Page 79 of Good Half Gone

Gran is back from therapy and sitting in her chair when we get home. She sits in her old recliner while we decorate the tree. It’s two solid hours of Christmas music and telling Cal stories about the ornaments. And by the end of it I’m exhausted. Gran looks more tired than usual. I try not to worry as I make dinner. Leo plays video games with Cal in the living room until it’s Cal’s bedtime; I walk him to the door, where he kisses me in full view of Gran.

When he opens the door and steps onto the cobblestone path, I feel sad. I don’t want to be away from him. Any space feels like too much. We lock eyes.

“Want me to wait for you? We can drive to my place together, and I can bring you home later,” he offers.

I’m giddy and still smiling when I face the living room. I have Leo on my side. Now that the DNA test will be done, I can finally relax. Gran is staring at me. I recognize the disapproval on her face.That look never ceases to make me feel like I’m a kid. Let her be angry, I think. I’ll have my answers about Piper soon. I want be done with this. The trauma of losing Piper took up so much room in my life I didn’t have the time or energy to think about anything else. My brain prophesized doom on the hour every hour. It was only when I was with Leo that an excited hope crept in. I walk past Gran into the kitchen, calculating the time it will take to get both of them to bed and the dishes washed before I can make it to Leo’s. We both have to work tomorrow, but it will be worth it.

Chapter25

On A Tuesdayin January, he finds me in the laundry room folding towels for the next shift. Two of the dryers are running, and we stand close to them while we talk so no one walking past can hear us. “I have something to tell you,” he says close to my ear.

“Oh?”

“The results came back.” He’s holding a cream folder in his right hand. I try to read his face, but it’s professionally blank.

“The results are in there?”

He nods. I work at the lump in my throat. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he says.

I nod. Okay, fine. The laundry room is opposite the clinic. He leads me through the frosted door into the waiting area. The clinic is empty; he takes me into one of the examination rooms and closes the door. Everything in the room is white. I sit on the stool meant for the doctor and swing in a circle. It’s something Cal does when he’s nervous. That’s why I am here—Cal. If Jude is his father, I’ll have my confirmation.

Leo sits on the edge of the chair meant for patients and smiles kindly at me. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to,” I say. “Please just tell me.”

He fills his cheeks with air and blows it out. I focus on his hands when he opens the folder and pulls out a single sheet of paper.

“Okay, go,” I say, closing my eyes.

Is this really how it’s going to go down? Nine years of anguished waiting, and I am finally going to know one way or another in this stupid, dark room.

“It’s not him, Iris.”

I snatch the paper out of his hand. Turning my back to Leo, I read the results while facing the wall, my teeth already working on my thumbnail. He’s not wrong. Cal is not Jude’s son. I don’t know which feelings to feel.

There are a hundred competing thoughts rattling my brain. I’m shocked, but more than that I’m disappointed, which is an awful thing to feel when finding out that Cal is not related to Jude.

He touches my shoulder, and I jerk away. “I can’t…” I’m out of breath, dizzy. “I just need a minute…” It feels like the room is riding rusty rails; my vision sways and my throat is tightening. “Are you sure?”

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I haven’t been able to get you alone.”

I nod. The wind gusts outside the window. I walk over. Parting the blinds with a finger, I look out. It’s pitch-black, but I know I’m staring at the Salish Sea.

“I know you wanted this to be true.”

My eyes crowd with tears. No, I didn’twantit to be true. I didn’twantany of this. I need closure. Gran needs closure before she dies. And most importantly, Piper’s son will need closure.

Leo’s face is twisted with worry.

“I’m okay,” I say, “but I’d like some time alone.” I offer him a weak smile.

He kisses my forehead before he leaves.

I’ve spent four years of my life chasing this…this…idea that I could find the answers I need. I’d convinced myself I’ve been on the right track. I was wrong. It hurts to be wrong, it hurts like the day I lost her. I swipe at my tears angrily. On goes life—three very unfair words.

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