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Perplexed by her sharp reaction, Emily responds. "Samantha. What Mr. Walker tried to say is—"
"He believed my mother was a liar." She stands up, walks back to the garden, and puts her headphones back in place.
"I'll talk to her," Emily says as she rises. Her voice awakens me out of my frozen mind state.
I rise from my seat and walk towards the backdoor. "Can I please?"
Emily stops, inspects me for a moment, and steps backward. I walk and stop before Samantha, as Emily did the first time. No response. I grind my teeth. Great, she's ignoring me. What do I do now?
"Samantha?" I say in a calm voice. Again, no reaction. Why does she act this way? The entire scene gets on my nerves, and on an impulse, I pull her headphones off.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing. But giving me the cold shoulder won't make it better."
She keeps her gaze on her hands that are stroking through the grass. "I'm sorry about what happened to your mom. And I can imagine that you've got millions of questions running through your head, as I have."
"What are you thinking?" she asks. Surprised but thankful for a reaction, I answer. "I wonder how I have a daughter that I never knew existed."
"You think I'm your daughter? Why?"
"Because you're blessed or cursed with what I call the Walker Genes. I'll tell you the two most prominent ones. One, height. I bet you're taller than most of your peers."
She stops fidgeting with the greenery and nods.
"Two. Eye color. The Walkers’ eyes have a distinctive blue color. And yours are clear as the blue sky on a bright summer’s day."
"Wow, no one has described them like that…" she murmurs.
Samantha gets up and walks back into the house. I run my hands through my hair. Is walking away from me a good or bad sign? I stroll back inside and sit back in the chair.
"What happens now?" she asks Emily.
"You must take a paternity test to establish he’s indeed your biological father. I contacted the DNA lab nearby. With them, it takes only one or two days to get the result. So we can go there now. If it shows that Cole is your father, you can stay with him. If he isn’t your father, you'll go into the system, and then I'll try to find you a foster family."
"Fine. Let’s do the stupid test. I don't have another choice, do I?" Samantha turns to Emily. "Why can't I take care of myself? I'm fifteen. I'm not a baby." She crosses her arms and gives us both an angry stare. "I don't want to live with strangers. If that happens, I'll run away and live on the street."
Her words stir up a whirlwind inside of me. What am I going to do if it turns out she’s mine? I’m not ready to be a dad. I don’t know shit about parenting. And she’s a teenage girl. What do they like? The thoughts keep coming, hitting me one after another. She doesn't seem happy about me being her father. I take a deep breath in and ask myself how I'd feel if I was in her shoes… I glance her way and when her eyes meet mine, for a second, the loneliness and disheartening emotions I read in them nibbles at my heartstrings. I experienced it all after my father’s death. No child should feel this way, and the idea of her living in the streets or going into the system is making me nauseous.
As a fresh wave of determination comes in, I react.
"I’m not doubting you’re my daughter. And I’d like you to come with me to Boston. My place is sizable enough. And you can go to school there."
Emily takes her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. We leave the house and drive to the DNA lab. Time passes in a blur, and twenty-four hours later, I’m back standing in Emily’s living room after she called me saying the results were in.
She holds out the envelope. I take it, and after opening it, I pull out the paper.
A whirlwind of unknown feelings rushes through me as I stare at the graph with numbers. On top, I see Samantha’s name and behind my name stands the titlealleged father.
My eyes travel to the bottom of the page, and my hands show a slight tremor when I read. The alleged father cannot be excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on analysis of STR locus listed above, the probability of paternity is 99.99999999%.
I give the paper to Samantha, who’s sitting next to Emily on the couch. Her eyes run over the document, and both eyes widen when they lodge on the results. Moments of silence pass before Samantha glances up at me.
"When will we leave?"
"Tonight. I can book an extra seat for the flight."
She stands up and shrugs. "Fine." And like yesterday, she walks outside. I take a seat on the stool, let my back fall against the seat, and run my hand through my hair. "God, this will be fun."
Emily lets out a snicker. "I will be honest with you, Cole. Samantha is acting this indifferent because she's afraid of getting hurt. This is her way of coping with her emotions." Her eyes connect to mine. "Are you sure you want to take her with you? It's an enormous responsibility and—"
