Forgive Me(100)

“Yo, Ange, didn’t know you were here. I was coming up to do some work.”

“I’ll be here for a bit, but feel free to join me.”

Bao went to his desk and took out a laptop from the messenger bag draped across his shoulders. “My roommate is having a Magic tournament and I can’t concentrate.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah, it’s a card game. Kind of cool. Kind of geeky, too.”

Angie had known Bao was back in town. He had come back from camping early to help Mike locate another runaway girl—another potential Nadine, but this girl was named Kelsey. Angie made Mike lead on the case so she could concentrate on the Isabella Conti investigation, now in a tailspin.

“Mind if I turn on a light?” Bao asked.

“Go ahead.”

The sudden brightness caused Angie to blink rapidly.

Bao glanced at her and saw what he couldn’t see in the darkness. “You all right?”

Out of the darkness, Angie’s raw emotions were on full display. Her agitation and anger had bubbled to the surface, where Bao could see it clearly.

“I’m fine,” Angie said.

He wasn’t buying it. “Come on, Ange, what gives? Is it something I did?”

“No, no, it’s not you,” Angie said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Of course not.”

“We think we tracked Kelsey to her friend’s house in Ohio, if that helps.” Bao pulled his desk chair closer to Angie’s.

“That’s great news,” Angie said, though the flatness of her voice contradicted the sentiment.

“Talk to me,” Bao said. “I wanna help. Is it about the photograph?”

Angie had vowed to keep her promise to her father and stop looking for a connection between Isabella Conti and her mother. She believed that sort of investigation could get them both killed by attracting attention from the wrong sort of people. But her promise didn’t mean she couldn’t talk about her family secret with those she trusted the most, Bao among them. It was her burden to guard, but she felt she could share something of her story, even if only in generalities.

“You have to swear you won’t tell anybody about this. Not even Mike,” Angie said. “I trust you, Bao, and I could use someone to talk to. But if word got out to the wrong people, it could be dangerous to me, my dad, and anybody close to me, including you.”

“You can count on me, Angie. Always and forever.”

Angie believed him. She recounted for Bao carefully selected portions of what her father had told her. How her mother and father’s backstory was fabricated; how she grew up in witness protection, but never knew it; how her real name was Amelia.

“Is that the Conti connection?” Bao asked.

“Let’s just say I’d rather not say,” Angie replied.

Sharing what little she had was cathartic on some level. The hurt wouldn’t go away any time soon (or ever, perhaps), but Angie hoped it would lessen with time.

“What are you going to do now?” Bao asked. His shocked expression reminded her of someone who had just driven past a horrific car crash.

Angie settled for a vague response. “I guess I’ll have to figure it out.”

Bao was young. Angie hadn’t confided in him for life advice as much as she did for release. His question, though, was a good one. What now?

Angie actually had some hands-on experience with her father’s unique brand of betrayal. As an investigator, she had found kids who had been kidnapped as young children or infants by a biological parent and raised under a different identity. Was her situation so different from theirs? Over the years, she had kept in touch with some of them, and the best outcomes, from her limited exposure, were the ones where the child forgave the parent. The kids who harbored resentment needed a place to put their anger and often turned to alcohol and drugs as means of coping.

An unsettled silence took over, before Bao finally broke the spell. “Look, Ange, this is pretty heavy stuff, and well, I don’t know how to make it any better.”

“I know. I’m sorry to dump it all on you.”

“But, I do have something to say.” He seemed deeply earnest.

Angie’s ears pricked up. “Yeah?”

“I was going nowhere in life until you came along. I mean I was doing drugs, I was angry all the time, a really screwed-up kid.”

“And look how you turned yourself around,” Angie said.

“But it happened because of you,” Bao said. “Because you were there for me, and you took the time to get to know me. You introduced me to my parents, and well, I dunno.”

A shrug told Angie it wasn’t an easy conversation for him to have. Bao had matured tremendously since they first met, but he still suffered from trust issues. Sharing his feelings was a lot harder than showcasing his computer skills or skateboard chops.

“I’m very, very proud of who you’ve become,” Angie said.

Bao looked pleased, but it was clear he still had more to say. “I guess my point is this. Angie or Amelia, I don’t really care who you are. I just care that you’re in my life, and that you were there for me, that you cared enough to help. To me your name doesn’t matter, who you were doesn’t matter. What matters most is that you’re you, you’re Angie, and I-I . . . well, I love you.”