I wanted things to be the way they used to be.
His gaze settled on me. “I hear your dad’s getting better.”
For now. “Yeah, he’ll be home tomorrow. But he’s not driving anymore, because of the blackouts. And he’s cutting back to part-time at city hall, too.”
“Cass, I—”
“Jase, there’s—”
Nervous laughter.
“You first,” he said.
I forced myself to say the words I’d rehearsed. “Jason, I’m sorry I haven’t called you back, but it hurts too much. I…we can’t see each other. It’s better this way.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He waited.
I flushed. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Because you think there could be some kind of…” he hesitated until two guys wearing football jerseys walked by. “Some kind of connection between us.”
There was a connection. I’d felt it from the moment Jason and I had first talked. But what if it was the wrong kind of connection? I nodded.
“We’re not related, Cassidy. No way. You have to believe that.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. Before, maybe. Now, no. My trust in the rightness of life had been shaken. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever blindly trust anything again.
Jason touched my arm. I pulled back as if I’d been burned.
He sighed. “Cass, look at it objectively. You’re melodramatic; I’m not.”
“I am not melodramatic!” I insisted. Then I repeated Quinn’s words. “Truth is never melodramatic.”
“Of course you’re melodramatic. You’re your mother’s daughter.”
I was her daughter, all right. But melodramatic? I was so not happy hearing that again. Okay, maybe I was melodramatic. A little. On occasion. When it was called for.
“And you love to shop and I don’t. And you care about what people think and I don’t. We might look alike, but so do millions of other people. We don’t come from the same gene pool. Trust me. I’d know.”
I’d known everything once, too. Ha.
“It’s a non-issue. You have to let it go.”
This is why I hadn’t called Jason back—because when he got an idea in his head, there was no way to talk him out of it. “I can’t let it go. Not this. I can’t be—intimate—the same way with you again. I can’t take a chance, and you have to accept that. You won’t go for DNA testing, and I have to accept that.”
“I already have.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a formal-looking envelope, gave it a shake. “This is the letter of confirmation. The results will take a couple of weeks.”
I stopped breathing. “What?”
“I know we aren’t—” A group of laughing kids walked by. Jason leaned close to my ear, lowered his voice. “I know damned well we aren’t related, but I’m not prepared to lose you over some stupid cheek swab.”
My heart drum-rolled. I took the envelope, stared down at the black writing. BCS Laboratory Inc. “This must have cost you, like, five hundred dollars.”
Jason grinned. “Yeah, I’m going to be working overtime at Finnelli’s for the rest of my life. But it’ll be worth it if it gives you one less thing to worry about.” He hesitated. There was a plea shining from his blue eyes. “If it means we can get back together again.”
I started crying and Jason grabbed me and we stood there for a long time holding each other and not once did I think he was my half-brother. All I could think about was that he understood how important this was to me. He was my guy, and he got it.
“So,” he said when I’d finally dried my tears. “This means we’re back together, right?”
I hesitated. What if the DNA tests showed we were related? What if they didn’t? Life was full of uncertainty. I had to learn to live with it. “Yeah.” I still clutched the envelope in my hand.
“And you’ll go to the prom with me?”
A dress! How could I find a dress in less than a month? Somehow I’d manage. Besides, Jason wouldn’t care what I wore. Then I remembered the annual grad picnic. It was a massive event up in the Highlands, put on by one of the radio stations in town. All the grads in Victoria went. And it was traditionally held on the May long weekend so that it wouldn’t interfere with individual school events. “The prom, yes; the picnic, no.”
“Why not?”
Was I important enough to Jason that he’d accept this? “I have to go to L.A.” We’d been back together about a minute and a half, and already I was testing his commitment. “There’s something I have to do. Trust me on this.” I expected him to complain, or at the very least roll his eyes.
Instead he just held me captive with those baby blues and said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” I stared at him. “Are you really okay with it, Jase? See, I’m probably never going to know my biological father because I went to this clinic and this doctor didn’t keep proper records, or if he did he won’t let me see them and—”
“Quinn told me,” he interrupted.
“She did?”
“We talked a couple of times.” He looked sheepish. “You wouldn’t take my calls, and I was desperate. I thought maybe she’d get through to you.”
Quinn was such a busybody. I should be used to it by now.
“So, you’re okay if I go?” I asked. “Because…well, I might get involved a bit. Maybe see if I can help change some laws, without, you know, becoming a cause queen like Quinn.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” I squinted up at him. Where was his anger, his frustration? “After all those times of telling me to leave the subject alone, now all you can say is fine?”
“Well, I’m not surprised. As much as you won’t admit it, Cass, you’re Frank’s daughter, too. You’ve lived with him all your life. Some of his sense of justice, of duty, is bound to have rubbed off on you.”
There was probably some truth to that, but still.
“Jason, you called me obsessive. And a major nutcase.” My voice rose. Two girls stared; I didn’t care. “You say I’m melodramatic.”
“So what?”
“I’m not gonna change,” I said.
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. But it doesn’t matter anyway.” He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, “‘Cause those are some of the things I love most about you.”
My heart swelled to twelve times its size. Jason Perdue had used the L word. “Really?” I whispered.
“Really,” he whispered back. And then he kissed me.
I still believe that all lives come down to a series of events, but now I know that the most significant events are not tied to sex. In my life—in any life, probably—the most significant events come down to before and after moments. Before Dad’s diagnosis and after. Before my conception news and after. Before the clinic visit, when I thought I’d get the name of my father, and after, when I realized I probably never would.
Now I was about to spring another before and after moment on my folks.
“I need a thousand dollars.” I deposited myself on the living-room couch, unzipped my hoodie and fanned my face.
Dad’s eyes practically popped out of his face. “A thousand dollars? Good Lord, Cassidy, haven’t you spent enough in the last few weeks?”
Dad had way too much time on his hands. He’d been obsessing about my shopping expenditures since getting home from the hospital. “Not even close,” I teased, sliding my hoodie right off. The living-room was stiflingly warm, even with the open window. The beginning of May, and my parents still had an after-dinner fire with their coffee. I figured it was the comfort of a familiar ritual.
“In spite of what you think, we’re not made of money,” Dad grumbled.
Mom leaned across and touched his arm. “Calm down, Frank. You know stress isn’t good for you.”
Lots of things weren’t. But this old familiar song—I spend too much—was another comfortable ritual. It didn’t bother me. I knew Dad didn’t have too many years left to
try and curb my materialistic tendencies.
“What do you need this time?” he asked with a sigh.
“Airfare and a hotel room.” A slight breeze came through the window and cooled the back of my neck. “Although if I drove to L.A., I’d save the airfare, so I’d only need seven or eight hundred dollars.”
“L.A.?” Mom and Dad spoke in unison.
“Yeah, L.A. There’s a fertility conference in Anaheim over the May long weekend.”
Mom’s eyebrows hit the roof. “A fertility conference?”
“Uh huh.” I nodded. “One of the workshops is being led by a couple of donor offspring.”
Mom and Dad stared at me as though I’d grown wings.
“I want to go.”
“You do?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I told Mom defensively. “I’m not a total fluff nut.”
They both spoke at once.
“I didn’t say—”
“You’ve never—”
Dad’s voice won out. “We’re just surprised, am I right, Grace?” When Mom nodded, he said, “Going to a conference doesn’t seem your style.”
I shrugged. “I met a couple of people in this chat room, and I figured I’d go to L.A. and check them out.”
Two sets of eyebrows hit the roof this time. “You’re not going to L.A. just to check some people out,” Dad said. A piece of firewood cracked, punctuating his words.
“I don’t want you running off to California to meet some people you met online,” Mom added.
“I’m not running off,” I said. “Quinn’s coming with me. She’s telling her parents right now. We’ve already registered.”
Disapproval hardened Mom’s face. “You should have talked to us first,” she said.
I didn’t respond to that. Instead I said, “Do you know that adoptees have more rights than donor children?” Mom squirmed. Dad looked at the floor. “There are thousands of donor offspring who will never know their biological fathers,” I continued. “It’s not fair. The people I want to meet are lobbying congressmen and senators. Speaking to the media. And they’re hosting a panel on offspring rights.”
“Are you thinking of getting involved?” Dad asked.
“Not exactly.” I wasn’t about to become the poster child for donor offspring. But I couldn’t sit this one out either. I had to figure out if I fit, and where. “What happened to me sucks. Nobody should have to go through it. And like Quinn said, the more people who join in the fight, the more likely it is the laws will change.”
My parents continued to stare at me. Their scrutiny made me uncomfortable.
“I mean, if someone had spoken up and fought to have the law changed twenty years ago, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in now,” I added hotly. My anger and resentment still simmered. It would probably take years to boil itself dry.
“I’ll be damned.” A slow grin crept over Dad’s face. “And here I thought the draw was Rodeo Drive.”
“Well, there is that. Like Quinn said, going to L.A. isn’t exactly a hardship.”
“I’m coming with you,” Mom said.
“We’ll all go,” Dad added.
“I don’t want a chaperone.” It was no big deal—I’d flown alone to Montana lots of times. After pointing that out, I said, “The airport shuttle goes right to the hotel, so you don’t have to worry about us getting lost or anything.”
“It’s not that.” Dad and Mom exchanged the look. All those years, and I hadn’t understood that the look had been about a shared secret—and shared guilt.
“We’ve hired a lawyer,” Mom explained. “If we go to the conference, we could meet others in the same position. They might have legal tips we can use in our fight with Dr. Anderose.”
I didn’t understand. “But the city lawyer called and struck out.”
“One phone call does not a lawsuit make,” Dad said.
I stared at him. “A lawsuit?”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “We’re taking Dr. Anderose and Cypress Hills to court. We’re going to fight for whatever information we can get on your biological father.”
“Which may not be much,” Mom cautioned, “but we’re going to try.”
I was in the middle of another before and after moment. A minute earlier, I had figured all my parents cared about was fighting Dad’s Huntington’s. Now I knew that wasn’t true. A grin split my face. “You’d really do that for me?”
“Of course we would,” Mom said. Dad fidgeted in his chair. “We can’t take back what we did, but we can sure as hell try and make it right. I don’t know how many years I have before I’m—” He hesitated, and I caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Before I’m incapable of speaking out.” He stopped and took a breath. “But while I can, I’m going to speak out loud and long on your behalf.”
Dad faced the fight of his life, and instead of worrying about himself, he was thinking of me. My throat closed. How had I ever doubted that he was my dad?
“So how about it?” Mom asked gently. “How about we come with you?”
She was asking, not insisting. And she wasn’t forbidding me to go, either, which, technically, she could do because, let’s be honest, getting over the border is no cakewalk since 9/11. If we went alone, Quinn and I would need parental permission slips. But something else occurred to me in those seconds while I considered Mom’s request. Dad didn’t have a lot of years left to travel. Who knew how many years we’d have together, period? And, okay, so my parents weren’t perfect and they’d majorly screwed up not telling me about the donor thing. A part of me would never forgive them for that. I mean, they’d hidden it for sixteen years. It was too weird for words. But then I remembered Jason’s point: We’re all allowed our one bit of weirdness. I figured that included parents.
“Sure, come with us,” I said. “One thing, though. We need to talk about…uh…Rodeo Drive.”
Acknowledgments
I couldn’t have written this novel without help. To Shirley and Olivia Pratten, Bill Cordray, Sophie Surowy and Kirsten Sudbury, deepest thanks for opening your hearts and sharing your stories.
Many thanks to Deborah Hodge for putting me in touch with Kirsten and for offering encouragement when I needed it; to Bonnie Spidle for her wit, wisdom and wicked red pencil; and to the ladies of the Red Door for keeping me semi-sane.
Heartfelt appreciation to the folks at HarperCollins, especially to editor Lynne Missen, whose thoughtful comments and suggestions made me stretch.
Finally, a very special thank-you to Robyn Shields, Shona Macdonald and my daughter, Tlell Nazarko, who read one chapter and demanded I keep going. Your encouragement, insights and, yes, even those wisecracks, fuelled my muse.
Copyright
Finding Cassidy
Copyright © 2006 by Laura Langston.
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EPub Edition © JUNE 2010 ISBN: 978-1-443-40330-6
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This mass market edition: 2008.
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Langston, Laura, 1958-
Finding Cassidy / Laur
a Langston.
I. Title.
PS8573.A5832F55 2008 jC813’.54 C2007-906567-8
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