Charmaine glanced around. There were a few people on the street, but no one looking at the florist’s. Should she go inside? It might only make things worse. If Frank acted the way he usually did, he’d shout at Betsy, then storm through the front door and leave. Betsy would be fine. She was a tough old lady, something Charmaine had grown to admire about her.
She moved past the doorway and sat with her ear up against the window. They wouldn’t see her from inside, since there were potted plants in the way, but she could hear when Frank was coming and keep from being bowled over by the door.
There was a bang, like someone slapped a palm down hard on a table.
“Frank, stop!” Betsy’s voice was low, measured.
“I can’t stop, Mum, because I’ve spent my whole life wondering if you care about me. And now I know the truth. It says here that a boy called Frank was kidnapped by a Betsy Alton. The woman in the photo looks remarkably similar to the photos you had pinned up all around your shop. Is this you, Mum?”
Betsy mumbled something incoherent, her tone reassuring.
“Stop it! You can’t keep telling me these lies, Mum. I’m not a little boy anymore. I was right all along, wasn’t I? All those years when I didn’t believe you cared and I wondered if something was wrong because your stories didn’t add up, I was right! This is why we’ve never been able to have a solid relationship, why I don’t trust you. I never knew the truth about my past or about our lives. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t know exactly what it was. I only knew you weren’t truthful. Then, when you lied for Buck, it all became so real. You were a liar — you lied then, and you’re lying now. You took me, stole me. I’m the Frank from this article, aren’t I?”
Betsy was silent. The world around Charmaine began to spin. All this time, she’d been certain that Bea, Evie and Penny were wrong about Betsy. It couldn’t be true—the stories had to be about someone else. She’d gone along with them because it was exciting and interesting, but it wasn’t real life. Not the life she knew, or the woman she’d grown to love as a grandmother.
Betsy grunted. “Frank, honey, you don’t understand. It’s a long story, and now isn’t the time. Sam’s in the other room, and I don’t want her to hear. But I do owe you the truth. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain everything. Just not now. I need to think, to find the words, and I can’t do that with Sam here.”
“All my life, you said we were from Indiana, but this article claims the boy who was taken is from California. So, which is it, Mum? Are we from California? Are you Betsy Alton or Betsy Norton? What is my real name, Mother? And why did you take me away from my home to a small tropical island on the other side of the world?”
“Where did you find these?” Betsy asked.
Frank laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about? I found them in here. I came by the other night for Sam, but you’d already left with her. Chaz was here, working late. She left the articles on this table to look for Sam’s homework out back.”
Betsy hesitated. Charmaine’s stomach tightened into a knot. The tone of Betsy’s voice scared her when she spoke.
“She must be on to me. Did she say anything? Think, Frank! I have to know what Chaz knows.”
“On to what, Mum? You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I’m all grown up. Why can’t you trust me with your secrets?”
“I trust you, but I don’t want to burden you. The truth is a millstone around your neck. The police will use it against you, against our family.”
“I’m not going to betray you, Mum. Don’t you know me at all?”
A chair scraped across the floor. Finally, Betsy spoke. “I’ll tell you everything, but you have to promise to keep it quiet.”
He mumbled a faint response.
“I did it all for you. Everything I’ve done was to keep you safe. Your father was a cruel man, and he wouldn’t have left us alone. Not ever. I had to bring you here.”
“Did he look for us?”
“Every day until he died,” Betsy replied.
Frank’s voice was soft now. “I could’ve had a father.”
“Not one you’d have wanted.”
“You chase away everyone who loves me. First my father, then my wife. Why? Do you want me to be alone?”
There was silence for several long moments. Charmaine held her breath. Her heart ached for Frank and the pain he’d lived with for so long.
“I didn’t have a choice, Frank. We had to leave. Your dad wasn’t good to us. Your wife didn’t love you. I did what I had to do.”
Frank’s volume rose. “You didn’t have to chase my wife away. She loved me and Sam. She was good for us. She had problems, but I was ready to deal with them. That’s what marriage is about — you love each other through the hard times. I could’ve gotten help for her, for us. We should’ve gone to counselling—that’s what I was going to suggest. But she left because you couldn’t stand for me to have someone in my life who made me happy. Someone other than you.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that,” Betsy growled. “You’re an ungrateful child. You always have been.”
“Grateful? Why should I be grateful? What have you ever done to give me a life I should be grateful for?”
