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Chapter 15
The second mysister opens her mouth to spew venom, I’m hit by a wave of nostalgia that damn near knocks me off my feet.
For the slightest blip in time, I’m a kid again, standing on the sunken concrete porch of a little house in North Carolina, rain stitching my clothes to my skin. Droplets of water roll off the end of my nose as I wait, hoping that maybe this time the man who helped give me life will answer the door.
My fist curls around the scrap of paper in my trench coat pocket, my mother’s goodbye, something I’ve read so many times at this point, I know the words by heart.
Auden’s Funeral Blues scribbled by cancer-riddled hands, a single space above the address of a man she never spoke of. A man who, thirteen years prior, met a dark-haired mystery in a nightclub, took her home, and never contacted her again after that.
It wasn’t until she sought him out with evidence of their tryst together that she learned he was married.
His wife had just given birth to their first son.
He didn’t want me. Told my mother to take care of the problem, and not to come around again.
She didn’t.
Take care of me, that is.
And I spent the first decade of my life without the knowledge that I was a reject. The product of a bad decision, brought about because my mother was practically a saint, and she didn’t want to punish anyone else for her mistakes.
Still, the universe didn’t reward her.
Which is why I found myself on my sperm donor’s doorstep, praying that thirteen years may have lessened the blow of having a child outside of his marriage. That maybe he’d be happy to have another son, like a built-in friend for the one who wasn’t a bastard.
Throat tight, I wait in front of the door like I’ve waited four other times this week, my knuckles red from all the knocking. The downpour doesn’t erase the sound from my head; in my mind, the knocking never ceases, even after I drop my hand.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, in all honesty. My mother’s been six feet under for less than a day, and I’m already out trying to find a figurehead to replace her.
Maybe I am as evil and selfish as my grandfather always says.
A light flickers on in the big bay window at the front of the little white house, and a second later the door creaks open. Hope blooms in my chest like the sunflowers to my right, bright and wide, ready to absorb any ounce of potential nourishment I can get.
Instead, a little girl with onyx hair spilling down her back appears, clasping the door in her hand. She blinks at me through the storm door, big doe eyes reflecting an innocence mine never have.
Her pale, moon-shaped face turns up, a thousand-yard stare taking me in, processing silently.
Now, with that same little girl staring up at me again as an adult, I can’t help the pang that comes next as I return to the present. I ran when I saw her back then, and everything in me wants to repeat that scene, to get as far away from my sister as I can before my existence ruins her.
One of my legs shifts, as if trying to escape, but Violet notices and scurries in front of me, blocking my path. “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere. You lure me to this shitty little island with a job that I just knew was too good to be true, the least you can do is explain yourself.”
I clear my throat, glancing down at her all-black outfit, so ridiculously similar to my own that I almost laugh. Nature versus nurture, I guess.
Steeling myself against the nerves fluttering inside my chest, I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “I’d say you already know the reason you’re here, Violet. You won’t cash any of the checks I send, and you’ve blocked my ability to wire transfer funds into your bank account. This was the next logical step.”
Her brows arch. “Actually, the next logical step would be to leave me alone, like I’ve asked you to a hundred times.”
“Take the money I’m trying to give you and I’ll leave you be.”
“I don’t want your money!” she snaps, turning a few heads of the people passing by on their way from the Dunkin’ Donuts down the street. “Honestly, Kal, it’s a nice gesture, but... it’s not warranted.”
Clenching my jaw, I exhale roughly. “You’re drowning in debt, Violet. Let me help you.”
“God, you don’t get it, do you?” Shaking her head, she turns on her heel, scanning the sidewalk as if looking for eavesdroppers. As if anyone in Aplana is at all concerned with the happenings of others—that’s why the island is primarily made up of tourists year-round. People come here to escape.
Or, in my case, to hide.
They definitely don’t come for gossip, and the locals know better than to put their noses in my business, even if they don’t know exactly why they shouldn’t.
