“That’s why I left when I was eighteen,” she said, swiping at her tears. “And when I got pregnant I never told them about Logan. How could I when I didn’t know his father? It would only have proven everything they thought about me was true.” She took a deep breath, held my hand. “Josh...about a year after he was born I had premature ovarian failure. I don’t know if it was related to what Teddy did, but either way, we’ll never have a baby of our own.”
She told me she’d understand if I walked away, if I didn’t want to be with her. I held her, kissed the salty tears away, told her I loved her no matter what, and I’d meant every word.
“Yes,” I whispered to Betty now. “Grace told me all about Teddy Barnes.”
She grunted. “Five years ago he was charged with raping a thirteen-year-old, and when six other girls told similar stories, Marcia and Bert knew Grace hadn’t been the one lying.”
“Did he get convicted?”
“Oh, yes,” Betty said. “Rotting away in a cell somewhere, good and proper. I wanted to tell Grace, hoped maybe she and her parents could patch things up, but I didn’t know where to find her. On her last visit she said she’d stay in touch, maybe come visit me here.”
“She never contacted you?”
“No. I wish she had. She was a good girl, my Gracie.” She let out another sob. “She’d been through so much. Her parents, Teddy and before that, when she found out she’d never have a family.”
“Wait. What do you mean, before?”
“When they said her ovaries had stopped working and that she was barren. The only blessing from her condition was Teddy Barnes couldn’t get her pregnant. But imagine hearing that at sixteen...”
I sucked in my breath. “No. That’s not right. Sixteen? Are you sure—”
“A hundred percent,” Betty answered. “Premature ovarian failure, the doctor said. I should know. I was in the room with her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up, the contents of my stomach splashing into the toilet bowl, the air filling with the bitter smell of digestive acids. Attempting to sleep after that was ridiculous, and by the time the sun rose the next morning, Betty’s words echoed even louder in my head.
Premature ovarian failure, the doctor said. Imagine hearing that at sixteen.
Not twenty-four like Grace had told me. Sixteen.
I pushed myself through the motions of getting Logan off to school, and let Cookie sniff around the garden as my mind screamed at me to stop making excuses, I wasn’t—had never been—confused by my grief, hadn’t misheard, misinterpreted, misunderstood, miswhatever. When my phone beeped with an incoming text message, I snatched it up, grateful for the interruption until I looked at the screen and saw the note from Leila.
Come to the office. Now.
I hadn’t showered the night before, or shaved in four days, but there was no time. Avoiding the mirror, I grabbed my keys, tried to smooth down my hair. There was nothing I could do about my stubble, but I ran upstairs to change my shirt, hoped it would mask the smell of cold sweat and vomit. As I drove to the office, a spiky ball grew inside my stomach. Leila’s message meant I’d be eating a major portion of humble pie, and doing some serious groveling. Sure enough, when I arrived she sat at her desk, arms crossed, Ronnie standing behind her.
“Hey, guys,” I said with a tentative smile. “I came as quick as I could. What’s up?”
“Uh, look, we, uh,” Ronnie mumbled. “You know—”
Leila cut him off. “We can’t keep you on, Josh.”
My gut lurched as if she’d kicked me in the stomach with her steel-toed boots. No, my performance hadn’t been brilliant, that much was obvious, but I’d expected a warning, a sharp and fully deserved slap on the wrist. I searched her face, then Ronnie’s, but he refused to look at me. “You said you wanted me to manage the summer crew this year, and—”
“Yes, that’s true,” Ronnie said. “Leila, uh, maybe—”
“We discussed this,” she snapped at her brother before turning to me. “We’ve seen a dip in your performance and—”
“A dip in my...? Grace died,” I said.
Leila stood up behind her desk, recrossed her arms. “We gave you time off.”
“Yeah. Unpaid.”
“You have been late, though. Quite a lot.” While Ronnie sounded subdued and apologetic, him siding with his sister came as no surprise, their blood thick as molasses.
“It was always about Logan,” I said. “And I texted.”
“Then there was the wholesaler incident,” Leila said.
“And you had those kitchen plans with you that time, Josh,” Ronnie added. “You were the one with all the details. It made me feel like a total idiot.”
“Did Ronnie tell you they threatened to withhold money?” Leila said. “Give us a watered-down reference before we’d even started? Look, it’s simple. We have a business to run, and I—we—won’t carry nonperformers. Come back in the fall and we’ll see where we’re at.”
“In the fall?” I forced a sharp laugh. “What am I supposed to do until then? I need to work. I need the money. Why didn’t you come to me, Ronnie? Tell me—”
“I did, Josh. At least I tried. You seem to be—” he made butterfly movements with his fingers “—somewhere else.”
“Don’t forget I warned you the very first time, tardiness is unacceptable,” Leila said.
“This is unacceptable.” I tapped her desk with my index finger. “You can’t do this.”
“Speak to your lawyer if you want,” Leila said. “We owe you two weeks. We’re paying you three. But we both feel it’s best if you leave immediately.”
I put a hand to my chest. “I need this job. I have Logan to look after.”
“Maybe both of you need time off,” Leila said, her chin raised. “Ronnie mentioned there’s something going on at school. Why not focus on him?”
“Shit,” Ronnie muttered as a burning-hot flash shot up from my chest and filled my face like a giant thermometer, ready to burst.
“Who the hell do you—” I shouted. “Jesus Christ, Leila, why don’t you go fu—”
“Careful, Josh.” She held up a hand, her voice louder than mine. “Your hopes of a job in the fall are fading pretty fast from where I’m standing.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, looked at them in turn. Without another word I stormed out before I lost control and told them exactly what they could do with their fall job. Back in the truck I took deep gulps of air and mentally added up the money I had in the bank. Enough to last a few months, if I was careful. But what then if I didn’t find a job?
We’d have to cut down on expenses, maybe move to a flat. Our lease for the house was month to month, and nobody would blame me for leaving, although how Logan would take the news was another story. I’d seen a few places advertised, smaller than the house, and they cost a bit less. Then again it would mean moving Logan to a different school—which he might be okay with—but getting a flat without a job...
Everything was spiraling, spinning out of control, roadblocks popping up every way I turned, making my stomach lurch, my head swirl as if I’d spent a month riding an increasingly precarious roller coaster on a continuous loop.
My hands trembled as I started the truck and shifted it into gear. I tried to push the thought of a temporary solution away, the one thing I knew would let me escape from the craziness that had clawed at my life for the past months, tearing it to shreds with its gnarled hands and whispers of suspicion. I needed a drink. Just one. Something to take the edge off for a little while. I could almost taste the release, feel the fuzziness invading my head.
Just this once. Only once.
Nobody else needed to know.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I don’t remember how I got home or exactly what happened after I
arrived. Didn’t hear anyone come in later, barely registered Logan’s voice and him shaking my shoulders, trying to wake me.
Sound had disappeared altogether as I lay on the sofa in the den, the copious amounts of Jack’s fogging my brain. I’d meant to have one drink, really, I had. But the taste of it, the smell of it... One had turned into two, and two into too many as I’d become impatient, impulsive. It was a good thing the barman cut me off, or I’d have been away with the fairies until Christmas.
The first thing I recalled was Lisa and Ivan arriving, her voice too loud, too shrill. “Josh. Josh!” she said, before the unmistakable muttering of colorful expletives, followed by, “Ivan, grab Logan and go for dinner and ice cream somewhere, okay? I’ll text you when this idiot’s come back to earth.”
The smell of dog crap smuggled its way into my nose, making me retch. I struggled to get up, leaning on whatever furniture I could reach, crisscrossing the hallway to get to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face may have defogged my head a smidge, but when I opened the door and Lisa shouted at me again, all I could think of was pouring myself another drink.
“What the hell? No, actually, what the fuck are you doing? Really, Josh, really?”
I pressed my palms over my ears. “Please don’t shout.” How pathetic the protest sounded wasn’t lost on me, but I still said it again.
“The hell I won’t.” She pulled my hands away, grabbed hold of my shoulders. “Logan said Mrs. Banks walked him to the door when you didn’t pick him up. Lucky for you he came in, saw you and told her you were asleep on the couch—”
“I was asleep...”
“Yeah, because you’re all pissed up to the eyeballs. Your truck’s here. Did you drive?”
“I—”
“Have you gone completely insane? What if you’d got stopped?”
“I didn’t. And how did you know I was—”
“Logan called.” She pointed to the front door. “Your seven-year-old kid saw you lying on the sofa, eyes rolled into the back of your head, and he called me. I can’t believe it. More than two thousand days, Josh. Why in the holy hell—”
“I got fired.”
Lisa didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I’m not bloody surprised. I sure as shit wouldn’t keep you on in this state. Is this really the first time, or have you been drinking in secret? Tell me. Tell me right now because you’re not going down this path again, Josh. Over my dead body and—”
“Grace isn’t Logan’s mom.”
Lisa’s mouth stopped midway. She stared at me, as if trying to decide if there was an iota of truth to my revelation, or if I’d given her some elaborate and messed-up excuse in an attempt to grab hold of her pity. “What are you talking about? That’s absurd.”
“Trust me, I wish it were.” I sank to the floor, rested my back against the wall. Telling her was a relief, like releasing the pressure from overinflated tires, all the anger hissing from my lungs, filling the air around us as if it were poison. “I’m going mad. I can’t focus on anything. Now I’ve been sacked and—” I gave a small shrug “—I needed something to help.”
“I can help.” She forced me back to the den, where she pushed me onto the sofa, quickly disposed of Cookie’s mess and opened the window. When the puppy padded up behind her, Lisa lifted her onto her lap, rubbed her belly. “I’m not going to comment about you getting a dog right now, but you’d better talk to me, Josh. About everything.”
I did. The hidden photos, the torn-up cryptic note, my extensive search for the birth certificate, the tax returns, the conversation with Betty and all of Grace’s lies. By the time I’d finished, Lisa’s eyes had grown stalks.
She shook her head. “Go back to the beginning. You’re one hundred percent sure about where she said Logan was born? You didn’t get it wrong?”
“No—”
“Because it would explain something. I mean, the whole ovary failure thing could’ve been a misdiagnosis or—”
“Betty was adamant about it, and Grace definitely said she had him in Maine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She even told Logan. Showed him on the map, spun a cute story about the magical bloody day he was born. Why, Lisa? Why would she do that if she didn’t give birth to him? Jesus, what does any of this mean? He’s her kid, right? Surely—”
She clicked her fingers. “She fostered him, or maybe adopted him—”
“Already thought of—”
“—and she didn’t tell you because...because she was embarrassed or something.” She clapped her hands, happy as Sherlock Holmes to have solved but the easiest of mysteries.
“If she fostered him, then why haven’t there been any social service visits? Why didn’t I find any adoption papers?”
“I don’t know. Those visits don’t go on forever, do they? Maybe she misplaced the adoption stuff, or hid it somewhere so nobody would know...”
“And the tax returns?”
I watched as Lisa’s mind dashed off in all the different directions mine had already gone before admitting defeat and skulking back. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, yet filled with unmistakable big sister grit. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. Can you search adoption records for New York, or Maine, maybe?”
“How do I do that without raising suspicion? What do I say?”
Lisa nodded. “Okay, this will sound ridiculous, but what if you did a—”
“DNA test?”
“Exactly. But only to be sure. Sure you’re wrong.”
“I could get one of those home kits. Send in the samples and—”
Lisa held up her hand. “I know someone. A friend of mine runs a private lab that does genetic testing and stuff. I’ll ask her. She’ll do it on the quiet, anonymously. I’ll call her—”
“No, no, no.” The panic rising alongside the words in my throat threatened to choke me. I wanted another drink. If only I’d stopped at the liquor store on the way back. Maybe I had. I couldn’t remember. “I can’t. I don’t want to. What if I’m right? What if—”
“Josh,” Lisa said gently, patting a whimpering Cookie. “Let’s do the test. It’ll come back showing Grace is his mom and we’ll figure out the rest, okay?”
“No. I’ll ignore it all. I can do that.”
“Can you?” She raised an eyebrow and I looked away. “Josh, I know I let you down when Mom and Dad died—”
“No, you—”
“Yes. I did. I promised I’d look after you but when you derailed, when you ended up in such a state... If I’d been there for you, if I’d helped you—”
“You did. You paid for my flight back home, remember?”
“I mean earlier. Before you left the country, and after you came back. I knew you were drinking, but it was easier to kick you out, pretend tough love was the only thing I could do.” She paused. “I know you. This’ll eat you up from the inside out.”
“It won’t.”
“How can you say that? It already is, and I can’t let it happen. I won’t. Promise me you’ll think about the DNA test? Whatever the result, we’ll figure it out. You and me, okay?”
“Lisa...”
“Think about it. I’ll get the kit and you can—”
“You can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Not your friend at the lab, or Ivan.”
“I’m pregnant with his kid, Josh. I’m going to marry the guy. I won’t keep secrets from him. It’s not the kind of relationship we have—”
“You mean like mine and Grace’s—”
“—and he’s a lawyer. Whatever’s going on, we need his help.”
“Fine. But for your lab friend you’ll have to—”
“Make something up?” Lisa said. “Way ahead of you, kiddo. Way ahead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lisa dropped off the DNA
kit a few days later. As I opened the brown envelope with the sample tubes, I recalled her instructions. Get a cheek swab from Logan. Hair from Grace’s brush, the roots attached. Include her toothbrush, if I still had it. I didn’t mention I still had all of her things, hadn’t discarded a single lotion, potion or lip balm.
I closed the envelope without getting any of the samples, repeated to myself I was being ridiculous. Logan was Grace’s son. Everybody said how much they looked alike. Lisa must have been right about Grace being misdiagnosed as a teen; she knew far more about these things.
When we told Ivan everything he agreed it was nuts, too, said maybe Grace gave birth to Logan at home, didn’t register him because she was afraid the father might find out and want custody. He expertly and very convincingly argued it was a perfectly logical explanation for her not listing him as a dependent on her tax forms, too. That was the reason for all the secrecy; the father’s identity, not the mother’s.
It had therefore been almost easy to shove the kit in the top drawer of my bedside table and ignore it for three days, focusing on patching things up with Logan instead. I apologized for my behavior, for him finding me passed out on the sofa, promised it would never, ever happen again and bit down hard on my lip when he hugged me and asked if I was okay.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, although what I really wanted was to get wasted again. Although I considered going to a meeting, I couldn’t face it, didn’t want to admit I’d slipped after more than two thousand days, or explain why I’d derailed. I didn’t want to lie, either.
When Logan came home from school, grinning wider than he’d done in a week, he held a piece of paper toward me. “Look,” he said. It was a drawing of him and Cookie in a field, Logan throwing a stick, the puppy jumping into the air. Even the sun had a toothy smile.
“Amazing, Logan. Well done.” I tried hard not to examine him like a specimen under the microscope. For days I’d been comparing him to Grace at every opportunity—the slant of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the precise location of his dimples, the egg-shaped birthmark on his knee, the way he chewed his inner lip—but whenever I saw similarities, I spotted differences.
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