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“Yeah, we should be all done here. We’ve got your phone number and will call the Hayeses and you with the formal paternity test results within the next couple days. Here’s another card with our contact information.” He hands over the fifth business card of the day. “Please call us if you have any questions or remember anything at all, even if you think it might not be important.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“Oh, and we will do our best to keep this under wraps, but be prepared for the media to get ahold of you. It’s very likely this is going to explode when the story hits. Try and keep a low profile in the meantime.”
Shit.I didn’t think about the media and how sensationalized this might become. Though, I also didn’t think I would end up being a missing person, and yet here we are. I’ve seen enough television specials about kidnapping victims returning, it’s a big deal. I just struggle to see myself as one of those people. I don’t have cases like theirs. Julianne didn’t show signs of being a murderer, she was just a mean old bitch.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
My chair squeaks as I push it back to stand and shake their hands. Talking about Julianne makes me anxious, I need to get the hell out of here.
* * *
“Are you sure I can’t make you some lunch, Bridget?” Mom asks.
It takes me a second to respond, theBridgetthing is something I’m still getting used to.
“Oh. Um, no, thank you.” I try not to sound too surprised, but she must pick up on it.
“Do you go by Bridget?”
“Honestly, I forgot I was Bridget until I found the website. I’ve always gone by Birdie. It’s funny. I never liked the name Elizabeth—it’s a fine name, but didn’t seem to fit me. Probably a reason, eh?”
“Jack was the one who actually nicknamed you Birdie. When he was little, he had a hard time saying Bridget. His Bridg always sounded like bird. Before we knew it, you were Birdie.”
“I don’t mind, Bridget,” I tell her, “but it will probably take some getting used to, and all of my documentation is under Elizabeth. My passport, my driver’s license...”
“About that.” She and my dad share a glance before she moves her gaze back to me. “There’s something called the Presumption of Death Act in the United States.”
This sounds ominous.
“After you were missing for so many years, you were declared legally dead. I’m so sorry, honey. I promise we never gave up looking for you. We were struggling to keep things going, and the counselors thought it might bring us closure.”
“I can’t imagine the position you were in.” I understand why they would have done it.
It hits me this wasn’t just devastating on a parental level, their marriage and everyday life were deeply uprooted too. This family, which looks so put together, was in shambles when I disappeared. I feel awful. And now I’m supposed to pack up my things and leave them a second time?
“So, I’m dead?”
“Basically,” Jack answers, leaning back in his chair.
I turn to him. “Can I be madeundead?”
“Nope. We gotta kill you now. Needs to match the paperwork.”
I like him. Mom’s head whirls from me to him.
“Jesus Christ, Jack. She literally just got here.” She searches my face for indignation, but I only laugh. We share some of the same snark.
She lets her head fall back. “Well, they still share the same offbeat sense of humor.”
Seems I’m not the only one that notices.
Ken rolls his eyes. “Great, just what we needed.”
So. I’m dead. Interesting. What do I do with that information? Am I supposed to be claiming Bridget as my real identity now? It sounds like a logistic nightmare. Who do I talk to about that? I have no idea how this stuff works in the United States, but I assume it’s not as simple as flipping a toggle switch from dead to alive.
“Am I supposed to be claiming Bridget or Elizabeth as my identity?”
