Ripples (23 page)

Jacob

Baker leaves it to one of his lackeys to break the news that I’m not a killer. Seems like Teresa and Bryce were the ones he should have been chasing after. I have to admit it. With those black holes in my memory, there were time even I thought I might have….

Carl picks me up at the hospital, and I insist we get lunch at the Sutter Street Grill in Folsom. Doctors say I need to build up my blood supply. I ignore their dietary suggestions—order up a big plate of biscuits and gravy that the diner’s famous for, plus a side of crisp bacon, a large orange juice, and coffee.

He looks at me across his plate of chorizo and eggs. “So what’s next?”

“Find Celine.”

“And the cabin.”

“Guess we box up the stuff in the bunker and store it somewhere. Clean up the lot and rebuild.”

He takes a sip of coffee. “What about the girls?”

“I suppose part of that’s up to them. They’re both almost eighteen. But as far as I’m concerned, anything they need, they get. And I hope that includes spending a lot of time with an adopted grandfather.”

He reaches into his valise and flashes a grin. “I have some copies of DNA reports I’ve been dying to show you. I just wanted to feel out your reaction first.”

“I don’t need DNA. I’ll know Celine when I see her.”

“Okay, but remember the DNA evidence they cited at your arraignment? It linked Celine to that shack.”

“Sure, and if Teresa is telling the truth about her mother and me, that DNA could belong to Mercedes, right?”

He holds the file in front of my face. “Amy is the girl who lived in the shack with those two monsters—her DNA is an exact match to Celine’s profile in the missing children’s database.”

“How can that be? I’d know my own granddaughter.”

“Jake, it’s been twelve years. As Ellen said—you were just a shell—”

“Of a husband and father—and I guess a shell of a grandfather, too.” A lump forms in my throat. I fight back tears. My lips tremble. “The nightmare’s finally over.”

“I’ve talked with the social worker assigned to both girls. They’re running a paternity test to determine if Teresa Armato is the other girl’s mother. But here’s the kicker—from the DNA samples they collected from the girls, it appears that they’re related.”

“Does that mean Teresa is telling the truth about being my—my daughter? And about Mercedes?”

“It’s certainly possible.”

“How soon can we know?”

“A few days.”

I snatch up the check and pull out my wallet.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Paying—we’ve got to get the girls.”

“Whoa—don’t get ahead of yourself. Maybe—“

I hold up both hands. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe Mercedes’ DNA will come back negative.”

“So?”

“So, are you sure you want to get any more involved with her before you know for sure?”

“Listen, Carl. I have a granddaughter, maybe two! Sure, I’ve been an asshole. That doesn’t mean I have to stay one. Those girls need me. And as far as Mercedes is concerned, if she’s not my real granddaughter, there’s no law that says you have to be related by blood to—to be family.”

“It’s not just up to you. CPS will decide.”

“Even if I’m next of kin?”

“We don’t know that yet … and even if that’s the case, it won’t be automatic. They’ll check you out—and Mercedes will be interviewed. Maybe she’s better off somewhere else. Both those girls have been through a lot. You might not be the best—”

“I’m Celine’s grandfather—and as for Mercedes, I’ll adopt her. I can do that can’t I?”

“Let the system work it out. If we don’t like what they come up with—if the girls want to live with you—we’ll appeal and let a judge sort things out.”

I slump back down in my seat. “I want to see the girls as soon as possible. They need to know I’m here for them.”

“Okay. I’ll see what we can work out. But for all your sakes, don’t make any commitments you can’t keep.”

“I’m not about to hurt those poor girls.”

“There’s one big question you haven’t said a thing about.”

“What’s that?”

“Teresa.”

“What about her?”

“What if she’s your daughter?”

“And she’s a kidnapper, a murderer, an extortionist ….”

“The DA’ll have her DNA.”

I shrug.

Amy

Mercedes told the social worker not to split us up. I agreed. So we’re staying with these people in town. Bryce brought me to this house one time … late at night … said folks who have foster kids expect things to go missing. If I was quiet, nobody would notice. I was, and nothing bad happened.

It’s different here, now … don’t know what to think. I’m scared … but not sure what of. At least nobody makes us do chores … they even cook for us … and nobody comes at night and hurts us. Mercedes swiped a knife from the kitchen … sleeps in a bed next to mine … hides it under her mattress just in case. She keeps saying everything will be okay. I ask her how she feels about being Jake’s granddaughter. She’s not sure … says being rich would be nice … as long as I could come with her.

The social worker brings another lady with her who sticks a ‘swab’ in my mouth. Does the same to Mercedes. Says they’re checking to see if our families are looking for us. I tell her mine never came. Mercedes asks about RJ. The woman says they don’t know anything. I ask if the swab will help them find him. She says “No.”

A couple of weeks later, I wake up screaming. Everything’s black.

Mercedes holds me … stroking my hair. Sweaty … hot. I was dreaming … grandpa standing by a lake … a man holding my hand, tight. Grandpa always gave me cinnamon candy … wrapped in crinkly, red see-through papers. Grandpa’s cell phone rings. The man pulls my arm. I throw myself on the ground, screaming like Mommy told me. The man picks me up … puts his hand over my mouth … I try to bite it. He carries me off … running. Grandpa yells … I reach out for him. He’s gone. A door clunks shut … someone covers my head … everything’s black … the car races off.

Mercedes tells me it’s not real anymore … just then the foster lady comes into our room. Mercedes says, “She just had a bad dream. She’s okay now.”

The lady asks, “Can I get you some hot cocoa?”

“No, thanks,” I say.

“We’ll be fine,” Mercedes says.

“All right,” the lady tells her. “I’m just down the hall. Let me know if you want anything.”

I slip my hand under the pillow … feel for the crinkly red wrapper from the candy Jake gave me. Clutch it in my hand … whisper to Mercedes, “Want RJ back.”

“Shh ....” She lies down and holds me ’til I fall asleep.

A few days later the social worker is back. Still doesn’t know about RJ. My heart sinks. Everything I see is gray.

The lady says Jake asked if we want to see him.

Mercedes’ face lights up. “Sure … when?”

I nod. “If he wants to.”

Mercedes

T
he sign on the door says
Sutter Street Grill
. There’s a lot of people inside. More people are waiting on the sidewalk out front. The social worker opens the door.

I peer inside, searching for Jake’s half bald head. He’s sitting in back at a corner table with a couple of men. One is a big guy—even bigger than Jake—with thick silver hair. The other one, about Jake’s size, has just as much hair as the big guy—only black. A tall woman in an apron is standing by their table, talking and laughing.

Jake jumps out of his chair when he sees us.

I break out into a big grin—my eyes so wide the skin on my face stretches.

When the social worker says, “Go on,” I run right up to him. He catches me in his arms and hugs me tight.

“I’ve been dying to see you two,” he whispers in my ear.

I look back at Amy. She’s staring at the floor, still standing with the social worker at the door.

I wave her over. “Come on, Amy.”

She shuffles toward us—her head still hanging—and stops a couple feet away.

Jake holds out an arm to Amy as he clings on to me with the other. “Come on. I owe you a big thanks. You saved my life.”

Amy takes a couple of steps and leans into me—avoiding his touch. He rests his hand on her shoulder, anyway, and tells us he has some news.

As we sit down, Jake introduces Tim with the silver hair and Carl. The tall lady is Lorna. She owns the business.

I look at Jake, waiting for his news, but he hands us menus and says Lorna will take our orders first.

I ask for a big stack of pancakes and sausage.

Amy’s eyes get big when she sees the humongous cinnamon rolls.

Tim says, “We saved one just for you.”

She smiles for the first time in days.

Jake starts to say something, but he chokes. His eyes are misty. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “The past twelve years—for me—have been hell.”

Carl says, “Take your time.”

I look over at Tim, whose eyes are red.

Jake takes a deep breath. “I’ve searched twelve years for a granddaughter I hardly knew—I’d wasted my whole life chasing the next big deal. I had a family, but in my self-absorbed view of things they were only trophies. It wasn’t until I lost the most precious part of my life that I realized I’d never taken time to know any of them—my wife, son, daughter-in-law, granddaughter. That’s when I started losing my grip, could barely function. The firm I’d invested my whole life in kicked me out the door. So there I was—alone.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Now I have a granddaughter I only suspected I had—never gave much thought to her, never looked for her His lips tremble. He struggles to get the rest out.

Carl clears his throat. “Mercedes, your DNA tests prove that you’re Jake’s granddaughter—for certain.”

I pull my hand away from Jake’s. “Does that mean Tess is really my mother?”

Jake shakes his head. “We don’t have to go there unless you want to.”

Carl adds, “It’s not something you have to think about until you want to, and even if she is, it doesn’t have to change anything.”

I turn to Jake. “Change what?”

Jake sips his coffee. “I want you to know—if it’s all right with you—I want to be the best grandfather in the world. And I’m planning to rebuild the cabin with two extra bedrooms.

I glance at Amy. Her eyes are red, misty with tears.

“Does that mean Amy can live with us?”

Jake nods, his mouth quivers. “That’s … that’s ….” He covers his mouth and closes his eyes.

Tim rests his hand on Jake’s shoulder.

Carl sighs. “What Jake is having a hard time saying—not because he’s sad, but because he never imagined being this happy—is that Amy’s DNA is identical to Celine’s—the granddaughter he’s been searching for these past twelve years.”

Jake’s shoulders shake, tears roll down his face.

Amy jerks up out of her slouch, her mouth wide open.

Carl adds with a grin, “That makes you cousins.”

I jump out of my chair, pull Amy out of her seat, and throw a bear-hug on her, start jumping up and down, squealing.

Amy jerks back and runs to the door. Before taking off outside, she turns for a moment and stares at us. Tears are rolling down her cheeks. I take a couple steps toward her, and she bolts out the door.

When I catch up with her, I try to hold her, but she pushes me away. I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you hear what he said?”

She screams, “You’re the granddaughter he never looked for. You have a mother, even if she is a bitch. Where is my mother … my daddy? Why didn’t they come looking for me?”

Jacob

It’s the second time I’ve been inside the county jail. This time I’m not the one in chains, thank God.

The glassed-in cubicle where the deputy is sitting reminds me of a ticket booth at a cinema. He directs me to station #26. I sit in a stackable chair, facing a monitor that displays the image of an empty concrete-block wall. I rest my elbows on a narrow desk between me and the monitor, massage my temples, and dredge up faint memories of the bright, rising star in my old firm, Teresa Armato.

She takes a seat, and her face fills the screen. I study her for the first time, recognizing her nose and mouth as being my own. The hair, complexion, eyes—all belong to someone else. I could study her for hours and never get a clear picture of who her mother was.

“Hello, Teresa.”

She laughs. “No one’s called me that for ages.”

“Are they treating you okay?”

She shrugs.

“I read over the paper you wanted me to sign. Don’t think it’s appropriate—under the circumstances.”

She sneers.

“I have to be honest. I don’t remember your mother.”

“She said you wouldn’t—or at least wouldn’t want to.”

“That proves she knew me a hell of a lot better than I knew myself.”

Teresa looks down. All I see is the top of her head.

“How did you get mixed up with this Bryce guy?”

“Mom never wanted me to know who my father was. By the time I graduated from the University of Chicago, she’d died of cancer. I went there on a full ride—graduated cum laude. I used what little inheritance she left to hire a private detective to help me find you.

“First, he discovered Mom had been an admin for one of the executives at a large trust in Frisco. That led him to Bryce, who worked for the trust as head of maintenance. Bryce told him he knew my Mom pretty well, and was aware she’d had an affair with the CEO at an investment firm that handled the trust’s money. When the detective dug deeper, he figured out you were the CEO—and per your MO, the affair was short lived.

“I applied for a job with your firm so I could figure out whether I wanted to meet you—had no trouble getting hired. Kept my nose clean, worked hard, got introduced to Jesse. He set me up with one of the senior brokers who insisted I sleep with him to ‘accelerate my career.’ I was stupid—fell for his line and wound up pregnant. Of course, he dumped me. But that wasn’t the worst rejection.

When I told Jesse who I was, he was excited about having a sister, but wanted to hold off telling you—until the time was right. Then my baby bump started showing, and his wife had just learned she was expecting, too. She wasn’t about to have her child share the Chandler legacy with the bastard of a bastard. He didn’t have the balls to stand up to her.”