“On purpose?”
I smile at that. “Yes. On purpose. She wanted a family so she had me on her own. But then she got cancer and died before I turned two.”
“Holy shit,” she gasps. I glare at her and she covers her mouth but argues. “Come on. If ever there was a legitimate holy shit moment, it’s now.”
“No swearing,” I reply sternly.
She walks into the room and plops down next to me, her eyes back on the file. I slide it over so she can see it. “She was an only child. Her mom had already passed away and the only family left to take care of me was my grandfather. He took me in until he had a stroke and had to go into a home. So that’s when I ended up in the system.”
“When were you adopted?”
“At four,” I reply and smile. “Well, at four I was placed with my parents, but the official adoption happened when I was almost seven.”
“You’re so lucky,” Mackenzie comments. “People like the little ones. They have a better chance because they’re usually less fu—messed up.”
I smile because I appreciate her stopping herself from swearing there.
“I wasn’t exactly unscathed.” I sigh and look down at the file. “This file says some pretty bad things happened, but I just don’t really remember.”
She glances down again and begins to read the file. I let her, watching her eyes flare. “Some kid went through a window?”
I nod. “It was on the news. I guess the place they put me after taking me from my grandpa was a really bad home. The other kids there were being abused. I was only there for less than a week before the kid went through the window and they figured out what was going on.”
“It’s screwed up, but it doesn’t surprise me,” Mackenzie replies. “That kid going through the window was probably the best thing that could have happened to you because you got out of the house quickly.”
I nod and close the file. “I think you’re right.”
God, how absolutely crazy would it be if Alex was that same kid? It can’t be…the chances are one in a million.
“Too bad my mom didn’t drop dead when I was little, so I would have had a chance at being adopted,” Mackenzie blurts out in a hard, pained tone. Before I can react, she’s up and walking out the door calling over her shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Night!”
Oh God, that poor girl. She’s right, though. Her chances of being adopted aren’t as good. Of course the fact that she ran away from two foster homes and skipped school a lot has already labeled her with a behavioral problem, even though she’s been great with me.
I look back down at the file in my lap and reach for my cell phone. My dad answers on the second ring and I’m grateful it’s him and not Mom. He has an easier time talking about this stuff than she does. She still gets upset thinking about my early years.
“Hey, princess!” I know it’s silly that he calls me princess at twenty-six but I love it. “What’s up?”
“I have a weird question that you probably can’t answer, but I have to ask,” I say quietly.
“Okay…that sounds ominous. Talk to me, Goose.”
I smile again at hisTop Gunreference. He’s obsessed with Tom Cruise movies, which is pretty ridiculous for a refined, retired CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and it’s one of the things I love most about him. “I was wondering if you guys knew the names of the other kids that were in that foster home I was in.”
“The one with the abusive assholes?”
“Yes.”
“No, princess, that level of information on the other kids would have been private,” he says, explaining what I already know. “We were only given access to your file.”
“I was just wondering if the social worker mentioned it or it slipped out or something,” I say as I stand up and put the file back in the closet, knowing Mackenzie will be out of the shower soon and will need her privacy. “I thought maybe you could casually bring it up with Mom. She remembers every detail of all that stuff. Maybe she’ll remember a name.”
“I can try, but you know how worked up those memories get her,” he cautions. “If she gets all moody, I’m making you come over for dinner so she remembers how perfect you turned out.”
I laugh. “Okay, deal. And Mackenzie too.”
“How’s that going by the way?” he asks, his tone growing somber again.
“Good,” I reply as I leave her room and walk down the hall to my own. “We’ve got little bumps but no major ones. Not yet.”
