Page 91 of My Girl
I scream, falling to my knees. The asphalt digs into my skin. I half expect Officer Gaines—Crave—to step out of the shadows and put me in handcuffs. To arrest me for being an accomplice to murder.
Then a paper flutters, landing on the dashboard. A stack of wrinkled papers is scattered across the front seat, each paper littered with glass shards.
I unlock the car, then carefully open the door, reaching over the glass to collect the papers. They’re paternity tests. I asked Crave to get the DNA sample for Michael Hall, but I didn’t ask him to test the samples. I stare down at the results, flipping through them until I see one I’m looking for.
Michael Hall. Probability of Paternity 0.00%
Not my father.
The next one is topped with a name I don’t recognize; it has the same result. Then another. And another. How many DNA samples did he test?
Then I find a folded paper with his writing on top. The edges of the red letters are faded, like he was running out of ink. His neat handwriting reveals his note:
We’re the same.
My heart thumps in my ears. Instinctively, I know what’s there before I even read the results. I don’t want to see it.
Maybe I do. Maybe I need to know.
Maybe I don’t.
Is it better to live in the dark?
“Fuck!” I scream.
I rip it open.
John Doe.Probability of Paternity 99.999998%
The biological father.
Mybiological father.
I don’t need to see his name there to know the truth. I shake my head so hard that I stumble, tripping over my feet.
Crave is my father.
No. He can’t be my father. He probably took my own DNA sample and used it against me to freak me out, to fuck with my head on a whole new level. To make me think that we’re related when it’s not true. It’s just me against me. Another twisted game to play. It has to be.
Crave can be Officer Gaines. It’s disgusting, and I hate myself for wanting him, but I can accept that he’s the mall cop who raped me. I can allow myself to like him with a mask on. Maybe I can even enjoy his actual face one day.
But he’s not my father.
He’s not my father.
He’s not?—
Tears burst through me. I’m not upset. I’m not sad. I’m not even mad or scared.
I’m overwhelmed.
I can’t stop shaking my head.
I dial Penny. The call goes straight to voicemail. My fingers quiver, vibrating so hard, I accidentally dial my mother. I hang up and call Ned instead. He picks up on the first ring.
“Rae? Hey,” he says. “Wow, it’s late. What’s up? Are you okay?”
“I’m having car trouble,” I say. My voice cracks. I huff, trying to get the weakness out of my system. Then I let go of that strength, because Ned will be more likely to help me if he thinks I’m in trouble. It’s better this way.
