The Family Next Door(57)
“Izzy, it’s Mum. Can I speak to Dad?”
“Mom! How’s Sophie?”
“Just put Dad on the phone,” she said.
Her mum sounded different. Sophie must have gotten worse, Isabelle thought. As she handed the phone to her dad, she got a funny feeling in her belly.
“Hi, Linda,” her dad said. A split second later, his brow became furrowed. “What? What do you mean?”
He began blinking rapidly. He was still holding Isabelle’s schoolbag with one hand and gripping the phone with the other. His knuckles became white. “Where was Sophie while you were sleeping in the nurses station? Well, check again. Find the nurse. I’m not yelling, I’m just…”
Isabelle got scared then. Her dad was calm, jolly. He wasn’t one to yell or get flustered. “I don’t care if she’s off-shift. Why are you asking me? Okay, I’m coming now.”
Her dad walked straight to the door. He was still holding Isabelle’s schoolbag. Isabelle and Freddy hurried after him. They didn’t speak a word on the way to the hospital. There was already a policeman there when they arrived and that’s when Isabelle realized how serious it was.
“You were in the hospital and someone took you from your crib while our mum was sleeping,” Isabelle said to Essie. “We never saw you again.”
It was such a simple ending to the story, though not an entirely accurate one. Because it wasn’t the end of the story. After Sophie’s disappearance life became a whirlwind for the Heatheringtons—doing press conferences, putting up posters, endless meetings with the police and people who worked for missing children foundations. People shuttled Isabelle and her brother to school and activities to help them maintain “a sense of normalcy”—as if that were possible. After a few months the counseling started—family counseling—which was basically putting them all in a room together to watch her mother cry while her father, dry-eyed, patted her back. The counseling had been horrible. But when things had started going back to normal—that was worse.
After six months, Isabelle’s mum packed up Sophie’s bassinet. Isabelle tried to stop her, but she explained, “Sophie won’t need it anymore. She’s too big. She needs a crib.” That had made sense to Isabelle. Her father had begged her mother, “No, don’t put up the crib.” They’d had a fight. But her mother put it up anyway, while Isabelle sat on the floor and handed her tools. (Her mum wasn’t handy. It took them all night to put up that crib.)
They put her toddler bed together when she would have been three. Isabelle’s dad had left by then. Isabelle and her mum celebrated every birthday. Freddy went along with it, but like her dad, he seemed to have moved on in a way Isabelle and her mother couldn’t. When they went on vacation, they brought something back for Sophie, so she’d have a memento of what she’d missed. The family photos they took somehow held a space where Sophie should have been. They talked about her as if she would come back one day. For years, Isabelle believed she would.
Isabelle lost her mum to cancer when she was twenty. After that, Isabelle was the only one still looking for Sophie. Everyone else had moved on.
Essie was staring at her.
“You’re not crazy, Essie,” Isabelle told her.
“Really?” Essie said. “If what you’re saying is true, it’s worse. It means I’ve fallen in love with my own sister!” Essie laughed loudly, but Isabelle heard a note of uncertainty in it.
Isabelle took a breath. She hadn’t wanted to get into this part so soon. “Actually, that part even makes sense. Have you heard of genetic sexual attraction?”
Essie blinked, her smile sliding off her face. “Have I heard of what?”
“Genetic sexual attraction is an attraction that can happen between relatives who meet as adults. It is most common between a birth mother and an adult child who was adopted out as a baby. It also can happen between siblings who were conceived by the same sperm donor or separated at birth.”
“Sorry … what?”
“The other night, when you looked at me like you were in love with me? That is classic behavior of someone experiencing genetic sexual attraction. You were feeling something toward me that you couldn’t put your finger on, so you read it as attraction. Essie, I know this is a huge shock, but does this make even the slightest bit of sense to you?”
Essie glanced down at the DNA results again. “How did you do this?” she asked softly.
“The DNA test? Well, it was one of those—”
“—one of those online tests that are advertised on TV? Seven ninety-nine for peace of mind? Guaranteed test results in fourteen days?” She looked up. Her eyes were wild and disbelieving. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Isabelle had known she’d get pushback from Essie. She was prepared for it. She was unprepared for the situation to be turned around on her.
“I didn’t do it to you. Barbara did. Barbara kidnapped you, Essie.”
Essie laughed. “Have you met my mother? Does she seem like a kidnapper?”
“Actually, yes. She fits the profile of a baby snatcher exactly.”
Essie paused. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. “In what way does she fit the profile of a baby snatcher?” Essie’s chin was held high, disbelieving, but she was listening. It was, Isabelle figured, the best she could hope for.