Test (A Gentry Generations Story)

by Cora Brent

  He removed the glasses he now wore for reading. “Did you bring Thomas home?”

  “Yup, I think he’s unpacking. Kel had some studying to do.” I took a seat on my old bed and set the sodas down. “You got a minute, Dad?”

  “Of course.” He instantly swiveled around to give me his undivided attention.

  There was no point in beating around the bush. “I got wasted on Friday night.”

  My father tried to hide his distress but I could see the flash of hurt in his eyes. “I see.”

  I felt like I owed him a little more information. “We were taking Paige out for her birthday. I stopped by the bar at the restaurant, swallowed a bunch of shots, made my girlfriend cry, puked all over Tempe Park and forced my brothers to carry me home.”

  My dad didn’t look shocked. Pained, yes. But not shocked.

  “The thing is, I have every reason in the world not to drink,” I said. “It just gets the better of me sometimes. I’m really sorry. I know that I’ve already disappointed you again and again. I know I can’t keep doing this.”

  My dad shifted in his chair. He seemed to be weighing his words. “Derek, some people are born predisposed to addiction. You already know you’re one of them. It comes from me, from my side of the family. Alcoholics, addicts, whatever you want to call us, it’s a long and terribly tragic line. And I’m sorry that was the legacy passed on to you.”

  “But you beat your addiction,” I pointed out. “Back when you were my age and were addicted to painkillers you made up your mind to kick the habit and you did it, just like that.”

  He was thoughtful. “I don’t look at it that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I don’t take anything for granted. I don’t think of staying clean as a permanent reality. I stay vigilant and I expect I’ll have to stay vigilant forever.” He leaned forward and gazed at me intently. “Because I understand how easy it is to fall down that hole. And because there’s no guarantee that you’re going to be able to get out again once you’ve fallen.”

  “I’ve fallen,” I whispered, remembering a nearby cemetery where a man was laid to rest before his time, thinking of Paige’s tears, of Kellan’s misery, of all the things I’d already done that couldn’t be undone.

  My father didn’t disagree. “Yes, you have. And I’d give anything to take that burden from your shoulders but it doesn’t work that way.”

  “It’s got to end, Dad. I don’t want to put you and Mom through this ever again. Or Kellan and Thomas. I don’t want Paige to constantly worry about when I’m going to slide backwards.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to do this to myself either. I want to be the kind of son and brother and friend that I should be. And I also want to have a good life.”

  He was satisfied. “That’s the right attitude. Because it won’t work if you only want it for other people. You’ve got to want it for yourself.”

  “I do.”

  “Have you had a drink today?”

  “No sir.”

  He reached over for a can of soda and cracked it open, raising it in the air. “Shall we toast to day one of sobriety?”

  I opened the second can and raised it high as well. “It’s actually day two.”

  He smiled. “Then let’s just say here’s to the beginning.”

  My dad set down the student papers that had defiled the history of Abe Lincoln and asked me to join him outside. The weather was beautiful today. We were in the middle of the brief temperate spring season before the desert temperatures skyrocketed, giving way to infinite summer.

  We took seats on the worn out old backyard patio chairs with our soda cans in hand and talked about people. My stubborn cousin Cadence was still determined to go marching down to struggling Emblem with her teaching certificate in hand, determined to make a difference. The only view I’d ever had of Emblem was from a prison rec yard and I had no plans to see it again but if anyone could bulldoze a path to success it was Cadence. Thomas joined us and then my mother appeared with two bags of chips and some nosy questions about my love life. Thomas smirked at me but I managed to deflect for now. At least three times I checked my phone to see if Paige had called but the only call was from a guy named Harry who wanted to sell me a timeshare in Sedona.

  I stuck around for a few hours, just enjoying being with my folks. When I finally announced my departure my dad grabbed me up in a hug and whispered, “The beginning,” the same words he’d toasted in my direction earlier. I appreciated the support but I also know this needed to be the last time I was starting over.

  “The last one,” I said and I meant it. If I had to sit through six meetings a week, check in with Emily every day and frame my goddamn sobriety chips on the wall for encouragement then I was ready to do all of that and more.

  I was halfway back to my apartment when the text from Paige came.

  I’m ready to talk. Miss you.

  Without thinking twice I changed course. There was no need to text back. I’d be at her house in a few minutes.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Paige

  Dana Despain was different than I expected. She had a youthful voice so I’d pictured her as being about Cami’s age but she was closer to Uncle Ryan’s with short black hair, smooth olive skin and a warm smile that invited confidence.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, settling back down at the table in the airy Scottsdale café.

  Dana began by telling us a bit more about the project she’d been working on. For the last two years she’d been compiling data for a book on unidentified victims in Los Angeles over the last two decades. Her goal was to cast some light on the fact that victims who were known sex workers and drug users often did not receive the same attention as other victims even though they were statistically far more likely to suffer violence.

  Dana delivered her summary in a concise fashion yet I still felt like squirming in my seat as I waited to hear about the possible link to my mother. A waiter placed a basket of sourdough bread in the center of the table and I broke off bits from a slice before popping them into my mouth one at a time.

  After Dana finished explaining her project to us she became rather grave. I understood why. There was probably nothing fun about talking to families who were trying to find out if a loved one had met a terrible fate.

  “When I realized the similarities between your mother’s description and the case of a woman named Sara whose body had been discovered in a motel thirteen years ago I reached out again to some of my department contacts. Luckily the detective who now oversees cold cases is a lot more receptive to outside help these days. He was able to dig up some of the police files that had been misplaced before.”

  Dana reached down and picked up a brown leather computer bag that appeared to be packed with papers instead of a laptop. She found the manila folder she wanted and gave us something of an apologetic look before setting it on the table.

  Uncle Ryan had said very little since sitting down. “That’s her file?”

  “It’s a file,” Dana confirmed. “All we have right now is a woman whose body was found in a downtown motel that was known to be a den of drug deals and prostitution.”

  I felt like I could hardly breathe.

  “There’s something I should tell you first,” Dana said and now she sounded even more reluctant. “The woman, Sara, had been dead for nearly a week when she was discovered. Her fingerprints didn’t show up in any law enforcement databases so she must never have been arrested before. The autopsy found a lethal combination of heroin mixed with a synthetic substance that had appeared in a number of fatal overdoses at the time. All that was known of Sara was her first name. No age, no place of origin. She’d stayed at the motel for a few months and the only person who might have had some additional knowledge of her background was the man who’d been paying for her room and bringing her clients.”

  Clients. The term
made it sound like people were looking to hire her as an interior decorator.

  “We found no trace of him though,” Dana explained. “He disappeared a few days before Sara’s body was found. But the synthetic substance found in Sara’s body meant her case wasn’t a simple overdose. It was a crime. Unfortunately after no leads were uncovered, the case eventually became cold and that’s where it remains today.” Dana gingerly opened the file and found the piece of paper she was looking for. “The body was already in a state of decomposition and there were no photos of her so the department sketch artist created a portrait of what she would have looked like when she was alive.”

  Her face was pained as she looked at each of us and then silently set a piece of paper down on the table.

  I gasped. My uncle buried his head in his hands.

  “It’s her,” I said, picking up the paper and feeling as if time itself was falling away and hurtling toward me simultaneously.

  “Paige, baby, wake up.”

  “Mommy.” I yawned and pulled the blanket back up to my chin. “I waited for you.”

  “You shouldn’t do that. This chair isn’t a good place to sleep.”

  I yawned again. “I’m so tired.”

  She sighed. “Let’s go, I’ll put you to bed.”

  She carried me upstairs even though she usually complained I was too heavy now to be picked up. She smelled like smoke and she set me down in my room, tucking my blankets around me in the way I liked.

  She was already getting up to leave and even though my eyes kept trying to close I grabbed her skirt.

  “Will you stay here and sleep next to me?”

  “No.” She pried my fingers from her skirt. “Just go to sleep on your own, Paige. I can’t stay.” I felt a kiss on my forehead and a moment later heard the soft whisper of a closing door.

  Uncle Ryan wasn’t crying but he wasn’t really okay either, his face still covered by his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at the piece of paper in front of us. Her expression was neutral in the artist’s rendering, her nose just a little off. But it was her.

  “Sara Louise Morrissey,” I said. “That’s her name. You said her body was found thirteen years ago?”

  “Yes. Thirteen years ago last month.”

  That meant she’d died less than a year after she left.

  “She would have been twenty nine,” Uncle Ryan said, finally taking his hand from his eyes. “She would have just had a birthday.”

  Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like an episode out of a crime show where dramatic music played in the background as the grim-faced actors confronted horrifying things.

  “Who’s responsible?” I asked. “You said there was a crime. So there must be someone somewhere who knows who the dealer was who gave her that garbage.”

  Dana shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. The dealer or dealers were never found.”

  There were no words to describe the grief. My heart was pounding and the pieces of bread I’d eaten were threatening to reappear any second.

  I’d wanted to know and now I knew. All this time, all these years of agonizing and waiting for the front door to open and wondering if maybe she’d just found a different life that didn’t include me. No, she’d been dead all along. She’d pushed the poison into her own veins, died alone in a filthy motel and was then confined to a grave without anyone to mourn her, without anyone who even knew her name.

  “Excuse me.” I practically fell out of my chair and blindly stumbled toward the bathroom.

  There were three stalls in the bathroom and I closed myself into the largest one, scuttling down low and close to the toilet like it was a security blanket. I pushed my hair back, leaned over the bowl and stared down at the stale, smelly water. But instead of gagging I plopped down on my rear end and cried, the sort of silent wracking sobs that were the most miserable kind of all.

  I must have been in there for quite a while. People came and went and eventually there was a soft knock on the other side of the stall.

  “Paige?” Dana Despain’s voice was kind and motherly. “Are you all right? Your uncle’s very worried about you.”

  I balled my hands into fists so hard my fingernails pierced my palms. “I’m fine.” That word, that fucking word again. Fine. Someone ought to outlaw it.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said, yanking on the toilet paper roll until I had enough to crush into a ball to wipe my face with.

  Dana Despain left and I waited a few more minutes before exiting the toilet stall. I paused by the sink and splashed some cold water on my face, knowing I probably still looked hideous and not caring even a little.

  So many years ago. I might have been sitting in my elementary school classroom while my mother was hundreds of miles away and selling her body so she could get her hands on the drugs that would kill her. So many years ago and yet it was as unbearable as if it had happened yesterday. I shuddered and mopped my skin with a paper towel.

  My uncle was having a conversation with Dana. He stopped talking and stood up when I approached.

  He looked more anxious than shocked now. “Paige, honey, are you okay?”

  I sat down, pushed my chair in and looked him in the eye. “No,” I said. “No, I’m not.”

  His face was so sad and he patted my hand before turning back to Dana. “I have a question. Why didn’t the police pay us a visit if they thought they might be able to identify an unknown victim?”

  Dana flashed me a look of sympathy before answering. “The detective I’ve been dealing with thought the chances were slim that the question of Sara’s identity would be solved. He had too many other cases to follow up on.”

  Uncle Ryan was angry now. “So they just stuck her in a folder and that was that?”

  Dana was apologetic. “Sometimes there just aren’t enough resources. Urban departments typically deal with so many fatalities in that population.”

  I spoke up. “You mean drug addicts and prostitutes?”

  She didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

  “So some people count and some people don’t?”

  Dana was at a loss. I didn’t mean to speak sharply to her. She was trying to help. Because of her work my mother had her name back. And we now knew the truth.

  “Where is she buried?” my uncle asked.

  “In a county cemetery.” She paused. “The police will want to test a DNA sample from an immediate family member.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” my uncle said quickly. “I’ll take care of everything. Paige shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

  I was about to say that I could manage to deal with whatever I had to deal with but Uncle Ryan’s worried face stopped me. He was trying to save me some grief, however small. He was trying to protect me.

  Nobody was hungry for lunch anymore. Uncle Ryan insisted on dropping some cash on the table and Dana gave us a copy of my mother’s file, which he tucked under his arm. She shook hands with each of us and apologized for bringing terrible news.

  “Terrible or not,” I said. “I’m glad we know. So I want to thank you for that.”

  Dana gave me a sad smile. “You take care of yourself, Paige. Reach out to me anytime.”

  Leaving the café and climbing into Uncle Ryan’s car was a relief.

  “Can you keep the file?” I asked him. “Someone should keep it but I don’t want to look at it.”

  He was eager to do anything I asked. “Of course.”

  There was nothing else to talk about right now. I settled into my seat and closed my eyes, lulled by the fast movement of the car on the freeway. I was nearly asleep by the time we stopped. When I opened my eyes I saw my house and I felt a little better.

  Uncle Ryan turned off the ignition.

  I swallowed and turned to him. “If you want to sell the house I understand. And it’s okay.”

  He was already shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to sell the house, Paige. I don’t need the money and it’s your home. In fact on Monday I’m
going to pay my lawyer a visit and see about signing over my share of the house to you. It’s yours.”

  My mouth fell open. “Seriously? Aunt Maddie will have an aneurysm.”

  He chuckled softly. “I’ll handle Aunt Maddie.”

  “Thank you,” I said, thinking that he couldn’t have given me a better gift.

  He peered over my shoulder at the sight of his parents’ dream home, a home people around here marveled at and named and wondered about.

  Uncle Ryan squinted. “You should think about cleaning the place out though, really making it your own. I can help with that. And Jonathon will be visiting this summer. He can help too.”

  In spite of everything, the thought of redecorating the house managed to be kind of pleasant. “That would be great.”

  He sighed. “I should get home and break all the news to your aunt.” He paused. “Why don’t you come too? I don’t like the idea of you being alone today.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t be alone. I’ll call my boyfriend.”

  “You have a boyfriend?” He was pleased. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. You’d like him. I think.”

  He laughed. “If you chose him then I’m sure I would. We’ll make plans to have you guys over for dinner sometime soon. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds good.” I opened the car door. “Give Aunt Maddie my love.”

  “Will do.”

  After I promised to call if I wanted to talk later I stood beside the curb and waved goodbye to my uncle. I really did want to talk. I just had someone else in mind.

  I turned and faced the Gingerbread House, drinking in the sight of every peak and gable and pastel scrollwork. Funny thing about houses. No one who doesn’t live there ever knows what really goes on inside, whether the stories the walls can tell would be happy or tragic. Maybe in most cases the stories would be a little bit of both.

  Before I went inside I texted Derek.

  I’m ready to talk. Miss you.

  I didn’t stand around staring at my phone until I heard from him. I knew he’d come.