“Did you sleep in that?”
“Obviously.”
Cecily sighed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I can be ready in five minutes. Where are we going?”
“Sara’s house.”
“What? You told her?”
“I had to tell someone. And she has that apartment over her garage, so it seemed perfect.”
Sara had always hated Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn confronted her about it once. Sara said she was “crazy.” But Kaitlyn wasn’t. She knew jealousy when she saw it. “What about just putting me up in a cheap hotel somewhere?”
Cecily crossed her arms. “But how would you eat? And what if someone was following me and saw you when I went to see you? That happens sometimes because of that stupid photograph. I assume you’ve seen it?”
Kaitlyn got out of bed. She felt rumpled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you that day. And very grateful you never made it to that meeting with Tom.”
“I can agree with the second part.”
Kaitlyn bit her lip. “Don’t worry—I’ll be gone for good in a few days.”
“Yeah, you will.”
INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
TJ: What happened next, Franny? When did you leave Madison?
FM: About six months after my parents died.
TJ: What then?
FM: I became a wanderer. After a while, I realized that what I was looking for was my mother. My real mother. Kaitlyn. The rest isn’t that much different from what I told you before.
TJ: Are you sure?
FM: Of course I am.
TJ: Sherrie said you weren’t adopted.
FM: She didn’t know.
TJ: How’s that possible?
FM: Our parents never told her. I asked them not to.
TJ: Why?
FM: Because I felt like enough of an outsider already. My sister would’ve used it against me every day if she knew the truth.
TJ: My investigator can’t find any record of your adoption.
FM: He must not be a very good investigator, then.
TJ: He’s the best.
FM: Clearly not. I was adopted, okay? And Kaitlyn was my mother. I can prove it.
TJ: How?
FM: Because our DNA matched. That’s how we knew the mug was Kaitlyn’s. That protocol I put in place, it requires a DNA match to qualify for compensation. And I qualified because we found that match using my DNA.
TJ: Can you show me the test results?
FM: They’re supposed to be confidential for Initiative use only.
TJ: But you can get them anyway, can’t you?
FM: Well, yes, probably. If Cecily agrees. If we both ask, we can probably get them to agree to release them to you.
TJ: Will you ask her?
FM: Maybe you should.
TJ: How come?
FM: Cecily’s not too happy with me right now because of Joshua. And also because of some other stuff I found out.
TJ: Such as?
FM: It’s private.
TJ: Have you spoken to Cecily recently?
FM: She’s called a bunch of times, but I was keeping clear of her for a bit, you know? Trying to give her a chance to calm down. Because I get it that it’s a bit surprising what’s going on. But Joshua was so kind to me through all this. We kind of healed each other. And now we’re going to be a real family, just like I always wanted.
37
MAYBE, MAYBE SOMEDAY
CECILY
I went to see the divorce lawyer in the weeks when Tom was living in the businessman’s hotel downtown. I wanted to know how it could go, what my rights were, how the money would be worked out. Sara suggested I go to a shark, a barracuda, one of the lawyers who sees your ex as so much chum in the water. She regretted she hadn’t done that, wishing she’d made Bill twist and turn legally, given how he’s treated her. But I knew myself. I didn’t have predator instincts. I didn’t want to see Tom twist and turn and have to twist and turn along with him. I didn’t want to go to court—the thought of it terrified me—and so I knew that if we did this, if I did this, and we were going to be over, officially, then it would have to be some kind of mediated solution.
Just sitting there in a lawyer’s office felt so alien to me, even though she handled the meeting with a practiced hand. She had a box of Kleenex ready and a yellow legal pad to fill up with my familiar story. How many variations of the same thing had she heard? Hundreds? A thousand? It was dizzying to think about. Tom and I weren’t just some statistic. We were each other’s history, a family, parents. Whatever she wrote down about us would never be the whole story, even if she could predict every detail. Was this how we were supposed to end? In court documents that would bear only our initials so they remained private? Our children referred to as C. and H.? Our furniture appraised and divided equally?
But what alternative did I have? Let Tom off the hook? Let him move back in and sleep next to him for the rest of my life knowing what I knew? Could I forgive him, did I even want to make the effort? What chance did we have when I couldn’t trust anything he said?
The questions in my head were louder than the answers the lawyer was providing to the ones I asked out loud.
I met Tom for lunch after the meeting. It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d left, the first time we’d spoken in person. When we’d made the appointment, I wasn’t even sure I could go through with it. Walking into the restaurant, I felt dizzy. Then I spotted Tom, and I relaxed. He was sitting near the window, a drink on the table, and he looked like shit. His face was puffy, and he needed a haircut. He’d put on weight, and the buttons on his shirt were straining a bit. It made him more approachable to see him so obviously miserable. I’d been imagining him reveling in his newfound freedom. Instead, it looked as if he’d spent the last two weeks drinking and stress eating.
He rose as I came to the table, then kissed me quickly on the cheek.
“Hi. You look great.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for meeting me.”
We sat down. A waiter came over with a glass of white
