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“Basically, she’s asking Abernathy for more time,” Billy explained.
Hank began to read aloud, “Please, don’t do this. I just need more time. I’m begging you. If you really love me the way you say you do, you’ll leave me and my family alone. Please, Jennings.”
It was so strange hearing my brother read my mama’s words, especially in his characteristic flat inflection.
“And look at the date.” Billy pointed to the paper.
“Two days before her accident,” Hank stated.
“Cheyenne said that Abernathy came to Connecticut several times. He went to the house, and he showed up at her high school and college graduations.
“From the letters, it’s clear that there is some sort of secret they shared. One that would break up the family.”
“So, you’re saying that…?” I thought I knew what he was getting at, but no way was I going to voice what I was thinking out loud.
Jennings Abernathy was a snake. He and my father had always had a not-so-friendly rivalry, and the man had always been an asshole to me and my brothers. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to be a dick in general. It was kind of his life philosophy. I didn’t want to think that he could possibly…
“Jennings might be Cheyenne’s biological father.” Hank’s voice was void of all emotion, as usual, so I couldn’t tell if he was upset or not.
“See why I wanted to talk to you guys first?” Billy shook his head, then raised his hands to rub his temples. “How fucked up is that?!”
The simple answer was: really fucked up. Cheyenne already felt like an outsider since she hadn’t been raised around us. She was just starting to act like she thought she belonged, and now this.
“It might explain why Pop didn’t kick up a fuss when Mom’s parents came and snatched her up, I pointed out.”
Biologically, I knew that they were my grandparents, but I hated calling them that. They’d never given two shits about my brothers and me. All they’d cared about was Cheyenne.
And if she was Abernathy’s daughter, that would make sense. They’d disowned my mom when she ran off with my dad. They couldn’t stand him for how beneath them they thought he was, so it stood to reason that they’d never wanted anything to do with us since we had James Comfort’s blood flowing through our veins.
But if Cheyenne wasn’t his kin, and Abernathy was her father, then she’d be more of a purebred, and less of a mutt like we were. It would explain the preferential treatment.
“We have to tell her,” Hank declared. “I’ll call another meeting tomorrow.”
I knew he was right. We had to tell her. I just hoped he was wrong about Cheyenne’s true paternity.
