Page 13 of 2nd Strike
She’ll kill me if I speak. Absolutely carve me up and bury my body where it’ll never be found. I’m aware of this, yet, I know Charlie. My strong, independent, conscientious sister has just admitted to herself that she made a mistake that could wreck any number of lives.
And it’s paralyzed her.
Tick-a-lock, tick-a-lock, tick-a-lock.
I can’t. No way. Not with my best friend struggling. I’ll take her wrath any day before I’ll let her fail.
I lean forward and touch the top of the reports. It breaks the odd spell between them and he focuses on my hand, then meets my eye. “What is she talking about?”
“Mr. Havers,” I say. “Ethan may not be your son.”
7
Charlie
Thank God for Meg. My blunt, in-your-face, amazing sister. She’s just saved me from speaking out loud the one thing I haven’t fully admitted to myself.
Failure.
I hate it with a passion.
Both Carl and I shift our eyes to her. His voice is barely a croak. “What?”
I'm finally able to find my own voice, and although my emotions are churning, I stay calm and exude confidence. “Eight years ago when I returned Ethan, my team recommended you and Lily have his DNA tested to make sure it was a match. You refused.”
His gaze, now tortured as a piece of reality sinks in, pins me with defiance. “You said that woman admitted he was our baby. We had that sketch.”
“The evidence pointed to the child being yours,” I agree. “But without DNA confirmation, there was always a chance it was wrong.”
His body is suddenly primed with tension, ready to jump to his feet, but I see him clinging to his frozen countenance with determination. “You can’t be serious."
There have been times in my life when I’ve had to deliver bad news, usually due to an unexpected tragedy or the discovery of a long buried secret. I’ve had to tell a few of my genealogy clients the father who raised them was not biologically theirs.
I received training for sticky situations like this in the FBI, but I find it woefully unhelpful at the moment. "Carl, I know this is a lot to take in, but we're going to get to the bottom of it. First, we need to retest your DNA, along with Lily and Ethan’s. There is an outside possibility something was screwed up at the lab Ethan used and all of this is just a mistake."
He slumps back in his chair, the rigidity giving way to fear. He is totally still and silent for several long moments. “What are the odds of that?”
Like me, Carl is cerebral. He wants facts, percentages, reassurances. I’m sure as a news anchor and morning host, he has to be three steps ahead of everyone else mentally, his job requires it. He needs to be knowledgeable about his subject matter at all times, even when there's no cue card or electronic prompter available.
There is definitely no cue card or prompter for this.
I want to give him the easy solution, the one that’ll give him hope, but in my opinion, false hope is worse than none. I don't lie to string people along or put off telling them bad news.
“The odds are very low," I admit, “but there’s a possibility thereisan alternate explanation why they don’t match. I am exploring all angles. Iwillfind an answer."
His dark eyes flash anger, hope, then the beginnings of devastation. His son means everything to him. The entire office is filled with pictures of Ethan through the years. Like any doting father, Carl has immortalized his son in Halloween costumes, his Little League uniform, the two of them at a hockey game sharing popcorn and big smiles. There's an Easter egg hunt, a birthday party, Ethan and his friends in the swimming pool out back.
My heart reels for him, and for Ethan as well. Carl, Lily, and this boy have created a family, whether they are related by blood or not.
A tense silence falls in the room. I feel Meg getting antsy and I shoot her a look. She's only spoken once, but it was a bomb, and while I wish she tempered her bluntness on occasion, I also want to thank her. She saved me from delivering the news, and now, she wants to save me again by comforting Carl as best as she can, reassuring both of us in a way that everything will be fine.
"Ethan is an amazing young man," Meg says, ignoring my warning glance. “You’ve raised him to feel safe and loved. That’s what matters, regardless of what we discover."
Carl stares at her as if she’s speaking another language. “If Ethan isn’t mine, my son is still out there! Don’t tell me what matters. Who knows what my real son has endured, what’s happened to him.”
Meg only nods.
Carl’s eyes snap to me. "How could you let this happen? I mean, you’ve got to be kidding me, right?” He forms a fist and thumps it against his chest. "I feel it, right here. I know he's my son.”
