My hand flew to my mouth, a gasp escaping despite my attempt to stay composed.
Octavia's grip on my arm tightened. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice, choking back the tears that suddenly burned behind my eyes. This was real. After months of searching, after false leads and dead ends and revelations, I'd found the person who was possibly my father. Probably my father.
Boyd Biggs, the man who'd wanted to know me, who'd promised my mother he'd come back. The man who'd drowned trying to help his troubled brother.
Detective Hall broke away from his team and walked over to me, his expression professional but kind. "Bernadette, I want you to know we'll expedite the DNA testing. Given the circumstances and the case against James Biggs, this is a priority."
"Thank you," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, then turned to address the growing crowd. "Everyone needs to clear out immediately. This is now an active investigation and potential crime scene. We're taping off the area. If you're not law enforcement or directly involved in the recovery operation, you need to leave now."
The news crews protested but began packing up their equipment. Naomi closed her notebook, glancing at me withsomething that might have been sympathy before heading toward Jett's truck.
Jett caught my eye across the distance. He mouthed, "Are you okay?"
I gave him a thumbs up, the universal signal for "I'm fine" even when things weren't fine at all.
He nodded slowly, then climbed into his truck with Naomi.
"I have to go," Octavia said apologetically. "I have another commitment I can't miss. Will you be alright?"
"I'll be fine." The lie came easily now.
"Call me if you need anything. Anything at all." She squeezed my arm one more time, then headed toward her sleek sedan.
I stood there a moment longer, watching the organized chaos of the crime scene processing. Then I turned and walked back toward the parking area where I'd left my van.
Someone was standing beside it. A man in a well-tailored coat, his hands in his pockets, his breath fogging in the cold air.
Keith Banyon.
My steps faltered. I hadn’t seen him since he'd reneged on the invitation to have Thanksgiving with his family. "Keith?"
He offered a tentative smile. "Hi, Bernadette. I hope you don't mind—I've been keeping up with the story in the news. When I heard they were pulling the car out today, I thought..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "I thought you might need a friend. Someone who actually knew your mother."
The kindness in his voice nearly broke me. Of all the people who'd surrounded me these past months—Jett, Octavia, the Oneys—Keith was the only one besides Suzy who'd actually known Ginger Waters. Who remembered her as a real person instead of just a sad story.
"That's so kind of you," I said.
"How about lunch? There's a diner about ten minutes from here. Nothing fancy, but the food's good and it's warm. We could talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need."
I looked back at the recovery site. The car sat on the bank like a coffin, surrounded by police tape and official vehicles. Whatever answers it held, I wouldn't get them today.
"Lunch sounds good," I said, turning back to Keith. "Really good, actually."
December 23, Tuesday
lot numbera unique code printed on each bottle to trace its production
MY PHONEscreen displayed Detective Oakley Hall's number. I connected the call with shaking fingers. "This is Bernadette Waters."
"Ms. Waters, I have the DNA results." His voice was gentle but professional. "The remains recovered from the vehicle are definitively Boyd Biggs. The paternity test confirms he was your biological father."
The words vibrated in my head, over and over.He was your biological father.I sat on the edge of my cot in the van, staring at nothing, trying to make my sludgy brain process information I had been seeking for months.
"Ms. Waters? Are you there?"
