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Chapter 26
Astrid
I slide down onto the ground and sit with my knees bent, not giving a fuck that I look low-bred. I dump out my purse, hunting for that number and my phone. My fingers swiftly tap out the number but hesitate over send. My chest rises and falls as the panic sets in. That was me in the picture. And why would Charlotte lie? I hit send.
“Hello, I want to talk to Evelyn Bowen. It’s her daughter.”
As I wait on hold, I shred a fallen leaf in my hand, the remnants collecting under my nails. When I hear Mom’s voice, I exhale. She’ll tell me the truth.
“Astrid, I miss you so badly.” Her voice sounds groggy, as if she’s just woken up.
“I miss you too, Mommy,” I suck down tears, “How is your treatment going?”
She pauses. “It’s going well,” she says brightly, “The staff is kind, and I have a good therapist. She’s a woman, and we talk.” Her voice trails off.
“That’s good. I would’ve called sooner, but I only got your number today.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she replies, “When I’m further along, they’ll allow you to visit.”
“Mom, I have to ask you something.”
She waits for me to speak, and I close my eyes, praying that it will be a lie.
“I met a girl here at Stonehaven. And we were talking about family. And she showed me a picture.” My foot begins to shake, and it won’t stop. “She says I’m her half-sister.”
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Charlotte Howland.” I force a laugh. “She’s full of shit, isn’t she?”
The silence on the other end of the line tells me everything I needed to know. Finally, my mother speaks.
“Astrid, you can’t tell anyone about your father,” she says. “And avoid that girl.”
“Why? Is it true? Is her father my father too?”
“Astrid, your father will only help us if he remains anonymous. If you tell, he won’t help.”
My foot stops shaking as I squeeze the phone. “I don’t need his help.”
“But I do.” Her voice cracks, and I curse myself if I’ve made her cry. Mom wasn’t always frail and broken or an addict. She was good for an adventure as we drove around in her beater car, traveling through New England, visiting museums, swimming in the Atlantic, and camping in the woods in the back seat of our car. We did all sorts of things back then to make up for the things we didn’t have.
“Astrid, please don’t let anyone else know. Please. I’m begging you not to say a word.”
Unfortunately, I think Charlotte is not the only person who knows who my father is. I might be the last person to know. “Why did you never mention it before?” I ask softly. “I’m not accusing. I just want to know.”
She sniffs, but the words are harsh. “Astrid, your father is not a nice man. I protected you for as long as I could. Do as I say, and do not tell.”
There’s quiet, and I check the phone. The call has ended, and it wasn’t by accident. Mom won’t talk about it, but I know who will.
