Page 53 of How to Walk Away

“That’s what I thought,” Kit said. “So we sent another sample. Same results.”

“This can’t be right. This is insane.”

“Next, I confronted Mom about it. At the Fourth of July party three years ago.”

The conversation was starting to feel like a rickety old mine cart on a downhill track. “And what did Mom say?” I asked.

“Whatdidn’tshe say? She told me I was crazy and wrong and spoiled and selfish. She told me to back off, and it was none of my business. She told me to drop the whole subject and throw the test results in the trash. She told me I’d ruined her life. Then she plastered a big, false, Stepfordsmile on her face and walked out to the backyard to continue hosting her pool party.”

I blinked at Kit.

“And that was the moment when I knew for sure. Our dad is not my father.”

Twelve

I RUBBED MYeyes. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m telling you,” Kit said. “It is. The minute I knew, Iknew.”

She had a patient look, like she didn’t really have to convince me. Like the facts would get me there, and all she had to do was wait.

“But!” I protested. This was impossible. “You have his same smile! And his same sense of humor! And you both love sailing! AndThe Matrix! And popcorn!”Case closed!

Kit gave me a look. “Everybody loves popcorn. That’s not genetic.”

“There has to be a mistake.”

“Mom was livid that night. She denied everything, but she did it so viciously, I knew I was right. I, of course, drank the entire margarita machine after that, because that’s what I used to do back then, and then I pushed her into the pool—not my finest moment. When she climbed out, sopping wet, I followed her and got in her face until she finally told me the truth.”

I waited a long time before I said, “What was the truth?”

Kit looked right into my eyes. “I was a mistake.”

I did not look away.

She went on, “I was an ‘unfortunate accident.’ With someone who was not Dad.”

All the air leaked out of my lungs. I felt like a punctured tire.

When my chest started to sting, I sucked in a big breath. “Does Dad know?”

Kit shook her head.

I tried to put the pieces together. Our mom knew, of course. Kit knew, and had for three years. Now I knew. Everybody except our dad.

A long silence. Then at last I said, “That’s why you left.”

Kit nodded. “I told her she had to choose. Either she told the truth, or I was gone.”

“That’s a tough choice,” I said.

Kit’s eyes snapped to mine. “Are you taking her side?”

“I’m just saying that’s tough.”

“Not for Linda,” Kit said. “She kicked me out in five seconds flat.” For just a second, I saw Kit’s expression sag—before she raised her shoulders, stood up a little taller, and said, “Whatever.”

“Just think,” I said. “She carried that secret all those years.”

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