“Naomi, Beth… this is Mark Sullivan.” He paused, his gaze steady on their faces. “Your brother.”
Naomi stared at him, then at the stranger. There was a loud buzzing in her ears, and she shook her head, not sure she had heard him right. Beth’s grip on her hand tightened painfully.
“Our… brother?” Beth whispered.
“Yes, your brother.” Mark’s voice choked, and he seemed to surge forward, his arms coming around them, pulling them close. He was shaking. Crying, his face buried in their hair. “It was my fault. All my fault. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I’m so sorry. We’ve looked for you so long, we’d given up hope.”
“W-we?” Naomi managed to ask, submitting to his embrace, feeling oddly helpless.
“Yes.” Mark drew back, though his hands lingered, touching their faces, their hair. “Me and Mom and Dad. I didn’t tell them yet, I had to see you first, be sure… but, my God! It’s really you!”
Jacinth came forward, taking Naomi and Beth by the hand. “Come sit down,” she urged. “You look a little shocky. Troy,” she said over her shoulder. “Get them something to drink.”
She led them to one of the picnic benches and pushed them down onto it. Across from them, the man, Mark, drew up a chair, seating himself to face them.
“I know this must be a shock. The thing is, I read about you on the chat boards, and I came straight away.”
“Not before YiaYia put him through the third degree,” Katerina put in. She picked up an old-style scrapbook from a nearby table, bound in beige leather, and handed it to Mark. “She texted me that he was on his way here, I had no chance to give you a heads-up.”
Mark took the scrapbook with a nod of thanks, offering it to Naomi and Beth. “I have pictures… birth certificates. Ms. Kazakis has already verified them, before she would tell me where to come find you.”
Beth stared at the scrapbook, her expression wavering somewhere between terror and longing. Naomi guessed her own expression wasn’t much different. She swallowed, her throat dry.
“H-how…?”
Jacinth stepped forward, saying in a gentle voice, “Why don’t you three go inside the house, where you can talk in private?”
“Oh, yes,” Katerina seconded. “Come on, I’ll get you settled in the living room, you can take as long as you need.”
“Just a sec.” Troy came through the kitchen door, two shot glasses in his hand. He pressed one into Naomi’s hand. “This will help with the shock.”
Naomi wrinkled her nose, sniffing at it. “I hate whiskey.”
“It’ll help.” He insisted, turning to hand Beth the other glass.
Naomi tipped it back, downing it in one go. “Ugh!” It was like her throat was on fire, and her eyes teared as she coughed. But sure enough, her head was clearer.
“Thanks… I think?” She handed the glass back to Troy. He patted her shoulder sympathetically.
“You’ll do better now.” He turned to Beth. “Same with you. Bottoms up!”
Beth did the same, coughing and tearing up. “You know I’m not used to alcohol, right?”
Troy took the glass from her. “We have coffee brewing, not to worry.”
Sliding his arm around her waist, Liam urged her toward the house. Still feeling a bit numb, Naomi made sure her other hand was firmly linked with her sister’s as they made their way inside, with Mark … their brother! … following behind. They passed through a spacious, brightly lit kitchen, and into a lovely, old-fashioned living room, with a fireplace opposite the front door, and dark hardwood floors with scattered rugs. Comfortable overstuffed sofa and chairs were set about, along with a massive recliner, perfect for someone Troy’s size.
After taking off their coats, hanging them on the hooks behind the front door, Naomi and Beth sank onto the sofa. Liam sat on Naomi’s other side, his arm about her waist, pulling her close. Mark chose an armchair facing them. He placed the scrapbook on the coffee table. Looking at him, Naomi suddenly realized why he’d looked so familiar when she’d first seen him.
“You look like us,” she blurted out, then colored fiercely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay,” he said, with a sudden grin. “We got that a lot, when you were little girls.”
“So, what happened?” Naomi asked, her grip tightening on Beth’s hand. Beside her, Liam’s arm was around her shoulders in silent support.
Mark ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I’d been helping out since you both were born, my little sisters, my charges to look after. I changed your diapers, gave you bottles, fed you from baby food jars, held your hands as you learned to walk. I demanded to read you stories at bedtime, as my right. When you were three years old, Mom and Dad wanted to go out to a movie. I had just turned twelve, and I was so proud, sure I was all grown up. I swore to Mom I could look after you, that she didn’t need to get a babysitter.”
