on the three-mile ride home.
27
Kelly
For the past several years, Kelly had dreaded family gatherings with her parents and siblings, which took place wherever her older sister, Elizabeth, dictated based on her kids’ arbitrary youth sports schedules. This year, with Kelly’s nephews both in college, her mom insisted on returning to the family tradition of Thanksgiving at their Connecticut home. But when Kevin added up the cost of five airline tickets and a rental car, he balked. Ashamed to admit to her family the real reason they wouldn’t be coming east, Kelly lied that Kaleb’s fall fencing league required all seventh-grade competitors to be in Spokane for a Thanksgiving weekend tournament. After all, if her sister could play the youth sports card to run roughshod over the family for a decade, why couldn’t Kelly use the same excuse?
Unfortunately, Kelly’s mother then decided everyone should journey to Seattle instead for an early Thanksgiving. In a sick power play, Elizabeth and her family elected to skip the holiday festivities altogether and go to the Bahamas, effectively thumbing their noses at the rest of the family who had bent over backward for years to accommodate them. At first, Kelly was royally peeved that Elizabeth was blowing off their makeshift Sunday-before-Thanksgiving celebration, but maybe it was just as well. Kelly’s sister was married to a successful hedge-fund manager, had a rockin’ bod from working out two hours a day, and was a college snob to boot. Not exactly the person Kelly was dying to spend several days with. At least her younger brother, Simon, a high-priced lobbyist in Washington, DC, and his wife, Monica, had agreed to the change in coast and were bringing their precocious little boys, Jake (age five) and Trevor (age three).
With the average age of the family gathering skewing younger, Kelly hoped that maybe this time, every conversation throughout the pseudo holiday weekend would not automatically segue to test scores, internships, job opportunities, and the college choices made by the grandchildren of her parents’ friends (and all their friends’ friends’ friends). However, as soon as her family appeared on her doorstep, it became apparent Kelly wouldn’t be catching a break.
“No, Kelly. The wooden spoon!” her mother directed, glass of chardonnay in hand, from the kitchen island where she’d parked herself because her sciatica was acting up from the long flight. “Where was I? Oh yes, our new neighbors, the Bergers? Their older son went to Cornell and got a job at Goldman. They’re insu
fferable. Can’t stop talking about him. I don’t see what the big deal is. Cornell is basically a state school masquerading as an Ivy.”
With her back turned to the island, Kelly rolled her eyes at her mother and snuck a square of dark chocolate she’d stashed in the spice drawer. Kelly’s father had gone to Harvard for undergrad and law school. Her mother had spent one semester at Radcliffe before dropping out to get married, but her Mrs. degree entitled her to share in her husband’s attitude that Harvard was superior. In everything. Elizabeth graduated from Harvard and married Dan, a Harvard man, and now both their boys went to Harvard as well. Listening to her mother belittle Cornell, Kelly experienced a post-traumatic flashback to the day, long ago, when she’d broken the news to her family that she would be attending Stanford rather than their alma mater. Her parents had been so appalled they’d openly discussed not paying her tuition.
“We see the Bergers’ younger son coming out of the house in the middle of the day all the time. He went to some college I’ve barely heard of. Where did that younger Berger boy go to college, Marty?” Kelly’s mom called out to her husband, who was watching football in the family room. Kelly’s kids were in no way huge football fans, but today they were glued to the TV right along with Grandpa, Kevin, and Uncle Simon. Anything to avoid a Grandma Nancy inquisition replete with comparisons to their overachieving cousins who were currently basking on a beach.
“Gettysburg,” he yelled back.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 26
