The Good Twin(10)

“I had a roof over my head, food to eat, and clothes to wear, so I wouldn’t say I was poor. But we always scraped for money. My mom was always behind on the bills. I’d wear the same clothes long after I’d outgrown them because we couldn’t afford new ones. Instead, my mother would undo the seams and sew them back up a little longer, a little looser. Just shoes—they were always new. She didn’t want my feet to become deformed by squeezing them into ones too tight.”

“Would your mother tell you now if you were adopted?”

“She passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry. From what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My mother had a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit by the time she graduated high school. Eventually, it led to stage three emphysema. I couldn’t go off to college. I had to earn enough money to pay the rent, to buy food and medicines.”

“That had to be tough.”

“I found a waitressing job easily enough. I was young and pretty, and the customers liked me, so they tipped me well. Any money that was left over, I used to take one art course a semester at the local community college.”

“Here, in New York?”

“No. I grew up in Scranton. As soon as my mother died, I packed up my things and moved to Queens.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He was killed in the Gulf War, before he and my mother married. Before I was even born.”

“How about grandparents?”

I shook my head. “My mother was estranged from her mother. She didn’t know her father—he split when she was a baby. I’m determined not to make the same mistakes they did.” I took a sip of wine, then leaned back in the chair. “It doesn’t make sense that I was adopted. I’m the reason my mother left her home, because she got pregnant before she graduated high school.” I didn’t tell him that whenever my mother felt overwhelmed, which was frequently, she blamed me for ruining her life. I tugged on my ear, a habit I’d had since elementary school when I was trying to figure something out. “Maybe my mom got pregnant before she had me? Maybe she gave that child up for adoption? Charly could be my sister, or half sister at least.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“September 24, 1990.”

“That’s Charly’s birthday.”

My hands began to shake. None of this made sense. I lifted the wineglass and took a large gulp.

“She has to be your twin.” Ben moved closer to me and placed his hand over mine. “There’s only one way to know for certain. DNA.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen. I heard a drawer open, then a rustling sound. When he returned to the den, he had a plastic baggie in his hand. He handed it to me. “Hold it open,” he said, then, leaning over me, yanked out a hair from the top of my head.

“Ow!”

He looked at it, then dropped it in the baggie. “It’s good. The root is attached.”

I rubbed my head. “You’ll tell Charly? She’ll put in a sample, too?”

“Charly’s going through a hard time. Her father was just diagnosed with liver cancer. It’s at a late stage. That’s where she is right now. I don’t want her to be distracted by this until we know something for sure. She’s in too fragile a state. I can get her DNA sample without bothering her. I’ll let you know when the results come back. Figure at least four weeks, maybe six.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket. “What’s your phone number?”

I gave it to him, and then he walked to a sideboard in the room, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a card. He handed it to me. “Here’s my phone number. If you need to speak to me, use the cell phone.”

I nodded, then slipped the card into my purse.

As I walked to the door, I glanced back at the apartment once more. I wondered if Charly lived like this because she’d married well, or because she’d been adopted well.



As Ben closed the door behind his unexpected guest, his mind was whirring. Charly had a twin! An identical twin, surely. There were surface differences—the hair color and fuller face, but that could be explained by a few pounds’ difference. He’d seen the way she’d gawked at the opulence of the apartment. She’d told him she’d grown up wanting. She couldn’t have much now, working as a waitress. He felt his excitement rise. This could be his chance. He had to approach it carefully. And, most important, he couldn’t let Mallory meet Charly.





CHAPTER 8

The next morning, as soon as breakfast was finished, I retreated to my room and began making a list. That’s my standard fallback whenever I feel stressed or confused. Write down the steps I need to take. First: track down any relatives. My mother had rarely spoken about her family. Whenever I’d asked about grandparents, she’d said there were none. When I’d asked about aunts or uncles, I’d gotten the same response. My mother had worked her entire life cleaning homes, at least two every day, sometimes three. She’d had friendships over the years, but they rarely lasted more than three or four years. If it was a man, usually less than a year. There was only one person who’d been a constant in my mother’s life—her best friend, Lauren. I hadn’t seen her since my mother’s funeral.

I pulled out my cell phone and did a search for the phone number of Lauren Kurz, in Allentown, Pennsylvania. That’s where my mother had grown up. That’s where she’d first met Lauren. Nothing. No listing. In the years before my mother died, Lauren would usually come to Scranton to visit. Less often, we’d go to Allentown. I vaguely remembered once overhearing Lauren tell my mother that she was marrying again, but I didn’t pay it much attention. I was busy working to pay for food. Now I realized Lauren’s last name would be different, and I hadn’t a clue as to what it might be.