Author: Cassia Leo

“No, it’s okay. I know my way back there.”

A thin woman with bleached blond hair looks away from the display of cupcakes and her eyes widen when she sees me. I continue behind the counter and slink past Melina, being careful not to touch her, as I make my way into the kitchen area. I walk past a stainless steel worktable stacked with empty steel bowls and toward the back of the shop. When I enter my mom’s tiny office, she’s leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

She jumps a little and lays her hand flat on the desk to steady herself. “Jesus, Chris!”

“Why are you sleeping in your office? Didn’t you sleep last night?”

She shakes her head as she arranges a messy pile of papers into a neat pile on her desk. “No, I didn’t. I’m worried about Claire.”

“Please don’t do this to yourself. She’s working things out right now. We need to give her some time and space to do that.” I reach my hand out to her and she grabs it so I can pull her up from the chair. “When she’s ready, she’ll come back. She just got a little lost.”

My mom’s face scrunches up as if she’s in physical pain then she wraps her arms around me. “I don’t want her to be lost. I just want her to come home.”

I rub her back as she sobs into my shoulder. “I have some good news. Do you want to hear it?”

“God, yes.” She lets go of me and wipes her face as she steps out of her office and into the kitchen area.

I lean back on the edge of the worktable and smile hugely. “I might be able to do the album and the tour without leaving Claire. I talked to Gene and he said he’s going to try to get the production team to fly out to Raleigh next week.”

My mom’s jaw drops. “I think that’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

“Good. As soon as I hear back from Gene, I’m going to surprise Claire with the news.” I heave a deep sigh as I think of all the things that can go right and wrong when I deliver this news to her. “I miss her so much.”

“You said it, when she’s ready she’ll come back.”

I nod my head, though I’m not entirely sure if that’s true. “I know. Well, I just wanted to give you the good news and to ask you a favor. Can you call Rachel and convince her to tell Claire she doesn’t have to be in the wedding? She’s not answering my calls.”

My mom shakes her head as she grabs a large, steel bowl from a shelf. “Chris, sweetheart, you have to let Claire make her own decisions. If she wants to be in the wedding, let her be in the wedding.”

“But she doesn’t want to be in the wedding. I heard it in her voice.”

“She doesn’t want to let Rachel down. I saw it in her face. Let her do something nice for somebody else. It’s good for her.”

I try not to roll my eyes as I push away from the table. “I’m going to pick up Tristan. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Where are you going with him?”

“We’re going to a friend’s house. Why?”

“A girl?”

“No, not a girl. We’re going to Billy’s house. You remember Billy? He came over three weeks ago to pick up some pedals.” She eyes me suspiciously. “Mom, I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’ll be back by six at the latest. Tristan and I have to practice in case we start recording next week.” I kiss her cheek as she pries open a large plastic tub of flour. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait a minute,” she calls out when I’m halfway across the kitchen. “What’s going on with the baby?”

My mom hasn’t been able to say Abigail’s name. I think she feels that speaking her name aloud will make her more real and more difficult to let go.

“I can’t say. I’m not bringing you or Claire into this until I get it figured out. I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I’m working on it. I’m not giving up.”

She nods and I head out of the kitchen quickly before she can question me anymore. The subject of Abby is not a subject I like to discuss with anyone. Ever since my dad left, I’ve never really been the type of person to talk about my problems unless it’s to try to find a solution. And there’s no solution when your parent up and abandons you. The only person I’ve ever bared my soul to is Claire, but this isn’t something I can talk to her about yet. I need to give her some time to heal and I need to figure out what’s going to happen with the post adoption agreement before I discuss anything with her. Until then, I’ll pretend to be strong, even though the truth is that I feel like more than half of my heart is missing.

I wave at Melina as I pass her on the way out of the store. The smell of downtown Raleigh is an unpleasant jolt compared to the sweet smell of the bakery.

The truth is, Tasha, my adoption lawyer, and I are still trying to figure out a plan to approach Abigail’s parents again. I’m not giving up on my daughter. And I’m trying really hard not to blame Claire for Abigail’s parents backing out of the open adoption agreement. I know that if Claire has a chance to see Abigail, to hold her, it will heal her; the way holding Abby’s hand in the hospital changed something inside me. But I won’t discuss this with Claire unless we have an agreement in place or a visit scheduled. I want nothing less than yearly visitations.

Tasha already drew up a new agreement that I plan to present to the Jensens myself. It details the visitation and communication rights and what I’m willing to do to secure those. I just hope that the things I’m willing to sacrifice are enough.

Chapter Four

Claire

Listen

From the time my mother died when I was seven to the day I arrived on Jackie’s doorstep when I was fifteen, I was convinced I was invisible. Like Schrodinger’s cat, I only existed when someone observed me. But the way Chris and Jackie saw me changed everything. I wasn’t a nuisance or a paycheck. I was a real person who didn’t need to cause trouble to be noticed and respected. Chris and Jackie changed everything, and by everything I mean me.

Dr. Goldberg and I sit across the desk from each other. I’m trying not to tap my foot impatiently as he writes notes in his file regarding everything I just told him about my years in the foster care system—well, almost everything. Only Chris knows everything that happened before I came to live with him and Jackie. Chris was always there when I needed to talk about heavy subjects, like the day he came to my dorm six weeks ago to comfort me when he found out about my mother’s suicide. Now I have Dr. Goldberg to talk to, but I can’t even bring myself to tell him about the letter I’ve been carrying around in my purse for five weeks.

Right now, the only person who knows about the letter is Senia, and she insists that I need to respond. She thinks I need to meet my sister, Nichelle. Though Senia’s never said it, I think she’s just as worried as I am that Nichelle is in danger of being violated by her father the same way my mother was. Preventing something like that from happening is not a responsibility I ever thought I’d have placed on my shoulders. My soul is already buckling under the weight of my own responsibilities. But Senia is right. I need to meet Nichelle. I need to look in her eyes and see for myself that she hasn’t been broken the way my mother was.

“How did you feel when you were told your mother’s death may have been a suicide?” Dr. Goldberg asks.

His face is kind and relaxed and his slightly messy crown of black curls combined with the brown sweater he wears makes me feel relaxed.

“I felt like I had just been told that my mother never loved me.”

“Do you still feel that way?” he asks as he continues to jot down notes.

“Sometimes.” He pauses for a moment and I take a deep breath before I continue. “My mother was raped.”

“By her uncle?”

“No, her uncle’s son also raped her when she was seventeen.”

He looks up from his notepad curiously. “Seventeen? That would have been three years after the alleged molestation by her uncle ceased?”

I hate that he always says alleged molestation. It makes me feel like we’re in a courtroom instead of an office.

“Yes. He’s my father.”

I’m having second thoughts now. I don’t know if I can trust him enough to tell him about the letter. What if he insists on calling child protective services? Not that it would matter. If there’s anything I learned in the foster care system, it’s that CPS rarely takes preemptive action. They’re almost always too late.

The look Goldberg gives me is meant to be sympathetic, I suppose, but I sense a bit of betrayal, as if he’s upset that I didn’t tell him about my father sooner. That’s when I realize I can’t tell him about the letter. I have to tell Chris first.

If there’s anyone who will understand what I’m feeling right now, it’s Chris. He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father since he was six.

I stand from my chair suddenly and slide my purse strap onto my shoulder. “I have to go now.”

“Don’t forget to call Janine to schedule your next appointment.”

I smile as I scurry out of the office, eager to get out of this building. Our dorm in Spencer Hall is clear across campus and I still have a ton of reading to do for Professor Coldwater’s class—not that I’m looking forward to reading about divorce and stepfamilies.

By the time I make it into the dorm, Senia is already sitting on her bed with her laptop open and her earbuds in place. She smiles at me and goes back to doing whatever she was doing. I let my backpack drop on the floor then set my purse down on the desk. I dig my hand into the bottom of the purse and pull out the letter from my father.

The neat handwriting on the outside makes me anxious. I think I saw or read somewhere that serial killers often have very messy or very neat handwriting. I don’t think my father is a serial killer, but maybe the same handwriting analysis applies to serial rapists.

My heart pounds as I slide my phone out of my pocket and dial Chris’s number. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, babe.”

He still calls me babe even though I rejected his marriage proposal. It doesn’t even bother me anymore. It really got on my nerves when he did it while I was still with Adam, but now… it just feels natural.

“Chris, I have to tell you something.”

There’s a pause as he probably tries to decide whether he wants to know what I’m about to tell him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Well, no, not really. I…. I got a letter from my father five weeks ago and I think I may need to go to California to meet him.”

There’s a rustling noise as he moves then, “Hey! I’m gonna take this outside. I’ll be right back,” he says to someone.

“Where are you?”

“I’m with Xander and Tristan. We’re scoping out a studio in Chapel Hill.”

“I’ll let you go if you’re busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you. So, wait a minute, you got a letter from your father? The one who raped your mom?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. What am I supposed to do? He has another daughter, four years younger than me, the same age as my mom when he raped her. I can’t just ignore that.”

He sighs and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand as I wait for his response. “Claire, I think we may have found a studio here in Chapel Hill,” he says, as if I didn’t just tell him my half-sister is living with a rapist. “I made a deal with Arista Records that this album would be acoustic so that we’d have a higher chance of finding a studio in this area. Most of the studios are only equipped for acoustic recordings. I did that for you, so I could be close to you while I’m recording. I want to be here for you.”