I pressed my lips together. Brandi was right. But I still felt betrayed she hadn’t taken my side. “At least you could’ve defended me on the whole moving out issue.”
Brandi tossed her hair away from her face. “Martha’s a loser. Don’t let her get to you.” She went into the kitchen. As I heard her greet Elena, someone knocked on the door.
I froze. David.
God, Kit. I forced myself to take a deep breath, my chest aching. You’re getting way too paranoid. Besides, it’s not like I’m alone here.
Knock, knock, knock. I dragged myself to my feet and to the door, more apprehensive with every step. Peering through the peephole, I saw Tommy.
Oh no. I looked like shit. Although I had taken a shower this morning, my hair was probably flat after sleeping on it all day. Not to mention the sloppy sweats and no makeup. Maybe I should go try to make myself more presentable first. No, I couldn’t leave Tommy out in the cold waiting for me. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me looking rumpled before. Of course, those were under more enjoyable circumstances. Christ, Kit, let’s not forget we aren’t dating anymore. I opened the door.
“So, you are home,” Tommy said.
I ran my hand self-consciously through my hair. “Yeah, thought I’d play hooky today. Come on up.”
“Anything new?” he asked as we reached the living room.
“Yeah, I got a couple of emails,” I started to say as Elena and Brandi came in. While they greeted Tommy, I disappeared into the kitchen for a glass of water.
“Kit’s had some emails,” Tommy was saying as I reappeared.
“Emails?” Brandi raised her eyebrows at me.
“Yeah. This whole thing has now followed me into cyberspace.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Brandi said. “The worst an email can do is lock up your computer.”
“Yeah, and with my luck it would happen between the time I finished a paper and before I saved it.”
“Wait a minute,” Elena broke in, raising one of her hands. “Need some explanation here. Fill in, please.”
I hesitated, wondering where to even start. So much had happened. It was hard to believe not even two weeks had gone by since the Halloween party.
“You might as well start at the beginning,” Tommy said. “Maybe she’ll have some ideas.”
He had a point. Among the three of us, we muddled through the story. I also brought out my paper trail folder for inspection.
“This is unreal.” Elena shook her head as she flipped through my printouts and letters spread out on the coffee table.
“He used a different email account until he knew I knew his real last name. Doesn’t that prove he lied to me?”
“Doesn’t prove a damn thing.” Brandi skimmed over the papers next to Elena.
I frowned. “All right. Let’s try this again. Do you guys now believe me?”
“I believe you,” Tommy said.
“It doesn’t matter if we believe you,” Elena said. “It’s what we can prove.”
I slumped. “Now you sound like the cops.”
“Talking and thinking like cops is what’s going to get you out of this,” Elena said, separating the papers. “Now, let me get this straight. You believe these are from David.”
I nodded.
“And these,” she waved her hand over the other pile, “you think are from this Cat person.”
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Elena studied the sheets. “Well, it seems to me this all somehow leads back to your sister’s kidnapping. What do you know about it?”
I shrugged. “You know as much as I do.”
Elena pursed her lips. “Who would know more? Your parents?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m not asking my parents about this.”
“Why not?”
I looked away. My mother’s face danced before my eyes. “Cat has been kidnapped.” Her fallen, dead expression, like collapsed bread dough. The realization the wrong daughter had been taken.
“I just can’t,” I said. “It’s not something we can talk about.”
Elena chewed on her bottom lip. “But, if it will help … ”
“What about the Internet?” Tommy interrupted. “Maybe we can find something there. Look through the newspapers or something.”
I shot Tommy a grateful look. “That’s a good idea.”
“I have a bigger screen,” Brandi offered, leading the way to her room. Elena and I sat on Brandi’s rose-colored bed while Tommy stood behind Brandi. The room smelled oddly of hairspray, perfume, nail polish remover and cat litterbox.
“’You must save the innocent, because by saving the innocent you save yourself,’” Elena read from the paper trail folder, then nudged me. “What do you think it means?”
I shrugged, picking at a dark green throw pillow. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“‘Two dangers for one new little girl,’” she mused. “But, what does it all mean?”
“Milwaukee Journal’s a bust,” Brandi said. “Only goes back couple of years.”
“What about the Riverview Times?” I asked.
Brandi tapped the keyboard. “One year.”
“What about missing children sites?” Tommy asked, hovering over Brandi’s shoulder.
“They’re not going to list children missing from the mid-eighties,” Brandi said. “Those sites weren’t online back then, and they wouldn’t waste their time putting those kids up when they have more than enough new ones. Besides, all those kids would be adults now.”
“Worth a shot, though. Don’t you think?”
Brandi turned back to the keyboard. “Whatever.” But as she predicted, the search yielded nothing.
“What about the police?” Elena said. “They must have a file.”
“That’s a great idea,” Tommy said. “You think they’d be online?”
“Not the case files,” Brandi said. “Especially not case files that old.”
“But you can do background checks online.”
“And who would we be doing a background check on?” Brandi asked. “Cat? She would’ve been seven at the time, and a victim. What exactly do you think we’d turn up?”
“Okay, okay. So, does that mean we’d have to go to Milwaukee?”
“Maybe,” Elena said. “But maybe they’d fax the file to us. I could at least call and find out which station handled the case to save us from running all over Milwaukee.”
“They’d tell you that information right over the phone?” Tommy asked.
“A second ago, you thought it’d be online. Now you’re questioning the dependability of the phone?” Brandi asked.
“They’d tell us if there was a file for sure,” Elena said. “Whether they’ll give me much more information, I don’t know. So yeah. We might actually have to go down there in person.”
“Cool. Road trip,” Tommy said.
“You don’t mind calling?” I asked Elena, wondering if I should be the one doing it.
“Naw. I used to do that when I worked at my father’s law practice over the summers. I’m experienced.”
I smiled a little. “Thanks.”
She smiled back and patted my leg as Jezzy strolled into the room, taking a moment to check everyone out. Elena followed the cat’s movements with her eyes. “Jezzy’s still here? I can’t believe Martha hasn’t raised some serious cat objections by now.”
“I’m not sure Martha even knows the cat’s here,” I said.
Elena frowned a little. “Really? I thought she was allergic?”
“She’s allergic to roses,” Brandi said. “She’s made that extremely clear. As for cat allergies, I haven’t heard a peep.”
“Roses? Who’s allergic to roses?” Tommy asked.
“My thoughts
exactly,” Brandi said.
“Wait a second,” Elena interrupted. “You mean to tell me that Martha has lived here eight months and doesn’t know you have a cat?”
“There’s a lot of things Martha doesn’t know, but should,” I said. “For instance, she doesn’t know that since her name is not on the lease, she has no right to make demands.”
“Besides,” Brandi added. “The cat’s smart enough to stay out of her way. Something the humans living here haven’t figured out yet.”
Elena gazed at Brandi’s barricaded window. “Oh, Martha,” she said, shaking her head and sighing.
“Aren’t you going to tell us how sweet she is once you get to know her?” Brandi asked.
Elena made a face. “I gotta go. I’m really behind.” She stood, then smoothed out the silky bedspread. “Can I come back and make copies of all those? I want to think on it some more. Maybe come up with some other ways to get info.”
I nodded, standing up as well. “Be my guest. Thanks, Brandi.”
“Glad to be of service.” Brandi tapped some more on the keyboard as the three of us left the room.
Elena collected her books, put her coat on, then leaned over to give me a hug. “We’ll figure this out,” she said in my ear. “Don’t worry.”
I didn’t answer, just returned her hug.
“Get some rest.” She let go of me and turned to leave. Tommy walked her to the door and locked it behind her.
He didn’t come up immediately. Leaning his back against the door, his blond hair fell across his forehead as he turned his face toward me, his green eyes connecting with mine. “Can we talk, or are you tired?”
Uh-oh. This sounded serious. “No, we can talk if you want.”
He came up the stairs two at a time. I backed up to the couch – he settled for the chair.
My water still sat where I left it on the coffee table. I reached over to take it, more to give my hands something to do than because I was thirsty. “Well?”
Tommy studied his hands. “I’ve been doing some research. On Cystic Fibrosis.”
Oh no. I knew this discussion was coming, I just hadn’t expected it so soon, not with this nightmare whirling around me. I tried to read his expression, get some idea where he was heading, but couldn’t. “Yes?”
“I learned a lot of things, including that it is a pretty dreadful disease and it seems to be more of a ‘childhood killer.’” His voice broke off again.
“Yes, that’s true. So, what’s your point?”
He met my eyes. “It’s just … you seem pretty healthy. And you said you had a pretty mild case. With all the advances in treatment, you could be fine.”
I stared at him. “Tommy, I’m not fine. I have Cystic Fibrosis.”
“Yeah, I know that. But you could live a long time with it.”
I closed my eyes. If he only knew what exquisite torture he was putting me through. “Tommy, I’m not going to live a long time. That’s not open for discussion.”
“Why are you being so negative about this? Some of the information I found was very encouraging.”
“Encouraging, yes. Miracles, no.”
He gazed at the ceiling. “I don’t get you, Kit. It seems to me, with your level of health and the advances being made, there’s no reason why you couldn’t have a future. A long one.”
Oh no. Serious denial issues here. Translation: there’s no reason why we can’t have a future. He just didn’t get it.
The summer before my freshman year in college, my doctor handed me a diary written by a woman who had died of Cystic Fibrosis. I had no intention of reading it, but somehow found myself flipping through the book anyway. Morbid interest, probably. What I discovered horrified me. Died at forty-three. At thirty-three was on oxygen most of the day and night. Constant focus on treatments, coughing her way through her final ten years of life. Forty-three years old. A time when normal people were in the midst of careers and children. Did I mention she was divorced as well?
No, Tommy didn’t get it. I could see so clearly what he thought that it might as well have been written on his forehead. Maybe I would get a few more colds than normal. Maybe I would cough a bit more than normal. He had no idea what it would really be like. I had no idea what it would really be like. And, to be honest, there were times when I seriously wondered if I wanted to live long enough to find out.
Healthy people have no idea what horrors haunt the chronically sick person. Our disease follows us around like an uninvited, unwelcome, but very persistent companion – constantly leering over our shoulders, grinning, smelling of rotting meat and decaying teeth. We’re never sure when it will decide to come close, draping emaciated limbs over our shoulders, breathing stink and garbage into our lungs. We don’t know how long it will remain content simply hovering in the background, rattling chains of despair and depression.
Why would I ever want to introduce Tommy to this festering corpse nicknamed “CF”? Tommy deserved a healthy girlfriend – one who could bear his children and grow old with him. He hadn’t a clue what he was inviting into his life. What would happen after he made its acquaintance? Would he be able to deal with it? Or would he just leave? While I wouldn’t blame him for doing so, I knew I couldn’t handle it. It would break my heart. And that would probably kill me even faster than my unwanted companion would.
“Tommy, you’re living in a dream world,” I said. “There is no happily ever after here. I have Cystic Fibrosis. Get used to the idea and start looking for another girlfriend.”
He snapped his head up, anger sharpening his features. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m trying to be supportive here. Cut me some slack, why don’t you?”
“You’re not being supportive, you’re being foolish.” I banged my water glass on the table, amazed at the words gushing out of my mouth. I didn’t think I had been looking for a fight, but like hot oil, the anger just poured out of me. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with this thing. You, with your perfect life and golden future. You don’t need a girlfriend with the kind of baggage I drag around with me.”
He pounded his fist against the chair. “Who are you to tell me what I need or don’t need?”
“Tommy, get over yourself. The worst that’s ever happened to you is maybe your hair didn’t always look perfect.”
“Christ, where the hell is that coming from?” He was so furious he was actually shaking. “How arrogant can you be? You think that having Cystic Fibrosis gives you the right to judge other people’s problems? How dare you?”
I held my hands up. “What then? Tell me. What’s your skeleton? Your black secret? Do you even have one? I certainly wouldn’t know.”
“Just because secrets aren’t as obvious as diseases doesn’t mean other people don’t have them.”
“Well then, what is it? You know mine. What are yours? You cheated on an exam? Got drunk and drove home? Or maybe it was something more serious, like your sister got knocked up at sixteen?”
Tommy leaped to his feet, so fast the chair flew backwards and hit the wall. “That’s it. I don’t have to listen to this shit.”
I leaned back and waved my hands at him. “Can’t handle the truth, huh? Thought so. Just go.”
He stalked over, snatched up his books and jacket. “Kit, sometimes you can be a real bitch.”
“Don’t slam the door on your way out.” I called after him, as he pounded down the stairs and slammed the door shut.
Breathing heavily, I stayed where I was, trying to collect myself. I didn’t like what I had done, but I hadn’t seen any other way. I couldn’t get back together with him now, not when he had such denial issues. It wouldn’t be right for him or me. Besides, he would probably end up leaving me anyway, so might as well be sooner than later.
I heard Brandi’s door open and her soft footsteps on the carpet. “I see you and Tommy are ge
tting along splendidly.”
I sighed, rubbing my face. “You heard?”
“Not actual words, but tone of voice, yes.”
“It’s never going to work between us. I wish he’d get that through his thick skull.”
Brandi didn’t answer, just examined me with heavy-lidded eyes and crossed arms.
I stood up. “Well, he’ll figure it out soon enough. Right? I should go get some studying done.”
Brandi continued to stare, her expression unreadable. “Whatever.”
What the hell was up with her? Still on Tommy’s side no doubt, but there seemed to be something more. I decided not to pursue it. I had enough incomprehensible things happening in my life right now, I saw no need to add any new ones.
Chapter 23
Thursday didn’t start out particularly well. I discovered I had a paper due that day in my eighteenth century lit class that was worth one-third of my grade. A paper I hadn’t even started to write yet, because I hadn’t even finished reading the books for it.
Things went from bad to worse when I realized the professor was one who defined an “on-time” paper as one turned in at the beginning of class. Professors anal enough to do that tended not to be the most lenient on granting extensions, especially without an exceedingly good reason. I had yet to decide if I had one.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Flashing my most charming smile, I approached Professor Markham after class.
“Let me guess,” he said, before I could even open my mouth. “You weren’t able to finish your paper by today. Should I try to guess the reason now?”
Great. A sarcastic, anal professor. My luck just kept getting better and better. “It’s a pretty original excuse.”
Professor Markham’s expression stated he had heard them all before. “I’m waiting.”
For a moment I considered using Cystic Fibrosis as my excuse, something that had never occurred to me before. The thought horrified me. What had David turned me into? “I’m being stalked,” I said. “By another student. I’ve registered a complaint with the university if you need verification.”
The Stolen Twin Page 18
