Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“I used to do that,” Sandy said.

“Do what?”

“I was on a girls’ softball team.” She smiled proudly. “I wasn’t half bad, either. Next time, we’ll do the cages thing.”

“Sure.”

“So,” she said, easing into a different subject, “tell me more about your parents.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re just normal, I guess.” He paused, looked down. “They don’t really think much of me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They’re always telling me how to change my life. Get out more, meet people, stop being so wrapped up in my own world.”

Sandy smiled. “Aren’t you kinda doing that?”

He looked up and met her gaze. “Seems like it. I guess they want the best for me, but it always feels like they’re putting me down.”

“Do you have a picture of them?” she asked.

“On my phone.”

“Let me see.”

He got out his phone and opened the photo app. “I don’t have that many of them. Oh, wait. Here’s one. It’s from my mom’s birthday, like, last year, I think.”

He handed the phone to her and she studied the shot. Travis’s parents had their arms around each other, both wearing paper party hats and looking cheerful or a little drunk, or both. The woman had pale, white skin and graying hair, while her husband was darker, but not from a tan.

“Your dad, he looks... what’s the word? Swarthy? That’s not a racist word or anything, is it?”

“I don’t think so. My dad’s roots, they go back to Armenia or something.”

“So, Roben is an Armenian name?”

“Yeah, but my first name comes from the detective.”

“Detective?”

“Travis McGee. My dad, when he was younger, was a big John D. MacDonald fan.”

Sandy did not know who that was. She took one last look at the picture and handed Travis back his phone. “He’s really handsome. But you look more like your mom. She’s pretty. You’ve kind of got her eyes and cheekbones and stuff.”

“Yeah, well, no surprise there,” he said.

Sandy blinked. “What’s that mean?”

He shrugged again. “It’s not something I really talk about.”

Sandy’s face softened. “I don’t understand.” Then, as if a light bulb went off, her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, I get it. So, like your mom was married before? Another guy is your real dad?”

“You’re half right,” he said. “The first part, you’re wrong. My mom’s always been married to him. They’ve been married for thirty years, and they really love each other and all.” He winced. “No offense, like, about your own parents, splitting up and all.”

“That’s okay. But what about him not being your real dad? What did you mean by that? Oh my God, did your mom have an affair?” She put her hand to her mouth.

Travis laughed. “ No . God, your mind.”

“Sorry.”

“When I got to be around thirteen, my parents sat me down and said they had something to tell me, that I was entitled to know the truth, about who I was and everything. My parents — well, my dad — couldn’t have kids. Like, the natural way? They’d tried for a long time. So they ended up going to this place, like, near New York, because they used to live in Newark, so it wasn’t that far. A clinic, you know?”

“Like a fertility clinic?”

“Yeah, like that. So, they had this stuff from another guy—”

“Stuff?”

Travis’s face went red. “Sperm.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Sandy said casually. “You can stop right there. Your dad had a low sperm count, so your mom used a donor. And you’re the kid from that donation.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” Sandy said.

“I don’t know if I’d call it that.”

“No, I think that’s really amazing. So, do you know who your biological father is?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Have you tried to find out?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Nope.”

She shook her head in wonder. “If it was me, that would drive me crazy. That’d be something I’d have to know. You haven’t done one of those tests? I see the ads on TV all the time.”

“No.”

“You should,” she said. “You should find out.”

For the first time, Travis bristled at Sandy’s interference. “I think that’s a pretty personal decision.”

Sandy said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, here’s another question, and it’s not super personal.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“I’m gonna say something, but don’t look. Not until I say.”

“What are you talking about?” Travis said.

“There’s this couple, over past where we got the bowling shoes? A man and a woman, like in their forties? They’re not bowling or getting something to eat. They’re just hanging around, and they keep looking this way.”

“Can I look?”

“Okay, but be casual like?”

He stood, stretched, slowly turned around, like he was taking in things, not looking at anything in particular.

“Oh, smooth,” Sandy whispered.

Travis saw them. Standing right where Sandy said, but they were looking the other way now. He sat back down.

“Maybe they’re waiting for somebody,” he said.

“I bet they’re cops,” Sandy said. “Maybe there’s been some drug dealing or something here.”

“At the bowling alley?”

Sandy shrugged.

“So what now?” Travis asked.

Sandy smiled. “You wanna do it?”

New Haven, CT

Miles agreed with Chloe that, whatever was going on with her other half brothers and sisters — if there was actually anything going on at all — it made sense that she come back with him to New Haven. But he did not want to ride all the way in her dilapidated Pacer, nor did he want to take the time for her to return the car to her home in Providence. He persuaded her to leave the car in Springfield — promising to have it brought back to her, one way or another, as soon as possible — and head to his place in the limo.

Chloe had called her mother and told her not to expect her back because she was staying over at Todd’s place. A lie, of course, but Chloe was not yet ready to tell her the father of her child had wandered into the diner and turned her life upside down.

It was dark by the time they got to his place, a modern, stunning architectural wonder on a wooded lot just outside of New Haven. As the limo rounded the last corner of the long, paved drive, the house came into view. It was a broad, one-story structure with walls of glass, interrupted at regular intervals with rust-colored steel beams, giving it a high-tech yet industrial look.

“Whoa,” said Chloe. “This is a house? It’s not, like, some secret military installation?”

“I’ve got a guest room, with its own bathroom,” Miles said. “It’s fully stocked. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, whatever you need.”

“Tampons?” she asked.

Miles shot her an awkward look.

“Just messin’ with ya,” she said.

“I can send Dorian out first thing in the morning to get anything else you might need, including some fresh clothes. And there’s a housekeeper if you want to wash your things.”

“Yeah, well, with all those glass walls, I hope you’ve got an extra bathrobe.”

“The glass can be tinted dark enough to afford complete privacy. No need for curtains or blinds.”

“Get out.”

“Really.”

As they got out of the limo, Miles asked Charise to be on call for the following day. At the front door, Miles touched his thumb to a pad. The security system read the print, turned back the deadbolt, and this was followed by a beep inside the house, indicating the alarm system had been disengaged.