Growing up, I always did as I was told. “Be a good girl and let Daddy work,” Dad would say. Or “Be a good girl for your Gram while I’m away.”
So, when Cathy DeWeese informed me she would handle the arrangements for a wake in honor of my dad, I nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
My soul ached as I scanned the DeWeeses’ living room. It was packed full of doctors (some I recognized from the recent dinner, some I didn’t), Wellington teachers, and friends of the DeWeeses’ who Cathy claimed loved my father.
I was skeptical.
When Dad had insisted I attend Wellington under a new name at age eleven, I’d assumed it was to soothe his fears that I would be killed, kidnapped or tortured for the top secret work he did. Never in all the years that Dad warned me of the dangerous nature of his research did I consider that I had been one of his projects.
That my name was changed to protect my identity, not his.
Nor had I considered that his life was in danger.
Now, he was dead.
And my identity? Not so secret these days.
The Program—a program Dad insisted I be a part of this year? Would it teach me about this controversial research? Would it give me clues as to why my dad is now dead?
I watched the faces of the adults scattered about the room. Were these people really Dad’s friends? I only considered a small handful to be my friends—the very few classmates who even knew who my father was, including Briana.
At least Dr. DeWeese and Dean Fisher agreed to do it away from school. The fewer students who knew who I was—or who Dad was—at this point, the better. I hadn’t even told Danielle, my best friend, about the email I’d received. Most people knew nothing more than what was reported in the papers—Famous Geneticist Killed in Strange Car Explosion.
Wellington’s teachers gathered in a small group in one corner of the room. Guests approached me, taking my hand in theirs. They offered their condolences and wished me well. Dr. DeWeese and his wife stood behind me at times like monkeys on my back.
I smiled and said “Thank you.” Like a good little girl. When what I really wanted was to go for a swim. Or go back to the nursing home where Gram lived. I wanted to escape this thing that had become my life.
Jack stood with Danielle and Kyle. They drank punch and spoke in whispers. I only imagined they were discussing me and what I must be going through—attention I didn’t welcome.
I was just thankful Danielle knew me well enough to pack me a bag of clothes, otherwise I would have been standing there in my swim team sweats. Or worse, forced to borrow something from my new guardian, who wore bright canary-yellow tonight. She claimed black was “cliché.”
Danielle brought my favorite black skirt, gray silk blouse, and a pair of heels that I wanted to throw across the room. But why take out my grief on a lovely pair of peep-toes?
I shook my head, remembering how Cathy DeWeese had buzzed around the house all day like she was planning a huge party.
Briana approached me slowly from the left as Mrs. Crain, my biology teacher, walked away. She wrung her hands in front of her and appeared to struggle to make eye contact. When she finally did, I noticed her mascara smeared under her eye as if she had been crying.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Lexi,” she said. It sounded rehearsed, but her eyes were sincere.
“Thank you.” I had uttered those words two-hundred-thirty-four times that evening by my estimate.
She bowed her head toward the floor. Then suddenly she threw her arms around me. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
I patted her back lightly and then gently pushed her away, holding onto her shoulders. “It’s okay, Bree. It’s still me.”
A tear escaped her eye, and she sniffled. “I just don’t know what I would do without my parents. I mean,” she touched a tissue to her nose, “my parents pretty much suck as far as handing out any kind of love, but I at least have somewhere to go for holidays.”
“Thank you for that, Bree.”
She nodded and walked away without another word.
Danielle raised an eyebrow in a silent question from across the room. I answered with wide eyes and the release of a long breath. I was definitely done with this memorial service. I didn’t understand why Mrs. DeWeese insisted on having one. She’d said it was so I could find closure. Except these people didn’t know my father. Not really. I wasn’t going to find closure in a room of strangers.
As I tried to make my way to the door, I was stopped by another hand to the elbow.
“Lexi, we are so sorry.”
“Dr. and Mrs. Wellington.” The president of Wellington Boarding School and his wife were dressed in conservative dark clothing. I allowed Mrs. Wellington to take my hand in hers. Her skin was cool. “We’re sorry to see you under these circumstances,” she said.
“Thank you.” Two-hundred-thirty-six. “That’s very kind of you.”
Dr.Wellington placed a business card in my hand. “If you need anything, anything at all, you’ll call us.”
“I will.” I smiled weakly. “Thank you.” I lost count.
Jack stepped beside me and touched my arm. “Good evening. Dr. and Mrs. Wellington. It’s nice to see you both. I need to steal Lexi away for a minute.”
“Of course. Again, we’re sorry for your loss, dear. Your father did amazing work. He’ll be missed.”
Jack led me toward the kitchen. Anita, the DeWeese’s housekeeper, took a tray of mini quiches from the oven and slipped me a sympathetic look. I only met her briefly over bacon that morning, but I already liked her.
Jack and I continued out the back door and walked around the DeWeeses’ swimming pool. I sat on a wrought iron bench and bent over at the waist, breathing hard. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
Jack sat beside me. His leg pushed against mine. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered, burying my face into my hands.
He rubbed my back, up and down. His hand burned like a hot iron through my silk blouse. “It’s going to be okay.”
I rocked back and forth, holding my stomach. “No, it’s not. How can you even say that? Nothing is ever going to be okay.”
My dad is dead. I never even knew my mom. My grandmother doesn’t recognize me. I’m a freaking science experiment. I don’t even recognize myself when I look in the mirror.
Nothing was okay. And I was definitely losing it.
“It might be a while before it feels okay, but you will find peace again. I will help you figure this out.”
I stopped rocking. Jack’s hand rested on my neck. His forefinger rubbed a spot just behind my ear. Everything that had happened the past week made me not want to trust this golden-haired, blue-eyed boy who showed up out of the blue one fall morning.
But breathing in his scent and sitting with him by the light of the swimming pool, I wanted him to help me—help me process the death of my father, help me find these journals my father must have kept, and help me find purpose in this crazy life I was being forced to face alone.
“You’re not alone, Lexi.”
“What, are you a mind-reader, too?” I searched his eyes.
He tilted his head, and his lips twitched. “My mother and father don’t know you, but they want to. And they want to help.”
I stood and walked over to a fountain, part of the DeWeese’s extensive landscaping around the pool. Jack followed, standing directly behind me. I closed my eyes and remembered a time when I would throw a penny into every fountain I came across, wishing with every ounce of being for my father to come home from some European country. I dreamt of a time when life was simpler. I prayed for that now.
“So, are we like brother and sister now?” I asked. An exasperated chuckle escaped at the ridiculousness of the question. “Now that your parents are my legal guardians, that is?”
His hands were suddenly on my arms. He spun me around and held me firmly in front of him. I drew my head backwards just s
lightly, stunned by the abrupt movement.
His furrowed brows further darkened the intense look in his eyes. “I still have a lot of questions about us. How were we created? Who all knows about it? What does this guardianship mean for you or for my family? But hear me now.” He stopped talking and leaned closer.
I didn’t dare take my eyes off his. Their intense blue met my green. I sucked in a breath and held it while I studied the soft lines of his face. His warm breath feathered against my skin. Just when I thought he was going to say something else, he closed the remaining gap and pressed his lips to mine.
My eyes flew open. My hands lifted and grabbed his waist, clenching the fabric of his shirt. Every instinct told me to push him away. Instead, I closed my eyes and eased into the kiss.
A desire I had tried to suppress erupted in the pit of my stomach and spread until it reached my face. My lips molded against his, opening slightly and letting him in.
He released me, remaining close. His eyes stayed locked on mine. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said against my lips. “We are not brother and sister. Got that?”
I nodded, breathing hard.
His face softened. A gasp escaped through his parted lips, and he backed away. “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Well…” He narrowed his eyes. “I do know, but this wasn’t the right timing.”
“It wasn’t?” I asked all shy-like and feeling a little disappointed at the sound of regret in his voice.
“I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. You know…” He waved a hand in the air. “With the circumstances and all.”
I wrung my hands, and backed up. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” His brow shot up.
“For the briefest of moments, I forgot how devastated I was. I forgot how worried I was about my future. That I didn’t have a home any longer. That there was no one left on this earth who gave a damn about me or what happened to me.” And I forgot that I always did the right thing, like a good little girl.
I looked away. The pool water lapped at the edges of the steps.
He slid his hand under my chin and directed my face back toward him. “Well, then, I’m glad I could help, I guess.” A sly grin eased across his face, and up to his eyes. “I do believe you’re blushing, Miss Always-In-Control.”
“I doubt that. I don’t blush.”
“Uh-huh.” His chest lifted and lowered in a sigh. He brushed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Your friends and I planned a little surprise-something in the barn. I’m supposed to take you there… When you’re ready, that is.”
“What about the wake going on inside?”
He leaned in and brushed his lips with mine again. “My parents will understand that you simply got tired from too much attention.”
Sounded reasonable. Of course, Jack could probably have talked me into mucking stalls at that particular moment.
~~~~
Early the next morning, I lay back against the pillow in the DeWeese guest room. The house was still dark and quiet, but my eyes were opened wide, staring at the ceiling.
The “small something” in the barn had been nice. Danielle, Kyle, Briana, and Jack attempted to take my mind off Dad’s brutal murder with boarding school gossip and small talk.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and thought about the exact thing I couldn’t talk about with my friends the night before—why was Dad murdered? Was I somehow in danger now?
I rolled over and stared out a window to the fields behind the house. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. When my mind wandered to the kiss—the soft, soothing touch of Jack’s lips on mine—I threw back the covers and got up. What was I thinking?
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans, a black sweater and bare feet, I crept my way downstairs and around the unfamiliar house. I heard muffled voices and my name as I stepped down a hallway in their direction. A light shone from a cracked-open door.
I eased forward. My hand brushed against the wall.
“I don’t care, John. I don’t want Jack anywhere near her. You’re not seeing this clearly.” It was Cathy, Jack’s mom, and her voice was steeped in anger. Completely opposite from the bubbly voice that greeted me the night we met.
“Be reasonable, Cathy,” John said. “He’s safe at Wellington. And he can watch for anything out of the ordinary.”
“You mean he can watch after her.”
“Yes. I promised Peter.”
“You promised Peter,” she repeated. “That’s rich, John. You’re not doing this for Peter,” Cathy said through what sounded like gritted teeth. “You’re doing this for her.”
A loud sound like the slamming of a book from inside the room made me jump. Was I the “her” she referred to?
“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” John said. “You knew what marrying me meant. Don’t stand there and pretend to be the hurt housewife.”
“Why not? She has everything to do with this. When was the last time anyone heard from her? How do you know she’s not responsible for bringing Peter back to the states? Or for killing him?” Cathy let out an exasperated laugh that had nothing but fury behind it.
“You know damn well she would never have killed Peter.” John’s voice grew softer for every octave Cathy raised hers.
Who was Cathy talking about? I directed my thoughts at her. Ordered her to tell me more.
Get mad, Cathy. Who are you talking about? The warm trickle of blood tickled my upper lip, but I didn’t care. Tell John why Jack shouldn’t be near Lexi. It has everything to do with “her,” doesn’t it? Tell John who you’re talking about.
“Have you given consideration as to why Peter was killed?” Cathy’s voice had quieted, but the intensity was still there. “Don’t you think it’s strange that you received a threat the same week Peter showed up on our doorstep?”
Dr. DeWeese was threatened? It’s because of “her,” isn’t it, Cathy?
“I’ve thought of nothing else,” John said so softly I had to strain my ears. “We have to find those journals. Everything’s going to be fine once we do.”
“Are you hearing yourself? Nothing is going to be fine. You have to tell Jack. You have to tell him, and then you’re going to have to tell Lexi about Sandra.”
“Don’t you dare speak her name.” John’s voice was quick and furious. “Don’t say it again.”
“Why, John? Are you going to hurt me?” Cathy’s voice was again strained. Was Dr. DeWeese hurting her? “Don’t you see? This is Sandra all over again.”
“What has gotten into you? This is not like you.”
A silence passed. I said her name over and over inside my mind. Sandra. Sandra. Sandra.
“I think that’s enough of the dramatics for today,” John said.
“You’re right.” Cathy sounded stunned that she had said way more than she meant. “I still don’t want Jack near Lexi. Not yet. It’s not safe.”
“Leave it alone for now. It’s not like we can forbid him. He’s already eighteen, and fully capable of running if he thinks it necessary. Let’s see what comes out in the papers in the next few days and what the investigators find.”
“How did Jack figure out who she was anyway?” For the first time since I met Cathy, she sounded tired.
Now, for the first time since meeting the DeWeeses, I wanted to find the journals before anyone else did.
~~~~
Anita was arranging pastries and bagels on a platter when I stormed into the kitchen. “Lexi, everything okay?”
I stopped suddenly, and swiped a tissue under my nose one final time insuring my nosebleed had stopped. Jack sipped coffee at the breakfast table by the windows on the other side of the room. Did everyone rise early in this house?
Jack smirked for some reason, then narrowed his eyes.
What? I squeezed my nose again with the tissue. The bleeding had stopped.
“Would you like some breakfast, Lexi?” Jack
asked.
“I could make you an omelet,” Anita offered. “Or some tea?” A silent message passed between Anita and Jack.
I surveyed the counter. “Um… tea would be great. Thank you.” Unusually bashful, I approached Jack slowly and slid into a chair across from him.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
My eyes wandered toward Anita, who steeped a tea bag into a cup and then back to Jack. “Fine, why?” Could I talk to Jack in front of Anita? Should I ask him why Cathy hates me? Or about Sandra?
Suddenly, Jack knocked over a glass of orange juice. It formed a river that ran right into my lap.
I pushed away from the table. Anita came running with a clean towel. “No use crying over spilled orange juice,” she said.
An uncomfortable chuckle escaped my mouth as I continued to wipe my jeans. “Maybe I should ask you if you’re okay,” I said to Jack.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice suddenly edgy.
Anita wiped the table, lifting plates and silverware. “Can I get you more juice?” she asked Jack.
He shook his head. He shifted his dark eyes on me. “What’s with the nosebleed so early in the morning?” He poured himself another cup of coffee from a carafe. His tone sounded angry, which confused me.
I was unsure whether to tell him what I had just overheard. His mood seemed strange, like it had changed since I stormed into the kitchen. “It’s just a nosebleed. I’m fine.” After a final wipe of my jeans, I tossed the towel on the counter. “I’m going to go change. When do you want to go back to school?”
“You want to go back today?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just thought you would want some time.” He sat his coffee down. “Sit for a second.” He pushed the chair out with his foot.
Anita left the room. I pressed my hand against my nervous stomach, but then took a seat.
“The dean said to take a couple of days.”
“I don’t want a couple of days.” I glanced over my shoulder to verify we were alone. “I appreciate what you did for me last night…” A shoulder to cry on. A consoling kiss. A get-together in the barn.
Jack slid his hand under mine and rubbed my fingers with his thumb. “But...?”
“But I need to get back to school. I have things I need to take care of.”