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Alden had worked for Franklin Farms during the months Joyce claimed and they corresponded with the timeline of her horse’s murder and her pregnancy. More than that, though—the smoking gun so to speak—were the two pictures of Alden that Calista emailed over. Placed side by side with Dwayde’s, the shape of their noses and structure of their brow and jaw lines are too similar for it to be mere coincidence. Circumstantial from a legal perspective. But true just the same.
Only then did Dee share the recording and pictures with Victor and Isabelle. It sideswiped them, of course. We’d suspected Joyce might have been abused and that the Franklins were no saints. Yet none ofus predicted they had intentionally covered up the rape of their own daughter and made her their unwilling surrogate.
The worst of it was that Joyce confirmed she’d told this to Dwayde. He’d known all along and kept it from us. Given the sensitivity of the situation, Victor and Isabelle contacted Dr. Sass for guidance and advice before speaking to Dwayde. But nothing was going to prepare them for how to tell him his long-held secret had just been blown wide open.
Christ. That poor kid. I check my watch again.
When we finally land, wedrive straight to Victor’s. Dwayde had taken refuge in the tree house out back and Victor and Isabelle show the ravages of stress.
“He got so angry,” Victor recounts, rubbing his palm over his weary face. “We couldn’t get through to him. No matter our reassurances, he thinks we don’t want him anymore.”
“He doesn’t really think that.” I put a hand on Victor’s shoulder while Dee consoles Isabelle. “He’s scared and ashamed.”
“He has nothing to be ashamed of.”
“We know that. But he doesn’t. He’s lived for years fearing he’d be just like his biological father. That messes with how you see yourself.”
“Guess you know what that’s like.”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, Mick. I’m sorry, man.”
“Dwayde is all that matters now. I’d like to try talking to him.”
“If anyone can reach him, it’s you.”
I leave the kitchen and cut across the backyard. A cloud cover makes the evening as gloomy as the situation feels. I climb the wooden ladder to the platform of the elevated structure that’s secured between two large trees. Victor and I built it the first summer Dwayde came to live here. A safe place for him to escape whenever he got the urge to run.
Rufus waddles through the opening, his paws greeting my shins in a flurry of excited barks. “Hey, boy.” I give him an absent pat and glimpse Dwayde inside sitting on the futon, his thumbs working his game pad.
I duck to fit through the arched doorway. Rufus follows me in. I recognize the sullen demeanor and the pretense of ignoring me. But it’shis eyes that have guilt coiling between my shoulder blades. They’re shadowed and bruised with the mark of long, heavy tears.
“Hey.” When he doesn’t answer, I step closer. “Can we talk?”
“I don’t want you here!” The fury in his voice doesn’t mask the hurt. “You’re nothing but a liar.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Dwayde. But I did go behind your back and for that I’m sorry. I thought finding out the truth would help. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You didn’t help,” he accuses, his eyes bright with the threat of tears. “You made it worse. She didn’t want me and no one here’s gonna want me either.”
“That’s not true, Dwayde. Joyce was screwed up because of what happened to her. She was wrong to blame you. But we don’t. We know none of this is on you.”
“You’re just saying that. Everybody’s gonna think I’m just likehim. Aunt Maria’s not gonna want me around Dani.”
“Listen to me, Dwayde,” I crouch beside the futon. “None of us could ever think you’d be capable of hurting Dani or anybody else. What Joyce told Dee doesn’t change how we see you or how we feel about you, not even a little bit.”
“You’re lying!” he shouts, scrambling off the end of the futon and jumping to his feet. “You’re all lying.”
I reach out a hand with the intent to stay him, but he rears back.
“You gonna hit me? Like your father.”
His accusation lands as intended, like a lead punch to the gut. “You’re mad, I get it. But taking verbal swings at me isn’t going to make you feel any better.”
“I hate you!” He pitches himself onto the futon, and giving me his back, curls up into a ball.
Rufus, sensing his distress, climbs up and snuggles in against him. I sigh at the picture they make. A runaway and a stray, both of whom Victor had found on the streets and brought together. I slide the lawn chair from the corner to place it beside him and take a seat.
