Seventeen years ago, someone showed up on my doorstep with some news to tell me. He wasn’t a stranger. In fact, I’d known him since he was a teenager. He dated my eldest daughter for three years, and then he married her. He’s the unfortunate source of all the contention between your mothers: Samuel Cowles.
Samuel told me something your mothers didn’t want either of you to know. Something they never wanted me to know either. I won’t go into the whole story—I’ll leave that to my daughters—but I think it’s time you two know the secret. You’re not just cousins. You’re half sisters.
Samuel is your father too, Katherine.
I’m so sorry to tell you this in a letter, but you both deserve to know the truth. I hope you can lean on each other for support from here on out. After all, that’s exactly what sisters should do.
Love,
Grandpa
CHAPTER 23BECKA
MY MOUTH REFUSES TO CLOSE, AND MY BRAIN IS racing a million miles an hour. I reluctantly hand the letter over to K. J., who’s looking at me like I just sprouted antlers. It must be obvious from my expression that something’s wrong. And, oh yes, something is very wrong, indeed.
I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water over me. Still, I watch K. J.’s face as she skims over the letter, blanching when she gets to the end. Those words still burning in my brain.
Half sisters.
It’s impossible. My mom told me the affair happened after we’d both been born. Unless… did she lie to me about the timing of it all? My mind spins as I try to figure out why she would keep this from me—from us—and then my thoughts suddenly turn to Ricky. We only shared a mother, but I never thought of him as anything other than my own flesh and blood. Now, if what Grandpa says is true, I’m supposed to accept that K. J. is the same thing? Sure, we might be getting along now, and maybe she’s not as bad as I used to think, but sisters? It’s too much to take in. I shake my head, as if that will be enough to rid myself of the idea. It’s like my world has been flipped end over end, and I’m still hanging upside down.
“I don’t know about this,” I say, more to myself than to anyone, but what I mean is I don’t know how it could be true. I glance at the hotel clerk behind the front desk, but she’s too engrossed in her computer screen to notice the two of us still standing here.
K. J. slowly folds the letter and returns it to the envelope. Her eyes rise to meet mine. “Sisters?” she says, like she doesn’t quite believe it herself.
I stare back at her, unspeaking. It hits me that maybe Grandpa is wrong. He was prone to wild ideas after all. This could all be a mistake, some strange theory of his. I study K. J.’s face for a moment. We don’t look alike. Ricky and I at least had the same color eyes and the same fine, sandy-blond hair.
In a matter of moments, my disbelief morphs into anger toward our grandpa and his ridiculous letter, and my jaw locks tight. I want to snatch the envelope from K. J.’s hands and rip it to shreds.
“This is bullshit,” I say, surprised to find I sound more like K. J. than myself. This only makes me angrier. I turn on my heel and stride down the hall, back toward our room. This may all be a lie, but I can tell K. J. is buying into it and I can’t bear to look at her right now. There’s no way our moms would keep something like this from us.
I fumble with my key card, dropping it twice before finally getting the door open. The room is warm and the faint smell of mildew hangs in the air. Funny how I hadn’t noticed it until now. Sweat pools around my hairline, and I swipe at it with the back of my wrist. I feel like I’ve just played a soccer game in ninety-degree heat. I find the thermostat and turn the temperature down.
“Come on!” I mutter, willing the air conditioner to kick on. I fling myself onto the bed, head pulsing with each beat of my heart. The air clicks on and I think that maybe I should call Mom and put an end to this nonsense. But another part of me refuses to do that—not yet, anyway. I still need time to think.
I recall the Instagram photo of Mom and Tim at that restaurant. She was happy there—she’s happier now—but that’s the new Mom. The one only Tim has been able to bring out. I still remember the depressed and angry version, the one who spewed her hatred of my aunt and cousin at every possible opportunity.
Why does she hate Jackie so much? Is it just because of the affair? Or is it because K. J. was born—a child who would forever serve as a reminder of her sister’s betrayal and my dad’s infidelity? As much as I hate to admit it, the pieces of this puzzle are starting to fall into place.
If I decide to believe Grandpa, that is.
My mind continues to race as I think of what I’ll say to K. J. when she comes in. No words seem appropriate after this bombshell. Footsteps sound in the hallway outside and I brace myself, but they quickly fade away. This happens several more times before it dawns on me that she isn’t coming back anytime
