"What do you need? Blood, saliva? I'll do it now."
She glares at me, irritation apparent in her expression. "I don't have a testing kit with me. I need to order it."
I throw my wallet down on the table. "There's my card. Make it happen."
Alana stares at my wallet like it's infested with the plague. "The state pays for the test."
She types something into her laptop, and the entire room is silent. I dare not look at my family and the disappointed looks I'll see on their faces.
The woman's voice is tight when she speaks. "Please remember, there's a boy who has just lost his mother. All I'm trying to do is ensure he's going to his relatives where he will be loved and wanted."
She's shaking as she speaks, and I realize how much of an ass I've been. The transition from deployment to civilian life is always hard. In the Navy, I say things directly and don't worry about hurting anyone's feelings. It's hard to adjust when I get back.
"Of course we want him," Mom says quietly.
"If he's Jake's," I add under my breath.
The woman pulls up a browser on her laptop and orders the test.
"I'll have it sent to my office. I'll do the boy’s and I'll drop the other around here for you."
She speaks curtly and pulls away the laptop without looking at me. As she does so, she drags it across the cardboard file on the table, and some pages come out of it. A photo falls out, and I pick it up.
My chest constricts at the image of the boy in the photo. His sandy blonde hair hangs around his face, and he's smiling out at me with green eyes and a lopsided grin that shows off a missing front tooth.
I hold it up to a photo on the wall, a family picture of me and Jake when we were kids. We're by the lake, and Jake's holding up the first fish he ever caught. It's no bigger than a mouse,but by the proud lopsided grin on his face, you'd think it was a twenty-pound pike.
"Is this the boy?" My voice sounds hollow, and all eyes in the room turn to me.
Alana moves quickly to swipe the photo out of my hands, but I hold it away from her.
"I was about to give that to Shona."
I stare at the photo as memories of my dead brother flood my mind. How we played as kids, how I was always the serious one, but Jake could smile and charm anyone.
The kid staring out at me from the photo is like looking into the past.
"There's no need to do the paternity test," I say. "He's one of us."
I put the photo on the table and slide it across to Mom. She reaches for it, relinquishing her grip on the table. Her hand shakes, and her face goes pale. She makes a gargling sound and collapses to the ground.
4
AMOS
"How long have you known?"
Dad paces the length of the dining room, then turns and paces back, his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back.
"The doctors confirmed it a few weeks ago."
"A few weeks?" I run my hands through my hair. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"Your mother didn't want to worry you in the field, Amos. You've got enough to worry about out there."
I tug on the ends of my hair, and I take a long, deep breath. It's just like Mom, not wanting to worry me. What she doesn't realize is that I worry more if I think I'm being kept in the dark about things.
Multiple sclerosis. Dad told us the diagnosis when we rushed to pick Mom up off the floor. I helped get her upstairs to her room while Dad called the doctor. Now I'm questioning Dad about why the fuck he didn't tell us earlier.
