Page 77 of The Fake Out

The back door opened and a young woman half fell into the kitchen. “Is she here?”

She looked about twenty-two or so and was built like her mother, tall and round, her hair cut into a short bob and dyed bright pink. With her nose ring and mini jean skirt and her Chucks, she had a boldness to her that appeared to come naturally. But it was those dark eyes that stood out the most. They shone with intelligence. I guessed this was the second Sterns’ sister, who I knew was a teacher.

With a foot, she closed the door and held out her hand. “I’m Betsy, Elmie’s favorite sister.”

“Elmie?”

“Yeah, it’s our nickname for him. We all have nicknames, so he had to have one too.”

I must have looked as confused as I felt. Her face lit up as a huge smile transformed her from pretty to gorgeous. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?”

Betsy rubbed her hands together and sat herself at the table with us. “Our parents named us all after relatives in the family tree. Way, way back in the family tree.”

“They’re classics,” Margot said.

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Eleanor, Elizabeth, Agnes, and Millicent, but we all go by nicknames because… obviously.”

“And Chris?”

“Chris is short for Christian but that’s his middle name.” Betsy’s eyes danced with delight. “We like to say he got the most special name of all.”

“He did,” Margot protested. “He’s named after a great-great uncle on your father’s side who was an Oklahoma State Representative. An elected official and a patriot.”

“So, what is it?” I asked.

“Elmer.”

“No.”

“Elmer Christian Sterns is a very strong, dignified name,” Margot said.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

Betsy pulled the plate of cheesecake toward her and loaded up the fork with a big bite. “This is going to be fun. I have so many things to tell you.”

THIRTY-THREE

Do you have a name, or can I just call you mine?

—AMANDA H.

The dining room was as cheery and bright as the rest of the house. Sunlight shone through the oversized picture window, touching on the large table and matching sideboard. On the opposite wall, framed photos took up almost every inch.

Baby photos, school photos, fancy dress dances, candids of the family romping in a lake, or with Mickey Mouse ears, one of Chris dressed as Aladdin (which I needed to figure out how to steal), even a few of Millie in a hospital bed smiling widely with a devious glint in her eye. I recognized everyone save a tall, gangly girl with dark hair and big blue eyes. This had to be Ellie, although based on the Vegas video, she was a blonde now.

Although the subjects might be all over the place, there was one overarching theme: happiness. People don’t realize how blessed they are to have that sort of childhood. To have a childhood at all. I’d had to grow up fast. While I knew things had been tough for the Sterns, they’d had each other to lean on. I sighed, feeling a little sorry for myself and went in search of Margot to help with dinner.

At mealtime, I met the oldest and the youngest Sterns.

Unlike the rest of her family, Millie was petite, which Chris explained had to do with her heart condition limiting her growth, with blonde hair and an impish glint in her blue eyes. She bounced into the room and rounded the table to the only empty seat, which happened to be on Chris’s left side. I sat on his right.

“Hey”—she smacked her brother on the shoulder—“move over.”

Chris frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to Mae and you’re in the way.” With a hand on her hip, Millie stared down at him and waited.