Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(77)

“Aunt Barb’s really my mother?” Judy asked, like a nightmare echo chamber.

“Yes. Our father, your grandfather, you know the general, he was not about to have any of that. Neither was my mother. Appearances mattered to them, too much.”

Judy tried to listen, but all of the words got tangled up, a bewildering bolus of father, mother, grandfather, grandmother.

“I was twenty-four years old and already married, and your brother Tom was only one…”

Judy lost track when she thought about Tom, her older brother who was no longer her real brother.

“… and my parents, your grandparents, decided that the only way to solve the problem was to have me take the baby and raise her as my own. It worked out because we were doing so well and we were about to move to another base, Frankfurt, so nobody knew…”

Judy kept trying to follow, realizing that the baby her mother was talking about was Judy herself.

“… Barb took a year off from high school, then she gave birth and went back to school.” Her mother paused, pursing her lips. “Barb didn’t want to give you up, but our parents gave her no options, except have you adopted by strangers, so she went along with it. She always loved you, even from the beginning, and we all agreed that when you got older, when the time was right, we would tell you.”

Judy couldn’t believe her ears, but she knew from her mother’s anguished words that it was all true. “This is unreal.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re telling me this, now?”

“Yes.”

“So what makes this time right? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“We were going to, but we just couldn’t find the right time, and to be fair, we avoided it. We knew how hurt you would be, and I knew that I would lose you then, and that when we told you, that would be … the end of my time with you.” Her mother’s voice broke, but she didn’t stop talking, as if the words were coming out with a force of their own. “We were going to tell you after college, but then you were so busy, and in law school you were working so hard, then when you moved to Philadelphia, you were on one coast and I was on the other. That’s why Barb moved here to be near you.”

Judy thought back, remembering. “She said it was because there were better doctors here, for Uncle Steve.”

“That wasn’t the real reason. He was sick a long time, but she moved to be where you were. She wanted to be close to you, to watch out for you. She loves you with all her heart, as do I.”

Judy felt tears come to her eyes, but she shook them off. She hadn’t seen this coming, in a million years, but things began to fall into place, like the way her mother seemed jealous of Aunt Barb. “So why didn’t you tell me then, after I came here?”

“We both thought you were having so many ups and downs in your new job. It just didn’t seem like the right time, and we didn’t want to add to your load, and Uncle Steve got sicker.”

“Did he know?”

“Yes, he did.”

Judy felt struck by a revelation she should’ve had before. “Then who’s my father? You mean Dad isn’t—”

“He’s not your father.”

Judy didn’t know what to say for a moment, rocked to her foundations. “He knows about this, too?”

“Yes, of course.”

Judy gasped. She’d never been close to her father, but she never doubted that he was her father. In a weird way, finally learning the truth explained a lot about her childhood. Her mind raced to consider the implications. “What’s the guy’s name, the enlisted guy? My father.”

“John Ward.”

“Where is he?”

“He was killed in action in Bosnia.”

“Bosnia?” Judy’s mouth fell open. She had written a paper about the Bosnian conflict for her American history class, never thinking that her own father died there. “Did he know, like, what happened to me?”

“Yes.” Her mother sighed heavily. “Honey, this is a lot to digest—”

“Ya think?” Judy shot back, with an abrupt, mirthless laugh. Her mother sat crestfallen on the bed, her strong shoulders collapsed and her head tilted down, and behind her, Judy caught a glimpse of the framed photographs on her dresser, smiling happy pictures of herself with people who weren’t who she’d thought they were—Aunt Barb, her brothers, her mother and father, all of them skiing, climbing rock faces, and celebrating each other’s birthdays. She looked away, because it killed her to think that none of it was true, or real, not from day one.

“I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry. We tried to solve the problem the best way we could—”

“Mom”—Judy caught herself—“or whatever I’m supposed to call you, please stop saying the problem. I was the problem. The problem was a person. The problem is standing right in front of you, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Her mother put up a gentle hand. “We agreed that we were going to tell you this spring, when your dad could get the time off and we could both make the trip east. We wanted to sit down and tell you, the three of us, together.”

“Not Dad. He’s not my dad. My dad is dead.” Judy heard the awful ring of the words and felt a loss she couldn’t begin to understand.