“Sort of,” Graham hedged, risking a glance at his son before turning his full attention back to me. “There was an anomaly with your test. The results were so strange we ran them twice just to make sure.”
Even though I was no longer afraid of going to prison, something about his tone retightened my stomach. “Are you about to tell me I’m some horrible monster? Is that why I can do some of the things I do?” I tried to keep my voice light, but my heart was heavy.
“You’re not a monster,” Gunner shot back, shaking his head. “Don’t say things like that.”
“I agree with my son,” Graham volunteered. “That’s probably not the best thing to say. As for your question, you’re not a monster. At least none of the tests I saw indicate that. It’s something else.”
“She’s not sick, is she?” Gunner barked, his face going pale. “Do we need to get her in to a specialist or something?”
That thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “I don’t have any knowledge of my medical history so I never have anything to offer doctors when they ask. What do I have?” I was already resigned to some horrible fate. I’m a “glass half empty” sort of girl.
Graham made a face. “You’re not sick either. I’m just going to tell the two of you right now that you’re likely going to be the biggest downers at any party if you continuously jump to negative conclusions like this.”
Well, that was a relief. Still, Graham was on edge. It had to be something we’d yet to consider. “So ... what’s the problem?”
“We ran the test twice,” he repeated. “We needed to be sure. The thing is, there’s no doubt. I’m just going to lay it out for you because I don’t know what else to do.”
I mutely nodded.
“We ran DNA during the tests and ... you and Fred are related.”
All the oxygen in my lungs kicked its way out of my windpipe. That was so not what I was expecting. “I don’t understand.” My voice was raspy when I found it. “How is that possible?”
“I’m not sure.” Graham’s eyes flooded with concern. “Are you going to pass out?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t pass out.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. “How were we related?”
“We think he was your uncle,” Graham replied. “How that’s possible or if it has anything to do with what happened to him, I can’t say. You were definitely related. The odds of you two not being from the same bloodline are about a million to one. I’m sorry ... or maybe I’m not. Maybe this is good news for you. Either way, I thought you should know.”
I had no idea what to make of it. My rolling stomach had a few complaints to lodge, though. “I think I’m going to be sick.” That’s all I could say. My mind wasn’t working otherwise.
Thirteen
Gunner must not have liked what he saw. He pushed his father out of the way and hurried to my side of the booth.
“Breathe,” he ordered, his tone no-nonsense.
That was easier said than done. I felt as if I was drowning inside my own head.
“Scout, put your head between your legs,” he ordered.
Because following his orders seemed better than suffocating, I moved to follow his instructions. Unfortunately, I forgot I was sitting at a table and almost thunked my head against the wooden surface.
“This way,” he instructed, shifting my body so I was facing away from the table. “Put your head between your knees.”
I lowered myself to what I felt was a ridiculous position, especially in public, but I was rewarded when the clanging in my ears ceased and I no longer felt as if I was going to lose the protein bar I’d scarfed down at Gunner’s house.
“That’s better,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”
I didn’t feel okay, more like an invader trapped in a different body, but I took his word for it.
“How is this possible?” Gunner asked. At first I thought he was talking to me, but then I realized he was directing the question at his father. “How could Fred be her uncle?”
“We’re not one-hundred percent sure he’s an uncle,” Graham cautioned. When I cocked my head so I could see his features, I didn’t miss the pity in his eyes. “He’s definitely got a family connection, though. It’s possible he was a cousin. But given his age, uncle seems more likely.”
“But how is it possible?” Gunner persisted. “She was abandoned twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-four,” I automatically corrected. “I’m not thirty yet.”
A hint of amusement flitted through his eyes. “Yes, because that’s the important thing right now.”
It was to me.
“Keep your head between your knees,” he demanded. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
“I already feel better.” That was the truth. And, because I felt a sea of eyes on me, I wanted to put an end to my public torment as soon as possible. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” His hand felt heavy on my back. “Just sit there and be quiet for a minute. I’ve got this.”
I wanted to argue the point — or maybe pinch him for being such a bossy pain — but I couldn’t muster the energy. “We’re going to talk about this later,” I muttered.
“I’m looking forward to it.” He turned his attention back to his father. “What do we know about Fred’s background?”
“Not much.” Graham scratched his cheek. “I asked myself that after the test results came in. While they were running them a second time, I did some research.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to tell you. Fred showed up in town about fifteen years ago. At least that was the first record of him in our system. He was found sleeping on a bench. That was back when Ben Carson was on the force. Ben tried to move him into a shelter, that one over in Gaylord, but Fred refused. He said he was perfectly fine and not breaking any laws. That was technically true, so there was nothing we could do.”
“I’m trying to remember if I had any run-ins with him,” Gunner said, his hand rubbing my back. “I can only remember talking to him once or twice. I offered him money once and he turned me down.”
“He wasn’t panhandling,” Graham volunteered. “At least ... not that I ever saw. I never heard reports from locals or tourists that he was begging.”
“And yet he was homeless,” I pointed out. “He stole from my wallet the other night.”
“And then he was killed for it,” Graham noted. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I wish I did. I simply don’t. I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t the only one. I’d never said one word to the man. He died with my name burned into his body and he’d been related to me. I was simply flummoxed. “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I said finally.
“You need fuel,” Gunner countered. “You should eat.”
That wasn’t going to happen. “I want to go home.”
He tilted my chin so he could stare into my eyes for a long beat and then nodded. “Okay. We’ll go home. Just give me a few minutes to get takeout — no matter what you say, you need the food — and we’ll head out.”
I nodded because it was expected and then slowly raised my eyes to Graham. He looked lost ... and sad.
“I’m really sorry,” he offered lamely. “I didn’t want to upset you. That’s the last thing I wanted. When I got the blood results clearing you, I thought you would want to know. As for the rest ... I couldn’t very well keep it from you.”
No, that would’ve been worse. “I’m usually not like this,” I offered ruefully. “I’m generally much better under pressure.”
“Kid, no one can be good under this sort of pressure. I’ll keep searching, see if I can come up with something on Fred’s background that will be of help. For now, all I can think is that I offered you information that’s impossible to follow-up on. Given what you’ve been through, that’s crueler than anything.”
“I survived it and I’m fine. I just ... you caught me off guard.”
“I did more than that, and I�
�m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I expect my son and I are going to get into it over my bedside manner before the end of the day. That might make you feel better.”
It didn’t. “I’ll be fine. It was a shock, but ... I’m fine.” I kept repeating the word even though it was losing all meaning. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
I wanted that to be true more than I felt it was. This was turning into a long, strange day.
GUNNER ATE HIS LUNCH AT my kitchen table as I made a big show of cleaning the cabin. It wasn’t dirty — well, other than the toilet paper Merlin insisted on decorating the space with on a daily basis — but I needed something to do with my hands.
“Eat your breakfast,” Gunner pleaded. “You can’t go without food.”
I’d been through terrible things and never found food to be the answer. I envied the people who could find comfort in chocolate. Sure, I loved candy as much as the next person, but there was no solace to be found inside a Twix wrapper other than satisfying a sweet tooth.
“Stop worrying about me,” I shot back. “I’m perfectly fine. You don’t have to sit there and ... fret.”
Despite the serious nature of the situation, he smiled. “Fret? That’s a fascinating word.”
“It’s the one that best fits our situation.” I adjusted my tone so I came off less gruff. “I’m okay,” I reassured him. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“We both know that’s not true. You’re reeling. Anybody would be in your position. I want to help you.”
How could I tell him that his presence made things worse without hurting his feelings? All the questions I felt silently rolling off him were the same ones taking up lodging in the pit of my stomach. I could not worry about his feelings when I was caught on a roller coaster to nowhere thanks to mine.
“I’m fine.” Repeating the same words over and over wasn’t going to make things better, but they were all I had.
“Scout ... .” Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. We exchanged a look. Who was visiting? The only one who stopped at the cabin with any regular frequency was him. “I’ll get it.”
He abandoned his lunch and hopped to his feet, a muscle working in his jaw. He looked ready for a fight.
On a normal day I would’ve argued about who should get the door, but I didn’t have it in me. I remained rooted to my spot as he strode to the front door. When it opened, I was relieved that nobody seemed to be speaking in raised voices. When he returned, he had Raisin with him. And, as usual, she was a ball of energy.
“I need help learning my lines for the play,” she announced.
I kept my face placid by sheer force of will alone. “And you expect us to help you with that?”
She shrugged. “I thought maybe it might be a good idea for all three of us to rehearse. There’s a kissing scene and I thought Gunner could play the love interest.” Her smile was so mischievous I couldn’t help relaxing a bit. Sure, it wasn’t much, but she always knew how to make me laugh.
“I’m not kissing you,” Gunner warned, ignoring the way she jutted out her lower lip. “Don’t even think about pressing the issue. It’s not going to happen.”
“Because you think Scout will be jealous and stomp me like a bug?”
That was such a teenager response. “Oh, I’ll definitely squash you like a bug,” I teased. “I won’t even feel sorry when I’m finished.”
Raisin offered up an exaggerated eye roll. “You’re not nearly as mean as you pretend. You would at least feel bad afterward ... and maybe limp a little, too.”
A laugh escaped, unbidden, and when I shifted my eyes to Gunner I found him watching me with unveiled interest. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m glad to see you smile. You can take your mind off ... things ... and delve deep into the world of high school theater. There’s no better way to spend an afternoon.”
I could think of a few, but there was no way I would deny Raisin. She rarely asked for anything and had been scarce since she saw me take on her father with a show of magic that would’ve rattled almost anyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want anything to happen to her father. He’d earned it as far as she was concerned. That didn’t mean she didn’t love him. It was an emotion she couldn’t exactly put behind her. I understood that better than she realized, but the unconscious step back she took was probably a good thing as she adjusted to her new living arrangements.
“See.” Raisin graced me with a cheesy smile. “You should help me. It will do you good.”
“What about you?” I asked Gunner. “What are you going to do?”
“I have a few errands to run,” he replied coyly, averting his gaze. “Don’t worry. I won’t go far.”
I wasn’t worried about that in the least and I knew without asking what errands he planned to run. “Don’t attack your father,” I warned. “It’s not his fault.”
“You let me worry about my father. You worry about Raisin. We’ll split the worrying for the day. How does that sound?”
It sounded like something I should be worried about. It wasn’t as if I had a choice in the matter, though. He was going to do what he was going to do. “Just don’t get thrown in jail. I have to pay for Fred’s headstone. I’m not sure I have enough to bail you out on top of that.”
“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
RAISIN’S MODIFIED VERSION OF Little Red Riding Hood was an interesting read. It had been modernized into what felt like a sleek horror movie, a cautionary tale for young girls about the dangers of trusting a bad boy.
“I don’t really like this story,” I announced an hour into the ordeal. “It’s kind of judg-y.”
Raisin, the dramatic sort at heart, had been pacing and wildly gesticulating as she delivered some of the most ridiculous lines I’d ever heard. She stopped in her tracks and glared. “What don’t you like? It’s an absolutely fabulous play in which I get to be the badass and take out the wolf at the end. What could be better than that?”
“Yeah, but ... read between the lines. Basically the script is saying that Little Red Riding Hood would’ve been fine if she’d dressed like a prim young lady and not crossed to the wrong side of the tracks.”
“It’s not saying that.”
“It most certainly is.”
“It is not.” Raisin grabbed my copy of the script and started tearing through it. “Show me where it says that.”
I wasn’t about to be deterred. “Right here.” I took the booklet from her and started reading. “What big eyes you have. The better to see you, which wasn’t hard to do given what you were wearing. Seriously, this is like a ‘how-to’ manual on victim blaming.”
Raisin furrowed her brow. “I ... .” She looked distinctly unhappy, which made me regret opening my big mouth. She’d been beyond thrilled before I turned into a moron.
“You’re going to be great,” I reassured her. “We’ll simply tweak your performance so it doesn’t matter. You’re going to bring down the house on opening night.”
“Do you really think so?” Raisin’s eyes were plaintive when they locked with mine. “I’m afraid I’ll screw everything up. My grandmother says I’m being stupid — that I was born to be the center of attention — but now that I’ve got the part I’m not sure I want to keep it.”
I understood what she wasn’t saying. “You want to run.”
“I ... maybe.” She was sheepish. “Would that be so wrong?”
I was the wrong person to tackle that question. “I don’t know,” I hedged. “In general, I think running is a terrible idea.”
“I heard Gunner talking to Rooster the other day. Rooster was teasing him about dating you and Gunner said he was afraid you were going to run. You’re not, are you?”
“No.” The answer came more easily than I thought. “I mean ... no. I have no intention of leaving right now.”
Raisin looked relieved by my answer. “That’s good. I think you should stay. I mean ... Gunner would really
miss you if you left.”
I didn’t think Gunner was the only one who would miss me. “I’m not leaving,” I reassured her. “I’m happy here.” Obviously there were important answers to be found here, too — even if they were going to be difficult to dig out — so I couldn’t leave. Things had drastically changed, in more ways than one, and leaving Hawthorne Hollow was out of the question.
“You should be happy. You have Gunner. Although ... why were you guys talking about Chief Stratton? Did something happen? I know you were arrested for Fred’s murder, but I thought that was taken care of. You’re not still in trouble, are you?”
“I guess that depends on how you define the word trouble. If you’re asking if I’m still a suspect, I’m not. There are other things going on.”
“Like what?” The question was innocent, but the implications of answering were too great.
“It’s a long story.”
“Which means you don’t want to tell me.”
“Which means that I’m still figuring things out,” I clarified. “You don’t have to worry about me leaving ... and that’s not simply because of Gunner, which is obviously what you’re thinking. Believe it or not, I would miss you as much as him.”
She preened under the compliment. “I’m glad you’re staying, but you obviously have other things on your mind. You don’t really care about this play.”
That was true. The play was inconsequential. Raisin, however, was not. “I’m happy to help.”
“It’s okay.” Raisin plucked the script out of my hand. “You’re not into it right now. If you tell me what’s bothering you, I might be able to point you in the right direction. I’m not as dumb as the others think.”
“Nobody thinks you’re dumb,” I automatically shot back. “Stop saying things like that ... they’re not true. You’re a genius in the making.”
Raisin’s expression was exaggerated. “Okay, that was a bit much.”
No Crones About It Page 13
