"Oh. I don't have a . . ."
Weston took the card, looked at the number, and then tapped his phone. "I've got it," he said. He tapped his phone again and waited. Kay's phone rang, and she dug it from her purse and looked down. "That's me," Weston said. "You can reach her at this number."
Kay and the officers walked in front of us as we headed down the hall toward the parking lot. They backed out before we buckled our seat belts.
"Do you . . . do you think it's possible? That Gina's not my . . ." Just saying the words took my breath away, and my mind shut down again. It wouldn't let me process the possibility.
Weston intertwined his fingers with mine. I don't know how my luck changed so dramatically, but this had to be an apology straight from God. If Weston hadn't been sitting next to me, holding my hand with that look of reassurance, I might have broken down.
I think you're coming home with me, that's what I think. We're going to put on sweats, eat junk food, and watch as many movies on demand as we can fit into one night.
My lips curled up. That sounded a lot like what we'd been doing all Spring Break, and that was exactly what I needed. My smile faded. "Should I go home? Talk to Gina?"
"Do you want to?"
I shook my head. "I don't think anything good will come out of it. So I guess not."
Weston turned south and drove down Thirteenth Street, in the direction of his house. I had spent most of my time the last nine days either at the Dairy Queen or Weston's. Gina hadn't even asked any questions or spoken to me at all. Not that I was complaining. Spring Break had been the best week of my life, and the thought had crossed my mind more than once that I wouldn't mind if things stayed that way forever.
Once the truck was in the garage, Weston turned off the engine and pushed the garage door button. We walked down the hallway to find Peter and Veronica sitting at the table. Peter was in a dark gray suit with a black tie, and Veronica was in a beautiful black dress with a black belt.
She stood and crossed the tile floor, her heels clicking with each step. She hugged her son for several moments, then let him go, dabbing her nose with a tissue. "Where have you been?" She wasn't angry, but she was clearly emotionally drained. Her eyes scanned me, more curious than before.
"We've been driving around mostly, but we just got back from the . . ." Weston glanced back at me, waiting for permission to continue.
"The hospital," I said. "I was asked to give a blood sample."
Weston took my hand. "They requested an autopsy for Alder. She isn't Sam and Julianne's biological daughter."
His parents weren't surprised.
"We heard," Veronica said.
"Is it true?" Peter asked. "Sam and Jillian just left here."
"Left here?" I asked.
Veronica sniffed. "They've suffered the unimaginable as parents, and now it's happening again. I'm not sure if I'm just exhausted, or . . . she has Jillian's eyes, Peter. Don't you think?"
Peter shook his head. "Veronica. Don't get the girl's hopes up."
I frowned. "Get my hopes up? As if this is a prize that I'm waiting to win? Do you really think this would be a good thing?"
Veronica and Peter looked at each other, then Weston, then at me. "Sam and Julianne are wonderful people, Erin. If it's true, you'll have a whole new, amazing family to look forward to," Peter said.
"If it's true, that means I've missed out on eighteen years with them. I'm not sure I want it to be true. For me or for them."
Veronica crossed her arms across her stomach, and Peter put his arm around her. It was odd, because they were mirroring Weston and me.
Peter nodded. "You're right, Erin. It's a horrible situation for all of you. We're so sorry."
I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. It's just been a very long day."
"Of course it has, honey," she said, leaving her husband's arms and reaching out for me. She clutched me to her and held me tight.
I glanced over at Weston, who was watching his mother with a look in his eyes that appeared to be a combination of appreciation and relief.
Veronica let me go with a smile on her face.
"We're going downstairs," Weston said.
He took my hand in his and led me to the basement. We sat on the couch, and Weston held up the remote, pushing the power button. The screen lit up, and he switched on the first movie listed. We settled in, neither of us feeling like we needed to have a lengthy conversation. In the last month, for both of us, life had gone from hopeless to happy, in the strangest, most unfortunate way.
Chapter Ten
The room was quiet when I sat in my seat at the black table in first period. Everyone was staring at the floor, but when I walked in, they all glared at me. Then the whispering started. This was all very new, and I didn't know what to expect, which was more frightening than life before the Erins were dead.
For the first time in eighteen and a half years, I was the only Erin. There was no need for nicknames, and I didn't have to pretend not to notice Weston when he walked into the room. But that didn't change the way people felt about me. Brady's eyes twitched, the hateful words he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue.
The bell rang, but Mrs. Merit didn't speak. Instead, a crackling came over the speakers, and Principal Bringham came over the PA system.
"Good morning, students. As you all know, we lost two very bright students over Spring Break, Erin Alderman and Erin Masterson. We're going to observe two minutes of silence today, for you to pray for their friends and family if you would like, or, if not, a moment of silent reflection."
The PA fell silent, and we all sat, staring at the floor. I was not the only person the Erins had relentlessly picked on, and certainly not the only one feeling a sense of relief more than a sense of loss. But, wherever they were, I hoped they were free of whatever plagued them to make others miserable, so they could feel better about themselves.
"Thank you," Principal Bringham said, and then the PA system shut off.
"I was asked to instruct all of you that if you need to speak to anyone about what happened to Sonny and Alder there are counselors here all week to help you understand and process your feelings. Now, please open your text books to page one eighty-eight."
Throughout the day, I noticed that the student body was mostly quiet. Occasionally one of the cheerleaders could be heard making a scene near their lockers. After Chrissy wailed after second period, they all seemed to try to outdo one another's outbursts of hysteria. Brady was sandwiched between two empty chairs in Health class, and although I caught him glaring at Weston and me several times, he didn't say anything.
In Art class, Mrs. Cup called Weston to her desk, and they had a long, quiet conversation. It seemed like it ended well, but it ran so close to the end of the hour, that she was barely able to brief us on our last project: adding to the Blackwell mural downtown. The former Art teacher, Mrs. Boyer began the tradition, and Mrs. Cup continued it after Mrs. Boyer retired. We added our own tiny pieces, but mostly we filled in bits of brick that had broken off, or painted what had worn away over the last year.
"Be prepared," Mrs. Cup said. "We'll be going to the mural site tomorrow. Be sure to bring your things with you, so you don't have to come back to the building. You can leave straight from the mural at 3:30."
Weston sat in his stool at my desk.
"Is she still going to fail you?" I whispered.
He shook his head and tried not to smile.
Two girls stood in Mrs. Cup's open doorway. "Mrs. Cup, Mr. Bringham needs to see Erin Easter."
"All right," Mrs. Cup said, gesturing for me to gather my things.
"He said he needed for her to come right away," one of the girls added.
I gathered my things, and Weston touched my arm. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"I'll be okay."
He frowned. "I want to come with you."
I grinned. "You worry too much. You don't have to protect me, Weston."
"Says who?" he said, only half jo
king. "I'll wait for you in the front."
I shook my head. "You'll be late for practice. Go ahead."
He watched me as I stuffed a few things in my backpack. I followed the girls down the hall. We passed the set of lockers that stood alone in the middle of the commons area and then turned left toward the office. Just a few weeks before, I'd gone down this way, soaking wet. Now life seemed completely different, and it felt like it was about to change more.
I walked into the office, where Kay Rains stood, along with a police officer, Principal Bringham, and the counselor, Mrs. Rodgers. A few students and teachers idled about or sat in a row of chairs beside the door, waiting for something. Maybe for me, and whatever was about to happen.
"Why don't we step into my office?" Principal Bringham said. "I think that would be best."
Our small group followed him, and Kay asked me to sit with her in one of the two chairs in front of the principal's desk. Mr. Bringham sat down and clasped his hands in front of him.
"Erin, I understand you've taken a blood test. Do you understand why?"
I nodded.
"I don't want you to be nervous. I know there are a lot of people in here, but it's just a formality. Ms. Rains has the test results, and she's come here to explain them to you."
"With a police officer?" I asked.
Kay chuckled. "I know. It's awful. But we felt it was best since we're on school grounds and the potential for emotions to run high . . . it seems like a bit much to me as well. But because you're eighteen, and Ms. Easter requested we inform you at school should the results come back a certain way, we've come here."
"I don't mean to be rude, but can we get to the point? I'm going to be late for work."
Kay blinked. "Of course, I'm sorry." She shifted in her seat. "Erin, according to the test results on all three of you girls, we've come to the conclusion that there was a mistake at the hospital the day you were born. It appears that the late Miss Alderman was given to the Aldermans, and you were given to Ms. Easter . . . by mistake."
Mrs. Rodgers side stepped, making eye contact with me. "What she's trying to say, Erin, is that you are Sam and Julianne Alderman's biological daughter. Now, you're eighteen, so I'm not sure what this means to you, but the Aldermans have been informed, and they would very much like to speak with you as soon as you're ready."
"They know?"
Mrs. Rodgers nodded and smiled. "And they're eager to talk to you about it, if that's all right. They know this is a huge shock for you, and they want to give you as much space as you need to think this over."
"Where's Gina?" I asked.
Kay looked to Mrs. Rodgers, then to me. "She opted out of the meeting. She has been made aware, as well."
I thought for a moment, while everyone in the room waited for my reaction. I looked at Mr. Bringham from under my brow. "Am I free to go?"
"Of course. This must be very upsetting for you. Mrs. Rodgers and I are available to talk when you're ready."
Mrs. Rodgers knelt next to my chair. "If you have any questions, legal or otherwise, I would be happy to help you, Erin. Please don't hesitate."
I stood up and took my backpack with me. "Thank you. I appreciate it, but I have to go to work now."
The police officer moved to the side and opened the door, and I walked out, trying to ignore the dozen or so pairs of eyes staring at me. I pushed through the side door of the building, to find Weston's truck sitting under the overhang in the half-circle drive in front of the school.
I walked past him, but he jumped out and jogged after me. "What did they say?" When I didn't respond or stop, Weston stood in front of me.
I blinked.
"Erin. What did they say to you?"
"That Gina Easter isn't my mother, and Julianne Alderman is."
Weston stood up straight and looked over my head, lost in thought. "Whoa." He looked back down at me. "Are you okay?"
"I need to walk."
"Sure you don't want me to drive you? Let me drive you."
I took a deep breath. "I haven't walked in a while, and right now I just really, really need to walk."
Weston nodded, and I walked around him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my feet hit the familiar asphalt in front of the Dairy Queen. I yanked open the door and slipped on my apron, tying it quickly as I made my way to the front.
Frankie was taking a bite from her own concoction, leaning against the counter. "I thought maybe you weren't coming in today."
"Sorry. I had a meeting."
"With Weston?"
"No," I said, frowning.
"He was about ten feet behind you when you came into view, driving about one mile per hour, and then he turned into the ball fields and ran in to practice. Did you dump him?"
"We're not . . . together . . . really."
"So you dumped him?"
"No."
"What kind of meeting?"
"With the principal and the counselor and some lady from DHS."
"Why?"
"I'm not really sure why she was there. They don't really know what to do."
"About what?"
"When, uh . . . Alder died . . . they did some tests, and they came back weird. So they did some tests on Sonny. Those were fine. So they asked me for a blood sample."
"I'm completely confused, but I think you're going to make sense any minute," Frankie said, shoveling the spoon of Whatever Blizzard into her mouth.
"So, they tell me today after school that Gina's not my mom."
"What?" Frankie said, standing up, her mouth still full of ice cream.
"And Gina's not even there. I mean . . . they said they told her, so she knows, but she wanted them to tell me at school. She didn't come to be there when they told me. So I don't know if I'm supposed to go get my stuff, or if I have a place to live, or . . ."
Frankie pulled me into her chest and wrapped her arms around me, and it was then that I realized I was sobbing.
"Baby girl," she said, rocking me ever so slightly from side to side. She pulled away and held my cheeks in her hands. "What are you doing here? You can't work like this."
"I don't have anywhere else to go!"
Frankie held me again, making soothing hush sounds like most mothers did. Except for mothers like Gina, who probably wasn't sure what she was more indifferent about--knowing she raised someone else's child, or that her biological child was dead.
The road was quiet, and not many people must have felt like ice cream, because we had only two customers by the time baseball practice let out, and Frankie waited on them both.
"He's going to drive straight over here. I bet he's been so distracted and dying to see you he could barely stand it," Frankie said.
I chewed my thumbnail, staring at the red Chevy parked across the street. "No way. Not after the way I treated him."
"Honey, if he can't understand that you had just gotten the shock of your life, then he doesn't deserve to see you."
The driver's side door of the Chevy opened and shut. The truck quickly backed out, paused for less than a second, and then surged across the street, not stopping until it was behind the Dairy Queen. I rushed to the back door, but Weston had already opened it.
I practically lunged for him, and he caught me, letting me squeeze the life out of him without complaint. He made the same soothing sounds Frankie was before and I cried again.
Frankie stood in the doorway, staring at me like I was dying. "Take that girl home, Weston."
"I don't . . . have a home," I said, bawling.
"I'm taking you home with me," Weston said. He placed me on my feet just long enough to lift me into his arms and carry me to the passenger side of his pickup. Frankie opened the door for him, and he set me in the seat and closed the door. Frankie's muffled voice buzzed and then paused as Weston spoke. After they hugged, he jogged around to the driver's side.
He held my hand firmly in his as we drove to his house, and again as we walked inside. He led me straight to th
e lower level and watched me as I sat on the couch.
"I'm going to run upstairs and grab some drinks and . . . what are you hungry for?"
"I'm not, really."
Weston sighed and nodded. "No, I imagine not." He pushed a button on the remote and started the last movie on the list, then hurried back up the stairs. I was glad he turned on the television before he went and didn't leave me alone with my thoughts.
Less than two minutes later, Weston was sitting next to me, placing the various boxes and packages he'd brought with him on the coffee table, including tissues. Then he twisted the cap on a bottle of Fanta, handing it to me.
"I figured you probably didn't need the caffeine."
My hand shook as I held the bottle to my lips and took a sip. Weston took the bottle from me and set it on the coffee table. When he settled back to the couch, I leaned against him, letting myself sink into his arms.
He touched his lips to my temple. "Tell me what to do, Erin. Tell me how to make you feel better," he whispered.
"This," I replied. "Just this."
Chapter Eleven
At five thirty, the garage door hummed above us. We could hear the door open and close, and other sounds that signaled both of his parents were home. Before long, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and two sets of footsteps descended the stairs.
Weston didn't move, and neither did I. Peter and Veronica each sat in one of two recliners on each side of the coffee table. Peter rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, reminding me of the principal right before he told me the news.
"We heard," Peter said, his voice low and calm.
Veronica leaned forward, pure sympathy in her eyes. "Peter and I have been discussing this since we heard, and when you're ready, we'd like to offer you some legal advice. However, we've also spoken to Sam and Julianne Alderman, and they're hoping to speak with you at your earliest convenience."
"Like when?" I asked. I was lying against Weston and probably looked like an ill-mannered sloth, but I was emotionally and physically tapped.
"They live right around the corner from us," Peter said. "They're waiting at their home, now. They just want to make sure you're okay. It doesn't have to be tonight."
A door slammed upstairs and footsteps stomped all over the kitchen. "Veronica?" A female voice called. She sounded desperate.