Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Renthrow
The fights I had with Dad over hockey are some of the memories I regret the most. I’d slam doors in his face, accuse him of being a nobody, and run away from home often.
In a nutshell, I made my parents’ lives very stressful.
After he got sick, I conceded and pursued a degree in Accounting while also playing for my college team.
Then he died.
And I got divorced.
Life slapped me in the face, and I was suddenly single and solely responsible for a human being who’d spent the last nine months in a protected womb.
When Gordie was a baby, I didn’t have time to play hockey, and I was grateful for that Accounting degree. It gave me a “normal job” with great benefits so that I could take care of her.
Eventually, I learned to like accounting.
Not all of it.
It can be mind-numbingly boring at times. And when the numbers aren’t adding up, it can make you want to tear your hair out. Still, accounting can feel like putting a puzzle together. The numbers are all unique shapes, painting a beautiful, orderly picture.
Gordie and I are back from the counselling center, and I’m in my home office, a notepad in front of me, a spreadsheet open on one monitor, and a search engine open on the next.
I’m ready to find the picture in the numbers.
Delia once told me that the truth about Gwen was online, but I honestly forgot about it. Or it’s more like I was never interested. There are only twenty-four hours in a day. With that little time, I prefer thinking of more ways to make my daughter’s life easier or improve my game.
But that’s changing now.
I type the words “Gwen Davenport” in the search engine.
Immediately, there are millions of hits.
Whoa.
Gwendolyn “Gwen” Davenport looks exactly like Cordelia. She has long hair, wears bright lipstick, and is lavishly dressed in evening gowns rather than leather jackets but…that’s Cordelia’s face.
I scroll and find even more pictures. Gwendolyn Davenport was not afraid of the spotlight. There are images of her in pageants, her being crowned at one of the biggest international pageants, her attending galas and conferences. There’s even one with her speaking at the UN.
The next layer of articles is about her death.
I click on one and scroll through. My finger slows on the mouse when I read the line ‘The reigning queen of the Miss Galaxy Pageant and daughter of the prominent Davenport family died in childbirth…’
Cordelia’s twin was pregnant?
My heart aches for Cordelia and for Sasha. They didn’t just lose a sister and daughter but also a grandchild and niece or nephew.
Does Gwen’s death have anything to do with why Cordelia is uncomfortable around children?
I add Cordelia’s name to the search engine so it now reads “Cordelia and Gwendolyn Davenport.”
Cordelia is more lowkey on social media. The only links I can find that mention Cordelia at all are about her appearances at bike shows and a small magazine article about what it’s like to be a female CEO.
There are no images of the twins together in public or any written articles about one supporting the other. Online, the two were about as close as strangers.
I snatch my blue-light reading glasses off and toss them on the desk, massaging the bridge of my nose. A knot of pain tugs at my heart. I can imagine how it must have felt for a soul as tender as Cordelia’s to be disconnected from her twin.
What could have driven them apart? Was it Sasha’s favoritism? Or was there something else?
I scroll farther and spot a familiar face. Brennon is in one of the photos with Gwendolyn. I click on the image, and it takes me to his social media page.
As I look, I start scowling. The schmuck’s account is practically a love letter to Gwendolyn.
Good luck to the next Miss Galaxy!
Happy birthday to the most beautiful woman in the world.
You’re already a queen to me.
It’s obvious which twin he had feelings for.
A part of me is happy that Brennon never liked Cordelia back. If he had, she would have jumped at the chance to date him. However, it must have been a low blow to watch someone she was crushing on be so blatant about his preference for her sister.
Between Sasha’s treatment of the twins and Brennon’s rejection, it makes sense that a rift would be formed between the two.
I try to get into Gwendolyn’s social media page, but it’s private.
Oh well.
Thinking I’ve solved the mystery, I start to click out of the search engine when I notice a picture of Brennon, Gwendolyn, and an unfamiliar man.
Was this Gwendolyn’s partner?
Makes sense. She must have had a boyfriend or husband. She couldn’t have had the baby by herself.
I click on his social media profile, and thankfully, it isn’t private. The entire page is a carefully curated gallery. There are tons of pictures of him and Gwendolyn. Them holding hands on the beach. Him proposing to her. Their wedding.
I scowl at a photo of him kissing Gwendolyn in her wedding dress and try to remind myself that it’s not Cordelia.
“Man, they look so much alike,” I mumble, scrambling away from the picture. It’s uncanny. And even though my mind knows that it’s not Cordelia, my body doesn’t like seeing her with another man at all.
It’s strange how that works.
The most recent picture was posted a while ago. I stare at the date, something itching at my mind. It’s…around the same time that Cordelia ended up in Lucky Falls.
The caption under the picture reads You were stolen from me. Gone too soon. Something about the wording rubs me the wrong way, but I figure it’s social media and the guy’s in mourning. It’s okay to be dramatic during bouts of grief.
I go through more images of him and Cordelia—I mean Gwendolyn. My stomach feels queasy watching the uncanny lookalike. It’s another person entirely, and yet it bothers me to see someone with Cordelia’s face living life with another man.
I’m losing it.
This is too strange.
I move my mouse to hit the exit button. Unfortunately, I hit the refresh button instead. The page opens again, and I notice that Gwendolyn’s husband just uploaded a new picture.
It’s of Gwendolyn eating an ice cream cone and winking at the camera. She’s on a yacht with her husband, and the selfie reveals the beautiful lake house behind them.
The caption reads: I’ll never forget. And I’ll never let them forget either.
A dark premonition crawls over me, and the puzzle pieces start to form a much more sinister picture than I anticipated.
With new eyes, I read the captions under the pictures posted after Gwendolyn’s death.
So many shared your face. But no one shared your soul.
Some people looked up to you. Some people looked like you. But they could never BE you.
There are two sides to every story. You took yours with you.
My heart beats faster like it does when I can see the puck in slow motion at the pinch point of the game.
The husband’s captions are all carefully ambiguous. Just on the edge of being a threat without actually crossing the line.
And yet…
I sense the double meaning, the bitterness, and the blame.
Maybe this isn’t simply a matter of Cordelia feeling guilty for being at odds with Gwendolyn.
Maybe there’s something—or someone—keeping her chained to that guilt.
My fingers curl into fists. Maybe the voice telling her she’s not fit to be a wife and a mother isn’t hers at all.