Chapter Thirty-Four Ren
Ren cleared dinner as quickly as she could manage without looking like she was trying to hurry through it. The last thing she wanted was for her internal frenetic energy to bleed to the outside, raising her parents’ antennae. Though it might be too late for that, Ren reasoned. It wasn’t that Gloria was paying her more attention than usual, it was that Ren sensed something when her mother did look at her, some question in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. It would explain why Ren had barely had a moment to herself since they got back from town. She’d already helped unload the truck, then been sent to the cellar to start packing up preserves and to the barn for inventory. But with the sky dark and the final dinner dish put away, she saw her chance. Steve and Gloria were busy with whatever information the Realtor gave them, so Ren excused herself to get ready for bed and padded quietly to her bedroom. A quick rifle through her backpack revealed that the Polaroid photo was gone. With her breath held tight in her throat, Ren slipped down the narrow hall, and into her parents’ room.
On the top shelf of their closet was a flat box that held all their important documents. Ren had seen Gloria open it on occasion, but it always had that Off Limits to Ren feel about it.
That never seemed weird to her until now.
Silently, she slid the box from the shelf, setting it down on the bed. Ears perked, she strained for the sound of footsteps coming toward her but could still hear their voices on the other side of the wall, talking.
Lifting the lid, she peeked inside. The thick stack of papers was so much bigger than she expected, given their small lives. She sifted through the pages, past animal records, her birth certificate, the titles and registrations for various pieces of farm equipment, and then there, deep down in the stack, she stopped on a marriage certificate, with the Fulton County Clerk’s seal.
In search of a date, she pulled the paper free and tilted it to read by the meager light coming from the front porch outside the window. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Just like she’d feared, it was dated eight years before she was born. Could Gloria have married Steve, left him, married Chris Koning, given birth to Ren, left Chris Koning, and remarried Steve? It was possible. But plausible? No. It felt too slippery, too convoluted.
Another detail caught her eye and she had to blink, make sure she was reading the correct line on the document. Because it wasn’t Gloria’s and Steve’s names in front of her. It was a marriage certificate for two people named Adam Zielinski and Deborah DeStefano.
Frantic now, and with the icy tendrils of awareness pushing at her thoughts, she shuffled through the other pages. There was a birth certificate for Gloria under the name Gloria Smith, and one for Steve Gylden, too. Her hands shook as she pushed them aside, digging past registrations, loose pages of equipment warranties, and invoices to where she found two more birth certificates, folded in thirds and faded with age. Carefully opening them, Ren stared at the names there: Adam Zielinski and Deborah DeStefano. And at the very bottom of the box were passports.
Her fingers barely cooperated as she flipped one open, clapping a hand over her mouth when Gloria’s much younger face looked back at her. Just beside the photo was the name Deborah Louise DeStefano. Ren dropped it into the box like she’d been burned and looked around the room in a panic.
All this time she’d been focused on the possibility that Steve wasn’t her father; now she wondered what else they weren’t telling her. Was Deborah her mother’s real name? And if so, why had she changed it to Gloria? Why had Steve changed his from Adam? In one numbing, pulsing heartbeat, Ren suddenly wondered…were either of them her real parents?
She felt boneless, her blood staticky as she fumbled to find the Polaroid and then gave up, straightening the pile to put everything back, just the way she’d found it. With her heart hammering in her throat, she slipped out of their room and the few steps back down to hers, looking there one more time. Her bag was on the floor near the foot of her bed, and she dug into it again, this time dumping everything out and tossing it to the floor—her T-shirt and sleep shorts, the book of monuments Edward got her, the gift card and the watch from the Screaming Eagle. But the Polaroid was gone.
“Looking for this?”
She jerked around to find Gloria in the doorway, the photo of Edward in her hand.
“Gloria,” she said quietly. “What are you doing with that?”
Gloria stared at her for a beat, then stepped into Ren’s room and sat on the bed. “It’s our little insurance policy.”
Dread sent a shiver through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She needed to leave. She might not know all the details, but every cell in her body screamed that she needed to get away. Anywhere. “Insurance policy?”
“We’re going to move and start over. You’re not going to try to find Christopher Koning. You’re never going to mention that name again.”
“Are you even—”
“And if you do,” Gloria cut in, waving the photo, “I’m going to send this everywhere and tell the administration at that school how this boy abducted you and took you across this country. How he abused you.”
“That—that’s insane,” Ren stammered, hysteria bubbling up in her throat. “That didn’t happen. I’ll just tell them you’re lying.”
Gloria’s face softened. “Oh, honey, then I’ll tell them it’s just the trauma talking,” she said with saccharine sweetness, the concerned- mother mask slipping into place. “‘Oh, we are so worried about Ren. All those specialists we took her to told us that she might want to protect him. We told her not to worry. She’s safe now. We won’t ever let him touch her again.’”
Ren felt the tears when they broke, streaking down her face. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
Steve appeared in the doorway. “What’s all the fuss in here?”
Gloria looked up at him. “Ren’s upset that we’re not letting her see that boy anymore.”
“You think that’s what I’m upset about?” Ren said through a watery laugh. “I don’t actually know who either of you are!”
They both turned their eyes on her. “What did you say?” Gloria asked, eyes hawkish.
“I looked in the box in your closet. I was looking for the photo, but there was a lot of stuff about you and Steve in there that I didn’t understand.” She turned her eyes to him. “Is that even your real name?”
His eyes narrowed and he sucked his teeth, looking at Gloria, who held out a steadying hand. “What are you saying, Ren?” she asked.
Ren took a slow, deep breath. “I’m asking whether you’re really my mother.”
Gloria laughed. “Do you hear yourself? Of course I’m your mother.”
“So who are Adam Zielinski and Deborah DeStefano? And when again, exactly, did you marry Chris Koning?”
“How about you get some sleep,” Gloria told her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Steve took a step into the bedroom and looked out her small window. “I’m telling you, Gloria, we gotta leave tonight.”
Tonight? While they talked, Ren looked around the room, trying to formulate a plan, a voice inside her head whispering the same word over and over: Run.
“We aren’t even close to ready,” Gloria argued. “Even if that boy manages to narrow it down, we’re not easy to find.”
That boy. Edward.
Ren’s pulse rocketed. She filed back through every story she’d told him, every detail she’d given him about the homestead and the little town. Could he figure it out? Could he find her?
Steve shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this. We gotta go.” He nodded to Ren. “She knows now, and others might, too. What do we do with her?”
Ren’s head snapped up. “Do with me?”
“We take her,” Gloria answered. “No one else knows it’s us but her.”
Gloria’s words sent a wave of nausea rolling through her, and for a few staggering breaths Ren thought she might not be strong enough to process what she meant. No one else knows it’s us but her.
A whistle cut through the sky, followed by a deafening crack that shook the entire cabin. They fell to the ground, each of them covering their head as light spun across all four walls of the small bedroom. When Ren chanced a glance up, the darkness outside had been blown apart, light flashing in intermittent starts and stops.
Gloria rushed to the window as a streak of gold whistled through the sky and exploded in color immediately overhead. More of them came, one after another, explosion after explosion filling the sky with color.
Fireworks.
Steve turned, yelling at Gloria. “You see that? Gloria, they know!”
Before Ren could make sense of anything, she was shoved to the bed, and Gloria loomed over her. “Stay put. Do not test me, Ren.” And then she turned to Steve. “Get the guns. I’ll get the keys.”
They ran out of the room, and Ren looked around frantically, trying to form some sort of plan. Steve had said, They know. Did that mean these fireworks were for her? Her heart screamed his name—Edward—but her mind slapped the fantasy away; he was on the other side of the country. Even if he did figure out where she was, she’d left him—why would he come here?
When a burst of orange and gold erupted in a shot of sound outside, Ren looked out the window and down the front drive, trying to figure out what direction the fireworks were coming from.
But it wasn’t just fireworks. In the distance and around the bend of the long drive were the pulsing, rhythmic whirls of red and blue.
The police were here. It had to be him. It had to be. Who else would know where to find her?
Adrenaline dumped into her veins, a starter-pistol blast jolting her to action. With Gloria and Steve occupied, screaming through the cabin to each other to pack up their guns and clothes and money, Ren gripped the sill and tried to pry the window open.
“Please, please, please,” she whispered, panic rising like an ocean swell in her chest. It didn’t budge. Ren scrambled to her small desk, finding a metal ruler to wedge in the frame and use for leverage. Quickly, she worked it around the edges of the frame before wedging it beneath the bottom, seesawing the ruler up and down. Finally, the sill gave the tiniest bit, groaning with a winter’s worth of stiffness, and Ren winced, listening for the halt of movement in the rest of the cabin. As quietly as possible, Ren worked to get the window open wider, finally giving up when she hoped it would be enough and wedging her body into the narrow opening, pushing her head and shoulders through.
Behind her, she heard Gloria’s surprised “Steve! She’s going out the window!” Panic swelled, and Ren pushed harder, feeling the wet slide of blood down her neck as she scraped her chest against the sill, shimmying to get out her waist, her hips, her thighs—
A strong hand clamped around her ankle. “No you don’t,” Gloria growled, and leaned back, tugging hard.
Ren kicked her legs and reached for anything she could find, trying to get leverage to pull herself free. Gloria’s grip tightened, and she shouted for Steve to go out the front and catch Ren on the other side.
With panic sending fire into her pulse, Ren screamed in the quiet between fireworks, the two hopeful syllables cutting a shrill knife through the air—“EDWARD!”—and finally managed to wrench one leg free of Gloria’s grip. She kicked once more—hard—and felt her foot connect with something soft. A groan sounded from inside, and then Gloria’s hands fell away and Ren tumbled to the ground just as the front door opened.
Steve’s eyes met hers. “Stay right there, Ren,” he warned, racing down the front steps, but she scrabbled to her feet, pushing off into a sprint down the driveway. In the distance, she could see a line of cars, flashing lights, and the silhouette of figures.
“Edward!” she screamed, praying he was there. She had no one else. Nothing else. He was the only person who hadn’t betrayed her. “EDWARD!”
In the moonlight, she saw a commotion and then two figures breaking away from the line, sprinting toward her. Instinctive fear pulsed for a flash before an explosion went off overhead, the gentle raining of blue and silver illuminating the homestead. She could see them. They’d broken free from the barricade and were sprinting right for her.
“Ren!” Edward yelled. “Run!”
Gunfire sounded behind her; a whistle seared past her head, close enough to send goose bumps down her arm.
Another voice. A man’s voice, one she knew somewhere, deep in the marrow of her bones. “Gracie!”
Thirty feet from the two figures…twenty feet…ten…
Another bullet kicked up dirt beside her feet just as she collided with Edward’s chest, his arms coming around her, pulling her tight into him, before someone else captured them both from the side, tackling them into the brush just as gunfire rained down on the cabin.