by C. C. Bolick
“It wasn’t so difficult,” I said. Especially not with the lies my parents had told.
She looked me over carefully. “Do you still want to find Chase?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said and went back in the closet. “Dad had a great computer. Even though he swore to cut the cord if I contacted anyone in Credence, he never said I couldn’t email someone in New York.”
I laughed in a nervous burst.
“Seriously, I researched every alien sighting and supposed abduction case for the last year. I took notes.”
“You’ve never taken notes on anything.”
“I’ve got a box wrapped in a hundred feet of duct tape. It’s one of the few things I insisted on bringing back when we got the call about you.” She lowered her eyes. “I hid the box out back in the shed. Mom never goes in there because of all the dust. She always sends me or Pade.”
“Were there any more abductions?”
“None that seemed to fit Chase’s motive. Lauren insisted he went back home to stay, but I figured if they didn’t find the girl they’d keep looking. Don’t you think?”
Or maybe they had found her. “How much time do we have?”
“Mom wants to see us before we leave. She’ll be home from the hospital in twenty minutes, but if we hurry…”
“Then let’s go.”
The metal building sat at the back of their property along a fence with a wild cherry tree that made a screeching sound with every blast of steamy wind. We crossed the empty lawn, a layer of grass now evenly spread where a pool once sat.
Despite the heat, I pulled my jacket closer as I eyed a spider’s web in the window. “Aunt Charlie doesn’t clean out here?”
Bailey laughed and pointed at the spider. “Mom hates bugs. That’s why she always sends me or Pade.”
She held up the key ring, sliding a silver key into the lock at the door. Bailey turned the key, jiggling it before the lock gave way. She grunted as she shoved, but the door didn’t budge.
I leaned my shoulder against the door and between the two of us it gave way. Coughing, I waved the cloud of dust that exploded in my face.
“See why Mom would never find the box in here?”
My eyes adjusted to the darkness as we stepped into the shed. I scanned row after row of boxes piled up to the ceiling. Some plastic totes were marked with tape, some boxes had writing like ‘Christmas’ on the side. All seemed perfectly normal covered with their own layer of dust, until one box on the top shelf caught my eye.
The box was blue, or was it black? I squinted, wishing the window allowed more than the tiny beam of light. It looked like a shoe box, stacked on top of two others. It was definitely blue. No, it couldn’t be. And yet, I moved closer until the rubber band came into focus.
Bailey was talking about Lauren again. She’d lifted a box covered with tape. I climbed onto a plastic tote and reached for the shelf, praying the tote would hold my weight.
“What are you doing?” a voice asked.
I spun, nearly falling from the tote, as Pade grabbed my arms and steadied me. “Nothing,” I said.
Pade grinned. “You were reaching for something.” He looked up. “That box maybe?”
“No,” I said.
“Looks like a shoe box, but I don’t remember what’s in it.”
My past, I thought, realizing this might be my only chance. It had to be the box Mom showed me last fall, with all of the newspaper clippings and my adoption papers. It even had the rubber band she’d wrapped around it.
Laughing, Pade climbed up and grabbed the box. “Got it,” he said, breaking the rubber with a single tug.
“No,” I screamed.
He stopped laughing to stare at me. The box slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor at my feet. The top split from the box, spilling the articles and yellowed documents across the floor.
Bailey reached down and grabbed a newspaper clipping.
“Give me that,” I said, reaching for page, but she spun toward the window.
“Wow, who is this girl gripping her teddy bear like the end of the world is coming?” Her smile faded. “Oh my god, her name is Jessica. Is this you?” she asked as Pade ripped the page from her hand.
Could I lie? Was there any point? “Yes,” I said, on the brink of tears.
Pade scanned the article. “This is from a paper in New York City. This Jessica was kidnapped.” He looked me over critically. “How can you be her?”
I dropped to my knees and gathered all of the papers into a stack. “I came from New York. That’s where Dad found me—on a highway at midnight. He nearly ran me over with that old Ford we used to have.”
Pade crossed his arms. “What were you doing on a highway at night?”
“No one knows for sure, but they think I ran away.”
“You don’t remember?” Bailey asked, her eyes wide.
“Not really,” I lied. In truth, I still couldn’t remember how I ended up on that road, staring into Dad’s headlights. “It was so long ago.”
“But I thought you came from Canton,” she said. “We talked about this…”
I looked up at Bailey. “They made me lie all these years. No one could know about me or the reporters would come after us again.”
“Again?” Pade didn’t seem convinced. “What happened to your real parents?”
“No one has seen them since the night I was found. Turns out they weren’t really so desperate to find me after all.”
“Shit,” Bailey said. “They just left you? That’s super messed up.” She looked to Pade. “Makes you think Dad’s not so bad.”
Pade was still staring at me. “You’ve kept this secret all these years?”
“Dad made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“Crap,” Bailey said, looking out the tiny window. “Mom’s home.” She spun around. “We’ll have to talk about this later.”
Taking the box from my shaking hands, Pade helped me force all of the papers inside and close the lid. “Should I put it back?”
I didn’t want to let the box out of my sight, but with Pade watching so closely, I nodded. “For now.”
* * * * *
Bailey dusted off her arms as she stepped into the kitchen. Aunt Charlie stood near the fridge, reaching for the coffee pot.
“Give me ten minutes to change,” Bailey said, running past her mom for the stairs.
“Bailey Sanders,” Aunt Charlie said, “you get rid of those nasty clothes this instant.”
Bailey laughed as she reached the top.
Something had been bugging me ever since Chase left. I crossed the floor and stood at Aunt Charlie’s side. “Why don’t you have any pictures on the wall?”
“Excuse me?” she asked, nearly dropping the coffee.
I reached out to steady her. “Most people hang pictures. Why are we different?”
She poured coffee into a white cup trimmed with flowers, leaving a full inch for creamer. “I notice you said ‘we.’ What makes you think we’re different?”
“Angel and Rachelle—their walls are full of pictures.”
“Have you asked your mom about this?”
“Mom would never understand. She acts like moving thirty times and never talking about the past is normal.”
She seemed to consider. “Lorraine probably understands what you’ve gone through better than anyone.”
“Why don’t you have pictures of your mom and dad?”
“Daddy used to keep pictures of us all, but everything we had burned up in a fire.”
“At the old blue house?” I asked.
Aunt Charlie smiled weakly and waved me into the living room, to the overstuffed leather couch. She sat down next to a table where she placed the cup and patted the spot beside her. “We had another house, before the one at the lake.”
Another house? “Mom hasn’t said anything about another house.”
“She was younger then. We don’t talk about that house because of the fire.
”
I laughed bitterly as I took the seat next to her. “Mom definitely never mentioned a fire.”
“Jes, you’re not the only one with a traumatic past. Lorraine had a twin sister. There were three of us.”
My mouth gaped open. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you, but only because your mom hasn’t been able to. I want you to understand it’s not that she’s been purposely hiding her past from you—she just doesn’t want to remember it.”
Mom hide her past? My blue box, my entire past, was tucked away on a forgotten shelf in Aunt Charlie’s shed. “Do you know about New York?” I asked carefully.
Aunt Charlie reached for the coffee, bringing it to her lips, and closed her eyes. “Three little girls. Charlene, Lorraine, and Darla.”
We sat in silence while she took a long sip, as if the cup was really a bottle of cough syrup she couldn’t force down. The cup was half-empty before she spoke again.
“I’m sure you’ve heard twins can run in a family. Twins ran on my mother’s side and even though the gene skipped me, Lorraine was born with a twin. She and Darla were identical.”
“Like Danny and Collin?” I asked.
She opened her eyes. “Like Danny and Collin. I was seven when the house burned. Lorraine and Darla were five.”
The same age as I was when Dad found me.
“There was a storm that night—electrical. Lightning hit the house and started the fire. Daddy pulled me out of bed while Momma went for Lorraine and Darla. I remember the smoke and waking up in a coughing fit. Daddy threw me on the ground and went back in. By the time I could catch my breath, he and Momma pushed through the door with Lorraine and Darla. Lorraine was burned, but you can barely see the scars now. Darla was burned over sixty percent of her body. Lorraine made it through, but Darla died a week later in the hospital.
“All the pictures were gone, but it was probably for the best. When Lorraine woke up, she cried for Darla. For weeks, she wouldn’t speak to anyone. I tried to reach her, anything to ease the pain, but Momma said I couldn’t understand the loss she felt. I never had a twin.”
Aunt Charlie took my hand. “Months later, Daddy took a picture of me and Lorraine and framed it over the fireplace in the blue house. The next morning, the frame was shattered. Momma cleaned it up and told Daddy not to take any more. No one ever said anything else about pictures to Lorraine.”
I thought of the phone I’d broken and how Mom never mentioned it to me. “Did she talk to you about the picture?”
“Years later, but Lorraine and I have never been close. Not like she was with Darla. We’ve gone months and even years without talking. I didn’t know about Justin’s sickness until a few months before you moved here. Otherwise, I would’ve been at the hospital, holding her hand through every treatment, and not just the last few.”
“You went to see her in Atlanta?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the stairs. Bailey would be coming down any minute.
“I’d do anything for my sister,” Aunt Charlie said. “She’s the main reason I never moved to Colorado. I always knew she’d come back here.”
And after all the years, we had. “She always talked about Credence like she’d never want to live anywhere else. But then we moved all over the country.”
“Lorraine had her reasons.” Aunt Charlie put an arm around me and hugged me close. “And yes, I know all about New York.”
* * * * *
“So,” Pade said, “all this time you were adopted in New York? You guys never even lived in Canton?”
I’d spent the last fifteen minutes telling the whole story. I didn’t want to go over it again. I turned around to look at Bailey. “It’s how I knew for sure I wasn’t from Chase’s planet.”
She shook her head, maybe even sighed in relief. “I can’t believe Aunt Rainey and Uncle Justin have lied all these years. And they made you lie?”
“Yeah.”
Pade slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “Our family is so messed up.” He turned to me. “You really liked Chase, didn’t you?”
My blood ran cold. “What are you asking?”
“We all knew you connected with him. You had something special, admit it.”
Bailey punched the back of his seat. “Shut up, Pade!”
He turned down the radio.
“It isn’t what you think,” I whispered.
Pade laughed, a sound that irritated me. “Give me one good reason why it isn’t.”
Chase is my brother. “He was my friend. That’s all,” I added, unable to keep the sorrow from my voice.
“Okay then,” Pade said, maneuvering the jeep into the parking lot as the restaurant came into sight. “Let’s talk about lunch. You know this isn’t going to be good.”
“Make Terrance understand,” Bailey said.
Pade snickered. “Terrance doesn’t forgive or forget.”
I stared through the tinted glass at my side, which made the clouds seem darker than normal. The threat of rain felt ominous after the tone of Pade’s voice. Terrance would forgive and forget. He must. They’d been friends since first grade.
The jeep slowed as we approached a couple of speed bumps, but not enough to keep me from bouncing in the seat.
Bailey hit his seat again. “Jeez, Pade, kill us all now.”
He pulled into an empty spot and turned off the jeep. Pade leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. For a moment, no one said a word. The radio continued with a sad country song, too low to make out the words.
I thought of a time when I would have been thrilled to ride in a camouflage jeep, especially one with less than five thousand miles and matching seats. Not seat covers, real stitched camouflage with the power to heat and cool. The chrome that traced the radio seemed to glow from the blue lights.
Pade reached for his door. “Maybe if the jeep tears up, Dad will get the idea.”
Bailey climbed out behind him. “At least for now we have a ride.”
“She’s right,” I said. “This jeep is way better than my ride.”
Pade nodded and squeezed my hand. “Thanks.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For being you,” he said and laughed. “Do you consider this a date?”
His words stunned me, but I said the first answer that came to mind. “Yes.” For the first time in weeks, a weight lifted and I laughed with him. I reached for the door.
“Wait.” He circled the jeep and stopped at my side, opening the door. “Since this is really a date, I want it to be right.”
“How cute,” Bailey said. Her words held sarcasm, but her eyes betrayed a happiness I hadn’t seen since before she left for Colorado. “If you two are good, I’m going to meet Rachelle.”
“Sure,” Pade said. His grin faded as he looked toward the Italian restaurant.
Low, romantic music played as we stepped into the dark room. A silver-haired woman in a long dress smiled from behind a podium. “How many?”
I glanced around at the empty tables. Pade opened his mouth, but no words emerged.
“We’re meeting someone,” I said.
“Party of four?” she asked. When we both nodded, the woman led us to a table in the back of the restaurant.
Mia looked up and waved us over. Terrance glared at the menu, silent as Pade pulled out a chair for me.
“Thought you might have forgotten,” Mia said.
“Or went back to Colorado,” Terrance added.
Pade sat down. “I deserved that.”
“Man, you have no idea.” Terrance slammed the menu on the table. “Six months without a ‘hey, what’s up.’ You can’t tell me your dad kept you from calling.”
Tell him the truth, I thought.
“I heard you came to Credence in July,” Terrance said. “Why didn’t you call?”
Pade glanced at Mia but didn’t look at me. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, lie some more,” Terrance said, his wo
rds blazing. “What’s the point of telling the truth now?”
“You’re my friend,” Pade said, softly. “I never meant to abandon you. How can I make this up?”
Terrance looked at the table. “Coach says he had you a jersey made, just in case you change your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Credence needs you. All the guys need you. Your arm, man—you throw better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Pade’s voice was controlled. “I’m not playing this year.”
“Why the hell not?” Terrance yelled, jumping to his feet.
Mia grabbed Terrance’s arm and pulled him back into the seat. “People are staring.”
“What people?” he snarled, sweeping his hand around the room. “This place is like the stadium will be, after we lose every game.”
“Please,” Mia begged, “can’t we just eat?”
A waitress appeared and I let out a nervous sigh. Her apron had a button with a yellow smiley face. How appropriate.
“What you guys want to drink?” she asked.
“Whatever,” Terrance mumbled.
“Tea,” Mia said, “with lots of sugar.”
“How about the ‘Long Island’ kind?” Terrance asked.
The waitress grinned. “Yeah, right.”
As she walked away, Terrance stood, brushing away Mia’s arm. “I need a few minutes.”
Pade watched as he headed for the front door.
“Tell him,” Mia hissed.
“What?” Pade asked.
“Whatever it takes to make this right.”
“I don’t know if anything can make this right.”
Mia looked at me. “Did you forgive the disappearing act?”
I looked at Pade. His eyes questioned mine, as if he honestly wasn’t sure. “Yes.”
“Okay.” She reached for Pade’s hand. “If Jes can forgive you for leaving, why can’t Terrance?”
Pade put his hands in his lap. “It wasn’t just that I left.”
“I know,” Mia said. “He wants you to play football. No, he needs you to play football.”
“Terrance is great on his own.”
“You don’t get it. Terrance doesn’t have what you have. He doesn’t have a gift for throwing the ball, and he doesn’t have a dad who’s loaded.”
