Her jaw hadn’t dropped the way I’d expected. “On purpose?”
“I also bit off a piece of his ear.”
She shook her head.
“It’s just the way it is on the inside. Survival depends on having a rep that the others fear,” I told her.
“I’m sorry you had to live through that.” She rubbed my shoulder with more sympathy than I’d ever expected. “What happened to the guy who paid him?”
I huffed. “The same thing that always happens when the rich get in a bind. Nothing.”
“But that’s not fair if he paid someone to attack you.”
“I’ve told you this before, Red.”
“I know,” she said dejectedly. “Fairness isn’t part of the equation, right?”
“Exactly. Not when it’s the rich kid and his lawyer against a convicted felon.”
She was silent for a few minutes. “Hey. Why Jay? The name you gave?”
I chuckled. “I’m your band of blue jays protecting you, that’s why.”
She leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Did I ever tell you how special you make me feel?”
Debbie
That afternoon, Luke snored lightly as I lay on the bed with him snuggled behind me and his hand cupping my breast, as he loved to do.
When we’d gotten home, I’d shown him exactly how special he made me feel in the most physical way I could manage.
When I’d made him choose, he’d selected the kitchen counter, which was a new experience for me. The stone of the countertop was hard and cold. I was demanding a dish towel under my butt next time.
The ending of today’s call with Josh had been bugging me as I lay here. “Check out the Benson kidnapping in Phoenix,” he’d said, and I couldn’t shake the words.
Luke had insisted it was all a trick, but I wanted to understand it instead of merely ignoring it, so I slipped out of bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Somebody has to get dinner ready.” It wasn’t dinnertime yet, but I didn’t want to argue about the computer sleuthing I was about to do.
After dressing, I opened the laptop on the kitchen table and sat down to check out what Josh, if that really was his name, had said I should.
It didn’t take long to find it when I searched for the Benson kidnapping in Phoenix the year I turned five.
I found four newspaper articles in the archives of the Arizona Republic. In the most recent one, the FBI had closed down the search for young Debbie Benson less than a month after the kidnapper had been killed picking up the money and they hadn’t found the girl. The article quoted sources speculating that she’d been buried somewhere with a limited air supply, which had likely run out since they couldn’t find her. How terrible.
Going backward, the next article was about the shooting of the kidnapper and speculation of one or more accomplices.
The one before that announced that informed sources said a ransom demand had been received, but authorities didn’t confirm anything except that they were working around the clock to find young Debbie. “Leaving no stone unturned” was the quote.
The one before that was the first of the series. Debbie had been taken from her house, and the family was asking for help in finding their girl. Her family was related to the Los Angeles Bensons, whoever they were. A picture of the FBI press conference on the first page headed the article, but it was the jump to the rest of the article that held the surprise.
I squinted at the picture, and it couldn’t have been any clearer. The picture of Debbie was nearly identical to a picture of me Mom and Dad had taken when I was in second grade in Massachusetts.
I couldn’t breathe for the longest time.
When I got my wits back, I reread the article. Her birthday was the same as mine.
It couldn’t be true.
But the photo.
I squinted at it again.
It looked just like my second-grade picture.
Debbie Benson was me. I was the girl who’d gone missing.
I suddenly had no idea what was true and what wasn’t. Switching to the bensoncorp.com website, I searched for Josh Benson and found him in the corporate officers. The picture matched, including the scar.
I never had been an Armstrong; my name was Benson.
Closing the laptop, I hefted it under my arm and headed out to see the one person who could explain this to me. “I’m going to the store for a bit,” I yelled to Luke.
He would certainly have stopped me if I’d told him the truth.
When I drove by our house, Mom’s car was outside.
I knew Dom worked late today. I checked the time. I had at least an hour.
After parking around the corner on the side street, I took the laptop and walked up to the door I’d never expected to pass through again. My key still worked, and I let myself in.
Mom’s eyes went wide when she saw me, and she jumped up. “I knew you’d come home.” She rushed over to hug me.
I hugged her back. “We need to talk.” The anger I’d felt ebbed in the arms of the woman who’d raised me, the one who’d taught me everything about life.
She pulled me toward the kitchen. “How about coffee? You want some coffee? I have leftover pie too.”
I stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. “Mom, we need to talk.”
“Sure, dear, but first you should have some pie and watch the birds with me.”
“Mom,” I said loudly. “Stop it. And sit down.”
She moved to her chair at the breakfast table—the same one she always occupied. Her brows drew together. “Don’t get huffy with me, young lady.” Her focus shifted to the window. “The birds are very active today.”
“Sorry, Mom, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Nonsense. Let’s watch the birds for a moment. They’re pretty, don’t you think? Now that you’re back, we have all the time in the world.” She patted the table. “Sit and tell me what you’ve been up to.” She spoke as if I’d been away on a vacation instead of having left the house in the middle of the night to escape her second husband.
I pulled out my chair and sat. It didn’t seem as comfortable as it should have to be across from Mom. Nothing was the same anymore. I really didn’t have much time, so I had to lay it all out. I opened the laptop and refreshed the page with the earliest newspaper story. “Am I Debbie Benson?”
The blood drained from her face.
“Mom?” I asked.
She sobbed into her hands. “I never meant for you to find out like this.”
I gritted my teeth. “How could you?”
Tears streamed down her face. “We couldn’t have children of our own.”
“My mother and father didn’t die in a car accident, did they?”
She sobbed and shook her head silently.
I no longer recognized the woman who’d raised me—the woman who’d taken me from my real family. Anger boiled in my blood. I closed the laptop, snatched it up, and stood.
“You don’t understand,” she called after me.
I turned. “You took my real mother and father from me. You pretended to care for me, but you only cared about yourself. I understand plenty.” I turned my back on the crying woman I used to call my mom. I’d never call her that again.