Page 144 of The Otherworld

Hundreds of emotions whirl through me, a hurricane with no sense of direction or intent—a violent, spinning chaos of pain and unanswered questions.

“I can’t believe Papa deceived me like this,” I confess to Adam, who stands beside me at the rail. “All this time, Mama was alive—and he kept me from her.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly, Orca. I’m sure he didn’t intend to hurt you by keeping it a secret.”

A bitter laugh catches in my throat. “No, of course not. He only wished to ‘protect me,’ as usual. But I don’t need protection from the truth. I could have borne it. Even if he told me that Mama despised me and never wanted to see me again, I could have borne it.”

Adam falls silent for a minute, staring out at the distant islands shrouded in white mist. “Maybe he couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe your father needed to protect himself from the pain. Maybe it helped him cope, to rewrite the story of what really happened. To make you believe it and accept that she was gone forever. Maybe that was the only way he could accept it.”

I turn this over in my mind, trying to see it from Papa’s perspective. But it’s like peering through the wrong end of a spyglass. Everything is dark and strange and warped.

I can’t make sense of this mess, no matter which way I look at it.

“Papa knew she was out there,” I murmur, shaking my head. “He can’t be so delusional that he convinced himself she was dead. Maybe that’s the real reason he didn’t want me to come to Otherworld. He was afraid I might look for her. And find her. And love her.”

Adam puts his arm around me and pulls me close, saying in a low voice, “Or maybe he was just afraid of you leaving. Like your mother did. Afraid of losing you, too.”

A pang of guilt cuts through me like the snap of a whip. My eyes sting with tears, but a bitter laugh stumbles out on my next breath. “Or maybe he was just afraid of being alone.” I fold up my mother’s address and tuck it into my pocket. “I might have been able to forgive Papa for everything else… but I don’t think I can forgive him for this.”

45

Bad Blood Brothers

JACK

Orca barely says two words to me when she returns from visiting her aunt. I’m in the driveway, repairing the wobbly parts of the deck rail—Mom’s idea, not mine. Apparently, coming home from work early means inheriting Dad’s unfinished to-do list of chores.

“Hey, Orca,” I say as she glides past like a ghost, silent and pale. “How did it go? You get to see your aunt?”

Orca stops halfway up the porch steps, a hollow look in her eyes. “Yes… I saw her. She was wonderful.”

“What’s wrong? You look sad.”

She swallows, glancing down. “I can’t talk about it right now.” And with that, she turns and disappears into the house. The screen door thwacks shut.

I spin to face Adam, my grip tightening on the hammer in my hand. “What the hell happened?”

Adam sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

Adam is the kind of guy who takes a full minute to think before he can put together a nutshell version of anything—so while waiting, I drive the last nail into the porch railing.

SLAM, SLAM, SLAM.

“Orca’s mother is alive.”

I almost drop the hammer on my foot. “What?”

Adam nods slowly, running a hand back over his head. “Turns out she didn’t die after all. She divorced Mr. Monroe when Orca was a baby and moved to Seattle.”

“And Orca’s dad has been telling her that she’s dead all this time?”

“Seems so.”

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