Real Bad Things(32)
“And you don’t know yours. Besides, you don’t have to know your family to honor them. I took a DNA test—”
“You took a wha . . .” Her head and heart pounded. “Seriously?”
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “I wanted to know more about my ancestry and my father.”
“The big deal is . . .” She looked around and whispered, “The big deal is your DNA could be matched to a crime is what.”
Now he rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”
“You don’t know that.” She didn’t know either. But she assumed. An assumption that it could was safer than an assumption that it couldn’t. She both hated and envied his blasé attitude. “Even if it’s been too long, getting tested is risky. Your DNA could be stolen by corporations. Have you thought about that?”
He laughed at her. “Do you have a phone?”
“Duh. Of course I have a phone.”
“Then DNA is the least of your worries. All your personal information is already stolen.”
She muttered, arms across her chest. Some might call it pouting. She’d been accused of that often. Of all things, a DNA test. It was like he didn’t even care. As if he went along in life without even thinking about what had happened. What she’d done to ensure no one else knew. She guessed she should be happy he didn’t seem to carry a burden. That had been her goal. But it also irked her.
She raked the ground with the toe of her shoe and then stood next to him. Her body ached. A few hits? Felt like more. “Do you know anything else?”
“About what?”
“Your father.”
He nodded as if he’d drifted off in a daydream during their conversation and suddenly remembered and could pick up the threads. “Not yet. I’m still trying to track down the details.”
“You don’t even know who he is?”
He exhaled way longer than necessary. “No, but—”
“Why Tran?”
“Why not? It’s—”
“It’s weird that you . . .” He crossed his arms again and tilted his head at her. Disappointed dad.
“Sorry,” she said. “I interrupted you. I acknowledge that.” She’d had to say that a lot in her life.
Jason swirled his tongue around his teeth, like he had to convince his mouth to keep whatever reply he wanted to say inside. She wished she had that ability. “I was going to say because that’s the most common name among my DNA matches.”
She nodded and futzed a hole in the ground with her shoe. “Vietnamese?”
He nodded.
What Angie had always insisted when they’d sat outside on the porch or walked to school together. He’d asked her once if she thought they could be related. Angie said she didn’t know but called him little brother anyway. They’d always had a playful friendship. He’d laughed with Angie, smiled, teamed up against Jane just because he could. Asked her for help with things like homework. Throughout childhood, she’d always tried to shield him from feeling different. At school, at home.
She wanted to be happy for him. She should be happy for him.
She didn’t know what else to say. She should probably say congratulations. But all she could do was wonder, selfishly, if he even felt bad about what awaited her.
“What if he’s like Diane? You could go all this time thinking he’s something special because he’s your father, but he’s really just a shithead like Diane and all you are is a biological outcome of the most basic human behavior.”
He adjusted his perfectly cuffed sleeves. Was that silk? “And you wonder why I don’t return your texts or calls.”
She’d fucked it all up. She watched him walk to his car and told herself to respect his need for space from her. But then she ran after him, even though she knew people would be watching; they’d probably have their cameras at the ready. She hated to waste what time she had with Jason by fighting. “Wait.”
When she caught up to him, he opened the car door and waited for her to speak. She wanted to say sorry, but he was just like her. It would only make him mad.
She paused to lean over and catch her breath. Jesus, the Ingrams had really knocked the shit out of her. “Have you talked to the police? Have they called you?”
Jason lodged his forearm on the top of his car, which by the looks of it cost more than anything she had ever owned. “Yes. They called the other day.” His tone felt polite again. Like she was a difficult client who needed to be handled and he had just needed a break to blow off some steam before picking up their previous conversation.
“And? What happened?”
“They asked the same things as before: What do you remember about that night, did anyone help Jane, can you think of anyone else who might have had a bone to pick with him, anything else we should know, give us a call if you think of something, etc., etc.”
“Did you get a weird vibe from them?”
He laughed, but she didn’t find the question all that funny. “No. I think they’re doing their due diligence. Checking every box.”
He got in the car and pulled the door shut. Though he was older now and far more stable than she could ever hope for herself, she was reluctant to let him go, to let the outside world into their own, even if theirs wasn’t great. Even if she wanted him to be brave and confess and tell everyone he had murdered Warren, not her. Save her this time.