by Chris Taylor
“On the fifth of October, 1961, Ivy and Alan O’Brien became first-time parents to identical twin boys. They kept one and showered him with love and affection. The other one, they offered up for adoption.”
Though he spoke calmly and without inflection, Morgan could see the hurt that shadowed his eyes even now, so many years later. Her heart ached with sadness.
As if sensing her distress, he gave her a little smile.
“It’s all right, Morgan. Don’t feel bad. I’ve had fifty-five years to get used to it.”
She shook her head helplessly. “But why? Why would they do that? Why would they keep my father and give their other son away?”
Leslie lowered his gaze to the table and shrugged. “Who knows? They were young. They must have had their reasons. Unfortunately, they’re dead. I’ll never get the chance to ask them.”
“Did you always know you were adopted?” she asked.
His face twisted into a grimace. “Yes. My adopted parents were only too happy to remind me of that every opportunity they got. What I didn’t know until recently was that I had a twin.”
She gasped in surprise. “You didn’t know, either? Your parents never said?”
“No. They said lots of things about me, none of which were pleasant, but they never breathed a word about your father.”
“I take it you weren’t adopted into a nice family,” she murmured.
The pain in Leslie’s face deepened. His eyes darkened with emotion. “No. There were a lot of ways to describe Bruce and Wilma Lexington, but nice wasn’t one of them.”
Morgan held his gaze, her heart filled with sympathy. “You refer to them in the past tense.”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Yes. They died in a house fire last winter. Good riddance, is what I say. Burning to death while they slept in their beds was too good for them.”
Morgan was taken aback by the venom in his voice, but forced herself to continue. “How did you find out about my father?”
He sighed. “After the fire, I went to visit my parents’ lawyer, to sort out their affairs. They’d left everything to a charity. I didn’t receive a thing. The only thing they wanted me to have was a box containing my birth certificate and other official documents concerning my adoption. It was then that I discovered my biological mother had given birth to twins.”
Morgan stared at him, her heart once again swelling with sadness. “It must have been such a shock to you – all of it. To be cut out of your parents’ wills and then to discover you had a twin brother… I can’t begin to imagine how you felt.”
“About the same way you did when I introduced myself, no doubt.” He chuckled and she marveled that he could find humor in the dreadful circumstances he’d been forced to endure.
“As for my parents being selfish and vindictive enough to leave all of their earthly belongings to strangers, that didn’t surprise me one bit. They’d never shown me kindness in their lifetime. I didn’t expect them to show any generosity of spirit in their death.”
Morgan shook her head. “But… But, it’s so awful for them to have done that to you! Did they have any other children? Do you have any other brothers and sisters?”
“No, thank God. I wouldn’t wish my childhood on anyone.”
“I wonder why they adopted you,” she mused. “From what you’ve said, they didn’t want you from the start.”
“It’s true,” her uncle nodded. “Every now and then, when they were at their vitriolic best, I’d ask them, ‘Why? Why did you take me home?’ I would have been better off in the hospital.”
“And what did they say?”
“They refused to answer. Instead, I usually copped another mouthful of how they wished they’d done just that. And finally, one night when my mom had called me every name under the sun and my dad had walloped me with a horse whip for refusing to eat my greens, I learned the truth.”
Morgan clenched her hands tightly together, barely daring to breathe. She wasn’t sure if she had the courage to listen to what he was about to reveal. Still, she’d asked the question. She owed him the courtesy of listening to his reply.
Her Uncle Leslie ran a hand tiredly through his closely cropped, gray hair. He lifted his tea cup, but set it down again without drinking. He picked at a scab on his forearm and cleared his throat and then scratched at his hair again. Finally, he looked up at her and she stifled a gasp at the sight of the pain that filled his eyes.
“You see, Bruce and Wilma Lexington really wanted a girl. They’d wanted a girl for as long as they could remember. Instead, they got me.”
Emotion burned behind Morgan’s eyes. She quickly scrubbed it away. Reaching over, she took her uncle’s hand and held it, trying to convey without words just how much she felt for him and the sad, unloved child he’d been. And then her mind caught on something else he’d said.
“Your name was Lexington?”
He nodded and eased his breath out on a quiet sigh. “Yes. For fifty-four years I was Leslie Lexington. Wilma even spelled my first name in the manner of a girl. But when I discovered who I really was, I changed my surname.”
“You found out about my dad more than six months ago. Why did it take you so long to find him?”
“For a few months after I found out, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. The existence of a twin brother explained so much – I’d gone through life always feeling like part of me was missing – but I’d put that down to growing up in a loveless family and being made to feel every day of my life that I didn’t deserve to be there.
“When I found out about Rex, I was overjoyed that I’d finally discovered where I’d come from and where I belonged, but I was terrified he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, that he’d reject me, like my parents.” He sighed again.
“Then there were the questions I had about my biological parents and the anger I felt at their actions. How could they have given me up into the life of hell I endured – and kept the other son? I wanted to rant and rave at them, but I was afraid of what they would say. I didn’t realize they were no longer with the living, or I might have reached out to Rex sooner.”
Morgan nodded in understanding. “My grandparents died a few years ago. First Grandad – he had a massive heart attack one night in his sleep. Less than a year later, Grandma died of breast cancer, like my mom. I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet them. They were kind and generous and nice. I can’t imagine how they came to the decision to give up one of their sons. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been easy.”
Her uncle shrugged, his lips compressed. She was sure it was difficult for him to accept his biological parents were good people. She was having a hard enough time reconciling the Ivy and Alan O’Brien he spoke of, with the grandparents she’d adored and now they’d never know why. Once again, she reached for his hand, roughened with work and age, and squeezed it.
“Thank you for sharing your story,” she murmured and meant it.
He stared at her. Tears glinted in his eyes. With a muffled oath, he swiped at them with the back of his hand and offered her a shaky smile.
“Thank you for listening,” he replied quietly. “You’re a good girl, Morgan O’Brien. Your dad must be so proud.”
At the mention of her father, Morgan’s chest tightened, but she managed a nod in return. At the same time, she sent another silent prayer heavenward that he was all right and that even now, he was on his way home.
Pushing away from the table, she set her empty cup back on the tray. “Thank you for the tea, Uncle Leslie. It was lovely.”
“Are you leaving already?” he protested. “I was enjoying your company.”
“Yes, and I have very much enjoyed yours, but I must be on my way,” she replied, needing to get out of the house and have some time to think and reflect on all she’d learned. “Do you mind if I take a little look around outside? I haven’t been home for a while.”
“No, of course not. You’re welcome to stay here, you know. I’ve moved into your father’s room. He ins
isted I use it in his absence and to tell you the truth, I like having him near. His smell, his things… It makes me feel closer to him.”
Morgan frowned and then noticed the embarrassed flush that stained her uncle’s cheeks. Her initial discomfort at the thought of her uncle in her father’s bedroom was replaced with a rush of tenderness. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have an identical twin, but from everything she’d read about them, she understood they had an indelible bond that neither time nor distance could destroy.
Her uncle’s need to be as close to her dad as possible wasn’t weird or freaky, it was just the way twins were, nothing more, nothing less.
CHAPTER NINE
Dear Diary,
I hope I’ve done enough to satisfy her curiosity. She’s a smart girl. She asks a lot of questions. I’ve told her the truth, just not all of it. It’s better for everyone that I don’t. Nobody needs to know everything, not even Morgan O’Brien.
* * *
Morgan scuffed at the ground with the toe of her Converse. With her hands jammed in the pockets of her shorts, she wandered around the side of her childhood home and headed toward the back. The house had been painted nearly twelve years earlier. She remembered the time well. She’d even chosen the color. Her mom was already sick and both Morgan and her dad had wanted her mom to have the final say, but her mom had merely smiled and insisted it was Morgan and her dad who needed to be happy with the decision.
Together, they’d decided on a sandstone color, with the trims painted in a crisp white. The end result was both fresh and modern. It didn’t matter that the color scheme was now out of date.
Rounding the corner to the backyard, Morgan was pleased to see the flowerbeds awash with brightness. Pansies, petunias and white button daisies reached up toward the sun. Like the freshly mown lawn, it was obvious her uncle had made an effort with the upkeep. He must have known how much pride her father had in his garden and the appearance of his yard – or maybe her uncle just felt the same way about things.
She walked down the worn dirt driveway that led to the back shed. Pulling the doors open, she winced at the strident squeak of protest. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
Like she expected, the space where her father usually parked his pickup was empty. Still, she was hit with a wave of longing to have him safe and sound at home again. It had been months since she’d seen him and after all she’d learned about his twin, she wanted to put her arms around him and give him a reassuring hug.
With a soft sigh of resignation, she moved further inside. A mezzanine level had been added years earlier and was filled with items neither of them could bear to part with. There was Morgan’s white cane bassinette she’d slept in as a newborn and the cot she’d moved into when she grew too big.
There was a highchair, covered in dust and cobwebs and a large wooden box. It was filled with mementoes and other bits and pieces she’d saved from her days at school. Awards and sports ribbons and trophies…and the only love letter she’d ever received. It had been written by a boy in the third grade. She’d been in grade two. Adam Charles, the love of her life. At least, he had been, back then. She smiled at the memory.
Leaving the shed and its nostalgia behind her, she wandered further down toward the back. Her father’s house was on a large lot, nearly a hectare. When she’d been younger, she’d begged for a pony, claiming they had plenty of room, but her parents had refused, saying they didn’t have the time to put into riding and looking after a horse. Instead, she’d had to settle for her pushbike.
The yard was well grassed over and green. It must have rained not too long ago. Either that, or her uncle had kept it watered. Sometimes, especially during the summer, the grass was browned off and yellow from the harsh Australian sun. Making her way toward the back fence, a pile of fresh dirt caught her eye. She wandered closer for a better look.
The mound was only a few feet long and less than a foot wide. Though the dirt piled high had crusted and dried in the heat, it was fresh enough that no grass or weeds were growing on top. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have guessed it was a grave.
Once, when she was little, a baby magpie had fallen out of its nest. Morgan had found it and had brought it in to her dad. He’d told her that it had gone to heaven and they should bury it out in the yard. She’d gone with him and had watched while he dug a hole deep enough that predators wouldn’t dig it up. If memory served her right, the magpie’s grave hadn’t been far from this one.
Curious, she kicked at the dirt with her shoe. The sun glinted off something metallic. Frowning, she bent over and scraped away dirt with her hand. A silver buckle came into view, followed by a wide ribbon of woven blue fabric. Closing her fingers around her discovery, she picked it up and shook off the remaining dirt.
It was a dog collar… And then it hit her: It was Rusty’s dog collar. Or was it? With her heart pounding, she set the collar back on the ground, brushed off her hands and pulled out her phone. Flicking through her photo gallery, she found the picture she’d been looking for.
It was a shot of her dad and Rusty, taken the last time she’d been home. Her dad sat in his usual seat on the front porch with Rusty at his side. The golden retriever looked at her with his pink tongue hanging low. Around his neck was a collar identical to the one she’d found.
She stared at the photo and then down at the collar that now lay at her feet. Why would Rusty’s collar be on top of a pile of freshly turned earth? Rusty was with her father. He’d told her that himself. He wouldn’t have lied about it. The dog couldn’t possibly be in the ground. She was sure of it.
And then doubt began to assail her. What if this was just another thing her father hadn’t discussed with her? She’d assumed his departure after the arrival of his twin had been done in haste and was totally unexpected. She understood why he hadn’t told her. But what if he’d been distancing himself from her even earlier than she imagined? What if Rusty had died more than a month ago and he hadn’t told her?
The very thought that her dad could have deliberately kept such things from her was distressing. What could be worse, was that he might have lied about taking the dog with him. Was he ill? Suffering from a brain tumor? Was that the reason he’d kept things from her? Were there even bigger things he was hiding? She couldn’t bear the thought.
The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her feverish thoughts and she snatched at her cell in relief. The Caller ID showed it was Colt.
“Morgan, I’m due for a break soon and can come and get you if—”
“Colt!” she gasped, unable to help herself.
“Morgan? What’s wrong? You sound like you’re out of breath.”
She sucked in another lungful and eased it out in a deliberate effort to get her heart rate back under control. “I’m sorry, I’ve…” She debated for a millisecond whether to tell him or not, and then came out with it. “I’m at Dad’s place. I’ve had a bit of a shock.”
His tone sharpened with concern. “What kind of a shock? Is your uncle still there?”
“Yes, but this has nothing to do with him.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’ve found something near the back fence – a pile of dirt. It looks…like a grave.”
Colt issued a bark of nervous laughter. “A grave? Don’t tell me you think your father—”
“No! Of course not!” she interrupted. “That thought never entered my mind. I received a couple of emails from him last night, remember? He’s in Tennant Creek. At least, that’s where he was last night. He could be anywhere now. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The grave – if it is a grave – is only small. It couldn’t possibly hold a human, but I found a dog collar just beneath the surface. The buckle was sticking up. I’m sure it belongs to Rusty. My father’s dog.”
“Did the dog die without your father telling you?”
“That’s the thing,” she said quietly. “I don’t know. Dad told me he had Rusty with him. Twenty-fou
r hours ago, I wouldn’t have believed he’d lie to me, but then I discover he’s gone away for who knows how long and he didn’t breathe a word! To top it off, I find Rusty’s collar buried in the dirt. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he has a brain tumor and he doesn’t know how to tell me. Or maybe the tumor’s interfering with his thought processes and he doesn’t realize. I’ve heard that kind of thing can happen. I saw a documentary about it on Discovery Health. I—”
Colt chuckled on the other end of the line. “Morgan, stop. You’re sounding ridiculous. Your dad had good reasons for taking off. He just found out he had an identical twin brother. That would rattle anyone. As for Rusty… Who knows? Maybe he died and your dad didn’t want to upset you by telling you about it. Then again, maybe things are just as he said and Rusty’s by his side. It could just be a coincidence you found the collar near what you think looks like a grave.”
Colt’s calm explanation helped to relieve her building fears. She took a couple more deep breaths and the tightness in her chest eased. Colt was right. There were many possibilities as to what might or might not have happened. Finding the collar didn’t mean her dad had lied to her or, heaven forbid, was suffering from an inoperable brain tumor.
“You’re right,” she said, her tone almost normal. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. Of course Rusty’s still with Dad. Where else would he be? He might be nine years old, but that’s not exactly ancient. He’s fitter than I am and nowhere near ready to die. Besides, Dad would have told me. I’m sure of it.”
“See? Have you asked your uncle about the mound? He’s been there a month. Perhaps he knows what’s buried there?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m still down the back.”
“Okay. How about I come over and check it out?”
Morgan couldn’t keep the hope from her voice. “Would you?”
