by Shay Savage
“Fine.” Cherry yanks her hand from mine and stands up, immediately putting distance between us. She grits her teeth and crosses her arms over her chest, her hands clenched into fists.
We all gather around the desk and Threes starts to go through the pile of paper.
“Let’s go through it all in chronological order,” Threes says. “It will make more sense that way. First off, we have Leanne Ramsay in the hospital on December fifth.” He points to some hospital admission records. “Though there is no record of why she was there, the doctor she saw was an OB/GYN, and she was given Pitocin.”
“To induce labor,” Nora says.
“Right. So clearly, she was there to have a child. No birth certificate at all on file though we’d have to manually look to be sure. It might just never have been scanned. I can’t imagine we’re going to come up with anything like DNA to test to see if it was Roland’s kid, but clearly his wife had a baby between Janna and Jay.”
Everyone glances at Cherry.
“We don’t know who the kid was,” Nora says bluntly. “Let’s all keep that in mind.”
“My birthday is the fifteenth,” Cherry says.
“That’s what it says on a forged birth certificate,” Antony replies. “All someone would have to do is add a one in front of the five. Let’s face it—you don’t know what day you were born.”
“Based on that logic,” Nora says, “you don’t know your birthdate either, Antony. Maybe you’re a Ramsay.”
“I actually remember that year though,” Antony says. “I was six and very into Barney the dinosaur.”
“This is not getting us anywhere,” I say. “Stick to the topic. Threes, go on.”
“Okay,” Threes says, “so a month later, Leanne is admitted to the hospital again. Same doctor. Pitocin given again.”
“That’s not possible,” Nora says. “You can’t induce labor and then stop it. This doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Threes says with a grin. “This time, the hospital visit coincides with a death certificate for a newborn.”
Threes places the death certificate on the desk for all of us to see.
“Mary Elizabeth Ramsay. Born and died on January ninth.”
“Is this Leanne’s child?” I ask. “A stillborn?”
“A stillborn or a hidden live birth,” Antony says. “How can we tell?”
“At least you aren’t making assumptions again,” Nora mutters.
I silence her with a hard look.
“Roland Ramsay signed the hospital admittance records both times,” Threes says.
“But clearly it’s not the same woman giving birth,” Nora says. “Who’s the second woman?”
“Did you say Roland?” Cherry asks.
I turn to her, trying to understand her expression. I’m not sure if she’s confused or inquisitive, but at least her posture has relaxed.
“Yeah,” Threes says.
“He was the head of the Ramsay family until about ten years ago,” I tell her.
“Do you know that name?” Nora asks.
“Yes.” Cherry nods vigorously. “There was a man named Roland who came to visit Aunt Ginny a couple of times,” Cherry says. “She said he was a classmate, not a relative. I only remember because he was the one visitor she ever had who didn’t live in Accident.”
“So, Roland Ramsay actually visited you?”
“I mean, I’m not sure it’s the same guy, but the name is right.”
Antony tosses the picture of Roland and the pregnant woman to the top of the pile on the desk.
“That’s him,” Cherry says. “At least, I think it is. It’s not a clear picture and I was pretty young at the time. The woman is definitely Aunt Ginny though—I’d recognize her anywhere.”
“What?” We all turn to her.
“That makes sense,” Threes says. “This is where things get interesting.” He shuffles through the papers again. “Look at this.”
On the top of the pile is an additional medical record with an unfamiliar patient name.
“Sofia Jones?”
“Sofia, yes, Jones, no.” Threes points to the picture of Roland and the pregnant woman again. “That was his little sister—Sofia Ramsay.”
“I didn’t know he had a sister that much younger than him.”
“Half-sister, really. Looks like Quinton Ramsay, Roland’s father, got around a little more than his wife might have preferred. It was a bit of a scandal back then, I guess. They kept her quiet and out of the family business.”
“So, Sofia Ramsay is the second woman,” Nora says. “Roland signed the records for his half-sister.”
I shake my head, trying to sort through all the information and make sense out of it.
“Sofia Ramsay disappeared from Cascade Falls in the nineties,” Threes continues, “presumed dead or married off to some other crime lord back in Italy, but that’s not what really happened.”
“She actually went to Accident, Maryland, didn’t she?” Nora says.
“Yeah, she did”—Threes pulls out yet another stack of documents—“under the name Virginia Bay.”
Cherry lets out a small gasp, and I reach for her hand again. This time, she doesn’t pull away.
“So,” I say, “the woman who raised Cherry was her actual mother, not her aunt?”
“No, Sofia Ramsay’s baby was stillborn.” Threes holds up the death certificate. “That might be the reason she ended up with Cherry, but that’s just a guess. However, at the same time, Leanne was admitted to the maternity ward. Janna was about a year old, and Jay came the following year, so it’s not one of them.”
“These forgeries look like ours,” Antony says as he examines the driver’s license under the name Virginia Bay. “At least, the quality is about right.”
“This is going back over two decades,” Threes reminds him. “Ramsays were still doing their own documents then.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Antony frowns, apparently unconvinced.
“Back up, Threes. This is confusing the fuck out of me.”
“Before Jay, Leanne Ramsay was pregnant at the same time as Roland’s sister, Sofia.” Threes points to documents one at a time. “Sofia lost her baby, changed her identity, and it looks like she ended up with someone else’s child.”
“Cherry.”
“Well, she’s the one Sofia raised, so yeah.”
“Cherry Ramsay.”
“Well, Sofia never married, so yeah, that would have been her surname.”
“And you think Leanne was the mother,” I say.
“We don’t know that,” Nora says. “No more jumping to conclusions, Nate. We can’t swear to it.”
“Leanne died five years later,” Antony says. “Cancer. Maybe she already knew by then that she was going to die. Maybe she asked Sofia to raise her child.”
“But she had Jay after that,” Nora says. “That doesn’t fit.”
“Roland probably wanted a son.” Antony shrugs. “If she said she couldn’t handle another girl, and he insisted on trying for a son…well, you can see where that might have worked out.”
“She could have had any help she wanted,” Nora replied. “There wasn’t any reason to hide her away.”
“They wouldn’t have trusted someone else to raise one of their own,” Antony says. “Leanne clearly did give birth around the same time, and that baby disappeared somewhere. What do you think, Nora? You think Sofia Ramsay just picked out some random child when another one was right there? Maybe there was a reason to hide her, and we just haven’t figured that part out yet. Leanne’s baby went to Roland’s sister, and that baby was Cherry. You wanted evidence, and now it’s in front of you.”
Nora goes silent, glancing apprehensively at Cherry, who begins to cry again.
I release her hand and take a few steps away from the group. I stare out the window, trying to get my thoughts together.
“She’s a fucking Ramsay,” Pops says. “She knew Roland. She played you.”
“We don’t know that,” I reply. “She didn’t hold back when his name was mentioned.”
“It changes nothing.”
I turn away from him, looking back at the group.
“Cherry is a Ramsay,” I say. “Time to accept that.”
“Nate, she didn’t know that.”
I glance at Cherry and the tears streaming down her face, and I have no idea what to do or who to believe. My stomach, head, and heart are all tied into knots, and I can’t untie them.
Did she know, as Pops says? Or is Nora right, and Cherry is just caught in the middle of this—an innocent bystander who knows nothing of her heritage?
“Cherry would still be second in line,” I say. “Why would the Ramsays care about her? It’s not like she could make a claim over Janna. It only makes sense if they were using her to get to me, and they can’t have done that without her knowing.”
“Maybe that was their plan,” Nora says. “Maybe they hoped to gain her trust or something, but that doesn’t mean Cherry knows anything about it.”
“It doesn’t explain why Micha would get killed over it, either,” Antony says.
“We have no idea if that was the reason,” Nora says.
“The timing is pretty suspicious.”
“I think he was killed over it,” Threes says. “Think about it—if Micha was digging into a long-lost child of Roland Ramsay, that’s a threat. We don’t know why they were keeping Cherry a secret or what Micha was planning to do with the information. Maybe he got close to something, the Ramsays found out, and they killed him to keep him from taking out one of their own.”
“I wouldn’t have put it past him.” Nora says. “Pops would have pushed for it, too. Getting to a Ramsay here in town would be difficult, but taking one of them out in some backwoods place in Maryland would have been easy.”
Again, I glance at Cherry. She’s clearly taking all of this in, and I wonder what she thinks about this casual conversation concerning my brother possibly orchestrating her death. Nora is right—Micha might very well have considered killing a Ramsay child if he thought he could get away with it.
“No matter what else you care to believe, that girl is a Ramsay.” Pops leans forward, staring me right in the eye. “She’s a Ramsay, and you need to deal with that.”
“We don’t know what all Micha figured out,” Antony says. “He could have left some other clues for us. What was in the file wasn’t enough.”
“Some of it doesn’t make sense, either.” Threes starts to sort through the papers on the desk again, finally pulling up Micha’s file. “Why the club receipts? Why the fuck would he have some invoice from a cheese shop in Accident?”
“It doesn’t really matter though, does it?” I ask softly.
“What doesn’t?”
“Cherry not knowing about any of this. Even if I believe her, it doesn’t make any difference. I can’t go against what Pops says.”
The room goes silent for a long moment. I look at Pops, and he looks at me. His mouth spreads into a wide grin, and he starts to chuckle as he walks toward the wall near the window, staring up at his own portrait.
“No Ramsay can ever become part of this family.” Pops crosses his arms over his chest, but the grin remains on his face. “I will not allow it.”
I close my eyes for a minute before addressing them all.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say. “Yeah, I’m the head of the family now, but when it comes to something like this, I have to go with Pops.”
“Pops?” Nora narrows her eyes at me.
“He’ll never accept her, Nora.” I shake my head. “I…I can’t continue a relationship with her even if she is innocent in all of this. She’s a Ramsay. Pops is right.”
“Nate, what are you talking about?” Nora stares at me, her brow furrowed. “You think Pops wouldn’t have approved of her?”
“He doesn’t approve, clearly.” I wave my hand in my father’s direction. “He’s already made up his mind, and I can’t…I can’t go against him. Not in this.”
“Nataniele?” Nora takes a step forward, extending her hand like the Virgin offering her blessing.
“Nate, dude, what are you talking about?” Antony stares at me.
“You all heard him,” I say. “We can’t let a Ramsay into the family. Whether she knew it or not is irrelevant.”
“She knew,” Pops says. “She knew all along. She played you.”
“She didn’t know, but that doesn’t matter. Pops is right though—we’ve been played, intentionally or not.” The words burn in my throat.
“Nataniele!” Nora completes the trek across the room and grabs my arm. “Pops is dead. He doesn’t get a vote in this.”
I blink a few times, wondering how in the world she could say something like that with him standing right here in the room. She doesn’t even look in his direction, and Pops doesn’t address her comment at all. When I look at him, he just grins that maniacal grin of his, and Nora shakes her head at me.
“Pops is dead, Nate. I don’t know why you’re trying to put this on him when clearly you—”
“He’s right there!” I scream, pointing. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?”
Pops starts laughing.
“That’s…that’s his picture, Nate.” Antony moves slowly to Nora’s side. His posture is protective as he looks at me with confused, cautious eyes. “He’s been gone for months now.”
“Nataniele,” Nora whispers, “we put Pops in the ground in January. You were there. It’s why you had to step up and take over.”
“Wha--?” I can’t comprehend her words even as images flash through my head.
I’m standing over his casket as it’s lowered into the ground. No…no… It’s Micha’s casket. Must be Micha’s. Why is the tombstone for Micha already fixed in the ground, away from the grave? Must be a mistake. A handful of soil drops from my hand, covering the shiny wood surface of the casket. This isn’t Pops. It can’t be. I can’t do this by myself…
“Nate, you feeling okay?” Threes asks, but I barely hear him.
Nora is next to me, her hand on my arm. She’s talking, but I can’t hear the words.
Pops continues to laugh. It’s a cruel, hollow sound that sends a shiver from the nape of my neck all the way to the back of my heels. I open my mouth to say…something…to tell him to speak up; to tell them he’s right there and make them look at him, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, laughing.
The sound becomes hollow and distant as his image begins to fade.
My bones feel as if they’re made of ice. My hands shake and my knees buckle. My vision blurs and then goes dark.
I hear Cherry yelling my name before I hit the floor.
Chapter 19—Confessions
The torment of thoughts and emotions running through my head is overwhelming. I’ve gone from curious to defensive to furious to terrified and then back to furious and defensive—all in a matter of minutes.
All my suspicions have been confirmed, albeit inadvertently. The Orso family is clearly into illegal activities though the exact nature isn’t clear to me yet. One thing is for sure—normal people don’t suddenly walk into a room with some other family’s medical records.
I remember when I was ten, and one of those traveling carnivals came to a nearby town, and I begged Aunt Ginny to let me ride on a huge, rocking boat. I was so excited when it started, but halfway through the ride, I started to feel sick. I begged my aunt to tell the carnival worker to stop the ride, but of course that didn’t happen. There was no way off. Aunt Ginny held me as I puked on the floor of the ride, embarrassed beyond belief. Once the ride had stopped, and my Aunt Ginny helped me off of it, I continued to feel sick. We went home, and I cried the whole way because I had never been to a carnival before, and I didn’t get a chance to try cotton candy or pet the animals at the petting zoo.
I want off this ride.
Nate and Nora are yelling at each other. The looks he is giving me are so hatef
ul, they penetrate my soul, and all I can manage to do is curl up in a ball with tears running down my face as I fight the urge to puke over the back of the couch. I keep trying to tell him that I don’t know what’s he’s talking about, but he just refuses to listen.
I wipe tears from my cheeks, but they just keep coming.
When Threes comes in with a huge stack of hospital records, everything goes from bad to worse. Even though Nate stops looking at me with suspicion, I keep hearing the same thing from all of them: “She’s a Ramsay.”
All this time, I’d been trying to figure out who my real parents were. To discover they were the sworn enemies of Nate’s family was bad enough, but then I find out they are both dead, and a deep sense of loss hits me.
Roland Ramsay.
The name rolls around in my head. Though I’d heard the Ramsay family mentioned several times since moving to Cascade Falls, I’d never heard the name Roland mentioned before. Maybe if I had, it would have struck me sooner. I admit to knowing the name, while my insides feel like they’re turning to liquid and sloshing around in my gut. As the others go over the documentation for the tenth time, I think back to my childhood.
“We have a visitor coming today,” Aunt Ginny told me.
“We do? Who is it?”
“Oh, no one you know.”
“I thought all us Accidentals knew each other,” I said with a laugh.
“He’s not from Accident, Cherry.” Aunt Ginny smiled and shook her head. “He’s from Ohio.”
“I know where Ohio is,” I said. “It’s a state and there’s a river, and they have trains and they mine coal there.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s on my puzzle map of the United States! There’s a picture of the river, and a picture of coal cars on a train.”
I heard a knock at the door, and I jumped up to join Aunt Ginny as she greeted the visitor. He was an old man with grey hair and a moustache. I didn’t like his moustache, so I went to sit by the Christmas tree and string popcorn as Aunt Ginny talked to him. He didn’t stay long, but before he left, he came over to me.
“You’re doing a good job there, Cherice,” he said.
“Do you like popcorn?” I asked.
