"You could have a concussion," Boyd offered. "I'll follow the ambulance."
I was too numb to object, but ambulances scared me—they dredged up memories of my mother's final days. During the ride, I answered the paramedic's questions while he shined a light in my eyes and held up fingers for me to count.
At the hospital I was hustled from room to room for a CT scan, an MRI, a vision test, and a hearing test. The sun had risen by the time a doctor came to give me a prognosis.
"You have a mild concussion," she announced. "Take it easy for twenty-four hours. I'll give you something for your headache." She smiled. "I'll let your dad know you're ready to go."
My eyes widened when I realized she meant Boyd. "Oh, he's not… I mean, he might be—er… thanks."
When I exited to the waiting room, Boyd was there, his face drawn with exhaustion. He pushed to his feet. "How do you feel?"
"I'm tired, but okay."
He nodded. "Good. That's good."
"Thank you for what you did," I said. "But why were you at the campground? In the middle of the night?"
Something flickered across his face—guilt? Regret? He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper, the edges crisp and official-looking.
"I was coming to give you this." He held it out to me. "The results from the DNA test."
My heart stuttered. With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper.
Probability of paternity: 0%. The alleged father is excluded as the biological father of the tested child.
The words swam before my eyes. Boyd Biggs wasn't my father.
Relief and disappointment crashed through me simultaneously.
"After I shared the results with my family," Boyd said, "I wanted to tell you in person."
I squinted. "At midnight?"
He shifted foot to foot. "Jessica and I argued, so I went for a drive, and kept driving. I wanted to see where you were staying, how you were living."
"So you were just going to leave the results on the windshield of my van?"
He had the grace to blush. "And I wanted to give you this." He pulled out his wallet and removed a check, then extended it to me.
Confused, I took it and scanned the amount. My eyes widened. "Fifty thousand dollars? What is this?"
"I want to help you."
"I can't accept this," I said, pushing it back into his hand.
"Consider it an investment in your future. Get yourself settled somewhere."
Somewhere elsewas the implication. And I couldn't blame him considering how I'd blown up his family. But I wasn't about to take the man's money.
I tore the check in half, then handed it back.
"Thank you, but no. I can take care of myself." As I said the words, I knew they were true. I would be okay even if I never found my biological father, because my mother had prepared me to deal with the world. "I'm truly sorry for all the grief I've caused your family. The reason I did the facial DNA test on my own is because I wanted to avoid a mistake."
He nodded. "We'll survive."
"It's strange that the facial test was so definitive," I ventured. "You had a brother. Could he have known my mother?"
Pain registered on his face. "No. James was in prison when you were… conceived. And he died shortly after he got out."
