Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“The research says she probably felt she didn’t matter to the world, that she was ‘inconsequential’. That she was ‘insignificant’.” He shook his head. “My cousin wasn’t insignificant, but she felt she was, and that was my failure.” He laughed, hollow, his jaw clenched. “Want to know what else we failed at? Seeing her. I don’t know how we did that, but we did. I was too busy with my own life to praise Miriam for five goddamn minutes. She told me she missed everyone, but she never gave any indication that she struggled. I missed it. We missed it. My parents were always on the brink of a divorce, and Miriam got swept to the side because she was so fucking sweet.” His head hung low. “We did that to her because we weren’t looking at her.”
I couldn’t move.
He lifted his head, no longer hiding his tears. “My P.I. looked into you. You know that, but after you were hired, I had him look into you more. I wanted to know what might be coming down the road with your family. He couldn’t find a thing. I had him do a deep dive. He talked to your teachers. He talked to staff at your school. He talked to your neighbors. Your bus drivers. You want to know what they all said about you?”
I felt numb.
“They said you were sweet. They said you were quiet. A lot of them worried about you because you were always alone. Some said they tried to get you to talk, but you always said you were fine. And if they pushed, you’d smile, shake your head, and say it didn’t matter.” He looked into my eyes. “You were being conditioned to be invisible, weren’t you?”
I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be forgotten, because he was right. That was my comfort zone. “Mal,” I could barely get a whisper out.
“Did you know that you were what my cousin was? Did you know from your schooling?”
I shook my head. Everything hurt. “I—that’s counseling and family therapy. It’s not my specialty. I—I didn’t know.”
He glanced down to the table and was quiet for a moment. He was so still, his shoulders drew in on themselves. I found myself waiting, my muscles primed, because what else was coming my way?
His shoulders lowered and his head raised and I saw a sheen of emotions staring back at me. He tried blinking away the wetness, but they wouldn’t leave. When he spoke, his voice was so rough. “My P.I. also found something else.” He closed his eyes, drew in some air, and delivered, “For a short period of time my father knew your mother.”
“I—” I closed my mouth. Mystified. “I didn’t know.” I shook my head. “I know very little about my mom. She died when I was six and no one talked about her to me. How did they know each other?”
“He took piano lessons. He taught me growing up, said it was something he learned to teach my grandmother before she passed. She had dementia, but she loved the piano. It was a time when she was a bit more coherent. He said he always felt it soothed her soul. So he took piano lessons from a local teacher. Your mother.”
The wetness dried away and he was staring at me clearly. So focused. “My parents’ marriage was always on the brink of divorce. Apparently, that never changed. There were moments of infidelity on both sides. There was even a stretch where they were separated.” His head inclined a little, but he kept his eyes on me. “During that time was when he met your mother. They had an affair.”
My insides were wheeling.
“I didn’t know until my P.I. was looking into your family. He looked into your mom. My dad is the one who told me about the affair. He said my mom was aware of it, that they were separated, but your mom ended things between them. She apparently had gotten pregnant and wanted to try again with her husband. He asked if there was a chance the child was his, and she adamantly denied that possibility.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I had my P.I. do a DNA test. You look like my dad.”
I’d been staring down to process all of this but then looked up.
He tried giving me a smile. It somewhat fell flat. “I’m your half-brother, Rain.”
60
RAIN
Isat there for a full five minutes, trying to comprehend all of this. Mal came in, took hold of the floor underneath me, and whipped it away. I was no longer grounded. I was floating in the air and feeling like a fish trying to get oxygen that wasn’t there.
“You’re my brother?”
“Half.”
“So.” I was thinking about what else this meant. “Dane and Daniel are my half brothers?” Was this why he hated me so much? My father—no. Not my father. Keith Connors loathed me growing up. Was this why? Was this the “bad” thing about me? What was so inherently wrong with me? Because I wasn’t actually his child.