Page 14 of 2nd Strike
The emotion rolls off him, flooding over me, and I wish there was something I could say to make all of this okay, but there isn’t. I pull out a consent form from my briefcase, and lay it on the results. “If you will sign this, I’ll help you with the new testing kit to get a fresh sample.”
The emotion drains out of him as fast as it came. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and looks out the window to his left. "I can’t believe this. I just can’t.“
Meg and I sit still, giving him time to process. Behind us, the office door opens and Ethan sticks his head in. “Dad?"
When Carl’s gaze falls on the boy, his eyes tear. He waves Ethan in.
Ethan says “hi” to Meg and I and we acknowledge him silently.
“Everything okay?" His attention darts between the three of us.
I reassure him with a nod and go into client/investigator mode. “We were discussing the genetic results with your father." I emphasize “father,” knowing it may be a sore point at the moment, but it seems important. Biology or not, they are bonded. “I know you two have a lot to discuss, and we’ll get out of your hair as soon as I get the samples and new consent."
I pull two DNA kits out of my briefcase and set them on the table. Carl stares at them as if they might be lions ready to pounce.
Ethan snatches one up, eager. “No problem.” He hands it to Carl before grabbing the second for himself. “Come on, Dad. Let's do this."
It's almost as if they’ve reversed roles, Ethan becoming the adult and offering guidance to Carl. Beleaguered, he rises, accepts the kit, and starts to follow Ethan from the room.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
It’s short lived. The door flies open once more and in rushes Lily. She is a stunning beauty with long, auburn hair, porcelain skin, and sparkling green eyes.
"Ethan?" The heavily lined eyes take all of us in at once, but her focus lights on her son. She goes to him, brushing his bangs to the side. "The school called and said you were sick. What's wrong?"
Her attention slides to the test kits, then to Meg and I, a frown creasing her forehead. A brief flicker of recognition passes over her expression when she sees me, then I think I see the tiniest hint of fear.
Carl, who stiffened the moment she marched in, motions at me. “Lily, you remember Agent Schock."
“It’s just Dr. Schock now,” I correct. “I’m no longer with the FBI.”
Before she can respond, Ethan channels Meg, dropping the bomb about everything. He tells his mother the truth about why he left school, why Meg and I are there, and why he and Carl are about to take another DNA test.
With each revelation, she steps back—bam, bam, bam—Ethan’s words like physical blows. Horror floods her perfect face.
When he finishes, Lily sinks into the chair Carl vacated, the sparkling eyes now haunted. The smiling face from TV is contorted into confusion, full-blown fear lurking in the tiny crow’s feet, now evident.
After a minute, she shakes her head like she’s awakening from a bad dream. She sits forward, placing her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands as she looks at me. “Agent Schock," she implores, “what is this nonsense? Is this some sick joke?"
Lily hails from the south and has a soft accent and good manners. Her on-camera persona is one of Southern charm and politeness. Everything is schooled into model-perfect control—head up, chin forward, every pore oozing charisma. Her teeth are as white as the scarf artfully slung around her neck. She smiles now, as if I’m about to reveal this is a prank, her eyes encouraging me to tell her none of this is real.
What can I say? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Havers. It’s not.”
Shock is a funny thing, and I see another bout of denial, fear, and rejection play tag across her features.
Her focus shifts to Ethan. "I don't remember anything about this biology project. I never gave you permission to do a DNA test.”
“You were out of town that week," he replies. "It was just Dad and I. He signed the slip.”
Carl offers more explanation, as if Lily's whereabouts during that time period might clarify everything. “You were on location doing the Good Morning Atlanta segment, remember?"
Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, her glare a polar ice cap. “Well, it certainly would've been nice if someone had let me in on this. You are something else, Carl. He’s my son, too. As usual, you did it your way.”
Carl jerks his head in my direction then levels his own scathing glance at his wife. “We’ll talk about it later.”
America’s sweethearts indeed.
“Oh, we will,” she says then turns to me again. “I find it absolutely ridiculous there's any question about his DNA, and I never would’ve agreed to this project.”
