Dark One: One for Sorrow... (The Khiara Banning Series Book 1) (10 page)

Frowning, I say, “I didn’t know how hard you’d studied for the test. Sorry…”

Cara smiles, hugs me and says, “It’s a rare occasion that you are an asshole and I am willing to forgive you, since you seem to be all
shook up
– to quote Elvis. Now let’s go ride the Minotaur, and forget we ever had this awkward moment.”

Tristan grins from the sidelines, “That’s
my
favourite ride. I like the tunnel it takes you through before the big drop.”

When we get to the roller coaster, the line is quite short, there are only about ten of us waiting and soon enough it’s our turn. The Minotaur is the biggest coaster at Monster’s Domain, and during nice days the line is packed with people. It’s based upon some cheesy horror movie about a Minotaur that attacks a whole bunch of tourists in the woods while they go camping. I’ve seen it practically a million times with Cara and each time it gets funnier and funnier to see the fake blood oozing out of cuts that should be already clotted over, and the bad props that are so
obviously
put together on a very low budget. For whatever reason they made a ride based on it, and the ride is a million times better than the movie,
thank God
.

Once we’re all seated and ready to go, the cars begin to move forward and my heart starts pumping in anticipation. I’m no longer scared or worried; for now I’m going to enjoy the ride.

As it slowly moves forward, I can’t help but let out a whoop of excitement, and then I can’t stop. Car, Tristan, and everybody else on the ride join in, and as we finally reach the top –my favourite part– we stop for a couple of seconds and overlook the whole amusement park. It’s beautiful to see all of the lights down there.

Then we’re pitching forward, super-fast, and this is one of my favourite feelings in the whole world, because I equate it to the idea of falling in love.

After riding the Minotaur three times in a row, the rain starts again, harder than before, and we hide under the awning of one of the game stands. “Damn it!” yells Cara, as she pulls out her mirror to check her makeup, “I hate the rain sometimes.”

Feeling childish, I push her out into the rain but she catches on and pulls me out with her. Laughing and getting soaked, we run around in the rain pushing each other and twirling and whirling to the beat of our own hysterical giggles.

Tristan smiles indulgently at us, but he isn’t safe because soon we have him joining us, whooping and hollering as we run around the park, splashing in puddles that are ankle deep. I decide that I like him.

He’s a keeper.

~*~

By the time we get to my house, it’s almost midnight. We stopped to get burgers from the only McDonalds within miles of us, since we rarely get to eat there unless we’re out of town, on the way home, giggling when the server ogled our wet clothes and messy hair.

I open the front door and take a tentative step in, looking around for anybody when I hear the light snoring of my Dad, and I know he’s been waiting for me to get home for probably a very long time. I don’t have a curfew, so this must be important.

“I’m home,” I say as I close the door, and Dad’s snoring stops.

“Come, sit with me Khiara, I have to tell you something.” He says, eyeing me warily.

“I’m home before I usually am. Am I in trouble?”

He shakes his head and smiles warily, “No, you’re not. But your mother and I, well, we hoped you’d be home earlier. We have something important to tell you.”

Internally groaning, I sit down beside him on the couch, “What is it Daddy? Can it wait until tomorrow?”

He sighs, and I notice for the first time he looks his age, almost fifty. “I’m afraid not, Khiara. We feel we shouldn’t wait any longer to tell you. No matter what, you know we love you. You do know that don’t you?”

Startled, I say, “Of course. I love you guys too.” He nods, like this is good progress, but it’s no secret that I love my parents, even though they’re hardly home. They work hard and though it sometimes stings when they’re away, I understand that they work hard so that we can live the way we do.

Dad sighs again, and opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out; a first for a big talker such as himself. Mom’s soft footsteps pad down the hallway and soon she’s in the living room with us.

“Hi beautiful,” she says into my hair as she pulls me in for a hug. She smells like lemons and happy, familiar things and I ease into the hug, smiling. My mother has the softest russet coloured skin, big brown eyes, and light brown hair, which is starting to grey at the top.

“Hi, Mom. How was work?”

“Don’t ask,” she replies, holding me at arm’s length to get a good look at me, “I had a rough day. I came home early so we could talk.”

“What did you guys want to tell me?” I ask, and then feel bad as both their faces fall, like maybe they were going to back out if I hadn’t have asked.

“Maybe we
should
wait until tomorrow…” Mom says, but Dad shakes his head and says, “Miranda, I think now is the time.”

“We love you very much, Khiara,” Dad says again. “But you need to know something very important.” My heart beat starts to pick up. “We are not your birth parents. We should have told you earlier, maybe raised you to know this, but we didn’t know any other way.”

My heart skips a couple of beats.
What did he say?

“Honey.” says Mom. “That doesn’t make you any less our daughter.”

“What…I’m…I’m
adopted
? How could you not have told me earlier?” I hear myself ask.

Mom speaks up. “Well, you were born in Ireland, as far as we know. Your father and I had been living there for a while, after we moved out of France.” My mother and father met while she was touring Europe, and they quickly fell in love and got married after only six months of dating, and I knew that we lived in Ireland for the first year of my life.

She clears her throat. “We had been trying to conceive for a while and just when I finally became pregnant…I lost the baby just six months later; it would have been a girl. We’d named her Madeline, for your father’s late mother. We were getting very frustrated with the situation, and we didn’t know how to mourn for our lost child; so we fought. One day, after a very bad fight, you father opened the door because he was going to take a walk to cool down… and there you were. You were just lying there quietly sleeping, in an old cardboard box swaddled in blankets, and you couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old.”

Irrational anger pools in my gut. “So, what, you just adopted me like that? No paperwork or anything? You realize how ridiculous that is right? How impossible that sounds. It’s just not plausible, I’m sorry. ”

Dad smiles sadly. “We didn’t sign any papers in the beginning. We took you to the hospital so that they could examine you. We didn’t dare hope we could keep you as our own. They let us stay while you were being looked at by the doctor so we could hear the results of their findings. As we waited outside the neonatal unit, your mother broke down in tears. How somebody could just abandon a new born baby like that, we didn’t understand. We mourned for you; you’d been so small and pale, and your body was burning with fever. All over again, your mother and I were reminded of our lost baby.”

He looks down at his lap and my mother whispers his name. “Jaques…”

I begin to shake, and let out a long breath. My mother starts sobbing. “When they finally came into the hall to give us the news, we thought for sure you were gone- but they said you had a clean bill of health, despite the fever you’d had earlier. We were so relieved, honey, and they even decided that it was in your best interest to come live with us for a while; they knew we had all of the necessary means to take care of a baby. Khiara, we were so happy though we knew it was only temporary until they found a home for you. Only, it wasn’t temporary.”

“One day we received a phone call stating that we could, if we wished, fill out the paperwork to legally adopt you. The whole process took a month to settle. We moved here not long after when I got my job working at the museum, so of course you wouldn’t remember.” My mother works at an art museum which is pretty far away from town, restoring art as best as she can. She has her own painting business on the side that she runs out of a local studio.

I nod like I understand, but tears still form in my eyes, and soon they make their way down my cheeks, scorching. “So you’re not my real parents?”

Mom and Dad look stricken, and instantly I rephrase it, “I mean, my birth parents.”

“No, ma belle,” says Dad softly, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

Suddenly a thought occurs to me and I bit my lip nervously. “Who named me?”

Dad thinks about the answer for a bit, and when he takes too long, Mom says, “A very nice nurse did. Her name was Morgan. She said that it fit you as ‘the little dark one’ or something, I assume because of your hair colour.”

“I am sorry, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know how to tell you, and every year we told ourselves that we would do it but we just couldn’t bring ourselves to. But you’re getting so big and we are so proud of you, and we just…” Mom trails off.

“It’s okay. I know now.” I say.

They each wrap their arms around me, and I let myself fall into them, comforting me with soothing whispers and pats on my back, telling me that they love me. And I know they mean it, really mean it, and it feels nice to know that they chose to keep me when they could have given me up. But it still hurts to find something like this out after such a long time.

“Do you want to take the day off of school on Monday?” Mom asks, her eyes glinting with tears. “I’ll be home until two and we can spend some quality time together until then.”

“I guess,” I say, wiping my eyes on my mother’s sleeve. “I could use some mother-daughter time.”

“Good,” my father murmurs into my hair as he hugs me. “You guys need some time alone. Maybe we can have a day to ourselves too.”

Sunday passed with a blur of shopping for semi-formal accessories and eventually getting drunk and having a good time with Cara and Tristan who prompted me to call Cael while I was completely hammered – he didn’t answer, which I rejoiced about – and laughed as I left an awkward message on his answering machine explaining the situation. Before I know it, I’m extremely hung over and it’s Monday.

I wake to the smell of bacon, my mouth watering as I practically float down the staircase, towards the kitchen. Pug trots after me, sitting down by my feet as I plop into a chair at the dining room table, where my mother’s set out waffles, syrup, butter, bacon, eggs, toast, milk, orange juice, and a cup of steaming hot tea. She really went all out.

“Mom, this is…fantastic. Thanks!” I say as I begin to pile my plate as high as I can. She’s practically made enough to feed a whole small village!

Smiling and taking a sip of juice, Mom says, “Well, good morning to you too. It’s good to know you still enjoy my cooking.” Since she has to work so much, she hardly gets to cook for me, and when she is home, she’s usually exhausted. My dad tries to cook when he’s home, but he’s kind of terrible at it, and I’m not much better. I can make small breakfast things, but that’s about it. When my mother cooks, it’s like every ounce of love she has for me is put into the meal.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Asks Mom as I plough through my breakfast.

When I’m done chewing, I say, “Anything is fine.”

She thinks about this and smiles, “How about a makeover and
mani-pedi
at the mall?”

Even though I’m not much into that kind of stuff, I know she’s really trying to fit in some girl time with me, which I appreciate considering I never see her, and what I found out last night so I agree.

Mom squeals like a little kid at a Hannah Montana concert. “Great!”

Two hours later, I’m wearing the only pink article of clothing I have, a tube top that Cara bought for me last year on my birthday, and a pair of short shorts that Mom insisted I wear because it’s so hot out. The only thing that resembles me are my signature black converse.

“Are you ready to go?” asks Mom as we get into her car, a sleek hybrid-something-or-other. She keeps telling me what type of car it is, but I’m not that good with cars, so I always nod and mumble to give a semblance of caring.

As we pull out of the driveway, that stupid feeling of being watched has to pop up, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, it just won’t go away. I close my eyes for an instant, and when I open them, Mom’s slamming on the breaks, swearing.

“What is it?” I ask, confused and more than a little startled.

“I thought I saw somebody in the road. I guess not. It looked like that kid from your school…what was his name, Daniel or something? Though I don’t know what he’d be doing running around out here during a school day. Damn near got himself killed.”

“You mean Damien.” I mumble.

Shuddering, I remember the day in the cafeteria, where he grabbed my hand a little too hard and the way he looked at me as if I were a puzzle, as if I were something…I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since, anyway.

“Weird,” I say as we turn into the mall parking lot. “Maybe he found out he was adopted too.”