Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(60)

It was a journey into the distant past, brought alive by his aunt’s meticulous research. And something in Henry settled, something that had been an endless restless question was answered. He did have a history, a family. He wasn’t just floating in time, disconnected, a stranger even to himself. Maybe.

“I still have so many questions,” said Henry.

“Yes.”

“I mean, Miss Gail worked hard to get me my own social security number. But we never were able to track down my actual birth certificate. What if I’m not even Alice’s child? What if she abducted me or something?”

It was just one of a myriad possibilities he’d turned over in his mind. Had she stolen him? Is that why they were always on the run? Those foggy memories he had, were those from his real family?

His aunt shook her head. “No,” she said. “I see her in you, the shape of your eyes. You even have the chin cleft everyone on our father’s side has. I feel it, Henry. I do.”

He put his hand next to her arm. His skin was so much darker than hers. He gave her a meaningful look.

“That means nothing. We have to find your father to get the other pieces of your puzzle. And that’s all it is. DNA. It’s just one big puzzle, and we’re each just tiny little pieces that all fit together somehow, somewhere.”

He found himself smiling, which he didn’t do often. Piper was always on him. Lighten up, loser. His wife was the one person who could always get him to crack a grin, until he met his aunt. He liked her energy, warm, practical, loving. She was right; he felt it, too, their deep connection.

“But how do we find that piece?”

She got up and went to her desk. When she came back, she held a glossy brochure. She handed it to him.

“Lucky for us, the technology in this field is growing by leaps and bounds,” she said sitting back beside him. “A couple years ago we may never have had answers.”

It was a sell piece, featuring pictures of people smiling around dinner tables, or holding hands, cradling babies, or beaming at older people on sunny paths, for a company called Origins. The s on the end was comprised of a DNA helix.

Every family has a story, it read in bold letters. Let us help you tell yours.





25


Cricket





June 2018


“So there is someone else on the property,” said Hannah, voice a little shrill. She reached for her phone.

Mako put a hand on her arm. “It’s probably just on a timer. Weed has always made you paranoid, Han. This is a known thing.”

It was true, though Cricket wasn’t going to side against Hannah with Mako. That violated the sister code. Hannah was Captain Safety—she was the don’t run by the pool, come in from the rain, don’t take a shower in a lightning storm type. She was the one you called when you needed advice, a rescue, or a recipe to make sourdough bread. But, yeah, when she was high—totally paranoid.

“If it comes on again, we’ll call the host,” said Cricket. Both Hannah and Mako nodded; Cricket was very pleased with her mediation of this crisis, rewarded herself with a deep swallow of beer. The world tilted.

They all kept looking in the direction of the light but it stayed dark—the bubbles bubbled, the THC coursed through her bloodstream. Even if there was someone out there, she was way too relaxed to do anything about it. From the looks of him, it would take someone running up the deck wielding a knife to get Mako to move. She knew that lidded stare, that half smile.

Why did she still want him so badly?

The pull to Mako was almost magnetic, physically drawing her closer.

He started talking about some trip to India to meet with his programmers, and how he got sick in the airport, and was stopped by security, his bags searched only to find a stash of turmeric he was hauling home for Liza. There was something too big about the story, something that rang false. And he sounded like a total dick telling it, the classic humble brag—like this shitty thing happened, but only because I am this internationally traveling, super successful businessman. I was still dry heaving when I got to the first-class cabin. The stewardess looked at me like I had leprosy, leaning back as she handed me my complimentary champagne.

Still there was something enthralling about him, always had been. From the minute she first saw him in the hallways of the private school they all attended, his arm draped over another girl, his smile broad, confidence radiant, she was hooked.

He had been a junior; she a freshman, like Hannah. Cricket didn’t like to think that she’d sought out Hannah’s friendship just to get close to Mickey, as everyone knew him then. But that was partially the truth, even though the friendship that blossomed was real. Did it make their friendship less wonderful, less important because Cricket had essentially used Hannah to find her way to Mako? She didn’t think so. Hannah had forgiven her long ago. Hadn’t she?

Mickey hadn’t been the jock football hero. He was the charming brainiac, the homecoming king, the student council president. He was the guy with the near perfect SAT scores. He was the charismatic genius. His appeal was less physical than it was cerebral, energetic. Cricket lost her virginity to him on his senior prom night. He dumped her before he left for college. They’d fucked about a dozen times since then—midnight booty calls, and “catch-up” dinners that ended predictably back at her place, after breakups, after Liza’s first miscarriage.