Chapter Nineteen
“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Kaydon said when I’d finished telling him about my family’s lifelong deception over lunch at the Inner Harbor. “Your Aunt Samantha, who you were told died in a car accident, is really your biological mother and you don’t know who your biological father is? The man you have always thought was your father is missing, presumed –” My eyes went wide, causing Kaydon to rethink how he was going to finish his sentence – “missing,” he finished. “But he left a necklace with Jamieson’s father to give to you?”
I nodded, wishing I could recapture the previous night’s indifference. Now it was all I could do to keep from erupting into a sobbing mess. “When did my life become a soap opera?” I tried to joke, but my tone fell flat.
“Is that the necklace?” Kaydon asked, pointing to the gold chain peeking out of the top of my sweater. “Can I see it?”
I withdrew the pendant from its resting place against my skin and unhooked the clasp. Kaydon took the offered necklace, turning it over in his large palm.
“It’s a dream catcher,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. Dad has given me one every year since I turned eight,” I replied.
Kaydon looked thoughtful for a moment. “You were wearing one at Elizabeth’s party, right?”
I smiled, pleased that he remembered. “That one he gave me for my tenth birthday.”
“Did you wear this to bed last night? Did you dream?”
“I did wear it to bed,” I told Kaydon. “And if I did dream, I don’t remember it.”
“Huh,” was all Kaydon said in reply.
After lunch, we made our way back to Westwood so he could drop me back at the Holloways’ before anyone noticed that I wasn’t there. My mother had left several messages on my cell and I was willing to bet the Holloways’ home phone as well. As angry and upset as I was, I hated causing her stress. So I texted and let her know I was alive. She texted back immediately, practically begging me to come home that evening so we could talk. After spending the day with Kaydon, I felt marginally better and more forgiving, but still not ready to face the woman who’d lied to me for so many years. I informed her that I needed another night with the Holloways to mull over her spontaneous admission, but would go to school the following day.
When Kaydon parked the Jeep in the Holloways’ driveway, he turned the engine off and turned towards me. The afternoon sun made the green of his irises even more vibrant than usual. After holding hands for the better part of our aquarium date, the shock when he laced his fingers with mine was mild and familiar. The jolt when our lips met, however, was even more potent than before. My skin felt alive with the electricity, the hairs on my arms and neck standing at attention.
Kaydon wound his fingers through my windblown tangles, and tiny pinpricks of current passed from the pads to my scalp. My free hand rested on the thin cotton over his chest, feeling as his heart skipped every third beat. His tongue dancing with mine was like eating Pop Rocks while drinking soda. Even the Jeep’s gear shift couldn’t stop the magnetic pull of our bodies to one another.
“Call me later?” he whispered against my ear, voice husky.
I nodded jerkily since words failed to form in my brain from lack of oxygen.
Once safely back inside the Holloways’ kitchen, I caught sight of my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator: strands of auburn hair stuck out wildly in every direction; pupils dilated, black blocking out the brown; sweater hanging off one shoulder to reveal the strap of my bra.
Thank god no one is home, I thought. I looked like a teen pop star after a long night of hitting the Hollywood club scene complete with too many trips to the ladies’ room for a pick-me-up. Kaydon affected me in a way that no other person ever had, and I was pretty sure I liked it.
****
That night over a home-cooked meal of chicken and potatoes, comfort food according to Mrs. Holloway, I told Devon everything. It was a warm night, and her parents had let us eat outside so we could have privacy to talk. To her credit, she remained silent, allowing me the luxury of babbling and asking rhetorical questions that she had no better answers for than I did. This time I didn’t shed a single tear; the shock that had previously paralyzed my emotions had worn off, replaced by anger and resentment for the two people that I’d trusted most in the world. Being angry with my father felt wrong, particularly if he was no longer alive, but I couldn’t help it. While my mother had always treated me like a china doll that belonged in a cabinet, my father had always treated me as an equal, a friend. Keeping such a monumental secret wasn’t in line with the man I’d thought he was.
“Maybe we could go visit Samantha,” Devon suggested when I was finished.
I narrowed my eyes. “She’s dead, Dev,” I said bluntly.
“Right, but she must be buried nearby.”
“If by nearby you mean California, then yes, she is,” I retorted in a harsh tone.
I often wondered just how much it took to offend Devon Holloway. Sure, she got angry at Rick all the time, but nasty comments usually rolled off Devon like water on a duck’s feathers. Apparently, her best friend acting uncharacteristically bitchy did not. Wounded was the only way to describe the expression Devon wore. I felt horrible. She was trying to be supportive, and I was taking out my frustration with my imposter parents on her.
“I’m sorry, Dev,” I said gently. “It was a good idea. And if she were here, then I would agree with you. I would do anything I could to learn more about the woman who shared half of my DNA. But California is a little out of my price range at the moment.”
“What do you know about her?” Devon asked, back to her usual chipper self.
I shrugged. The things I knew about Samantha Cable could be counted on one hand. According to her older sister, she was a hippy drug addict who had lacked ambition and focus. She never married and died in a drunk-driving accident at twenty-four, leaving behind a daughter: me. My mother kept several old photo albums from her childhood on the bookcase in her home office. Every picture from Mom’s teenage years included Samantha. At one time, they’d been close friends, always smiling and laughing together. In life, my birth mother had been beautiful with big brown eyes that always smiled, long hair the color of the cherry wood cabinets in my old kitchen, and a perpetually tanned complexion that gave her a more exotic look than her name suggested.
“Not much,” was all I said to Devon.
“Let’s look her up online,” Devon replied, a light bulb going off behind her blue eyes.
I almost laughed. Of course Devon wanted to look her up online. And it wasn’t a bad idea, except Samantha Cable had died before the internet boom. Her death announcement wasn’t likely to be in an online obituary. But once Devon got it in her mind to do something, there was nothing I could say or do to stop her, so I just nodded and said, “Good idea.”
I rose, collecting my half-eaten dinner and empty water glass. Devon remained seated, her eyes focused on a spot on the patio table. She worked a loose splinter with her thumbnail. When my best friend did meet my questioning gaze, her big blue eyes were bright with guilt.
“What?” I asked, a hollow feeling taking over my belly. It was never a good sign when Devon displayed signs of guilt; it wasn’t in her normal repertoire of emotions.
“So, when your mom talked to my mom again this morning, she told my mother about the possibility your dad was more than missing. I got to thinking that maybe if we saw his house, or wherever he’s been living, it would give us some clues.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “But I bet the PIs have already searched Dad’s place, if Mr. Wentworth even knows where it is.”
“True. But what we are looking for and what they are looking for is very different.”
“What are we looking for?” I asked, confused.
“We are looking for his research. Your father has been researching your...” Devon shook her head, at a loss for words.
“Problem? Race? Mythological status?” I supplied.
“Yeah, all of that. He has been researching it for years; we don’t have years to learn about the Egrgoroi like he did. The only thing we know for sure is that your service to the gods started the day you turned eighteen. Whatever he knew is valuable to us, and since we can’t ask him and none of his contacts have responded to my email, the research is our next best option.”
“You think I should call Jamieson’s father and ask him to take me to Dad’s house?” I asked.
“I sort of already did ask Mr. Wentworth to take us to your dad’s place.”
“You what?” I asked stunned.
“The number for Mr. Wentworth’s firm is online, so during my free period I called him at work. He agreed to take us this Saturday.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be miffed or impressed by her ingenuity.
“He said that was the soonest he could go.” She paused, gauging my reaction to her newest idea. When I didn’t jump down her throat for calling Mr. Wentworth without asking me first, her shoulders sagged with relief and she plunged forward. “In the meantime, we should go back over the stuff in your dad’s folder. Now that we have a context for the research, it might make more sense. Don’t suppose you have your half with you?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even have my toothbrush with me; thankfully, Mrs. Holloway had a mini drug store in the bathroom closet.
“Okay, then let’s go through what I have here and see what we can learn about Samantha tonight and go from there,” Devon said.
The way Devon was making this whole thing into a puzzle for us to solve made me feel better. Approaching an illogical problem the same way we’d approach a science experiment - determining the problem, doing the research, developing a hypothesis, testing the theory - helped me to further detach myself from the situation. The distance created the pretense that this was all happening to someone else, a stranger. The more I thought about my life in those terms, the better I dealt with it.
Dad’s papers that I had left with Devon were a lot like the ones at my house. None of the passages made a direct reference to the Egrgoroi, but there were several mentions of the Chosen and the Panel. Devon had already made her own notes on possible interpretations. She agreed with me that the Chosen were the Egrgoroi, but beyond that she hadn’t made any great revelations.
As anticipated, there was no internet information on Samantha Cable, except that she was buried in Redwood Gardens National Cemetery in Palo Alto, California, which I already knew. All the deceased on my mother’s side of the family now rested in that same picturesque graveyard. Undeterred, Devon continued to scour the digital world well into the wee hours of the night.
Somewhere around two a.m. ― I wasn’t sure since my vision had gone blurry staring at the computer screen ― Devon finally admitted defeat and we went to bed. Once again, no dreams visited me in sleep; the new dream catcher was doing its magic.