Chapter 5
Five
Nathaniel’s mom—though everyone has been calling me Nate, so maybe that’s how his parents referred to him—looks as if she’s
seeing, well, someone pretending to be her son who’s been missing for over nine years.
She stares at me from the doorway, mouth agape and tears welling in her eyes.
This is so fucked up. It never should have gotten this far. I was hoping they would try to confirm my identity before contacting
Nate’s parents. Then I’d have a chance to make a run for it before the blood test came back. Maybe in the middle of the night
while the nurse on duty is tired and distracted. But here’s Nate’s family, expecting to see him and finding an imposter instead.
Guilt churns my stomach.
I open my mouth to apologize, but I can’t make my voice work.
“Nate” is all Nate’s mother says. “Oh my . . .” She breaks into sobs and crosses the room so fast it takes my breath away.
Wait.
She called me Nate.
She can’t seriously think I’m him? This isn’t right. She squeezes me tight, sobbing, and I can’t help it. I’m surprised to
find that I’m crying, too.
Why am I crying? And why am I hugging her back so tightly?
I don’t even know this woman. Maybe being alone for the past eight months has gotten to me more than I thought it could.
I don’t even know when the last time I got a hug was.
And if I think even harder, I don’t remember ever being hugged by my mom or dad.
She lets go and holds me at arm’s length. Tears spill from my eyes as sobs rack my body.
Nate’s mom wipes away my tears with her thumbs and looks into my eyes. “It’s okay, pumpkin. It’s okay.”
Movement draws my eyes to the doorway and I see a tall, portly man with salt-and-pepper hair, a dark mustache, and thick eyebrows.
He has broad shoulders and a belly that sticks out against a blue shirt and dark suit.
This must be Nate’s dad. He doesn’t look at me the way his wife does. He’s more guarded. Because in his heart he knows something
isn’t right about all this. Maybe he’s the pessimist in their relationship. Or maybe he decided long ago that Nate was dead
while his wife held on to hope.
Hope that I’m probably going to destroy.
Someone else steps around him. It’s a young man, probably a few years older than me. But the family resemblance is there.
He’s tall and broad, like his father beside him, but he’s lean like the mother, who still holds me tight. The young man—Nate’s
brother, I assume—wears a fashionable button-down tucked into slacks and gives me the clearest look of suspicion out of everyone
in the family.
Dr. Zapata is talking quietly to the other doctor, Detective Hall, and Agent Grant. Nate’s father still watches me. Finally Dr. Zapata turns back to us.
“We’ll give you all some time together.” Her eyes lock on me. “But Detective Hall and Agent Grant will have to talk with you
some more after. I’ll be here, too.” She looks at Nate’s parents, ignoring the brother. “The two of you are more than welcome
to stay, but I would advise you to step outside in case there’s anything—”
“Absolutely not,” Nate’s mom says. She grips my hand and looks into my eyes as she brushes my hair away from them. “We’re
not going anywhere.”
“Okay.” Dr. Zapata ushers everyone else outside and Nate’s brother shuts the door behind her. Then he crosses his arms and
leans against the wall, regarding me with what I can only imagine is suspicion.
Nate’s mom sits down on the side of the bed. Her hands brush my cheeks, and she looks me up and down. “Oh, my baby. Are you
okay? Did they hurt you?”
“Valencia.” Nate’s father says her name like a warning.
She sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry. Dr. Zapata says we shouldn’t press you without her here. I just . . . oh!” She pulls
me into a tight hug. “We’ve missed you so much. Are you . . . are you okay?”
Nate’s dad steps forward and puts a gentle hand on Valencia Beaumont’s shoulder. “Hon, you heard—”
“I don’t care. This is our son, I’m going to ask him if he’s okay as much as I damn well please.”
Nate’s dad steps back again and crosses his arms, matching the posture of his older son, who still hasn’t said anything.
When his dad looks at me, it’s not with love, but more curiosity.
It’s a look that stops just short of saying, I know you’re not my son.
Nate’s mom is the only one in this room who believes I’m really Nate.
How long before they convince her of the truth? I
don’t know what to do or say, so I keep on doing what I’ve been doing.
Lie.
“I’m okay,” I say. “A little confused.” My eyes drift back to Nate’s maybe-brother, who stares at me, stone-faced.
Beside him, Nate’s dad scoffs. “I think that’s going around today.”
Valencia nods and grabs my hand. “We’re going to sort everything out. Then we’ll take you home.”
“That’s not him, Mom,” the young man across the room says.
Mom. Obviously my intuition about him being Nate’s brother was right. Like his intuition is about me. Nate’s brother gestures
toward me as though I’m a piece of trash he passed on the street—which, okay, valid. But my stomach clenches. He’s right,
and I need to tell them.
But before I can, Valencia turns to him and says his name in a scolding tone: “Easton!”
Easton Beaumont.
Something in his look motivates me, and before I even know what my brain is doing, I stare directly into his eyes and reply,
“It’s okay. He was always jealous of me.”
Easton’s eyebrows go up in surprise, then he tilts his head and the corner of his mouth slips into an almost-grin. His dad
looks between the two of us, not sure what to say. But Valencia laughs and wipes a tear from her eye.
I don’t know why I said that. Maybe because I was so sure they’d know I wasn’t really Nate—and to be fair, his dad still doesn’t seem convinced—that it felt like a challenge. And maybe now, after meeting this family, I’m jealous, too. Jealous for the life Nate had before he disappeared.
For the first time, I think of Nate and wonder what did happen to him.
The mood in the room lifts, and even Easton allows his grin to expand.
“So where the hell have you been?” Easton asks. It’s almost as if he’s reading my mind, and I get a chill.
Easton’s dad holds up his hands. “No, we need to have the doctor and police in here if we’re going to talk about this.”
Easton snorts. “You want the cops in here?” His eyes drift over to me, and he grins in a conspiratorial way. “I’d hire a new lawyer if I were you.”
Lawyer?
“I’m not his lawyer. I . . . ,” Mr. Beaumont starts, but his voice drifts off. Was he about to say “I’m his father”? Or “I
don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to this kid”? Instead, he shakes his head and says, “You don’t need a lawyer anyway. Shoplifting
is a misdemeanor at best, and since you were kidnapped, they aren’t even pressing charges.”
“Great, so I’m free to go?” I pretend to stand up—only half joking, honestly, because it would be wonderful if they let me
leave.
Valencia puts a gentle hand against my upper arm. “Not yet. They’re going to keep you overnight for observation. You’re dehydrated
and malnourished. But tomorrow you’ll come home with us.”
She says it like it’s supposed to be a good thing, and maybe for Nate Beaumont it would be.
But I have to fight not to shake my head.
I can’t go home with these people. The DNA test is going to come back eventually.
The Beaumonts probably gave a sample when they got to the hospital.
Maybe it takes a few days to get the results back.
It’ll be even worse if they get a call that I’m not their son while I’m living with them.
They’re going to find out I’m not Nate eventually; it’s better if it happens before I go home with them.
I have to run tonight.
Nate’s father sighs and leans against the wall. “Easton comes home for summer break and we suddenly have two teen boys to
feed. We’re never getting that boat I want.”
“Marcus,” Valencia scolds him, but she does it with a smile. And thankfully now I know his name.
“Kidding,” he says. Then he stares into the distance as if he’s doing math in his head. “I can probably still get the boat.”
“You don’t need a boat,” she says, her joking demeanor slowly dropping.
“I mean, no one needs a boat,” I say, trying to defuse the thickening tension in the room. “They’re just nice to have.” I don’t know anything about
owning a boat, but it sounds nice.
Valencia laughs, clamping her hand over her mouth. Marcus grins and maybe even looks proud of me?
Again I’m reminded of how quickly everything has gotten out of hand. I’m pretending to be their son, and they expect me to
go home with them.
How would it hurt them if I ran off again? To them, they finally have their son. Easton has his brother back.
I shouldn’t care. These are strangers, and I’m pretending to be their kid because it was the only way I could think of to avoid being sent back to my own asshole parents, who were ready to ship me off to some camp to be tortured into a kid they still wouldn’t love.
But stoking those bitter, ever-burning thoughts of my own family betraying me isn’t enough, because Valencia’s arms go around
me again and it feels wonderful. It’s enough to block any negative feelings I have about my real parents, and about these
lies I’m telling this family, because this family is here, and they’re willing to fight for me.
For a brief moment, my logic reminds me they’re here to fight for Nate, not me, but I bat the thought away and just enjoy Valencia’s embrace.