Page 114 of This I Know
She sits on the sofa.
“Is there anything I can get you? Would you like a drink?”
“No, that’s alright, Mr. Harrington. Why don’t you take a seat?”
I sit across from her and sling my arm over the back of the sofa. “And what can I help you with? I’ve been through about a million interviews by now so I doubt I have any more information to offer.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t about that, Mr. Harrington.” She scans her Ipad, her finger flicking at the screen. “It looks like a while back you underwent some lab work as part of our protocol, and that’s good. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do, and we appreciate it.”
“I think I remember that. Lots of cotton swabs and needs and stuff. That was, what, to rule me out or something, right?”
“Well, we are required to take some DNA for that reason, but we also run that DNA through a battery of tests.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “So, what? Am I sick or something?”
“No, no.” She clicks her Ipad off and sets it on the sofa next to her. “Mr. Harrington, there are more than a dozen precautionary tests we run on DNA during a criminal investigation while we prepare for trial, but one of the standard tests we run in cases such as this is genetic. Paternity. And in this case, your results have come back incompatible with your father’s.”
For a moment, I don’t speak. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, I can’t explain this for you, Mr. Harrington, but the testing doesn’t lie. Here,” she picks up her Ipad again, “is a copy of the lab results. I’m going to email them to you, alright?” She shrugs without looking up. “And if you like, you can share these results with your doctor. He’ll be able to take it from there.”
I hear her words but I can’t move.
“He may wish to run another test,” she continues casually, “in which case he can feel free to contact us for any samples he may need.” She makes one last loud tap on the screen and then looks up, smiling and holding the Ipad again to her chest. “Do you have any questions?”
I realize I’m staring and snap back to attention. “No. No, that was pretty clear.”
“Well, then there is one other thing. I just came from your mother’s house. I must say, when I broke the news to her it didn’t seem like much of a shock. Not like I see in you, anyway.” She pulls a folded pieces of paper out of her pocket and holds it out. “All she wanted was for me to wait for her to jot something down and for me to give it to you.”
I take it.
“Very well. Thank you, Mr. Harrington. It was a pleasure to meet you and I wish you the best of luck.”
She extends her hand and I slowly shake it.
I do my best to rise and walk her to the door, but the world feels like it’s going backwards.
“Good day,” she says, and she leaves.
“Thank you.”
The door closes, and I look at my hand still on the doorknob. I stand, stunned. Then I look at my palms, my wide, strong fingers that my father used to place against his as I grew bigger.
And here I always thought I had my dad’s hands.
“Who was that?”
Avery dabs at her damp hair with a towel, then tosses it onto the back of the sofa and combs her fingers through some tangles.
“That was…” I’m still in shock. “That was a cop. Someone handling my dad’s case.
She tenses at the topic. “And?”
“And she left me with this.” I hold up the paper. “It’s from my mom.”
“Okay, so let’s open it.”
She reaches for it, but I pull it away. “Are you sure you want to do this? Who knows what the hell could be in here.”
