Page 19 of Finding Home

When silence reigned at the other end of the line, she continued, “Someone has set up a monthly automatic deposit into my account and since I know you wouldn’t risk your life transferring money into my personal account without discussing it with me first, I am going to assume it was Dad, who I am way too angry to talk to at the moment, so I need you to make it stop. Reverse the funds, send them back, whatever you need to do, just make it go away.” All this came out in one long rush of frustrated air.

“Now,” she added with emphasis when her brother still said nothing.

Her brother’s ongoing silence was unnerving. And annoying. She could hear him breathing, so she knew he hadn’t hung up on her. Good sign. But she could tell he was frustrated—it was palpable even through an electronic device. If it was with her or the situation she didn’t know, but because she loved him, she let him have time to collect himself.

“Ok, first of all, take a deep breath,” were the words he chose to follow the silence up with.

Okay, so maybe he did want to die after all.

“Oh hell no. Do NOT tell me to take a deep breath like I am some out-of-control toddler, Joel.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “You know how important this is to me. I don’t want him to interfere. He’s been interfering my whole life, and I am sick of it.” The first hot tear leaked down her cheek, and she was grateful Joel couldn’t see it. She knuckled it away with a rough fist, because the only thing worse than sounding like an out-of-control toddler was acting like one. “He needs to stop making decisions for me.”

Joel must have heard the emotion in her voice, because his took on a soothing, coddling tone that only made her temper spike. “Look, you’re my sister and I love you, but we are talking about Dad here. His providing instincts go deep, and the thought of you out there on your own—struggling to make ends meet because of some stupid decision he and Mom made when you were a baby—is killing him.” He sighed placatingly. “It’s not going to be so easy for me to make him stop taking care of his little girl. Whether you’re done being angry with him or not.”

Joel was right, of course. Damn him. And Hope knew it was unfair to keep dragging him into the middle of her emotionally-charged interactions with their parents. Yet, she knew Joel was the only one she could count on to stand up for her when it came to them or anyone.

By all accounts, Joel was the superhero of big brothers, and she owed him many times over. Still, this situation was triggering her deepest pain, so she couldn’t stop herself when she mumbled, “We both know I’m not really your sister.”

Which, obviously, was the wrong thing to say.

“Fuck that, Hope,” Joel returned emphatically, his voice rising. He never yelled at her, and certainly had never sworn at her, so she reared back on the other end of the phone, shocked. “Don’t you dare start with that shit. You are my sister, down to the soul, and I’d do anything for you.” And not so long ago, he had. “So don’t go there. Okay?”

If it had been possible for tension to physically leak through phone lines, she’d have sworn it was happening now. She could feel her brother’s fury rise to meet her own, and she could imagine Joel running a frustrated hand through his undoubtedly perfectly cut hair. His handsome face would be furrowed with barely contained anger—and probably a good deal of hurt.

It was knowing that she had hurt him that got her. Of everyone who had hurt her over the course of her life, Joel hadn’t been one of them. He’d been the soldier of support at her side all this time, and if she had any relationship with her parents left at the moment, it was because of him. Since the bottom of their family had fallen out over Christmas, it had been Joel who mediated between them all. The only reason she still communicated with her parents was because of him.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “That was unfair, and a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

In the echoing silence that followed, Hope reminded herself that whatever had happened to her had happened to him as well. The illusion of their perfect family had shattered for him as well when the truth of the adoption came out. She needed to remember that she hadn’t been the only one hurt by the lie.

“Joel—”

“I’ll talk to Dad,” he interrupted in a tight and cold voice. “But for the record, they love you. Both of them do. When things got hard you ran away, and now no one has closure. They don’t know how else to get through to you. Mom’s a wreck every time I talk to her. I think you’re being completely unreasonable and... a little unfair and—”

“Unfair?” she said, cutting him off because what she did not need right now, on top of everything else, was to feel guilty about the suffering she’d caused their mother over the last few weeks. “Joel, they didn’t tell me I was adopted fortwenty-sixyears. Our cousin knew the truth and I didn’t.That’sunfair.”

But many things were unfair, including how her reaction had hurt her parents and caused stress on her brother. And because the bubble of hurt and betrayal that had lodged in her throat was now being joined by an unavoidable weight of regret, she mumbled, “Look, I have to go. Love you.” And hung up.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Hope wasn’t a seasoned runner like Ivy. In fact, she was a horrible runner. But she was feeling restless after her encounter with Gabe last night, and her conversation with her brother this morning had only made it worse. She needed to get a good sweat on, so she put on her sneakers and decided she’d see how far she could get before she collapsed.

She took off through the city streets for a while before turning down Couch Street and heading toward the water so she could run along the waterfront.

It was the first of February and absolutely freezing outside, and it only felt colder once she was by the water, but she didn’t mind too much. She wore gloves and a cap, and the chilled air against her face made her feel alive and went a long way to clearing the noise in her head.

As she jogged, she tried to lose herself in the view of the river on one side, the park on the other, and the path ahead. She passed dog walkers, other joggers, and people walking to work.

In the last several weeks, she’d come to feel at home in this city. Portland was small enough to feel comfortable, but large enough to feel like she could be anonymous if she wanted to be. Which, incidentally, she did.

Other than Ivy, no one really knew her here. Her father’s name wasn’t plastered on construction sites all over the city. Her friends didn’t try to hit her up for rental deals in the newest high-rises built by Morgan Construction.

In Portland, she wasn’t Hope Morgan, Walter Morgan’s daughter. She was just Hope, a normal twentysomething figuring life out on her own.

She had just passed the Oregon Maritime Museum, which was basically a giant ship docked against the river’s edge, when her lungs gave out. She staggered to the nearest bench, where she collapsed and dropped her head between her knees, heaving breaths.

She didn’t know how far she’d run, but judging by the way her breath was sobbing in and out, it had to be farther than she’d managed yet. Maybe even as far as Ivy. No, scratch that. Ivy never ran less than five miles a day. There was no way Hope had run that. She’d be lucky if she’d run a quarter mile, which felt like a marathon for her. Ivy would be proud.

She still had her head bent between her knees, trying to regulate her breathing when she saw a pair of Nikes come to a stop in front of her. Judging by how her heart rate picked up again, she had a pretty good idea who they belonged to.

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