Chapter 40
DOVE
Obviously, I don’t remember a lot from my childhood. But one thing that didn’t get knocked out by the hit to my head is Agatha reading me the story of Rip Van Winkle—the mountain man who falls asleep under a tree and accidentally naps for twenty years.
That’s kind of how it feels to suddenly realize almost everything about your life is based on a lie, or at the very least a colossal case of mistaken identity.
That you’re not who you think you are.
That your life belongs to someone else.
I am not Dove Marchetti.
At the same time, I’m not really Lark Peltier, either.
That’s the tricky bit. It’s not just that I’m not the girl I thought I was. It’s not just that I’m someone else.
It’s the fact that that "someone else" is the sister of the girl I thought I was.
And if that’s not completely batshit confusing enough, here’s one more fun twist: the girl I actually am is supposed to be dead. Meanwhile the girl I’ve been existing as, who everyone in my world but one man thinks of me of as, is dead.
What's the saying? Oh, yeah: it’s complicated.
Part of me wanted to just stay in bed all the next day and hide from the world. Those beauty ads that talk about being a “whole new you?” Turns out, waking up as “a whole new you” is abso-fucking-lutely terrifying. It becomes a sci-fi horror movie, or an episode of Black Mirror.
Do I tell people? Or do I keep living this lie, with all my friends still calling me by the name of a dead girl they never actually knew?
Hence, a huge part of me wanting to hide in bed for the day.
Or, you know, the next six-months-to-forever.
Bane was also on Team Stay In Bed, especially since we barely slept last night.
There was just too much to catch up on.
I told him about Oxford Hills Academy, in England, where my dad sent me to finish high school after I started to spiral in my senior year at Thornfield.
I told him about throwing myself into ballet, there.
My sister and I had religiously danced together our whole lives, and with her gone, it’s like I started putting in twice the blood, sweat, and tears to achieve the dream for the both of us.
I told him about the relentless hours that took, and how Adderall eventually turned into cocaine. How when that stopped quieting the nightmares and the survivors guilt I was drowning in, I found something that would.
I cried while telling him about heroin. About the two times I overdosed and only didn’t die because strangers brought me to ERs.
About waking up face-down on a hotel bed with no idea how I got there, two men I didn’t know trying to take off my clothes before I managed to run away.
About sleeping outside on a park bench in the rain, because escaping reality through getting high was more of a priority than shelter.
The abject terror of getting my blood drawn at a walk-in clinic to see if the needle someone shared with me had given me HIV or hepatitis.
Bane didn’t get angry—at least, not with me. He didn't judge, or tell me what I should have done differently. He just held me while I cried into his chest, telling him about the nightmares when I started detoxing in rehab.
The times I wanted to kill myself.
The times I tried.
Wanting to die because I didn’t know any other way to escape the darkness my mind had plunged into.
I picked off every scab. Showed him every goddam scar. Opened every vein.
I didn’t think it was possible to love another person as much as I loved him last night, when I bared my completely naked, bruised, and scarred soul to him.
But then I woke up and realized I loved him even more this morning.
I probably should have stayed in bed with him all day, just to sleep. But there are still major questions that I need answers to, even if they hurt.
That’s why I find myself staring up at the front of my dad’s house.
I have to find out what my father knows about, well, me. Does he know he had another daughter? Does he truly think I’m Dove?
I shiver.
And why was I told my whole life that my mother died giving birth to me, when I’ve seen video proof that she didn't?
I climb the steps to the front door and ring the bell. Melinda opens the door, looking surprised and startled to see me.
“Oh!” She blinks quickly. “I’m sorry, Dove, I wasn’t expecting you.”
I smile, my lie falling easily from my lips. “Sorry, I was nearby and thought I'd drop in.”
“Of course,” she says, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”
“Is he home?”
He is. I’ve been sitting in Bane’s car for the last hour just down the street, watching the house, waiting to make sure I saw my dad in the windows.
“Yes.” She smiles her usual quiet, reserved smile at me. “I was just going to make him some coffee and bring it to his office. Would you like some as well?”
I nod. “Thank you, that’d be great.” Then my brow furrows. “Hey, Melinda?”
She turns back. “Yes?”
“I, uh…” I frown. “I’m sorry, I have to ask. Is everything…okay…with you?”
She gives me a politely puzzled look.
“I was in the apartment downstairs yesterday,” I say quietly, my face burning. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just gone in. But I was looking for something in…” I gulp. “In Lark’s old room. I, um…your bedroom door was ajar, and—”
Finally, she smiles. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry. You saw the mess.”
“Y-yes. Is everything okay?”
She laughs a small, somewhat stale laugh, which is standard for her.
“Yes, of course. I apologize if you were worried. I get into these reorganization moods, and I’m afraid I become a bit of a whirlwind.”
Okay, thank God.
She smiles a little more broadly and actually takes one of my hands in hers. “I appreciate you checking in with me, though.”
I exhale nervously. “I’m not going to lie, I was kinda freaked out. It looked like someone had ransacked your room.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No, nothing sinister, I promise.” She smiles again. “Come, I’ll see you to your father’s study.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Melinda and her perma-Downton Abbey vibe.
Dad looks up from his desk, his brows furrowing when he sees me.
“Dove?”
“Hi.” I force a smile to my lips. “I was in the neighborhood and was hoping I could talk to you?”
He frowns. “About?”
I clear my throat. “A couple of things, actually.”
His brow stays furrowed as he nods. “Sure,” he shrugs, standing and gesturing to a pair of couches by the windows. “Melinda was just about to bring me some coffee.”
“Coming right up, sir,” Melinda says with a slightly flirtatious smile.
Someone’s got a crush on the boss…
“Have a seat, honey,” Dad says gruffly, taking a seat on one couch and nodding to the one across the coffee table from it. “What’s this about?”
I inhale and exhale slowly.
“I wanted to ask you about Mom.”
He frowns, thrown off a little but hiding it well. “I see,” he says doubtfully. Then his face softens a little as he looks at me. “Sorry, it’s just that you don’t ask about her much.”
“I know,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Well, what did you want to know?”
“How many kids did you guys have?”
I’ve ambushed him with it on purpose, hoping that if he does know about my twin, it’ll show on his face.
But all I get is an amused expression. “Dove, I have a pretty busy schedule today.”
When I don’t respond, he scowls back at me.
“Is this a joke? We had one child: you. And then Tiffany and I had your sister Chiara.”
I hold the silence for a little longer than normal. Dad looks confused and a bit annoyed.
“Was that…it for the questions?”
Melinda knocks discreetly on the door and then walks in demurely, carrying a tray with two cups and saucers, a metal coffeepot, creamers, and sugar. She sets it all down on the table between us with a quick glance at my dad. He glances back, his throat bobbing before he nods to her.
“Thank you, Melinda.”
“Of course, sir.”
Dad exhales as she steps out, reaching for the coffee and pouring some in my cup and then his. As he does, the light from the window falls a little differently across his face. I peer a little closer at a strange shadow near his ear and then realize I’m looking at a bruise.
“Are you okay?”
He frowns. “Huh?”
“Your face…”
Dad brings a hand up to the spot near his temple and shrugs. “Oh, that.” He chuckles. “I went to the boxing gym with Antonio the other day and was reminded of my age.”
I grin. He grins back as he stirs cream and sugar into his coffee. Then he looks up at me.
“Dove, I do have a busy day.”
“I understand.”
I bring my black coffee to my lips, blowing across the steaming surface before I take a sip.
“How did she die?”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Mom.”
Dad sighs as I take another sip of coffee. “Honey, you know how. There were complications during your birth. She hemorrhaged, and they couldn’t stop it.” His jaw sets. “If it’s a comfort, she was on pain meds and didn’t suffer,” he says.
I stare at him, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
Why is he lying to me?
In the video, she’s very much alive, and Dove and I are very much born.
“You were there?”
He frowns. “Of course. It was a very sad day, but it’s how I got you.”
He’s still lying, and I’m starting to realize how frighteningly good at it he is.
I bring the cup back to my lips. When I take another sip, I feel my head spin a little. I quickly set my coffee down, steadying myself with a hand on the couch.
Dad frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just…” The lightheadedness comes again. “I just feel sort of dizzy…”
Just as he’s opening his mouth to reply, the color drains from his face.
“Dad?”
His eyes blink rapidly.
“Are you okay?”
“I…yeah…” He groans, his face twisting. “No.”
As I try to tell him to take a breath, the whole room tilts a little.
The coffee cup falls from my hand, shattering on the tray in front of me. I barely register it, my vision swimming and my body swaying.
What the fuck is happening?
“Dad, I…I don’t feel—”
“Didn't anyone ever teach you not to steal things?”
The voice is startling, but I’m slow and sluggish to turn. When I do, I frown in murky confusion.
Melinda has a gleaming silver gun pointed right at me, her mouth a grim line.
“Melinda!” Dad sputters. “Melinda, what the fuck are you—”
“You shouldn’t take things that aren't yours,” she mutters coldly, looking right at me. “If I’d been your mother, I would have taught you that.”
My vision swims as I try to hold my hands up.
“Hang on,” I slur. “Wait…Melinda, I didn’t…okay, I shouldn’t have gone in—”
“But you did,” she says calmly, her hand tightening around the gun. "You took something from my room that you shouldn't have. I think you also read something you shouldn't have."
She draws in a slow breath, the gun still pointing right at me.
"Didn't you," she purrs. "Lark."