These days, I was working outside the home again after taking a part-time position in the Reserve Film and Video Collection at the New York Public Library. Mostly, I worked at the reference desk and enjoyed speaking to patrons about obscure films and documentaries they were searching for. I was still becoming familiar with the collection, and every day I discovered something new and interesting.
I sat back on my heels and realized Gabriel had stopped playing his saxophone. A light breeze blew across the treetops. Then someone knocked on the window glass in the kitchen, and I turned to see Rose waving at me from inside. I hadn’t expected her to drop by, so it was a pleasant surprise.
Rising to my feet, I brushed the dirt from my hands and knees. The back door opened, and Rose stepped onto the stone patio.
“Hi!” she said with an odd cheerfulness that seemed strangely forced.
I made my way across the lawn. “Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.” When I reached the top of the patio steps, I pulled her into my arms. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she replied, though it had only been a week since we last saw each other.
We stepped back, and I admired how lovely she looked with her hair in a braid. She was dressed casually in faded blue jeans, sneakers, and a white cotton sweater.
“How are things?” I asked.
She gave me a polite smile that unnerved me a little. “Okay. Sort of. Could we talk for a sec? Maybe we should sit down?”
She gestured toward the patio table, and I noticed Gabriel watching us from the back door. When he met my gaze, he poked his head out. “Want some iced tea?”
“That would be nice,” Rose replied.
He went back inside to fetch it while we pulled chairs across the square flagstones and sat under the striped canvas overhang.
“What a gorgeous day,” Rose said, and I knew instantly that if she was talking about the weather, something must be wrong.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Well,” she replied hesitantly. “It’s kind of big news, and I don’t really know how to tell you.”
The door opened, and Gabriel emerged with two glasses of iced tea. The ice cubes rattled in the tumblers as he set them down. “There you go.” He hovered for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll be in the basement.” Then he turned and went back inside.
Rose picked up her glass and took a long sip.
“What is it, sweetheart?” I asked. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“I know. I just . . .” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what this means, Mom, and I’m afraid it’s going to make you upset.”
“I won’t be upset. I promise.” I tried to be patient while she twisted her school ring around on her finger.
“Okay, I’ll just come out with it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have told you about this before, but last spring, I signed up for FamilyHistoryToday.com. You know . . . that website that tests your DNA and checks your genealogy?”
“I know of it. Why did you do that?”
“Because . . .” She moistened her lips. “I was just curious about where I came from. Curious about my real dad.”
“But I told you all about him,” I replied, defensively.
Rose had known from the beginning that Gabriel was not her biological father. Even before she could read or write, I told her that her real father was a pilot, but he’d died before she was born. A few times over the years, she’d asked questions, and I never held anything back, except for the allegations about Melanie Brown’s death. That wasn’t something I’d ever wanted to bring up with her. I just didn’t see the point because nothing was ever proved.
“If you had other questions, you could have come to me,” I said. “I might have been able to answer them. I wouldn’t have minded. It’s why I kept that box full of pictures of him, so that you would know who he was.”
She nodded. “I understand, and I’m grateful for that. And I don’t know why I got sucked into that website. I guess I was just feeling a little lost. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life or who I’m supposed to be. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the fact that I never got to meet my real father, and I wish I could have.”
I glanced back at the house. “Have you shared any of this with your dad?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I told him just now, before I came out here. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you because I know it’s painful for you, still. But he told me that it would be best if you knew.”
I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Of course. And he was right. I’m glad you told me.”
She looked down at our clasped hands. “But there’s more. Something else that I’m confused about, and it isn’t going to make sense to you, Mom.”
I inclined my head. “What is it?”
“I got a letter from that website on Friday,” she explained, “and they told me that . . .” She paused. “They told me that I have a sister.”
A sister?
My thoughts shot immediately to Melanie Brown’s tragic end in the forest and the unborn child that died with her.
But no . . . it couldn’t be that . . . could it? Had the FBI shared their DNA database with the genealogy website?
Then I wondered who else Dean might have been involved with before he met me or Melanie Brown. Could he have fathered other children back in Wisconsin? Or here in New York?
“Did they tell you anything else?” I asked. “Like where she lived?”
Rose nodded and seemed reluctant to reveal further details.
I sat forward again. “Please tell me. I need to know.”
She began to cry and covered her face with her hands.
“No, sweetie,” I gently said. “Don’t be sad. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. If you want to meet this woman, that would be fine with us.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes and fought to pull herself together. “It’s not that, Mom. It’s something else. And it’s bad.”
I felt like my blood was turning to ice water in my veins. I spoke firmly and perhaps a little harshly. “Tell me, Rose. You have to tell me now.”
She slumped back in her chair. “Okay. They said this sister lives in Australia. But she’s younger than me. She’s only eighteen.”
It took me a few seconds to get a handle on this. “She’s younger?”
No. That couldn’t be possible. That would mean that she had been born after Rose. Conceived after Rose was born. My stomach clenched sickeningly.
He’s alive, I thought with an unexpected and shocking spark of excitement that came from somewhere deep within, from long, long ago. This was exactly what I had once dreamed of—my desperate, despairing wishes becoming a reality.
But then I was lurched back to the present. Denial came at me from all angles. It exploded in me like an atom bomb. “That can’t be right,” I said. “Maybe it was a clerical error. They sent a letter to the wrong person, or someone entered the DNA results incorrectly.”
“Maybe,” Rose replied. “That would be the simplest explanation. But I’d like to know one way or another. Wouldn’t you?”