Seven Years

I warmed my hands around my mug. “What do you mean, not adopted?”

 

 

Her voice lowered. “I don’t know where you came from. Your dad brought you home one night. He used to stay out late sometimes, and I convinced myself he was having an affair. But occasionally, he came home with—with blood on his clothes.” She pulled her hands in her lap and shook her head. “Not a lot, but spatters around the sleeves. I was afraid to ask what he was up to because he was a serious man—you know that. I don’t know what he was involved in, but we argued for weeks. All I could think about was your poor mother, worried to death about where you were. He assured me you had no mother, and that frightened me.”

 

“Why?”

 

She pulled the salt and pepper shakers to the middle of the table, lining them up neatly and never once lifting her eyes.

 

“I’m an adult now, and there’s no need to lie anymore. Whatever you’ve been carrying around for years, we can talk it out. Maybe it’ll help. But I can’t go on not knowing the truth. Everything.”

 

My heart galloped and I placed my hands on my lap to hide the fact they were shaking. Had Austin never come back into town, I would have gone on thinking my life was normal.

 

“The night he brought you home, there was blood on his clothes. Only this time, I found them in the trash instead of the wash, and they were just soaked in it.”

 

“You didn’t know what he was involved in?”

 

To my knowledge, my dad had worked for a shipping warehouse. He was a bossy guy, but otherwise, family life seemed as normal as it could be. He took Wes fishing in the summer and we had a barbecue every Sunday. I didn’t have a close relationship with my dad, and he was strict when it came to punishment, but this revelation came as an unexpected shock. I felt disenchanted with my life, knowing that nothing was as it seemed.

 

She shrugged and pulled my cup away. “Do you want something else, hon? Chocolate milk?”

 

God, my weakness. “Sure, Mom. That’d be great.”

 

The table sat in a room connected to the kitchen, but a partition wall with an opening in the center separated the two rooms. My mom put her favorite fern on it to add a sense of privacy. Light blue paint colored the top of the walls and wood panels covered the bottom. Outside the window on my left, the hummingbird feeder swung like a pendulum in the breeze. I’d never seen any hummingbirds, but Mom always kept it filled with bright red liquid.

 

I watched her through the divider as she stirred the chocolate into a tall glass. As calm as we were, I had a feeling I’d be in tears later on once everything sank in.

 

She set the glass down on the table and I took a sip, hoping the coffee wouldn’t complain. Mom eased into her chair and peered around the corner, listening for Maizy.

 

“When I first met your father, he was involved with some dangerous people. He used to work as a middleman, and I don’t know what exactly he did, only that it was illegal. He quit that life when he proposed, and I thought we were going to have a new start. I wouldn’t have to worry about something happening to him, or the police showing up. That’s not the kind of home I came from. He changed, or at least I thought he did. It started up again a year after Wes was born, when we were struggling financially. Suddenly, your dad paid off the bills and things were okay. How could I complain? Everything went back to normal until the night he brought you home. He was panicked that night and then for weeks, he barely slept.”

 

Tears threatened to slide down her lashes and she averted her blue eyes. “Only he knows the truth about where you came from, but I fell in love with you, Lexi. I had to buy you little gowns and booties since you were only wearing a onesie with Talulah stitched on the front. I always wanted a little girl. You were such a sweet little thing, didn’t cry much at all even though you must have known we were strangers.”

 

“Did you keep my clothes?”

 

Her voice fell to a whisper. “There was blood. I had to throw it out. Your dad somehow got a fake birth certificate; I just didn’t ask questions.”

 

I buried my face in my hands. “Did Wes know?”

 

“At first,” she said. “But he was a toddler and after a while, he forgot where you came from. We told him the stork brought you and in time, I guess he just didn’t remember. Your grandparents never knew because they were living in Seattle. We told them we had been keeping it a secret because the doctor warned us the pregnancy might not go to full term and then we said you were born premature. They didn’t come down to visit until you were five anyhow, and two years later, they moved down to San Antonio.”